As long as we remain engaged in 21st-century life, at least in any industrialized society, we are part of an infinitely complex web of karma that covers our planet. Even the details of our lives become moral choices, and it becomes increasingly difficult to live in a way that does no harm or that fulfills the ideal of the selfless Buddhist contemplative. Because of our interconnectedness with all things, we feel pain and moral stress when we act out of accord with our ideals. What does lay Buddhist practice look like in the midst of all of this?
I will begin addressing this topic in this episode, and then continue in the next one:
Quicklinks to Article Content:
Causing Harm Just by Living: Our 21st-Century Koan
Home Leaving as Early Buddhism’s Answer to Moral Stress
The Bodhisattva Ideal as a Model for Lay Practice
Causing Harm Just by Living: Our 21st-Century Koan
Recently, I got a heartfelt question from a listener – Sofi, from Chile – and this episode is a response to it. Sofi writes:
I have been studying the 8-fold path and the 4 noble truths and I am becoming increasingly frustrated at the fact that this path seems to be literally incompatible with our modern times, unless maybe you renounce everything and go live as a monk, which I literally couldn’t even do if I wanted to because I can’t afford a plane ticket and I am a woman so doing anything alone is really dangerous. I also have a chronic disease, so there is no way I could live without modern medicine.
There is no getting a job without a little lying, and being nice and pure does not always lead to success. Life has taught me that being a good person and doing the right thing can often do me more harm than good. Being selfless makes people take advantage of you and use you as a scapegoat.
Literally everything we do harms others. The clothes I’m wearing were made by exploiting others, but it’s all I can afford. The water we drink was obtained unethically and is harming the environment. The car I NEED to drive, well, I don’t even think that needs an explanation as to why it’s harmful. It just makes no sense. It is impossible to live nowadays without harming others, the environment, animals, etc. It is impossible to get a job and have money to pay for my meds and basic needs without being connected to social media, the news, lying, manipulating, faking smiles, etc. Sometimes people make up lies about you, and you have to defend yourself, and that feels awful. I wish I could live just ignoring this and focusing on myself, but it’s virtually impossible and inaction can have negative consequences.
Anxiety and depression plagues our society, and we live constantly comparing each other’s lives.
I really, really wish I could follow the path but it’s just unrealistic! What can I do? How can I rid myself from Dukkha, if I can’t even get to work without feeling guilty for harming the environment with my car, or even for drinking bottled water?”
I relate very much to Sofi’s question. Even if you don’t, know that many people around you do.
While it may often seem like the human proclivity to act out of greed, ill-will, or ignorance is our main defining feature, that is not the case. In fact, our tendencies to cooperate and act out of compassion are much stronger; if this weren’t the case, we could never maintain such complex and stable societies. For the vast majority of us, our sense of empathy – evolved in our species over millions of years – allows us to transcend our natural self-centeredness and recognize other beings suffer just as we do, and to see our interdependence with them. We know from our own direct experience that we can’t harm others without harming ourselves.
Even if negative experiences harden our hearts and we find ways to justify our harmful actions or lack of compassion, our choices damage us whether we recognize it or not. When we knowingly cause harm, withhold compassion or generosity, allow other beings to suffer without trying to help, or participate in systems or activities that make us complicit in causing harm, we compromise our peace of mind, our ability to see things clearly, and our sense of connection with other beings.
Sadly, as Sofi points out, it is next to impossible to live in most (all?) modern societies without causing harm to other beings. Even if our behavior toward the people we encounter in our lives is impeccable, simply participating in modern life makes us complicit in harm being perpetrated across our planet, including exploitation, greed, ecological destruction, pollution, racism, violence, and the oppression of women. Some of us have the privilege and wealth to avail ourselves of consumer choices that are less harmful, but few of our choices turn out to be truly free of negative impacts.
Sometimes it seems like the only way to live a life without moral stress would be to live entirely “off the grid.” Let’s assume we had no ongoing medical needs and no personal responsibilities that tied us to life in modern society. Let’s assume we could find the resources to purchase a plot of suitable land with its own clean water source, build a shelter, generate our own energy, and produce our own food, clothing, and other needs. Would living like this absolve us of responsibility for the harms being done by the rest of human civilization? We might feel better about our life, but our well-being is not independent of that of others. We might be able to convince ourselves that it’s none of our business if the rest of the world goes to hell in a handbasket, but surely such an isolationist mindset would compromise our experience of life.
Home Leaving as Early Buddhism’s Answer to Moral Stress
The oldest Buddhist teachings and practices can seem to encourage us to aim for the greatest moral purity we can possibly achieve. An arhat – someone who had reached the ultimate goal of Buddhist practice in this lifetime – was described like this (these are Shakyamuni Buddha’s words from Sutava Sutta, translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu):
…an arahant monk whose mental fermentations are ended, who has reached fulfillment, done the task, laid down the burden, attained the true goal, totally destroyed the fetter of becoming, and who is released through right gnosis, cannot possibly transgress these nine principles.
[1] It is impossible for a monk whose mental fermentations are ended to intentionally deprive a living being of life. [2] It is impossible for a monk whose mental fermentations are ended to take, in the manner of stealing, what is not given… [or to] [3] engage in sexual intercourse… [or to] [4] to tell a conscious lie… [or to] [5] consume stored-up sensual things as he did before, when he was a householder.
[6] It is impossible for a monk whose mental fermentations are ended to follow a bias based on desire…[or] [7] aversion… [or] [8] fear… [or] [9] delusion.[i]
The “mental fermentations” the arhat has ended are the asavas, also translated as mental effluents, pollutants, or outflows, typically identified as 1) craving for sensual pleasures, 2) craving for existence, and 3) ignorance of the true nature of things. The idea is that our actions of body, speech, and mind can either lead to more outflows, or – in the case of practice – to the cessation of outflows. When we generate outflows, they in turn create more suffering and cause more outflows to arise. If we were able to end our outflows, as an arhat has, nothing in us would compel us toward selfish or harmful actions.
From the beginning, the Buddha recommended the path of “home leaving” to those who wanted to practice what he taught and awaken to what he had realized. This was akin to “going off the grid,” except that Buddhist monastics lived communally (even better, as sharing resources within a community is the most efficient way to live). When a man or woman left home for a spiritual life of renunciation in ancient India, they stepped out of society entirely. They abandoned family relationships, status, work, and property. They lived without fixed homes and without money, doing without any luxuries or entertainment and dependent on donations for survival. Unlike monks who practiced in permanent monasteries in subsequent generations, in the warm climate of India Buddhist monastic communities would have been more or less like clean, peaceable homeless encampments.
The Vinaya precepts governing the life of fully-ordained home-leavers, or monastics, (at the Buddha’s time and now) are meant to ensure they absolutely minimize their opportunities for acting out of greed and the chances they will inflict the slightest harm on any living thing. There are strict rules against owning any more than the minimum for survival, generally not more than you are able to carry around.[ii] Monastics who follow the Vinaya are forbidden to cause an animal to be killed for food, or to kill or harm any living thing – including an insect or plant. They are not allowed to dig in the soil lest they harm anything living there, or to pour out water if there may be something living in it. Without personal money, of course, even a Vinaya monastic today would be relatively free of complicity in the harms wrought by our modern society. (They also would do without the material joys and comforts most of us greatly value, including the ownership of a home, cooking and eating delicious meals of our choosing, leisure travel, and hobbies that require some amount of money.)
Clearly, the homeless life recommended by the Buddha if you want to achieve the full fruits of the Buddhist path was carefully designed to allow monastics to practice without moral stress. It was acknowledged that householders could make almost as much progress on the path as monastics, but the Buddha and his disciples repeatedly described such practice like this (from the Samaññaphala Sutta: The Fruits of the Contemplative Life, translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu):
Household life is confining, a dusty path. The life gone forth is like the open air. It is not easy living at home to practice the holy life totally perfect, totally pure, like a polished shell.[iii]
It’s important to realize that over the last 2,500 years of Buddhism, few societies have been as egalitarian as ours, and it has been rare for lay people to have the time, resources, and freedom to practice Buddhism with the same ultimate aspirations as ordained monastics – that is, liberation, awakening, peace of mind, and moral conduct. At the Buddha’s time and in most of the Buddhist cultures since, householders generally did not see it as unfair that monks “got” to live in a way more conducive to Dharma practice or see it as insulting that the Buddha called their life “a confining, dusty path.” The path the Buddha recommended, and his estimation of the lay path, made sense to them. The Buddha did give some good advice to householders about how to manage their affairs and conduct themselves (see The Discourse to Sigala),[iv] but there was little call for teachings on how to practice deeply as a lay Buddhist in the midst of a busy, engaged life. If you were stuck in lay life and really wanted to be a monk, you would be advised to pray to have the opportunity to become a monk in a future life.
The Bodhisattva Ideal as a Model for Lay Practice
Fortunately for those of us in modern lay life, Mahayana Buddhism – of which Zen is a part – presents a different view of the ultimate goal of practice, and the paths we can take to get there. Perhaps more accurately, we could say the Mahayana is generally less literal about the ultimate goal of practice, which remains liberation, awakening, peace of mind, and moral conduct.
The original model of the arhat was someone who, quite literally, had detached from the world and done so much rigorous work on herself that she was no longer subject to the forces of greed, ill-will, or ignorance, and no longer had the slightest inclination toward selfish or harmful action – even to preserve her own life. It was said in the original Buddhist teachings that even if someone attained arhatship in lay life, they would leave lay life behind as a matter of course. An arhat is still an admirable person, of course; for the remainder of their life they will teach others, serve as an inspiring example, and do no harm. However, they could be compared to a wise, compassionate person who has chosen to live in peace entirely off the grid; you might be able to visit them for guidance and inspiration, but it is likely that your return to modern life will be seen by them as an unfortunate compromise.
The Mahayana ideal became the bodhisattva, a being who trains rigorously much like an arhat, but who remains engaged in the world for the sake of others. Some bodhisattvas teach the Dharma, but most benefit beings in other ways, including as parents, teachers, nurses, engineers, farmers, writers, and construction workers. They bring comfort and delight to beings by sharing whatever they have, including their material possessions, good food, optimism, strength, fearlessness, or clarity. (See Episode 154 – Avatamsaka Sutra – Each One of Us Has Unique Bodhisattva Gifts to Offer for many more ways bodhisattvas manifest.)
It is said the bodhisattva postpones their own entry into Nirvana – complete liberation from the world of desire and suffering – in order to help others. There are different ways to view this aspect of the teaching, but I take it to mean that, no matter how hard we practice, as long as we remain engaged in the world, we will never achieve the utter peace of the arhat. As long as we maintain the relationships and responsibilities involved with our bodhisattva work, we will never be able to “practice the holy life totally perfect, totally pure, like a polished shell.”
So, how does the bodhisattva practice? Even while surrounded by challenges, distractions, temptations, and responsibilities, the bodhisattva strives to awaken to Reality-with-a-Capital-R. For his own sake and the sake of others, he tries to recognize the Emptiness of self. Subsequently, he is less caught up in the drama of “I, me, and mine,” and naturally experiences less fear and more compassion. She aims to awaken to Suchness, thereby recognizing she already has everything she needs, and that everything is precious just as it is. Subsequently, she is less upset by what happens and naturally feels more open and generous. They practice diligently with the Two Truths of absolute and relative, learning to avoid getting caught in dualism.
Wouldn’t it be easier for the bodhisattva to awaken to Reality-with-a-Capital-R if they left home? If they withdrew from society and, in one way or another, went off the grid? Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on the bodhisattva. Ultimately, we can’t know, because a given person can’t take two paths and then compare the results. Easier? Faster? After some years in practice, even if we are in a monastery, we learn that such preoccupations only impede our practice and cause misery. Also, the reality is that no monastic community is entirely separate from the rest of the world or free from concerns about money, power, interpersonal dynamics, or the balance between comfort and asceticism. I know from personal experience that you can be practicing in your monastery of choice and then start dreaming about how you’d really be able to practice if only you could practice alone in a cave on a remote mountain. If I’d ever had the opportunity to do that, I wonder what my dissatisfaction would have attached itself to there.
From the beginning of Mahayana Buddhism, it has been taught that the choice of householder versus monastic path matters very little to progress on the path compared to the work you do in your own mind and heart. While the monastic path has been carefully designed to be conducive to contemplative practice, householder practice provides countless opportunities for awakening, especially when things are not as we would like them to be. For example, what better situation for letting go of your narrative about yourself than when you get fired from a job you thought you did well? What better opportunity for facing impermanence than sitting by the bedside of a loved one as they die? When anger arises because you are a victim of injustice, what does it mean to let that anger go? You may notice the anger, in the moment, is more or less synonymous with the small self, and in letting it go you taste Emptiness. The demands of modern life mean it’s impossible to maintain one state of self-aware consciousness all the time; can you see that consciousness is also not-self?
Once, when I was complaining about having to practice at a busy lay Zen center in the middle of the city instead of in a monastery, my teacher Gyokuko said, “If you can’t practice here, you can’t practice anywhere.” This didn’t mean we should never make changes in our lives. Sometimes a change in our situation is a great act of compassion for ourselves. However, ultimately no situation will be perfect, and we will have to practice right here.
Next episode: The moral stress of the bodhisattva, what it means to do our best, and the practice of mindfully cutting moral corners.
Endnotes
[i] “Sutava Sutta: To Sutavan” (AN 9.7), translated from the Pali by Thanissaro Bhikkhu. Access to Insight (BCBS Edition), 30 November 2013, http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/an/an09/an09.007.than.html.
[ii] “The Bhikkhus’ Rules: A Guide for Laypeople”, compiled and explained by Bhikkhu Ariyesako. Access to Insight (BCBS Edition), 17 December 2013, https://accesstoinsight.org/ati/lib/authors/ariyesako/layguide.html#req4
[iii] “Samaññaphala Sutta: The Fruits of the Contemplative Life” (DN 2), translated from the Pali by Thanissaro Bhikkhu. Access to Insight (BCBS Edition), 30 November 2013, http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/dn/dn.02.0.than.html.
[iv] “Sigalovada Sutta: The Discourse to Sigala” (DN 31), translated from the Pali by Narada Thera. Access to Insight (BCBS Edition), 30 November 2013, http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/dn/dn.31.0.nara.html.
Photo Credit
Image by Brian Merrill from Pixabay
