The Fifth Precept one-month challenge

I recently had a short, friendly discussion with a Twitter friend regarding the Fifth Precept, rendered on Access to Insight as follows:

Suramerayamajja pamadatthana veramani sikkhapadam samadiyami.

I undertake the precept to refrain from intoxicating drinks and drugs which lead to carelessness.

Now, as my friend pointed out, this precept is understood differently in different traditions. So I wish to write here merely from my own perspective, based on the tradition that speaks most effectively to my own disposition. I do not wish to parse Pali, or try to argue in favor of one understanding over another. Let me be clear that I do not advocate prohibition, and I do not regard the precept as a moral absolute. I offer the following in humility and without judgement, in hopes that it is helpful.

As I understand them, the five precepts are training rules for our own benefit. They are not commandments. They are not laws. They are not factors by which to measure others. Their sole purpose is for oneself, to aid in creating the kamma (volitional action) in this present moment that is most conducive to awakening. That is all. If we judge others by the five precepts, we miss the point, in my opinion.

I think it's worth noting the other precepts, so that the Fifth Precept can be regarded in context. The other four (also from Access to Insight) are:

I undertake the precept to refrain from destroying living creatures.

I undertake the precept to refrain from taking that which is not given.

I undertake the precept to refrain from sexual misconduct.

I undertake the precept to refrain from incorrect speech.

The entire entry at the Access to Insight link noted above is worth reading. One thing that I notice about each of these precepts is that they each involve giving something up. This makes sense to me, since this is the path of liberation through not clinging. It is a path of letting go.

In that context, it makes sense to me to regard each one of these precepts as a challenge to be present in this very moment and mindful that I refrain from something. That I do not kill. That I do not steal. That I do not engage in sexual misconduct. That I do not lie. And with regard to alcohol? That I do not drink it. These are the training rules as I understand them. Naturally we may find that we do not always keep them perfectly. That is part of practice.

I am aware of the position, widely held, that when it comes to alcohol, the precept is not broken unless intoxication occurs. I believe there are some potential pitfalls in adopting that approach to training. One of them is that it raises the question, is "mindful drinking" a training rule that creates the kamma of letting go? Does "mindful drinking" support the path of liberation through not clinging?

Another pitfall I see is that this same approach doesn't seem to work with the other training rules. Mindful killing? Mindful stealing?

And, of course, it can be difficult to know when intoxication will occur with alcohol. It varies by person, by diet, by environmental factors, and from day to day for each individual. So the Fifth Precept becomes vague and difficult to follow if we take it to mean that we train by refraining from intoxication when we drink alcohol.

But separate from any kind of Buddhism or any interpretation of the precepts, I also notice that alcohol has a bizarre place in our society. It is everywhere. There is massive social pressure to drink alcohol. Toasts at weddings. Wine with dinner. Drinks with friends. Almost anybody with any social life will be offered alcohol, even pressured to have alcohol. It is deeply engrained in our society.

People have surprisingly strong opinions about alcohol consumption.

I also notice that alcohol is a contributing factor in many social ills. We can all understand the concept of dependent origination and nutriment, where certain factors must be present for other things to occur. When this is, that is. When this is not, that is not. Here are some of the things that would be removed from our lives if we stopped drinking: Fetal alcohol syndrome. Alcoholism. Drunking driving deaths.

And there are many studies that show a connection between alcohol use and violence. While it may be true that alcohol does not cause violence, we all know from personal experience that alcohol can lead people to loosen up and behave in ways they wouldn't normally behave. Alcohol can be a contributing factor in violence. Alcohol has an effect on the brain and the body. A meditator can be keenly aware of this.

When we drink, even if we drink mindfully, we become participants in a pattern of social behavior that has demonstrable ill effects. When we drink socially, we feed this social habit, making it more likely that others around us also will drink. When we purchase alcohol, we support an industry that advertises the affirmative message, "drink responsibly," which is just another way of telling people to "drink." When we drink around our children, we teach them to drink. There is a ripple effect whenever we pick up a drink.

So I propose the following merely as an experiment, as an exercise in mindfulness: Give up drinking for one month, and see what happens. How about July?

For anyone who benefits from mindfulness training, this is an ideal time to take up this challenge, with summer holiday weekends at hand. Here are some things that one could be mindful of: What sensation arises in the body when I have the desire to drink? What sensation arises when I refrain from drinking? What emotion do I experience when I tell others that I do not wish to drink right now? What emotion do others seem to experience, and how do I react to that?

During the course of a month, there may be many opportunities to see what happens in one's own life when one decides not to drink. What pressures does one face? What sacrifices must one make? Are there any surprises? Some of these experiences might seem unpleasant in the moment when they are occurring. And this can be part of practice, too.

At the end of one month, take stock and see if there is anything you have learned about yourself or others.

Some might regard this as a pointless exercise, particularly if one is firmly established in the belief that one's own moderate drinking has no ill effects on oneself or others. One might think, what's the harm? Why worry about it? Why bother? For a person serious about mindfulness, however, such a reaction might awaken a curiosity about what would actually occur for oneself during the month in question.

If anybody actually tries this challenge, I would be interested in hearing about it. Feel free to use the Twitter hashtag #5precepts. I am proposing this solely for the purpose of practice. If you choose to try it, may you be successful for the benefit of all beings.

Stephen Batchelor

In this interview over at Buddhist Geeks, Stephen Batchelor (author of "Confession of a Buddhist Atheist") takes some time once again to share his self-described "secular" approach to Buddhism, an approach that has won him praise, blame, and book sales.

The entire Stephen Batchelor spectacle is fascinating, in some of the same ways that a house fire is fascinating. True, Mr. Batchelor brings a good deal of knowledge and study to the table, and his talks can be helpful in arriving at a better understanding of some elements of what the Buddha taught. But his propensity to create divisions and fuel disputes becomes a distraction. For example, Mr. Batchelor tells Vince Horn:

... there appears, in the Buddhist community, to be a fault line that demarcates two quite different camps. One, of what one might call the conservatives or the traditionalists who can’t quite imagine how you could have Buddhism without the doctrine of rebirth. And another camp, which would include, obviously, people like myself, who I would maybe portray as more liberal, more secular in orientation, who have exactly the opposite problem -- mainly, they cannot conceive of a Buddhist practice or at least an intelligible Buddhist practice, having to incorporate what looks to them, what looks to me, like an antiquated, pre-modern belief.

And we see here very clearly how muddled Mr. Batchelor's presentation can be. I believe it's no accident that he only uses the term "practice" in describing the "secular" orientation. The "conservatives," on the other hand, he portrays as clinging to doctrine.

Mr. Batchelor does an untidy job of muddling together two different sets of contrasting approaches:
1) Those who put great stock in concepts versus those who focus on how to live in this present moment; and
2) Those who believe in rebirth versus those who do not.

Mr. Batchelor ignores the fact that these are entirely unrelated sets. Belief or disbelief in rebirth is unrelated to whether one puts emphasis on concepts or on practice.

The fascinating thing about this is that Mr. Batchelor appears to be advocating for an approach that focuses on practice, not on concepts, yet he keeps on returning to concepts. His message appears to be that it doesn't matter if he can't bring himself to believe in rebirth; he can still be a Buddhist because he can still practice the Noble Eightfold Path. Strangely, however, Mr. Batchelor comes back again and again to concepts. He keeps on talking about how the rebirth notion defies "what we currently understand through the natural sciences," how it carries "a whole range of philosophical and psychological problems."

"Now, I really just do not understand what that could mean; it simply does not make sense to me," he says of the notion of rebirth. He labels it a "doctrine."

Concepts.

Personally, I would find Mr. Batchelor's presentation much more helpful if he could decide which approach he wants to take. Does he want to encourage the practice of living skillfully in this present moment? Or does he want to encourage debate about concepts?

There should be no confusion about the Dhamma. We can understand this very clearly: Mental formations are not self. They are impermanent. And their underlying nature is suffering. Of course we will probably have some opinion about rebirth. We believe it, or we don't believe it. Can we help it? Can we really flip a switch and decide what we want to believe? Do we have control over our convictions?

And even if we think we do, what do we think we're going to accomplish? If we organize our beliefs just right, will that somehow get us closer to some perceived goal?

Mr. Batchelor is right when he suggests that it is possible to practice regardless of one's beliefs or disbeliefs. How could it be otherwise? We can only start where we are. And we know that in some respects, any beliefs that we have are imperfect, and also subject to change and revision in the future as our understanding grows. There should be no confusion about this; this is a path of liberation through not clinging, including not clinging to our mental formations.

But there also should be no confusion about this: The notion of post-mortem rebirth is part and parcel of the Buddha's teachings we have received. The Pali texts are replete with clear, unambiguous examples of the Buddha describing the rebirth outcome of his disciples, or describing ghosts passing by who had been humans in a previous birth, or describing once-returners and non-returners. In these teachings, it seems very clear that the Buddha simply took it for granted that his listeners in those instances understood rebirth as a reality. Does that mean we can't practice if we can't bring ourselves to believe in rebirth? No. But does it mean that we need to rejigger Buddhism to fit our preconceived notions of reality? Mr. Batchelor seems to think so.

This is very much a discussion about what is comfortable. Mr. Batchelor appears to argue that there needs to be a new Buddhism for the secular, Western world. Give us a Buddhism that fits with our modern sensibilities. Give us a Buddhism that bolsters our current mental formations.

"I honestly don’t think the Buddha was interested in the nature of reality," Batchelor says. And implicit in that statement is the assumption that there must be some "reality" out there, separate from this heap of aggregates, separate from this All that the Buddha so clearly describes. And that is a perilous proposition indeed.

One thing that Mr. Batchelor gets absolutely right is that "atheism" is an accurate word to use in describing disbelief in an abiding self. Although most often "atheism" refers to a lack of belief in God, Mr. Batchelor correctly perceives that any concept of God necessitates a concept of self. And so, while acknowledging that beliefs are not the point, Mr. Batchelor takes a firm stance with regard to his own personal beliefs. He is an atheist. That's just the way he is.

One gets the sense that we should take seriously the way Mr. Batchelor portrays his message (as his latest book title suggests), namely, as a confession. Is this all just about Mr. Batchelor's personal struggles with his own belief systems? Has he put on display his own effort to reconcile his hopes, his dreams, his expectations with a tradition that he views as judgmental of him? And thus he feels compelled to confess in order to arrive at some inner peace in his struggle? Is that what this is about?

A confession, after all, is a very personal thing.

A few thoughts about "The Buddha" on PBS

Tomorrow is the last day to watch "The Buddha" on the PBS website, www.pbs.org/thebuddha. This program is truly an event. Much of it is beautiful. It does seem to me, however, that it would be difficult for a person unfamiliar with the Buddhadhamma to discern the Dhamma in the program. The presentation is a blend of nuggets of wisdom, along with platitudes derived from the personal viewpoints of the participants, mixed together with selected historical details (with some glaring omissions).

Striking to me was the absence of individuals crucial to the life story of the Buddha. Most notably, there's no mention of Ananda, the Buddha's personal attendant who is credited with having such an astonishing memory that he was able to recall entire suttas in the Buddha's own words.

We hear in the program how the Buddha named his son "Rahula," rendered "ball and chain" in the words of one of the program's participants. But we hear nothing about Rahula's later going-forth, and the tender, one-on-one instruction that Rahula later received from his own father. Such as retold here.

Perhaps the most egregious historical inaccuracy is the program's suggestion that right from the start, the Buddha took the revolutionary step (for the time) of ordaining women. Left out of the storytelling is, again, an important figure from the Buddha's own family, Mahapajapati, who raised him as if she were his own mother, who begged him later to allow women into the community monks, and who at first was denied.

It's such a curious thing, the way the Buddha is treated in the program. In some respects, he is put up on a pedestal and seperated out of normal human interactions. If nothing else, from a purely cinematic point of view, the program could have made much more effective use of these "window characters" in the Buddha's life to give us a look at the man through the eyes of those who knew him best. That also would have reinforced the notion of inter-connectedness. This was an opportunity lost.

I'm not sure what kind of impression of Buddhism a person would have after watching the program, but I don't think it would be a very accurate impression of the Buddhadhamma. Part of the reason for this is the apparent lack of discernment in selecting comments and summaries of Dhamma to include from the participants. For example, near the end of the program, poet Jane Hirshfield offers this comment, and it is presented in a way that could be taken as a summary of the Dhamma:

"Everyday life around us is already so implausible and so glorious, that what need for further miracles? And that's the teaching of the Buddha. That's the miraculous teaching of the Buddha."

What does that mean exactly? In general, I think Hirshfield's comment includes a valid point, namely, that it's crucial to recognize things just as they are, right here and now, rather than to seek after miracles. Yet, like so much else in the program, this is presented as a happy platitude, as a viewpoint, as if the Buddha doled out scraps of advice fortune-cookie style. How do you apply this is your life? What practical application can this idea have?

In some cases, the program presents a wonderful Dhamma teaching, but then undercuts it with commentary from somebody who doesn't seem to appreciate its meaning. For example, the program offers a rendering of something that can be found here.

"When this is, that is. From the arising of this comes the arising of that. When this isn't, that isn't. From the cessation of this comes the cessation of that."

But then the program offers an interpretation from astrophysicist Trihn Xuan Thuan, who says, in part:

"Everything is connected to everything else. ... Our happiness depends on their happiness as well. How can we be happy if we're the only one happy in an island of happiness in an ocean of misery? Of course that's not possible."

And his comment has really nothing at all to do with what the sutta is talking about. Indeed, his comments fly in the face of other sutta teachings that describe how monks are happy-minded in the midst of suffering, how we must be an island, how the truest happiness is not conditioned by anything in this world.

In many respects, "The Buddha" is a wonderful program and a great service, but it does not appear to convey very well what the Buddha actually taught.

May Bill Maher be happy, be peaceful, be liberated

A somewhat different perspective on this blog entry by Bill Maher over at The Huffington Post. The comedian has been catching some flack for getting Buddhism wrong. And undoubtedly, he got it wrong. But reading his words more closely, I find it very hard to feel offended.

A snippet:

"Christianity is for rubes. Buddhism is for actors.

"And it really is outdated in some ways - the 'Life sucks, and then you die' philosophy was useful when Buddha came up with it around 500 B.C., because back then life pretty much sucked, and then you died - but now we have medicine, and plenty of food, and iPhones, and James Cameron movies - our life isn't all about suffering anymore. And when we do suffer, instead of accepting it we try to alleviate it."

It's striking how easily Mr. Maher sweeps this question of suffering, of dukkha, right under the rug. Why suffer? Just alleviate. Yet it must be obvious to anybody who has come face-to-face with life's realities that "alleviation" is just another word for denial, aversion to suffering, the desire to remain ignorant, the desire to get rid of that which is not wanted. At best, "alleviation" is a temporary fix. At worst, it is suffering itself, pure addiction, a blind devotion to the impossible pursuit of just feeling okay about everything.

Who can escape old age, sickness and death? These must be accepted, because sooner or later, the drugs wear off, the face of reality shows itself, the end comes in short breaths, fading breaths. We can try to alleviate right up until the end, but we cannot alleviate the fading away that inevitably shadows every living, breathing moment.

The wonderful teaching of the Buddha that Mr. Maher has overlooked is that this suffering has an end, and there is a way to the eradication of suffering. Ironically, that path includes seeing things as they are, which Mr. Maher unfortunately appears to describe as "acceptance," a position he rejects:

"Craving for things outside ourselves is what makes life life - I don't want to learn to not want, that's what people in prison have to do. Buddhism teaches suffering is inevitable. The only thing that's inevitable is that if you have fake boobs and hair extensions, Tiger Woods will try to f--- you."

Prison. Mr. Maher imagines that this samsara does not constitute a kind of prison, where we are caged in by deep-rooted habits of greed, hate and delusion. Why do we want? We want because we perceive lack. What do we lack in this world of medicine, abundant food, iPhones and James Cameron movies? Perhaps we don't have the ability to know the basis of our wants, the underlying nature of our desires, of that insatiable appetite that we learn to live with, that we strive to alleviate. That is what Mr. Maher chooses to accept. A path that leads to more suffering.

Mr. Maher is right, but in a way he apparently has not yet understood: Craving for things outside ourselves is what makes life life. There are so many things about that statement that are true.

In this fathom-long body with its perceptions and thoughts there is the world, the origin of the world, the ending of the world and the path leading to the ending of the world.
-AN 4.45

The whole concept of "outside ourselves" points in the wrong direction, away from what needs to be done here and now.

Of course there are things that we want. When we observe our experience, we realize that these wants are present. They rise and pass away. They are not-self. They are simply wants. And the fact of the matter is that some wants can help us along the path. And here is one of them:

May all be well and secure,
May all beings be happy!
Whatever living creatures there be,
Without exception, weak or strong,
Long, huge or middle-sized,
Or short, minute or bulky,
Whether visible or invisible,
And those living far or near,
The born and those seeking birth,
May all beings be happy!
- Metta Sutta

Emptiness and Jesus

Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?

This striking utterance from Jesus left untranslated in Matthew 27:46 is a keystone passage that can bring one right up to engagement with the undesired, the unwanted, the things we usually try to avoid. My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why have you abandoned me?

There has been an effort among some to reject even these very words as a false translation, arguing that σαβαχθανί (sabacthani) can mean "leave" in the sense of abandoning, or "leave" in the sense of sparing. And little wonder. This apparent despair expressed by Jesus, this questioning of God, raises challenging issues for those with certain fixed views about Jesus.

A more reasonable explanation of Jesus' words is that they reference Psalm 22, which opens with the very same phrase:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me,
so far from the words of my groaning?

The psalm goes even further than that, mirroring occurances later retold in the New Testament passion story. The psalm speaks of being mocked, being insulted. "I am poured out like water," verse 14 begins, mirroring the New Testament story of a soldier piercing Jesus with a spear, and water pouring from the wound.

"They have pierced my hands and my feet," verse 16 reads. "They divide my garments among them and cast lots for my clothing," verse 18 reads, mirroring again the New Testament description, in which those who attended the crucifixion cast lots for Jesus' clothes.

There are several possible conclusions from this. One could conclude that Psalm 22 was prophetic. One could conclude that the similarities are pure coincidence. Or one could conclude that the authors of the New Testament passion stories lifted details from Psalm 22 and inserted them into the narrative, without regard for whether those things actually occurred.

Another possible conclusion is that the story portrays Jesus bringing Psalm 22 to mind as he died, which would make sense, since the psalm is a hymn of praise. And here's a compelling idea: Why can't the words convey both despair and jubilation simultaneously? An expression of the death of self-identity, and an expresson of joy for that taste of nibbana?

The concept of emptiness is widely associated with Buddhism, and more specifically the notion of sunyata is associated with Mahayana schools. But this notion of the empty nature of all phenomena goes right back to classical Buddhism, with the core notions of anicca (impermanence) and anatta (not-self). These are not mere concepts, but visceral experiences. One experiences impermanence and knows it directly. One expriences the not-self nature of phenomena and knows it directly. Theories just don't cut it.

Fascinating to consider the Biblical story of Jesus' death on the cross in this light, as an illustration of the death of self-identity view, the extinguishing of sakkāya-diṭṭhi. As a sunyata moment. And its manner: for the benefit of all beings.