There is something that all genuine spiritual traditions seem to have in common. Invariably, they stress the importance of altruism: the necessity of realizing our interdependence with other beings, and acting from a heart of concern for the well-being and spiritual care of others. The individual self’s wants and needs are seen to be petty and insignificant next to the great ocean of suffering in which all sentient beings are bobbing helplessly.
In every religion (with the exceptions, perhaps, of Satanism and the philosophical cult of Ayn Rand), spiritually mature beings downplay self-centered concerns and place greater emphasis on the welfare of others. The “what about me?” attitude of the childish ego has been entirely replaced with a compassionate concern for other people’s happiness and well-being. The great spiritual leaders -- the Buddha, Jesus, the Dalai Lama, the Karmapa, Mother Teresa, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr. and so on -- all seem to devote themselves single-pointedly and fearlessly to the path of altruism and compassion, with little or no residual traces of a self-seeking ego.
The further and deeper we go into the spiritual path, the more our lives become dedicated to relieving that suffering and helping others, and the more we let go of our own personal agendas and territories. This self-sacrificing love and compassion for others is the motivating force behind the crucifixion of Jesus Christ; it is the purpose of Tikkun Olam, the mystical Jewish principle of ‘healing the universe’ in order to return the Holy Spark that is each sentient being to the divine source from which it sprang; it is the vision behind the Buddhist archetype of the ‘Bodhisattva,’ the noble being who works for the benefit of others and strives towards enlightenment so that others may also reach that state.
Over the centuries, Buddhism evolved and split into different schools and sub-schools, in much the way Christianity, Judaism, and other religions have done. A few centuries after the Buddha’s death, a new kind of Buddhism sprang up alongside the old. It was a revolution on the scale of the Protestant Reformation in Europe, and it altered the face of the Buddhist religion forever. This new school was known as Mahayana, and from it descended many of the forms of Buddhism we know today, including Zen and Tibetan Buddhism. Maha- means “great” or “big,” and yana means “vehicle.”
If the older schools of Buddhism had produced a lot of individuals driving along the road of spiritual awakening in their own private cars, Mahayana was seen as the great, collective vehicle, the mega-bus that would carry all beings together along the path of awakening. As people today are becoming more environmentally conscious about driving, so the early Mahayanists came to see that there was something slightly amiss in the notion of driving, alone, in your own little spiritual bubble, focusing on your own needs first.
In reality, Buddhists from the older 'Hinayana' schools (including Theravada) are not at all self-centered, as this language would make them appear. It's merely a doctrinal distinction that the Mahayana school paints in order to make a point about the crucial importance of selfless compassion and the altruistic motivation.
The spirit of Mahayana is that we travel the path of awakening not just for ourselves and our own liberation, but for the sake of all beings. It’s a view that places compassion front and center, and emphasizes our interconnectedness — that fact that we need each other to do this work of waking up. When you embrace the Mahayana path, helping others becomes your primary goal, an end in itself — and attaining your own enlightenment is seen as merely a means to that end. When you, yourself, wake up, then you will know best how to help others wake up. Developing the strong intention to become enlightened for the benefit of all sentient beings, and then putting that intention into practice, is the way of Mahayana.
The Mahayana path of altruism is not an easy one. In some ways it would be much easier, and more convenient, to focus on your own needs, driving along the spiritual path in the comfort and privacy of your own personal car. Perhaps you’ve got your car tricked out with a nice paint job and special hub caps, and tinted windows so no one else can see you. As everyone who takes public transportation knows, to ride on a bus is less comfortable, and more insulting. To ride a city bus without losing your mind, you have to be able to set aside your own agenda and accommodate the eccentricities and annoying behaviors of others. Focusing first and foremost on the needs of others, and regarding your own awakening as a means to help them rather than an end in itself, turns your personal project of enlightenment upside-down. Making that commitment requires an unflinching allegiance to growing up and leaving behind the petty, selfish concerns of the childish ego.
Showing posts with label bodhisattva. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bodhisattva. Show all posts
Friday, February 19, 2010
Friday, November 6, 2009
Diligence, Part Three: Put Your Heart into It
This is Part Three of a three-part article, a commentary on the seventh chapter of Shantideva's 8th-century text called the Bodhicharyavatara or Bodhisattvacharyavatara ("The Way of the Bodhisattva"). The seventh chapter deals with the topic of Diligence (or Joyful Exertion) on the spiritual path. Diligence is one of the Six Paramitas (Generosity, Ethical Conduct, Patience, Diligence, Meditation, and Wisdom), which are regarded in the Mahayana school of Buddhism as the six factors that develop the mind of awakening (or Bodhicitta) and ultimately bring it to its fruition of full enlightenment or Buddhahood.
To listen to the original talk in audio format, use the controls embedded below. (If you're reading this via email subscription and the controls do not show up in your email client, click on the title above to view the page online. Or, to download the talk, click here (and pardon the advertising on the download page).
Aspiration: The Power of the Mind
Aspiration has to do with how we hold our minds and where we direct our intentions. The human mind, in its concentrated form, is tremendously powerful, and wherever we direct our minds our actions usually follow, exerting a force that creates positive or negative effects. The root of the power of aspiration is really understanding, at a deep and personal level, how the law of cause and effect -- which we call karma -- really works. In Buddhist terminology, it means knowing what to adopt and what to reject, really understanding what brings happiness and what brings suffering. When we understand this in our bones, then we can put the full force of our minds behind the intention to adopt what is beneficial and to reject what is harmful.
Sometimes cause and effect is difficult to see at work in our own lives, because it's hard for us to be objective about ourselves. If our state of mind is negative and we're suffering, we feel like the victim of circumstances and we tend to look outside ourselves for the reasons why we feel the way we do. But it can be easy, at times, to see the law of karma at work in other people's lives -- we're on the outside looking in, and it's easier to be objective and to see clearly which causes are leading to which effects. Sometimes we look at other people and think, "Well, it's so obvious that what he's doing is causing him to experience this suffering he's experiencing. I wonder why he can't see it. If only he could see what I see, he wouldn't continue doing what he's doing." But we should try to apply the same, objective scrutiny to ourselves and our own actions. Once we really, deeply understand how cause and effect operate in our lives and what leads to happiness, then the strength of Aspiration to practice virtue naturally begins to grow in us. Once we've burned our hands on the stove a few times, we begin to develop strong awareness, and a strong motivation to stop doing that.
Steadfastness: Stand By Your Mind
Once we know what to do and we've made up our minds to do it, then it's a matter of sticking by our intention and not giving up when the first little challenge comes along. Shantideva says that it might be better not to begin, than to begin but give up when we're only halfway through. Doing that only creates the karma of being wishy-washy and half-hearted about the path of awakening, which isn't going to get us there. Before we set out on the road, he says, we should honestly consider our resources and accurately judge what we're capable of doing, and not bite off more than we can chew. Being open-minded but realistic about what we can do helps us develop steadfastness in our practice.
At the point where we've made a realistic assessment of what we can do and we've decided to do it, then we should rouse all our confidence and devote ourselves to it wholeheartedly. With great determination and courage, we should fearlessly meet whatever negativity arises in our minds or in the external situation, and remember that it's workable. Nothing is as solid and monolithic as we think it is.
Being realistic about our limitations sometimes involves an action that many of us on this path seem to find rather difficult, which is saying "No" when it's appropriate. Among aspiring Bodhisattvas I've met in the American Buddhist community, there seems to be an unspoken belief that to train as a Bodhisattva means to say "Yes" to whatever you're asked to do, particularly within the sangha. This can lead to people taking on more responsibility or more roles than they can reasonably handle, and to mental or physical burnout. Sometimes saying "No" is actually more beneficial in the long run; learning when to say "Yes" and when to say "No" is one of the Bodhisattva's skillful means.
Steadfastness also means setting appropriate boundaries for ourselves and others; we should not let ourselves get distracted from our intentions by people who might be pursuing less wholesome ones. Just as a drug addict in recovery cannot reasonably expect to be able to stay clean if he's hanging around with the same old crowd of drug users, so each one of us has certain people who trigger our less wholesome qualities and we can't help getting dragged down into a pit of neurosis. There's a saying in the 12-Step world: "If you hang around the barber shop, sooner or later you're gonna get a haircut." But Shantideva also points out that, while we would do better to avoid those kinds of people, we shouldn't be arrogant or condescending about it; recognizing the equality of self and other, we shouldn't cop an attitude of moral superiority to others just because they're confused and suffering.
Arrogance is a dangerous poison for anyone, but it's especially poisonous for the spiritual practitioner. If we use our practices and our experiences on the spiritual path to inflate our egos or hold ourselves as being superior to those who are not practicing as we do, then we are completely misguided. Chogyam Trungpa was once asked, along with several other Tibetan teachers, how a student could measure the success of his or her own practice. All of the other teachers gave long, somewhat formulaic answers, but Chogyam Trungpa went right to the point: basically, he said, you know your practice is successful if you're becoming less arrogant and less opinionated.
Joy: Put Your Heart into It
We devote ourselves wholeheartedly and joyfully to the acquisition of external things that promise to make us comfortable and happy: money, possessions, relationships, careers, hobbies, and so on. Yet we know how hollow those promises are; we've studied the Buddha's teachings on the suffering of impermanence. So why do we not pursue the causes of true and lasting happiness -- enlightenment itself -- with the same joy and zeal?
Pema Chodron puts it like this: Imagine what might happen if we pursued enlightenment, and engaged in all our spiritual practices, with the same enthusiasm as we feel for, say, going swimming, or for eating popcorn and watching a good movie. We would probably be there already!
The problem is that we apply our joy and enthusiasm to the wrong things. There's nothing wrong with the things themselves, or with having them and enjoying them -- but when we believe that they contain real and lasting happiness and we spend too much of our time and energy in pursuing them, then we have led ourselves astray. We're putting our faith in temporary, fleeting pleasures, and in things that will only abandon us in the long run. Our priorities have become mixed up.
Shantideva says it's like we're licking honey from a razor blade. We're so drawn to the honey because it tastes so good; yet we don't realize that our attachment to the pleasure of tasting the honey is leading us to shred our own tongues on the razor blade.
Once we sort out our confusion and realize where our true priorities lie, we can't help but take great joy in pursuing the ultimate goal, because we know where it will lead us.
Letting Go: Knowing When to Walk Away
The fourth strength that supports our practice of Joyful Exertion is "mukti" (or "moksha"), a loaded word in Sanskrit that is a bit difficult to render in English. It has been translated as "relinquishment" and as "moderation," among other things, and it means releasing or letting go, or a spirit of sacrifice. In ancient India, "mukti" and "moksha" (from the root "muc" meaning "to let loose, let go") also referred to the state of Nirvana or transcendent liberation itself, and a "mukta" was a renunciant, someone who had let go of worldly pursuits in favor of the spiritual life and ultimate freedom.
Shantideva explains the power of letting go in terms of knowing when we need to set aside our work and our practices and simply get some rest, so that we can come back to it refreshed and ready to continue. Knowing when to call it a day and how to avoid burning ourselves out is a skillful means that we sometimes have to learn through trial and error.
Letting go could also mean something like the notion that is often expressed in 12-Step literature, of taking the right action and then letting go of the results. We can simply do what we know is the right thing to do in a situation, then turn over the results to forces that are larger than ourselves. When we take an action but don't let go -- when we continue trying to micro-manage the situation and control the results even after it's out of our hands -- then we are playing God. This usually undermines the beneficial effects of our actions.
Finally, applying the power of letting go could also be knowing when to walk away from a situation altogether -- knowing when remaining in a situation is no longer beneficial to you or to the other person, and will only be harmful. If you're in an abusive relationship, or involved with someone who's stealing from you or manipulating you, or if you're part of a community where one individual consistently causes trouble for the whole community and you know the situation isn't going to improve despite your best efforts to work with it, then the most beneficial thing to do is perhaps to cut your losses and walk away. You can still hold the aspiration that at some point in the future -- in this lifetime or a future one -- circumstances will change enough so that you could once again work with and benefit this person and resolve the negative karma between you, but wisdom in this case means knowing that, right now, that isn't possible.
As the great sage Kenny Rogers put it:
"You gotta know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away
And know when to run."
This is another skillful means that is potentially difficult for us to learn, as aspiring Bodhisattvas. We sometimes don't know where to draw healthy boundaries. We might think that our commitment to work with the neurosis of other sentient beings means that we have to just take whatever abuse the other person may inflict upon us. Slogans such as "All victory and gain to others, all loss and defeat to myself" might reinforce this idea. But the Bodhisattva ideal is not about making ourselves into a doormat; if someone is trampling all over us, they're really creating negative karma for themselves, and we're reinforcing the karma of being a doormat -- and to allow that kind of situation to continue past a certain point is what we call "idiot compassion."
Alert! Alert! Yet, relax! Relax!
To close chapter seven, Shantideva presents a series of pith reminders about how to practice Joyful Exertion or Diligence. Like Suzuki Roshi, he reminds us that although what we are doing is very important, we should also not take it -- or ourselves -- too seriously. Our path will be more successful and more enjoyable if we can be a bit more light-hearted about the whole thing and maintain a sense of humor. And when we realize that we've totally lost it, which is inevitable -- when we've dropped our sword in the middle of battle -- the only thing to do is to pick it up as quickly as possible and continue. It's no use (to mix metaphors) crying over spilt milk. When we rise to meet whatever challenges present themselves with this spirit of lightness and joy and delight in virtue, then it's like a cool breeze that enlivens all our actions and makes every situation we encounter much more workable and relaxed.
But not too relaxed! To sustain our path over the long haul, we need to apply constant mindfulness and guard against sneak attacks from the enemy within, who is always waiting in ambush. If we give our lesser nature an opening and allow our kleshas to go unchecked, they will quickly overwhelm us, and even small, petty emotions will get the better of us. Shantideva says that we should watch our minds with the same urgency and one-pointedness as someone would watch a snake that had crawled into their lap. Through maintaining this mindfulness in every situation and never wavering in our commitment to benefit all sentient beings, we can travel the path to enlightenment without unnecessary detours and swiftly arrive at the mind of absolute Bodhicitta -- mind that is absolutely, 100% awakened, fully manifesting all its positive qualities of wisdom and compassion, with no further obscurations to hinder it.
That's what they say, anyway...the ones who've been there. Frankly, it sounds like a better game plan to me than anything I've been able to come up with. What about you?
Dedication of Merit
To listen to the original talk in audio format, use the controls embedded below. (If you're reading this via email subscription and the controls do not show up in your email client, click on the title above to view the page online. Or, to download the talk, click here (and pardon the advertising on the download page).
Aspiration: The Power of the Mind
Aspiration has to do with how we hold our minds and where we direct our intentions. The human mind, in its concentrated form, is tremendously powerful, and wherever we direct our minds our actions usually follow, exerting a force that creates positive or negative effects. The root of the power of aspiration is really understanding, at a deep and personal level, how the law of cause and effect -- which we call karma -- really works. In Buddhist terminology, it means knowing what to adopt and what to reject, really understanding what brings happiness and what brings suffering. When we understand this in our bones, then we can put the full force of our minds behind the intention to adopt what is beneficial and to reject what is harmful.
Sometimes cause and effect is difficult to see at work in our own lives, because it's hard for us to be objective about ourselves. If our state of mind is negative and we're suffering, we feel like the victim of circumstances and we tend to look outside ourselves for the reasons why we feel the way we do. But it can be easy, at times, to see the law of karma at work in other people's lives -- we're on the outside looking in, and it's easier to be objective and to see clearly which causes are leading to which effects. Sometimes we look at other people and think, "Well, it's so obvious that what he's doing is causing him to experience this suffering he's experiencing. I wonder why he can't see it. If only he could see what I see, he wouldn't continue doing what he's doing." But we should try to apply the same, objective scrutiny to ourselves and our own actions. Once we really, deeply understand how cause and effect operate in our lives and what leads to happiness, then the strength of Aspiration to practice virtue naturally begins to grow in us. Once we've burned our hands on the stove a few times, we begin to develop strong awareness, and a strong motivation to stop doing that.
Steadfastness: Stand By Your Mind
Once we know what to do and we've made up our minds to do it, then it's a matter of sticking by our intention and not giving up when the first little challenge comes along. Shantideva says that it might be better not to begin, than to begin but give up when we're only halfway through. Doing that only creates the karma of being wishy-washy and half-hearted about the path of awakening, which isn't going to get us there. Before we set out on the road, he says, we should honestly consider our resources and accurately judge what we're capable of doing, and not bite off more than we can chew. Being open-minded but realistic about what we can do helps us develop steadfastness in our practice.
At the point where we've made a realistic assessment of what we can do and we've decided to do it, then we should rouse all our confidence and devote ourselves to it wholeheartedly. With great determination and courage, we should fearlessly meet whatever negativity arises in our minds or in the external situation, and remember that it's workable. Nothing is as solid and monolithic as we think it is.
Being realistic about our limitations sometimes involves an action that many of us on this path seem to find rather difficult, which is saying "No" when it's appropriate. Among aspiring Bodhisattvas I've met in the American Buddhist community, there seems to be an unspoken belief that to train as a Bodhisattva means to say "Yes" to whatever you're asked to do, particularly within the sangha. This can lead to people taking on more responsibility or more roles than they can reasonably handle, and to mental or physical burnout. Sometimes saying "No" is actually more beneficial in the long run; learning when to say "Yes" and when to say "No" is one of the Bodhisattva's skillful means.
Steadfastness also means setting appropriate boundaries for ourselves and others; we should not let ourselves get distracted from our intentions by people who might be pursuing less wholesome ones. Just as a drug addict in recovery cannot reasonably expect to be able to stay clean if he's hanging around with the same old crowd of drug users, so each one of us has certain people who trigger our less wholesome qualities and we can't help getting dragged down into a pit of neurosis. There's a saying in the 12-Step world: "If you hang around the barber shop, sooner or later you're gonna get a haircut." But Shantideva also points out that, while we would do better to avoid those kinds of people, we shouldn't be arrogant or condescending about it; recognizing the equality of self and other, we shouldn't cop an attitude of moral superiority to others just because they're confused and suffering.
Arrogance is a dangerous poison for anyone, but it's especially poisonous for the spiritual practitioner. If we use our practices and our experiences on the spiritual path to inflate our egos or hold ourselves as being superior to those who are not practicing as we do, then we are completely misguided. Chogyam Trungpa was once asked, along with several other Tibetan teachers, how a student could measure the success of his or her own practice. All of the other teachers gave long, somewhat formulaic answers, but Chogyam Trungpa went right to the point: basically, he said, you know your practice is successful if you're becoming less arrogant and less opinionated.
Joy: Put Your Heart into It
We devote ourselves wholeheartedly and joyfully to the acquisition of external things that promise to make us comfortable and happy: money, possessions, relationships, careers, hobbies, and so on. Yet we know how hollow those promises are; we've studied the Buddha's teachings on the suffering of impermanence. So why do we not pursue the causes of true and lasting happiness -- enlightenment itself -- with the same joy and zeal?
Pema Chodron puts it like this: Imagine what might happen if we pursued enlightenment, and engaged in all our spiritual practices, with the same enthusiasm as we feel for, say, going swimming, or for eating popcorn and watching a good movie. We would probably be there already!
The problem is that we apply our joy and enthusiasm to the wrong things. There's nothing wrong with the things themselves, or with having them and enjoying them -- but when we believe that they contain real and lasting happiness and we spend too much of our time and energy in pursuing them, then we have led ourselves astray. We're putting our faith in temporary, fleeting pleasures, and in things that will only abandon us in the long run. Our priorities have become mixed up.
Shantideva says it's like we're licking honey from a razor blade. We're so drawn to the honey because it tastes so good; yet we don't realize that our attachment to the pleasure of tasting the honey is leading us to shred our own tongues on the razor blade.
Once we sort out our confusion and realize where our true priorities lie, we can't help but take great joy in pursuing the ultimate goal, because we know where it will lead us.
Letting Go: Knowing When to Walk Away
The fourth strength that supports our practice of Joyful Exertion is "mukti" (or "moksha"), a loaded word in Sanskrit that is a bit difficult to render in English. It has been translated as "relinquishment" and as "moderation," among other things, and it means releasing or letting go, or a spirit of sacrifice. In ancient India, "mukti" and "moksha" (from the root "muc" meaning "to let loose, let go") also referred to the state of Nirvana or transcendent liberation itself, and a "mukta" was a renunciant, someone who had let go of worldly pursuits in favor of the spiritual life and ultimate freedom.
Shantideva explains the power of letting go in terms of knowing when we need to set aside our work and our practices and simply get some rest, so that we can come back to it refreshed and ready to continue. Knowing when to call it a day and how to avoid burning ourselves out is a skillful means that we sometimes have to learn through trial and error.
Letting go could also mean something like the notion that is often expressed in 12-Step literature, of taking the right action and then letting go of the results. We can simply do what we know is the right thing to do in a situation, then turn over the results to forces that are larger than ourselves. When we take an action but don't let go -- when we continue trying to micro-manage the situation and control the results even after it's out of our hands -- then we are playing God. This usually undermines the beneficial effects of our actions.
Finally, applying the power of letting go could also be knowing when to walk away from a situation altogether -- knowing when remaining in a situation is no longer beneficial to you or to the other person, and will only be harmful. If you're in an abusive relationship, or involved with someone who's stealing from you or manipulating you, or if you're part of a community where one individual consistently causes trouble for the whole community and you know the situation isn't going to improve despite your best efforts to work with it, then the most beneficial thing to do is perhaps to cut your losses and walk away. You can still hold the aspiration that at some point in the future -- in this lifetime or a future one -- circumstances will change enough so that you could once again work with and benefit this person and resolve the negative karma between you, but wisdom in this case means knowing that, right now, that isn't possible.
As the great sage Kenny Rogers put it:
"You gotta know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away
And know when to run."
This is another skillful means that is potentially difficult for us to learn, as aspiring Bodhisattvas. We sometimes don't know where to draw healthy boundaries. We might think that our commitment to work with the neurosis of other sentient beings means that we have to just take whatever abuse the other person may inflict upon us. Slogans such as "All victory and gain to others, all loss and defeat to myself" might reinforce this idea. But the Bodhisattva ideal is not about making ourselves into a doormat; if someone is trampling all over us, they're really creating negative karma for themselves, and we're reinforcing the karma of being a doormat -- and to allow that kind of situation to continue past a certain point is what we call "idiot compassion."
Alert! Alert! Yet, relax! Relax!
To close chapter seven, Shantideva presents a series of pith reminders about how to practice Joyful Exertion or Diligence. Like Suzuki Roshi, he reminds us that although what we are doing is very important, we should also not take it -- or ourselves -- too seriously. Our path will be more successful and more enjoyable if we can be a bit more light-hearted about the whole thing and maintain a sense of humor. And when we realize that we've totally lost it, which is inevitable -- when we've dropped our sword in the middle of battle -- the only thing to do is to pick it up as quickly as possible and continue. It's no use (to mix metaphors) crying over spilt milk. When we rise to meet whatever challenges present themselves with this spirit of lightness and joy and delight in virtue, then it's like a cool breeze that enlivens all our actions and makes every situation we encounter much more workable and relaxed.
But not too relaxed! To sustain our path over the long haul, we need to apply constant mindfulness and guard against sneak attacks from the enemy within, who is always waiting in ambush. If we give our lesser nature an opening and allow our kleshas to go unchecked, they will quickly overwhelm us, and even small, petty emotions will get the better of us. Shantideva says that we should watch our minds with the same urgency and one-pointedness as someone would watch a snake that had crawled into their lap. Through maintaining this mindfulness in every situation and never wavering in our commitment to benefit all sentient beings, we can travel the path to enlightenment without unnecessary detours and swiftly arrive at the mind of absolute Bodhicitta -- mind that is absolutely, 100% awakened, fully manifesting all its positive qualities of wisdom and compassion, with no further obscurations to hinder it.
That's what they say, anyway...the ones who've been there. Frankly, it sounds like a better game plan to me than anything I've been able to come up with. What about you?
Dedication of Merit
By whatever boundless merit we have attained
Through hearing, studying and communicating the Dharma,
May beings everywhere who suffer from addiction and attachment
Be liberated into great bliss wisdom.
May beings tormented by anger and aggression
Be liberated through love and equanimity.
May beings trapped in ignorance and denial
Be liberated into transcendent knowledge and see true reality.
And as beings travel the path to enlightenment,
May all forms of laziness be swept away by the great wind of Joyful Exertion.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Diligence, Part Two: The Enemy Within
This is Part Two of a three-part article, a commentary on the seventh chapter of Shantideva's 8th-century text called the Bodhicharyavatara or Bodhisattvacharyavatara ("The Way of the Bodhisattva"). The seventh chapter deals with the topic of Diligence (or Joyful Exertion) on the spiritual path. Diligence is one of the Six Paramitas (Generosity, Ethical Conduct, Patience, Diligence, Meditation, and Wisdom), which are regarded in the Mahayana school of Buddhism as the six factors that develop the mind of awakening (or Bodhicitta) and ultimately bring it to its fruition of full enlightenment or Buddhahood.
To listen to the original talk in audio format, use the controls embedded below. (If you're reading this via email subscription and the controls do not show up in your email client, click on the title above to view the page online. Or, to download the talk, click here (and pardon the advertising on the download page).
Laziness: The Enemy of Diligence
In the opening verses of chapter seven, Shantideva defines Diligence as "joy in virtuous ways," or "delight in virtue." What this means is that, because we really understand the Dharma, we know what's going to add up to real happiness and what isn't. We have a sense of delight or joy in doing what we know will lead to ultimate happiness -- not only for ourselves, but for everyone we may encounter. This is like a patient who trusts the doctor's instructions, and diligently but happily takes the medicine because she knows it will help her get better.
The opposite of Diligence or Joyful Exertion is laziness, which comes in several flavors. The most obvious is what Shantideva calls "an inclination for unwholesomeness," which includes things like being attached to sleep and laying around all the time. Pema Chodron calls this kind of laziness "comfort orientation," which is basically the philosophy of life that posits "bobbing in the hot tub" as the solution to suffering.
Another kind of laziness Shantideva describes is despondency and self-contempt. Despondency is a loss of heart, like giving up on ourselves -- feeling we're not capable of meeting the circumstances of our lives or the challenges that come up on the spiritual path. Self-contempt is like despondency that has hardened into an intractable, "I don't care anymore" kind of attitude -- a feeling that none of it matters, it's not worth trying. Ani Pema says this attitude is like giving the world the finger.
And then there's our favorite modern form of laziness, which is just being too busy. When we get caught in the rat race of life and are just running from one activity to the next and never pausing to make time for our practice of the Paramitas, then we can't gain much traction on our Bodhisattva path. This kind of laziness doesn't happen only in big cities where people are overstimulated by their environments -- it can happen even in the countryside, or in a monastery.
Shantideva reminds us again and again in this chapter that life is short, and there's really no time for laziness if we hope to make any headway on our Bodhisattva journey in this lifetime. Death certainly lurks for each one of us somewhere up ahead, inescapably, and we don't know where -- for all we know it may be lurking around the next corner. When we really absorb this knowledge and let it sink in, it becomes more difficult for us to justify wallowing in any form of laziness.
Hellfire and Brimstone
Shantideva uses a lot of evangelical "fire and brimstone" language and fear tactics to try to scare us into realizing this, but his basic point here is very simple: Don't waste time. We need to get to the real point and take full advantage of this human life while it lasts. And what this really means is working with our minds, and using our own thoughts and emotions as the very vehicle of awakening. Otherwise, if we're not doing that, our practice is pointless. If we think we're going to get enlightened because we're walking in circles around a stupa or doing prostrations or ringing our little bell and drum and mouthing words from a chant book or raising our kundalini and getting in touch with our chakras, but we're not working with our minds and our own afflictive emotions, then I think Shantideva would say that our practice is a joke. He might even say, "See you in the next eon, after you get released from hell."
The problem is that we want something for nothing. We want enlightenment, but we want it handed to us in the form of an ice cream sundae with a cherry on top, or zapped into our innermost being through a kind of Vulcan Mind-Meld with our guru, or maybe we're holding out for the day when enlightenment finally comes in pharmaceutical form. The idea of working for it really doesn't appeal to us very much.
I have often listened to a talk I have on CD by Tenzin Palmo -- someone who knows a thing or two about Diligence. After becoming one of the first Westerners ever to ordain as a Buddhist nun in the Tibetan tradition, in the early 1960s, Tenzin Palmo spent 12 years in solitary retreat, living and practicing night and day in an isolated cave high up in the snow-covered Himalaya mountains. In this particular talk, she was addressing an audience in Sydney, Australia at the time of the Olympic Games there; she was talking about the athletes who were competing in the games, and what great role models of Diligence they are. They wake up in the wee hours of the night to start training, and they train all day long; they change their diets; they give up relationships and leave their families and move to strange cities to train with the best coaches; they work tirelessly night and day toward their goal. Which is what? A medal -- if they're lucky. And here *we* are, Tenzin Palmo pointed out, aiming for the greatest prize in the whole universe -- enlightenment itself, not only for ourselves but for all beings everywhere -- and if you suggest to us that we wake up half an hour earlier to practice, suddenly we hem and haw and offer all kinds of excuses why we can't do that. Basically, she says, the problem is very simple: we're lazy.
So, for the kinds of laziness that show up as a habitual pattern of sleeping or lying around idly, or as being too busy all the time (which masquerades as the opposite of laziness, but it's really the same in terms of how it affects our spiritual path), the antidote is to reflect on impermanence and remember that we have no idea how much time we have left -- and, even in the best-case scenario, it's not very much. We should utilize whatever time we do have wisely.
For the kinds of laziness that manifest as despondency and self-contempt, Shantideva says that we should simply marshal our strength and invoke a feeling of confidence: remind yourself about the Dharma and remember that whatever situation or frame of mind in which you find yourself, it's workable. We should also take responsibility for our own actions and our state of mind, and stop giving away our power by blaming other people or circumstances for the way we feel or act. And we should practice putting ourselves in other people's shoes: seeing the equality of self and other, and then doing as much as we can to exchange self and other -- which cuts right through our self-absorption. Shantideva reminds us that the little hardships we face on the spiritual path are temporary and minor compared to the alternative -- which is continuing to flail about for years (or a lifetime, or multiple lifetimes) in a spider's web of confusion and suffering from which we can't seem to escape.
Extreme Tenderness
Shantideva makes the point several times in this chapter that, while we should always strive to overcome our laziness, we should also be realistic and know where our limitations are. He reminds us that the Buddha teaches not through austerity but through ways of "extreme tenderness." While there is, of course, much work to be done on the spiritual path, we need to remain gentle and friendly to ourselves. One of the keys to this is finding the level at which we can practice with enthusiasm and joy, rather than feeling like practice is an austerity. Pema Chodron says in her commentary that if your practice feels like an austerity, then something is wrong -- it's too tight -- and you should look at what you're doing. As Suzuki Roshi reminds us, when we find that our practice as aspiring Bodhisattvas is getting just a little too heavy and we're taking things "too seriously," we should look at how to bring some relaxation and tenderness and humor back into the situation.
Our Bodhisattva activities really only become the transcendent practice of the Six Paramitas when we can engage in them with this attitude of openness and letting go. Giving, for example, becomes Generosity only when accompanied by a genuine attitude of Generosity. If you're giving someone a dollar but mumbling to yourself about what an ungrateful slob he is, or copping a resentment about it, that's not the Paramita of Generosity.
When we find ourselves getting "too serious" about things, it might be helpful to turn the flame down a little bit on the stove, and let our practice simmer at a more reasonable pace rather than boiling over. The challenge for us as baby Bodhisattvas, or the balancing act, is in really honestly knowing our own limits, and working at the level where we can have enthusiasm -- and then knowing when we can really push ourselves beyond what's comfortable, and go a little further. "We can never underestimate our aversion to discomfort," says Pema Chodron. "Often, it's only life itself that pulls the rug out, and you find yourself thrown into the next level."
Styles of Imprisonment
The see-saw of happiness and suffering pivots around the way in which we work with our minds. Shantideva goes to great lengths in this chapter to explain how our motivation and attitude shape our actions, speech and thoughts -- and how these things, in turn, shape our experience in the world. When we create habitual ways of thinking, speaking and behaving, then over time these habits tend to harden into what Chogyam Trungpa called "styles of imprisonment": we find ourselves trapped in a world that is a mirror of our own minds and our actions. If we habitually act with aggression and anger, we find ourselves living in a hell realm, where everything seems to be against us and life itself becomes warfare. If we habitually act with craving and attachment, we find ourselves living in a hungry ghost realm, where we never seem to be able to get enough of what we desire and we're constantly starving for more, locked in poverty mentality. If we constantly dull out or space out, we find ourselves living in an animal realm, where existence is just about getting through the day and meeting basic needs without getting eaten by someone else, and we tune out and lose interest in anything that might challenge us to go beyond our comfort zone.
When he taught in New York City in 2008, His Holiness the 17th Karmapa said:
The way Shantideva phrases it is that we should "abandon sin." The word "sin," when it appears in Buddhist texts, often provokes a strong negative reaction among those who come from a Judaeo-Christian background. But once we strip away the associations of Original Sin and Divine Judgment and so forth, we're left with a very basic sense of what the Karmapa seems to be referring to as "negative tendencies," and the harmful actions that spring from them and cause further suffering for ourselves and other beings.
The Enemy Within
Shantideva continually exhorts us not to be downcast or gloomy when things seem to be lined up against us, but to leap into our practice of virtue with a mind of great joy. Often we tend to think that our obstacles and enemies are on the outside, in the shape of people or circumstances that challenge us. For instance, we might get very worked up thinking about the George Bushes and the Dick Cheneys of the world, and the Wall Street manipulators and the overpaid and corrupt CEOs, and the lords of the military-industrial complex. We might get very enthusiastic about pointing the finger of blame at those people for many of the problems we see in the world today.
But in terms of what hinders our practice on the spiritual path, what stymies our awakening, it's not the George Bushes and the Dick Cheneys of the world, or any other external figure, no matter how misguided or corrupt or irritating they may be. In fact, no one outside of ourselves really has the slightest power to hinder our awakening. What hinders our awakening is the enemy within -- what Shantideva calls our "mournful weariness." This enemy shows up in our minds as laziness, discouragement, despair, depression and fatigue -- all the internal enemies that deprive us of joyful exertion and make us withdraw fearfully into our protective shell.
For Shantideva, the real enemy is always within. An external enemy might damage our bodies, but from Shantideva's point of view that's of little consequence. What does real damage, what causes us lifetime after lifetime of suffering -- and what usually gets us involved with external enemies in the first place -- is our own tangle of kleshas or afflictive emotions: our anger and jealousy and craving and denial, and so on. When we act and live under the spell of our kleshas, we become our own worst enemies.
So what helps us overcome the enemy within? Shantideva presents Four Strengths or four skillful means -- Aspiration, Steadfastness, Joy, and Letting Go -- that dispel our mournful weariness and empower our practice of Joyful Exertion.
-- Click here for Part Three, "Put Your Heart into It" --
To listen to the original talk in audio format, use the controls embedded below. (If you're reading this via email subscription and the controls do not show up in your email client, click on the title above to view the page online. Or, to download the talk, click here (and pardon the advertising on the download page).
Laziness: The Enemy of Diligence
In the opening verses of chapter seven, Shantideva defines Diligence as "joy in virtuous ways," or "delight in virtue." What this means is that, because we really understand the Dharma, we know what's going to add up to real happiness and what isn't. We have a sense of delight or joy in doing what we know will lead to ultimate happiness -- not only for ourselves, but for everyone we may encounter. This is like a patient who trusts the doctor's instructions, and diligently but happily takes the medicine because she knows it will help her get better.
The opposite of Diligence or Joyful Exertion is laziness, which comes in several flavors. The most obvious is what Shantideva calls "an inclination for unwholesomeness," which includes things like being attached to sleep and laying around all the time. Pema Chodron calls this kind of laziness "comfort orientation," which is basically the philosophy of life that posits "bobbing in the hot tub" as the solution to suffering.
Another kind of laziness Shantideva describes is despondency and self-contempt. Despondency is a loss of heart, like giving up on ourselves -- feeling we're not capable of meeting the circumstances of our lives or the challenges that come up on the spiritual path. Self-contempt is like despondency that has hardened into an intractable, "I don't care anymore" kind of attitude -- a feeling that none of it matters, it's not worth trying. Ani Pema says this attitude is like giving the world the finger.
And then there's our favorite modern form of laziness, which is just being too busy. When we get caught in the rat race of life and are just running from one activity to the next and never pausing to make time for our practice of the Paramitas, then we can't gain much traction on our Bodhisattva path. This kind of laziness doesn't happen only in big cities where people are overstimulated by their environments -- it can happen even in the countryside, or in a monastery.
Shantideva reminds us again and again in this chapter that life is short, and there's really no time for laziness if we hope to make any headway on our Bodhisattva journey in this lifetime. Death certainly lurks for each one of us somewhere up ahead, inescapably, and we don't know where -- for all we know it may be lurking around the next corner. When we really absorb this knowledge and let it sink in, it becomes more difficult for us to justify wallowing in any form of laziness.
Hellfire and Brimstone
Shantideva uses a lot of evangelical "fire and brimstone" language and fear tactics to try to scare us into realizing this, but his basic point here is very simple: Don't waste time. We need to get to the real point and take full advantage of this human life while it lasts. And what this really means is working with our minds, and using our own thoughts and emotions as the very vehicle of awakening. Otherwise, if we're not doing that, our practice is pointless. If we think we're going to get enlightened because we're walking in circles around a stupa or doing prostrations or ringing our little bell and drum and mouthing words from a chant book or raising our kundalini and getting in touch with our chakras, but we're not working with our minds and our own afflictive emotions, then I think Shantideva would say that our practice is a joke. He might even say, "See you in the next eon, after you get released from hell."
The problem is that we want something for nothing. We want enlightenment, but we want it handed to us in the form of an ice cream sundae with a cherry on top, or zapped into our innermost being through a kind of Vulcan Mind-Meld with our guru, or maybe we're holding out for the day when enlightenment finally comes in pharmaceutical form. The idea of working for it really doesn't appeal to us very much.
I have often listened to a talk I have on CD by Tenzin Palmo -- someone who knows a thing or two about Diligence. After becoming one of the first Westerners ever to ordain as a Buddhist nun in the Tibetan tradition, in the early 1960s, Tenzin Palmo spent 12 years in solitary retreat, living and practicing night and day in an isolated cave high up in the snow-covered Himalaya mountains. In this particular talk, she was addressing an audience in Sydney, Australia at the time of the Olympic Games there; she was talking about the athletes who were competing in the games, and what great role models of Diligence they are. They wake up in the wee hours of the night to start training, and they train all day long; they change their diets; they give up relationships and leave their families and move to strange cities to train with the best coaches; they work tirelessly night and day toward their goal. Which is what? A medal -- if they're lucky. And here *we* are, Tenzin Palmo pointed out, aiming for the greatest prize in the whole universe -- enlightenment itself, not only for ourselves but for all beings everywhere -- and if you suggest to us that we wake up half an hour earlier to practice, suddenly we hem and haw and offer all kinds of excuses why we can't do that. Basically, she says, the problem is very simple: we're lazy.
So, for the kinds of laziness that show up as a habitual pattern of sleeping or lying around idly, or as being too busy all the time (which masquerades as the opposite of laziness, but it's really the same in terms of how it affects our spiritual path), the antidote is to reflect on impermanence and remember that we have no idea how much time we have left -- and, even in the best-case scenario, it's not very much. We should utilize whatever time we do have wisely.
For the kinds of laziness that manifest as despondency and self-contempt, Shantideva says that we should simply marshal our strength and invoke a feeling of confidence: remind yourself about the Dharma and remember that whatever situation or frame of mind in which you find yourself, it's workable. We should also take responsibility for our own actions and our state of mind, and stop giving away our power by blaming other people or circumstances for the way we feel or act. And we should practice putting ourselves in other people's shoes: seeing the equality of self and other, and then doing as much as we can to exchange self and other -- which cuts right through our self-absorption. Shantideva reminds us that the little hardships we face on the spiritual path are temporary and minor compared to the alternative -- which is continuing to flail about for years (or a lifetime, or multiple lifetimes) in a spider's web of confusion and suffering from which we can't seem to escape.
Extreme Tenderness
Shantideva makes the point several times in this chapter that, while we should always strive to overcome our laziness, we should also be realistic and know where our limitations are. He reminds us that the Buddha teaches not through austerity but through ways of "extreme tenderness." While there is, of course, much work to be done on the spiritual path, we need to remain gentle and friendly to ourselves. One of the keys to this is finding the level at which we can practice with enthusiasm and joy, rather than feeling like practice is an austerity. Pema Chodron says in her commentary that if your practice feels like an austerity, then something is wrong -- it's too tight -- and you should look at what you're doing. As Suzuki Roshi reminds us, when we find that our practice as aspiring Bodhisattvas is getting just a little too heavy and we're taking things "too seriously," we should look at how to bring some relaxation and tenderness and humor back into the situation.
Our Bodhisattva activities really only become the transcendent practice of the Six Paramitas when we can engage in them with this attitude of openness and letting go. Giving, for example, becomes Generosity only when accompanied by a genuine attitude of Generosity. If you're giving someone a dollar but mumbling to yourself about what an ungrateful slob he is, or copping a resentment about it, that's not the Paramita of Generosity.
When we find ourselves getting "too serious" about things, it might be helpful to turn the flame down a little bit on the stove, and let our practice simmer at a more reasonable pace rather than boiling over. The challenge for us as baby Bodhisattvas, or the balancing act, is in really honestly knowing our own limits, and working at the level where we can have enthusiasm -- and then knowing when we can really push ourselves beyond what's comfortable, and go a little further. "We can never underestimate our aversion to discomfort," says Pema Chodron. "Often, it's only life itself that pulls the rug out, and you find yourself thrown into the next level."
Styles of Imprisonment
The see-saw of happiness and suffering pivots around the way in which we work with our minds. Shantideva goes to great lengths in this chapter to explain how our motivation and attitude shape our actions, speech and thoughts -- and how these things, in turn, shape our experience in the world. When we create habitual ways of thinking, speaking and behaving, then over time these habits tend to harden into what Chogyam Trungpa called "styles of imprisonment": we find ourselves trapped in a world that is a mirror of our own minds and our actions. If we habitually act with aggression and anger, we find ourselves living in a hell realm, where everything seems to be against us and life itself becomes warfare. If we habitually act with craving and attachment, we find ourselves living in a hungry ghost realm, where we never seem to be able to get enough of what we desire and we're constantly starving for more, locked in poverty mentality. If we constantly dull out or space out, we find ourselves living in an animal realm, where existence is just about getting through the day and meeting basic needs without getting eaten by someone else, and we tune out and lose interest in anything that might challenge us to go beyond our comfort zone.
When he taught in New York City in 2008, His Holiness the 17th Karmapa said:
"It is important for us to empower our positive mental tendencies. We always value empowerment and individual rights, but we should pay attention to the manner in which we are allocating freedoms and privileges within our own minds. Whether we're aware of it or not, we are continually empowering certain qualities and tendencies of the mind over others. Sometimes we empower and give greater privileges to our positive mental tendencies; sometimes we more greatly empower our negative tendencies. However, most of the time we are not mindful of this process, so this is something we would do well to consider."
-- His Holiness the 17th Gyalwang Karmapa, Ogyen Trinley Dorje
The way Shantideva phrases it is that we should "abandon sin." The word "sin," when it appears in Buddhist texts, often provokes a strong negative reaction among those who come from a Judaeo-Christian background. But once we strip away the associations of Original Sin and Divine Judgment and so forth, we're left with a very basic sense of what the Karmapa seems to be referring to as "negative tendencies," and the harmful actions that spring from them and cause further suffering for ourselves and other beings.
The Enemy Within
Shantideva continually exhorts us not to be downcast or gloomy when things seem to be lined up against us, but to leap into our practice of virtue with a mind of great joy. Often we tend to think that our obstacles and enemies are on the outside, in the shape of people or circumstances that challenge us. For instance, we might get very worked up thinking about the George Bushes and the Dick Cheneys of the world, and the Wall Street manipulators and the overpaid and corrupt CEOs, and the lords of the military-industrial complex. We might get very enthusiastic about pointing the finger of blame at those people for many of the problems we see in the world today.
But in terms of what hinders our practice on the spiritual path, what stymies our awakening, it's not the George Bushes and the Dick Cheneys of the world, or any other external figure, no matter how misguided or corrupt or irritating they may be. In fact, no one outside of ourselves really has the slightest power to hinder our awakening. What hinders our awakening is the enemy within -- what Shantideva calls our "mournful weariness." This enemy shows up in our minds as laziness, discouragement, despair, depression and fatigue -- all the internal enemies that deprive us of joyful exertion and make us withdraw fearfully into our protective shell.
For Shantideva, the real enemy is always within. An external enemy might damage our bodies, but from Shantideva's point of view that's of little consequence. What does real damage, what causes us lifetime after lifetime of suffering -- and what usually gets us involved with external enemies in the first place -- is our own tangle of kleshas or afflictive emotions: our anger and jealousy and craving and denial, and so on. When we act and live under the spell of our kleshas, we become our own worst enemies.
So what helps us overcome the enemy within? Shantideva presents Four Strengths or four skillful means -- Aspiration, Steadfastness, Joy, and Letting Go -- that dispel our mournful weariness and empower our practice of Joyful Exertion.
-- Click here for Part Three, "Put Your Heart into It" --
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Diligence, Part One: Learning to Swim
This is Part One of a three-part article, a commentary on the seventh chapter of Shantideva's 8th-century text called the Bodhicharyavatara or Bodhisattvacharyavatara ("The Way of the Bodhisattva"). The seventh chapter deals with the topic of Diligence (or Joyful Exertion) on the spiritual path. Diligence is one of the Six Paramitas (Generosity, Ethical Conduct, Patience, Diligence, Meditation, and Wisdom), which are regarded in the Mahayana school of Buddhism as the six factors that develop the mind of awakening (or Bodhicitta) and ultimately bring it to its fruition of full enlightenment or Buddhahood.
To listen to the original talk in audio format, use the controls embedded below. (If you're reading this via email subscription and the controls do not show up in your email client, click on the title above to view the page online. Or, to download the talk, click here (and pardon the advertising on the download page).
Disclaimer
First things first. I'd like to offer a disclaimer right up front, before I actually say anything about the topic at hand. The backstory here is that I was recently asked to give a talk as part of a course focusing on Shantideva's Bodhicharyavatara; this article is adapted from my notes for that talk. I was very happy to accept the invitation -- but, then, when I found out which chapter I was being asked to focus on, my next thought was: "Oh no! Not that one!" It's not simply that I find the topic of Diligence somewhat less inherently interesting than, say, Patience or Meditation (although I do); more significantly, it's that I don't really consider myself a very good example of Diligence, and I suspect that whatever I might have to say on the subject is largely second-hand knowledge and speculation on my part. In fact, I think I'm one of the least diligent Buddist practitioners I know, and if left to my own devices, I might have nothing at all to say about the subject. Fortunately, I'm not left to my own devices: lots of qualified teachers have given commentaries on this text, and I've studied a few of them and hopefully picked up something here and there that will be beneficial to others if I pass it along.
The Awakening Mind
So before diving into the seventh chapter, a bit of review of what leads up to that point in the text would be in order. I've been thinking about the structure of Shantideva's text in relation to a short verse that appears in the ngondro liturgy that was taught last year in Seattle by His Holiness the 17th Karmapa ("Brief Recitations for the Four Preliminary Practices"), which was translated by my friend Tyler Dewar:
The first line of this verse is what Shantideva's first chapter was all about: explaining the excellence and benefits of Bodhicitta, the mind of awakening, which is also sometimes called awakened heart (in Buddhism there's not really that much difference between "mind" and "heart"). I won't go into an explanation here of what Bodhicitta is, but if you don't have some familiarity with the concept then I doubt that the rest of this article will make much sense. But here's a basic definition, from Wikipedia:
Shantideva's second and third chapters talk about how to clear the obstacles in one's mind to the generation of Bodhicitta, and how to actually give rise to that frame of mind -- which is like the second line of the verse, causing Bodhicitta to "arise where it has not arisen." The third chapter deals a lot with the first of the Six Paramitas, which is Generosity, and subsequent chapters in the text deal with the rest of the Paramitas, in sequence.
The Six Paramitas always appear in a particular order -- Generosity, Ethical Conduct, Patience, Diligence, Meditation, and Wisdom -- and this order is not accidental. They proceed from gross to subtle, or from easy to difficult, and each one builds a foundation for the next. We start with Generosity because it's the easiest and the most accessible: anyone can practice generosity. It doesn't require any degree of learning or discernment, it only takes an open heart. Even animals practice generosity at times. As you progress through the Paramitas, though, they become more and more subtle, until you reach the Prajna-Paramita, the Paramita of Transcendent Wisdom, which sees emptiness -- the true nature of reality. I don't think there are animals practicing the Prajna-Paramita, but who knows? Often, to judge by external appearances, cats do look like they're absorbed in deep meditation -- which may be why so many Buddhists love cats.
The third line of the verse is what Shantideva's fourth, fifth and sixth chapters are concerned with: preventing Bodhicitta from diminishing where it has arisen. This means developing strong mindfulness and vigilant introspection, so that we bring out minds and our conduct into line with what is ethical and conducive to true happiness, and learning to apply the antidote of patience when anger strikes so that we don't blow it all in a moment of aggression. Of all the afflictive emotions, anger is the most destructive to our Bodhisattva intentions, which is why Patience gets its own Paramita. It is said in one of the Sutras that we could spend years or lifetimes indulging in passion and desire, and this still wouldn't be as destructive as a single act of anger and aggression. This is because even when we're lustful we can still hold the welfare of other beings in mind -- we can wish someone happiness and well-being even as we're mentally undressing them and drooling over them. Now, don't get confused: this is not advocating that we get carried away in lust or attachment, and it's not praising the mind of craving -- it's just saying it's not as bad as anger. Because when we mindlessly express anger and aggression towards other beings, we are directly going against their welfare and bringing suffering upon them -- which runs counter to everything the Bodhisattva stands for.
Shantideva's seventh chapter begins the third section of the text, which corresponds to the fourth line of the verse: what to do in order to make Bodhicitta increase and increase. This means conducting one's Bodhisattva business with a joyful and determined mind (Diligence), practicing Meditative Concentration, and finally opening into the Transcendent Knowledge or Wisdom that realizes emptiness as the true nature of reality.
Learning to Swim
So in order for Bodhicitta, or the mind of awakening, to increase and increase, we need to apply a certain effort and perseverance. To borrow an analogy from Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, we've gotten in the water, now we have to learn to swim -- we can't just float there forever. But I think the other side of this analogy is that, in order to swim, you also have to be somewhat relaxed, somewhat open to the joy of being in the water. You can't just be flapping about wildly, in a panic -- you'll only drown yourself that way. So this element of joy and relaxation, in the midst of effort and perseverance, is the key.
This key point comes out pretty clearly in the course of Shantideva's seventh chapter, but the fact that it takes a whole chapter to really get it across illustrates the difficulty of finding in the English language one word, or even two words, that accurately and satisfyingly communicate the fullness of what this Paramita that we usually call "Diligence" is really about. The Sanskrit word, Virya (and Virya-Paramita) -- the root of our English words "virile" and "vigor" and "virtue," among others -- implies a mind that is strong and determined and won't give up in the face of adversity. But explanations of the Virya-Paramita's meaning almost always emphasize this other aspect of joy or delight in the practice of virtue. This has led to our present situation, in which we have seen translators use literally dozens of different words and word combinations in their efforts to get at the essence of the Virya-Paramita. Here are a few examples I've seen in different texts:
Imagine if we had 25 different ways of saying "Patience" or "Generosity." Given such a wide range of translations for the Virya-Paramita in English, you would not be alone if you find yourself wondering: what exactly *are* we talking about? To get some clarity, let's go back to our good friend, Wikipedia, which offers the following definition of Virya:
Joyful Exertion
One of the aspects of Virya that's most emphasized in Shantideva's seventh chapter is having a sense of joy or delight in one's Bodhisattva activities. This is why I prefer translations of Virya such as Joyful Exertion, or Cheerful Effort.
I'll just say it: I don't like "Diligence." It's a dry word devoid of feeling, and for me it evokes a picture of a classroom or a study hall full of good little boys and girls diligently studying for their exams. Words like "exertion" or "perseverance" or "endurance," by themselves, are equally flat and disappointing. "Endurance" even sounds like you're white-knuckling your way through something unpleasant, a "grin and bear it" type of outlook. But I think that conjoined terms like Joyful Exertion or Enthusiastic Perseverance begin to get closer to the real meaning of this Paramita.
When you look at the living Bodhisattvas (with a capital "B") that we have among us -- I'm thinking of the Karmapa, the Dalai Lama, Thich Nhat Hanh, and others like them -- you don't see people who are gritting their teeth and "enduring" or just flatly "persevering" through the hardships and challenges that come their way. You certainly don't see people who slog through their work with a sense of weariness or a chip on their shoulders, or who end up copping a resentment about the burdens they have to carry and the things they're asked to do for others -- which is what I often do. Instead, you see people who embody so much cheerfulness and joy and relaxation, even in the midst of very difficult circumstances. When you look at them, they're always smiling and laughing -- and not in a Pollyannish or frivolous way, but in a way that is united with their tremendous heart of compassion and this sense of joy in practicing virtue to benefit others. The Dalai Lama is the spiritual head of a people that has been so brutalized, for so long, and every single day people wait in line to come and lay their troubles and their sorrows at his feet. He carries so much responsibility, and almost never has time to do anything that could be even vaguely construed as being just for himself. And yet, when you look at him, he's always finding humor all around him. Once, in New York City, I saw him stop in the middle of a teaching (perhaps even mid-sentence, although I didn't understand the Tibetan) and he cried for several minutes, apparently overwhelmed by compassion for suffering beings. Then, just as suddenly, with no additional comment, he recovered himself and continued teaching, and then he was laughing and joking again.
So I think that words like "Joyful Exertion" do a much better job of conveying the true spirit of awakening mind than "Diligence" or "Perseverance." But I'll use all of these terms somewhat interchangeably here.
Don't Take the Whole Thing Too Seriously
Ani Pema Chodron, in her commentary on Shantideva's seventh chapter, offers a quote from Suzuki Roshi that I think serves as a sort of key to interpreting this whole chapter on Diligence:
"What we're doing here is so important -- so important that we might as well not take it too seriously."
This is classic Suzuki Roshi: it stops your mind and makes you do a double-take to ensure that you didn't mis-read what he said. And then it makes you think, and wonder what exactly he could have meant by such a strange statement.
If you think of this statement in terms of Joyful Exertion, you can see how the first half of the quote gets at the Exertion part: the work in which we're engaged as Bodhisattvas -- the process of waking up from our own delusion and manifesting complete wisdom and compassion for the benefit of all sentient beings -- is (perhaps it's an understatement) so important. And the second half of the quote gets at the Joyful part: we won't get very far on this path if we take ourselves or the situations we encounter too seriously or try to make things too solid. Our habit, of course, is to get very locked into a heavy, oppressive sense of how fixed and stuck things are -- whether it's other people and their neurotic behavior, or just our own minds. But when we bring in this feeling of lightness and joy and not taking things too seriously, then it transforms our experience. Everything becomes much more workable, and we're able to relax right in the midst of chaos.
Sometimes when I catch myself getting very stuck in a solid, heavy sense of things being a certain way -- and usually it's the *wrong* way, and something needs to be done about it -- then, if I can remember, I try to do what I call the "100 Years from Now" practice. This is simply to remind myself that, however big of a deal this situation -- and my role in it -- seems to me right now, 100 years from now there won't be a single human being left on planet Earth who remembers it. So does it really matter *that* much, in the grand scheme of things? Should I really be taking it *that* seriously? This perspective might sound bleak or lonely, but it serves its purpose well, which is to puncture the outer membrane of the "big-deal" mind that is painfully fixated on its concepts of how things are or how they should be, and takes things too seriously.
-- Click here for Part Two, "The Enemy Within" --
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Disclaimer
First things first. I'd like to offer a disclaimer right up front, before I actually say anything about the topic at hand. The backstory here is that I was recently asked to give a talk as part of a course focusing on Shantideva's Bodhicharyavatara; this article is adapted from my notes for that talk. I was very happy to accept the invitation -- but, then, when I found out which chapter I was being asked to focus on, my next thought was: "Oh no! Not that one!" It's not simply that I find the topic of Diligence somewhat less inherently interesting than, say, Patience or Meditation (although I do); more significantly, it's that I don't really consider myself a very good example of Diligence, and I suspect that whatever I might have to say on the subject is largely second-hand knowledge and speculation on my part. In fact, I think I'm one of the least diligent Buddist practitioners I know, and if left to my own devices, I might have nothing at all to say about the subject. Fortunately, I'm not left to my own devices: lots of qualified teachers have given commentaries on this text, and I've studied a few of them and hopefully picked up something here and there that will be beneficial to others if I pass it along.
The Awakening Mind
So before diving into the seventh chapter, a bit of review of what leads up to that point in the text would be in order. I've been thinking about the structure of Shantideva's text in relation to a short verse that appears in the ngondro liturgy that was taught last year in Seattle by His Holiness the 17th Karmapa ("Brief Recitations for the Four Preliminary Practices"), which was translated by my friend Tyler Dewar:
May precious and supreme Bodhicitta
Arise where it has not arisen
Not diminish where it has arisen
And continually increase and increase.
The first line of this verse is what Shantideva's first chapter was all about: explaining the excellence and benefits of Bodhicitta, the mind of awakening, which is also sometimes called awakened heart (in Buddhism there's not really that much difference between "mind" and "heart"). I won't go into an explanation here of what Bodhicitta is, but if you don't have some familiarity with the concept then I doubt that the rest of this article will make much sense. But here's a basic definition, from Wikipedia:
In Buddhism, bodhicitta (Ch. 菩提心, pudixin, Jp. bodaishin, Tibetan jang chub sem, Mongolian бодь сэтгэл) is the wish to attain complete enlightenment (that is, Buddhahood) in order to be of benefit to all sentient beings trapped in cyclic existence (samsāra) who have not yet reached Buddhahood. One who has bodhicitta as the primary motivation for all of his or her activities is called a bodhisattva.
Shantideva's second and third chapters talk about how to clear the obstacles in one's mind to the generation of Bodhicitta, and how to actually give rise to that frame of mind -- which is like the second line of the verse, causing Bodhicitta to "arise where it has not arisen." The third chapter deals a lot with the first of the Six Paramitas, which is Generosity, and subsequent chapters in the text deal with the rest of the Paramitas, in sequence.
The Six Paramitas always appear in a particular order -- Generosity, Ethical Conduct, Patience, Diligence, Meditation, and Wisdom -- and this order is not accidental. They proceed from gross to subtle, or from easy to difficult, and each one builds a foundation for the next. We start with Generosity because it's the easiest and the most accessible: anyone can practice generosity. It doesn't require any degree of learning or discernment, it only takes an open heart. Even animals practice generosity at times. As you progress through the Paramitas, though, they become more and more subtle, until you reach the Prajna-Paramita, the Paramita of Transcendent Wisdom, which sees emptiness -- the true nature of reality. I don't think there are animals practicing the Prajna-Paramita, but who knows? Often, to judge by external appearances, cats do look like they're absorbed in deep meditation -- which may be why so many Buddhists love cats.
The third line of the verse is what Shantideva's fourth, fifth and sixth chapters are concerned with: preventing Bodhicitta from diminishing where it has arisen. This means developing strong mindfulness and vigilant introspection, so that we bring out minds and our conduct into line with what is ethical and conducive to true happiness, and learning to apply the antidote of patience when anger strikes so that we don't blow it all in a moment of aggression. Of all the afflictive emotions, anger is the most destructive to our Bodhisattva intentions, which is why Patience gets its own Paramita. It is said in one of the Sutras that we could spend years or lifetimes indulging in passion and desire, and this still wouldn't be as destructive as a single act of anger and aggression. This is because even when we're lustful we can still hold the welfare of other beings in mind -- we can wish someone happiness and well-being even as we're mentally undressing them and drooling over them. Now, don't get confused: this is not advocating that we get carried away in lust or attachment, and it's not praising the mind of craving -- it's just saying it's not as bad as anger. Because when we mindlessly express anger and aggression towards other beings, we are directly going against their welfare and bringing suffering upon them -- which runs counter to everything the Bodhisattva stands for.
Shantideva's seventh chapter begins the third section of the text, which corresponds to the fourth line of the verse: what to do in order to make Bodhicitta increase and increase. This means conducting one's Bodhisattva business with a joyful and determined mind (Diligence), practicing Meditative Concentration, and finally opening into the Transcendent Knowledge or Wisdom that realizes emptiness as the true nature of reality.
Learning to Swim
So in order for Bodhicitta, or the mind of awakening, to increase and increase, we need to apply a certain effort and perseverance. To borrow an analogy from Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, we've gotten in the water, now we have to learn to swim -- we can't just float there forever. But I think the other side of this analogy is that, in order to swim, you also have to be somewhat relaxed, somewhat open to the joy of being in the water. You can't just be flapping about wildly, in a panic -- you'll only drown yourself that way. So this element of joy and relaxation, in the midst of effort and perseverance, is the key.
This key point comes out pretty clearly in the course of Shantideva's seventh chapter, but the fact that it takes a whole chapter to really get it across illustrates the difficulty of finding in the English language one word, or even two words, that accurately and satisfyingly communicate the fullness of what this Paramita that we usually call "Diligence" is really about. The Sanskrit word, Virya (and Virya-Paramita) -- the root of our English words "virile" and "vigor" and "virtue," among others -- implies a mind that is strong and determined and won't give up in the face of adversity. But explanations of the Virya-Paramita's meaning almost always emphasize this other aspect of joy or delight in the practice of virtue. This has led to our present situation, in which we have seen translators use literally dozens of different words and word combinations in their efforts to get at the essence of the Virya-Paramita. Here are a few examples I've seen in different texts:
- Diligence
- Exertion
- Joyful Exertion
- Energy
- Enthusiasm
- Perseverance
- Heroic Perseverance
- Enthusiastic Perseverance
- Effort
- Intelligent Effort
- Balanced Effort
- Cheerful Effort
- Joyful Effort
- Vigor
- Zeal
- Energetic Zeal
- Endurance
- Courage
- Endeavor
- Exuberance
- Boldness
- Fearlessness
- Vitality
- Heroism
- Bravery
Imagine if we had 25 different ways of saying "Patience" or "Generosity." Given such a wide range of translations for the Virya-Paramita in English, you would not be alone if you find yourself wondering: what exactly *are* we talking about? To get some clarity, let's go back to our good friend, Wikipedia, which offers the following definition of Virya:
In Buddhism, vīrya is one of the five controlling faculties (indriya), one of the five powers (bala), one of the six or ten paramitas, one of the seven factors of enlightenment (bodhyaṅga) and is identical with right effort of the Noble Eightfold Path (Pali: aṭṭhaṅgiko maggo; Skt.: aṣṭāṅga mārga). It stands for strenuous and sustained effort to overcome unskillful ways (akusala dhamma), such as indulging in sensuality, ill will and harmfulness (see, e.g., ahimsa, nekkhamma). It stands for the right endeavour to attain meditative concentration (dhyāna). Vīrya does not stand for physical strength. It signifies strength of character and the persistent effort for the well-being of others. In the absence of sustained efforts in practicing meditation, craving creeps in and the meditator comes under its influence. Right effort known as vīryabala is, thus, required to overcome unskillful mental factors and deviation from dhyāna.
Joyful Exertion
One of the aspects of Virya that's most emphasized in Shantideva's seventh chapter is having a sense of joy or delight in one's Bodhisattva activities. This is why I prefer translations of Virya such as Joyful Exertion, or Cheerful Effort.
I'll just say it: I don't like "Diligence." It's a dry word devoid of feeling, and for me it evokes a picture of a classroom or a study hall full of good little boys and girls diligently studying for their exams. Words like "exertion" or "perseverance" or "endurance," by themselves, are equally flat and disappointing. "Endurance" even sounds like you're white-knuckling your way through something unpleasant, a "grin and bear it" type of outlook. But I think that conjoined terms like Joyful Exertion or Enthusiastic Perseverance begin to get closer to the real meaning of this Paramita.
When you look at the living Bodhisattvas (with a capital "B") that we have among us -- I'm thinking of the Karmapa, the Dalai Lama, Thich Nhat Hanh, and others like them -- you don't see people who are gritting their teeth and "enduring" or just flatly "persevering" through the hardships and challenges that come their way. You certainly don't see people who slog through their work with a sense of weariness or a chip on their shoulders, or who end up copping a resentment about the burdens they have to carry and the things they're asked to do for others -- which is what I often do. Instead, you see people who embody so much cheerfulness and joy and relaxation, even in the midst of very difficult circumstances. When you look at them, they're always smiling and laughing -- and not in a Pollyannish or frivolous way, but in a way that is united with their tremendous heart of compassion and this sense of joy in practicing virtue to benefit others. The Dalai Lama is the spiritual head of a people that has been so brutalized, for so long, and every single day people wait in line to come and lay their troubles and their sorrows at his feet. He carries so much responsibility, and almost never has time to do anything that could be even vaguely construed as being just for himself. And yet, when you look at him, he's always finding humor all around him. Once, in New York City, I saw him stop in the middle of a teaching (perhaps even mid-sentence, although I didn't understand the Tibetan) and he cried for several minutes, apparently overwhelmed by compassion for suffering beings. Then, just as suddenly, with no additional comment, he recovered himself and continued teaching, and then he was laughing and joking again.
So I think that words like "Joyful Exertion" do a much better job of conveying the true spirit of awakening mind than "Diligence" or "Perseverance." But I'll use all of these terms somewhat interchangeably here.
Don't Take the Whole Thing Too Seriously
Ani Pema Chodron, in her commentary on Shantideva's seventh chapter, offers a quote from Suzuki Roshi that I think serves as a sort of key to interpreting this whole chapter on Diligence:
"What we're doing here is so important -- so important that we might as well not take it too seriously."
This is classic Suzuki Roshi: it stops your mind and makes you do a double-take to ensure that you didn't mis-read what he said. And then it makes you think, and wonder what exactly he could have meant by such a strange statement.
If you think of this statement in terms of Joyful Exertion, you can see how the first half of the quote gets at the Exertion part: the work in which we're engaged as Bodhisattvas -- the process of waking up from our own delusion and manifesting complete wisdom and compassion for the benefit of all sentient beings -- is (perhaps it's an understatement) so important. And the second half of the quote gets at the Joyful part: we won't get very far on this path if we take ourselves or the situations we encounter too seriously or try to make things too solid. Our habit, of course, is to get very locked into a heavy, oppressive sense of how fixed and stuck things are -- whether it's other people and their neurotic behavior, or just our own minds. But when we bring in this feeling of lightness and joy and not taking things too seriously, then it transforms our experience. Everything becomes much more workable, and we're able to relax right in the midst of chaos.
Sometimes when I catch myself getting very stuck in a solid, heavy sense of things being a certain way -- and usually it's the *wrong* way, and something needs to be done about it -- then, if I can remember, I try to do what I call the "100 Years from Now" practice. This is simply to remind myself that, however big of a deal this situation -- and my role in it -- seems to me right now, 100 years from now there won't be a single human being left on planet Earth who remembers it. So does it really matter *that* much, in the grand scheme of things? Should I really be taking it *that* seriously? This perspective might sound bleak or lonely, but it serves its purpose well, which is to puncture the outer membrane of the "big-deal" mind that is painfully fixated on its concepts of how things are or how they should be, and takes things too seriously.
-- Click here for Part Two, "The Enemy Within" --
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