Dear Dharma Friends,
Revisioning Buddhism 2
[a reaffirmation of the Buddha’s Example and Teachings]
BECOMING HUMAN: it’s easier than you think
Contrary to popular Buddhism and Buddhist mythology, it is not difficult to obtain human birth. This popular wrong view is encouraged by the misquoting of the parable of the blind turtle alluded to in the later works without reference to its context in the Balapandita Sutta (M 129) where it is stated:
Bhikshus, suppose a man were to throw into the ocean a yoke with a single hole in it. Then the east winds carry it westwards; the west winds carry it eastwards; the north winds carry it southwards; the south winds carry it northwards. Suppose a blind turtle were to come up from the ocean depths once in a hundred years.
What do you think, bhikshus? Would that blind turtle put his neck through the yoke with a single hole in it?”
“Even if it could, bhante, it would only happen after a very long time.”
“Even then, bhikshus, it is more likely that the blind turtle would put his neck through the single-holed yoke than would the fool, once fallen into a lower world [animals, the pretas, the hells], regain the human state, I say! Why is that?
Because in the lower worlds THERE IS NO DHARMA-FARING, no doing of what is wholesome, no performance of merit. There they eat each other, preying on the weak.
(M 129.24/3:169) = SD 2.22
A very close parallel to this parable is found in the Chiggala Sutta 2 (S 56.47). In both cases, the reference is to rebirth in “a lower world,” that is, as a preta (departed being), an animal, or a hell-being, or (according to later mythology) as an asura (narcissistic demon). The Chiggala Sutta 2, however, mentions IGNORANCE OF THE FOUR NOBLE TRUTHS as the reason for the difficulty of regaining human birth (S 56.47/5:455 f).
The context of the two passages is identical and should be well noted, that is to say, “the fool, once fallen into a lower world” would find it very difficult to regain the human birth. This is because there is no practice of Dharma or making merit there (according to the Balapandita Sutta, M 129), nor knowledge of the four noble truths (according to the Chiggala Sutta 2 (S 56.47). It is in this connection that the statement of the difficulty of human birth should be understood. Hence, there is no issue of the contradiction between “rarity of human birth” and the increasing human population.
On the other hand, it is very easy for celestial beings to “fall” (cavati) from their divine state and be reborn into the human realm. It is unheard of that a celestial being is ever reborn from a lower heaven to a higher one, except perhaps when he is a non-returner in the Pure Abodes. The reason for this divine devolution is that our heavenly states are supported by our store of good karma and other factors (such as the local life-span). Once the karmic support is exhausted or the divine being reaches the end of his life span, he would “fall” from that state.
According to the Saleyyaka Sutta (M 41) it is easy to be reborn as a human being, or even as a divine being you can aspire for it. But there is a catch: we need to live morally virtuous lives. Moral virtue is the fuel that propels us into such births and keeps us on that trajectory. Live a morally virtuous life and aspire for such a birth, and you will obtain it. The quality of the human state that we are reborn into will also very much depend on the kind of karma we have in store.
We may HAVE a human body, but it is difficult to BE human, so that in the end it is also difficult for us to REMAIN in a human body (Dh 182). In other words, if we behave like an animal (living a cyclic life of eating, enjoying sense-pleasures, without mental development), or we live in fear and blindly following others, we are likely to be reborn as animals, if we are not already one!
In the Saddha Janussoni Sutta (A 10.177), the Buddha declares that if one does good works (including social work) but does not keep the precepts (whether monastic or lay), he would be reborn as an animal treated as pets (elephant, horse, cow, chicken etc) which are well cared for!
In other words, we do not live by rice and bread alone, not by faith alone, but we are nourished by sense-stimuli, mental volition and consciousness. However, even when the physical body is deprived of material food, and dies, our mental body or existential consciousness continues to be become sustained by our habitual thoughts, and to be reborn according to how we use our sense-faculties.
Piya Tan ©2009
慈青小窝
欢迎来到慈青的园地，在这里你可以尽情分享生活的喜悦！！~慈青悲智行 联谊启慧根~
法喜分享
Re: 法喜分享
由 shamanyeoh 于 周六 8月 15, 2009 11:54 pm
Dear Dharma Friends,
WHY SUFFERING?
Buddhism gives the best explanation and solution to why there is suffering. Neither blaming anyone for it, nor seeking for answers in history or myths, the Buddha discovers the nature of suffering and how to end it, in the most effective way there is: at its source.
The Buddha goes through a lot suffering himself to find the answer to this cosmic problem. At first, as a young man, he thinks that sensual pleasures are the answer to our pains. After all, isn't pleasure the opposite of pain? Buddhist stories tell us that he enjoys every kind of sensual pleasure as a young prince.
The problem with pleasure is that it only delights us momentarily. If it is sustained, it begins to bore us, and we need to look for new ways of delighting ourselves. Pleasure is a word for our need for variety. Why do we need variety? Because we are always (often unconsciously) seeking for a way out of suffering.
If pleasure is only a temporary break from suffering, could the answer be in the opposite direction? Why not deprive the body totally of pleasure, even torture it, so that, through pain, we will free ourselves of it. The Buddha, in his efforts here, reaches a point when he almost dies from physical exhaustion through self-mortification. He realizes that we need a healthy body to support a healthy mind.
One great advantage that the Buddha has is that he comes from an ancient society where religious contemplation is common. If he were born in a tribal community in the Middle East, troubled by wars, invasions, and unrest, he might have come up with a tribal religion that centres around some almighty God idea.
It is like natural selection in evolution, where what is best in us gets carried on until all these mental genes, as it were, manifest themselves in a single person: the Buddha. But evolution of species is just that: we evolve as a group, a tribe, a species.
But the group, tribe or species, can be so self-regulating as to be self-limiting, even narcissistic. The crowd does not think; only individuals think. Good thinking makes true individuals. There are those who think on their feet, but the Buddha, following the trend of his days, finds that it is more effective to think when we sit: sitting in meditation, that is.
As the Buddha sits peacefully in meditation, letting his thoughts come and go as they will, he discovers that a thousand voices are speaking at the same time. A crowd of voices, and the crowd does not think. So he lets the passing crowd of thoughts move on.
When that crowd of thoughts has receded into the background of his mind, a deep and great peace arises. It is so calm and clear, it is like looking into the lucid waters of a huge and deep pool, and able to see fishes, water creatures, beautiful pebbles, and treasures at the bottom.
Then he directs his laser-sharp and crystal-clear mind to the problem at hand. He uses what I call the “Why” method, or what is technically called “causal relations.”
Why do we suffer? Because we are born.
Why are we born? Because there are other humans.
Why are we born from other humans? Because we cling to one another.
Why do we cling to one another? Because of craving.
Why do we crave? Because we feel.
Why do we feel? Because of sense-stimuli.
Why are the senses stimulated? Because we have the senses.
Why do we have the senses? Because of mind and body?
Why are there mind and body? Because of consciousness.
Why is there consciousness? Because of our thoughts.
Why are there thoughts? Because of ignorance.
Then the Buddha examines this whole process of suffering and how it arises in the reverse sequence, and he discovers the ending of suffering, and the path to its ending. The great 20th century poet, James Joyce, poetized this in his “Finnegans Wake” (1967:18), in these words:
In the ignorance that implies impression that knits knowledge that finds the nameform that whets the wits that convey contacts that sweeten sensation that drives desire that adheres to the attachment that dogs death that bitches birth that entails the ensuance of existentiality.
Suffering arises from ignorance. Ignorance is when we think we understand what we really are, but deep inside we are not really sure. We have thoughts after thoughts; we hold on to all kinds of views, especially those of God, gods, demons, spirits, and gurus; we are attracted to fleeting pleasures, and so on
Suggested solution. Just keep on asking yourself WHY, and don’t make a conscious effort to answer. Let your heart speak, and let it take its time. If you are courageous enough to examine the answers with another WHY, and so on, you will soon enough discover your true self.
Piya Tan ©2009 rev
WHY SUFFERING?
Buddhism gives the best explanation and solution to why there is suffering. Neither blaming anyone for it, nor seeking for answers in history or myths, the Buddha discovers the nature of suffering and how to end it, in the most effective way there is: at its source.
The Buddha goes through a lot suffering himself to find the answer to this cosmic problem. At first, as a young man, he thinks that sensual pleasures are the answer to our pains. After all, isn't pleasure the opposite of pain? Buddhist stories tell us that he enjoys every kind of sensual pleasure as a young prince.
The problem with pleasure is that it only delights us momentarily. If it is sustained, it begins to bore us, and we need to look for new ways of delighting ourselves. Pleasure is a word for our need for variety. Why do we need variety? Because we are always (often unconsciously) seeking for a way out of suffering.
If pleasure is only a temporary break from suffering, could the answer be in the opposite direction? Why not deprive the body totally of pleasure, even torture it, so that, through pain, we will free ourselves of it. The Buddha, in his efforts here, reaches a point when he almost dies from physical exhaustion through self-mortification. He realizes that we need a healthy body to support a healthy mind.
One great advantage that the Buddha has is that he comes from an ancient society where religious contemplation is common. If he were born in a tribal community in the Middle East, troubled by wars, invasions, and unrest, he might have come up with a tribal religion that centres around some almighty God idea.
It is like natural selection in evolution, where what is best in us gets carried on until all these mental genes, as it were, manifest themselves in a single person: the Buddha. But evolution of species is just that: we evolve as a group, a tribe, a species.
But the group, tribe or species, can be so self-regulating as to be self-limiting, even narcissistic. The crowd does not think; only individuals think. Good thinking makes true individuals. There are those who think on their feet, but the Buddha, following the trend of his days, finds that it is more effective to think when we sit: sitting in meditation, that is.
As the Buddha sits peacefully in meditation, letting his thoughts come and go as they will, he discovers that a thousand voices are speaking at the same time. A crowd of voices, and the crowd does not think. So he lets the passing crowd of thoughts move on.
When that crowd of thoughts has receded into the background of his mind, a deep and great peace arises. It is so calm and clear, it is like looking into the lucid waters of a huge and deep pool, and able to see fishes, water creatures, beautiful pebbles, and treasures at the bottom.
Then he directs his laser-sharp and crystal-clear mind to the problem at hand. He uses what I call the “Why” method, or what is technically called “causal relations.”
Why do we suffer? Because we are born.
Why are we born? Because there are other humans.
Why are we born from other humans? Because we cling to one another.
Why do we cling to one another? Because of craving.
Why do we crave? Because we feel.
Why do we feel? Because of sense-stimuli.
Why are the senses stimulated? Because we have the senses.
Why do we have the senses? Because of mind and body?
Why are there mind and body? Because of consciousness.
Why is there consciousness? Because of our thoughts.
Why are there thoughts? Because of ignorance.
Then the Buddha examines this whole process of suffering and how it arises in the reverse sequence, and he discovers the ending of suffering, and the path to its ending. The great 20th century poet, James Joyce, poetized this in his “Finnegans Wake” (1967:18), in these words:
In the ignorance that implies impression that knits knowledge that finds the nameform that whets the wits that convey contacts that sweeten sensation that drives desire that adheres to the attachment that dogs death that bitches birth that entails the ensuance of existentiality.
Suffering arises from ignorance. Ignorance is when we think we understand what we really are, but deep inside we are not really sure. We have thoughts after thoughts; we hold on to all kinds of views, especially those of God, gods, demons, spirits, and gurus; we are attracted to fleeting pleasures, and so on
Suggested solution. Just keep on asking yourself WHY, and don’t make a conscious effort to answer. Let your heart speak, and let it take its time. If you are courageous enough to examine the answers with another WHY, and so on, you will soon enough discover your true self.
Piya Tan ©2009 rev
-
shamanyeoh - 帖子: 202
- 注册: 周四 8月 30, 2007 12:30 am
- 地址: 我们是南大的一群~
Re: 法喜分享
由 shamanyeoh 于 周日 8月 23, 2009 10:57 am
Dear Dharma Friends,
Revisioning Buddhism 3
[a re-affirmation of the Buddha’s Example and Teachings]
WHO ARE THE HUNGRY GHOSTS?
One of the most profound and enduring problems addressed by religion is that of death. More exactly, what happens after death? For Buddhists educated in early Buddhism, the answer is clear: there are only dead bodies, not dead beings. We are all reborn when we die.
Our rebirth is initially decided by the momentum of our dying thought-process. If we hold on to negative thoughts, then our rebirth would be a negative one, in one of the subhuman realms we would be reborn as an asura, a preta, an animal, or a hell-being. We know that the animal realm exists, but what about the other dimensions?
One helpful way to interpret such realms is to take them as psychological states that overwhelm us. An ASURA, as such, is a violent demon-like being who habitually measures others, intent on using them for what power, pleasure or satisfaction others can provide him (which reminds us of an exploitative callous bossy person).
An ANIMAL, psychologically, is one who leads a predictable cyclic life of eating, sleeping, hunting, mating, reproducing, and dying. He is gullible to baits and lures, and as such is easily trapped and tricked by others. He almost never thinks, and as such can be easily exploited, abused, even consumed, by others.
A HELL-BEING, psychologically, is one who lives in protracted violence, carnage, loss and pain. He is born into a war zone, a literally explosive environment, losing limbs, and then dying an early death, by being bombed, shot or murdered. Mass suicide bombers are likely to be in this realm.
A PRETA, psychologically, is one addicted to something, but like all addicts, he can never find satisfaction. (He is often represented in religious art as having a huge but flat leaf-life body, with a pin-head mouth.) Those addicted to no vulgar, food, pleasure, drinks, cigarettes, or mindlessly collecting things would be denizens of this realm. (Those who collect and exchange stamps, and such like, do not usually fall into this category!)
The pretas are listed last because we will examine them for the rest of this reflection. A careful study of the early Buddhist sources shows two levels of development of preta belief. The first is simply that of the pre-existing brahminical notion of the “departed” (which is what the Pali word, PETA, originally means). A more developed preta belief is found in the Tirokudda Sutta (Kh 7 = Pv 1.5).
The (Saddha) Janussoni Sutta (A 10.177) tells us that there will always be “departed ones” who are our relatives (imagine our samsaric network of relatives), and that we may dedicate our acts of generosity and goodness to any of them. The Tirokudda Sutta explains how the preta is uplifted from his sufferings by our own spiritual joy (especially by lovingkindness), and that we may dedicate merits, not only to relatives, but to any such beings present.
Both these suttas show the vital importance that we should ourselves pray for the departed ones. The mechanical and jarring chants of the professional priests who lack moral virtue and lovingkindness are not helpful to them.
When Buddhism reached China beginning around the 1st century CE, such preta stories fascinated the Chinese, already steeped in Confucian filial piety and Daoist spirit beliefs. Such stories were often cited in response to others’ criticism that Buddhism was a “foreign” religion that lacked filial piety,
The early Chinese Buddhists went on to create an enduring myth of Mulian (based on the story of Moggallana) to inspire filial piety. Mulian’s mother, it is said, is reborn in hell as a hungry ghost on account of her bad karma. Mulian performs an act of giving to the Sangha (order of monks) and so liberates her.
Chinese Buddhism conflates two separate realms (the hells and the preta realm), and regards them as a kind of walled prison. During the seventh lunar month, the hell gates are opened and the pretas are free to wander the world for that period.
Chinese cosmology clearly mirrors the ancient imperial social system. In so doing, Chinese Buddhism branches away from its Indian roots. The pretas are consigned to the hells, but given an annual respite, thus betraying a notion of an enduring soul. The pretas, treated as living relatives, are even given posthumous funds in the form of hell-notes, looking like US Federal Reserve greenbacks, with denominations ranging from $10,000 to $1,000,000. In Singapore, it is common to find $10 billion notes sold in joss-shops.
Apparently, there is a bad inflation in hell! On a more serious note, this is clearly against the teachings of the Tirokudda Sutta which says that there is “neither business…nor buying and selling with money” amongst the pretas (verse 7).
Educated young Chinese often have a serious difficulty with such simplistic beliefs and ask questions like:
(1) Does this mean that when a Chinese dies, he goes straight to hell as a preta?
(2) What can the pretas buy or need in hell with all the “money” that is burnt for them?
(3) How do the pretas end up in hell, when they actually have no realm of their own?
Let me close this reflection on a light note. In the years when I was a monk in Malaysia, it was reported to me that a young Chinese once left a wad of newly-designed one-ringgit notes on the table. His old mother, thinking that it was hell notes for their ancestors, piously burnt them as offerings! I fully endorse this practice as it is likely to encourage more discreet burning, and also probably raise the value of the country’s money supply!
Readings:
(1) (Saddha) Janussoni Sutta (A 10.177/5:270) = SD 2.6a: http://dharmafarer.googlepages.com/2.6a ... 77piya.pdf
(2) Tirokudda Sutta (Kh 7 = Pv 1.5) = SD 2.7: http://dharmafarer.googlepages.com/2.7T ... h7piya.pdf
Piya Tan ©2009 rev
Revisioning Buddhism 3
[a re-affirmation of the Buddha’s Example and Teachings]
WHO ARE THE HUNGRY GHOSTS?
One of the most profound and enduring problems addressed by religion is that of death. More exactly, what happens after death? For Buddhists educated in early Buddhism, the answer is clear: there are only dead bodies, not dead beings. We are all reborn when we die.
Our rebirth is initially decided by the momentum of our dying thought-process. If we hold on to negative thoughts, then our rebirth would be a negative one, in one of the subhuman realms we would be reborn as an asura, a preta, an animal, or a hell-being. We know that the animal realm exists, but what about the other dimensions?
One helpful way to interpret such realms is to take them as psychological states that overwhelm us. An ASURA, as such, is a violent demon-like being who habitually measures others, intent on using them for what power, pleasure or satisfaction others can provide him (which reminds us of an exploitative callous bossy person).
An ANIMAL, psychologically, is one who leads a predictable cyclic life of eating, sleeping, hunting, mating, reproducing, and dying. He is gullible to baits and lures, and as such is easily trapped and tricked by others. He almost never thinks, and as such can be easily exploited, abused, even consumed, by others.
A HELL-BEING, psychologically, is one who lives in protracted violence, carnage, loss and pain. He is born into a war zone, a literally explosive environment, losing limbs, and then dying an early death, by being bombed, shot or murdered. Mass suicide bombers are likely to be in this realm.
A PRETA, psychologically, is one addicted to something, but like all addicts, he can never find satisfaction. (He is often represented in religious art as having a huge but flat leaf-life body, with a pin-head mouth.) Those addicted to no vulgar, food, pleasure, drinks, cigarettes, or mindlessly collecting things would be denizens of this realm. (Those who collect and exchange stamps, and such like, do not usually fall into this category!)
The pretas are listed last because we will examine them for the rest of this reflection. A careful study of the early Buddhist sources shows two levels of development of preta belief. The first is simply that of the pre-existing brahminical notion of the “departed” (which is what the Pali word, PETA, originally means). A more developed preta belief is found in the Tirokudda Sutta (Kh 7 = Pv 1.5).
The (Saddha) Janussoni Sutta (A 10.177) tells us that there will always be “departed ones” who are our relatives (imagine our samsaric network of relatives), and that we may dedicate our acts of generosity and goodness to any of them. The Tirokudda Sutta explains how the preta is uplifted from his sufferings by our own spiritual joy (especially by lovingkindness), and that we may dedicate merits, not only to relatives, but to any such beings present.
Both these suttas show the vital importance that we should ourselves pray for the departed ones. The mechanical and jarring chants of the professional priests who lack moral virtue and lovingkindness are not helpful to them.
When Buddhism reached China beginning around the 1st century CE, such preta stories fascinated the Chinese, already steeped in Confucian filial piety and Daoist spirit beliefs. Such stories were often cited in response to others’ criticism that Buddhism was a “foreign” religion that lacked filial piety,
The early Chinese Buddhists went on to create an enduring myth of Mulian (based on the story of Moggallana) to inspire filial piety. Mulian’s mother, it is said, is reborn in hell as a hungry ghost on account of her bad karma. Mulian performs an act of giving to the Sangha (order of monks) and so liberates her.
Chinese Buddhism conflates two separate realms (the hells and the preta realm), and regards them as a kind of walled prison. During the seventh lunar month, the hell gates are opened and the pretas are free to wander the world for that period.
Chinese cosmology clearly mirrors the ancient imperial social system. In so doing, Chinese Buddhism branches away from its Indian roots. The pretas are consigned to the hells, but given an annual respite, thus betraying a notion of an enduring soul. The pretas, treated as living relatives, are even given posthumous funds in the form of hell-notes, looking like US Federal Reserve greenbacks, with denominations ranging from $10,000 to $1,000,000. In Singapore, it is common to find $10 billion notes sold in joss-shops.
Apparently, there is a bad inflation in hell! On a more serious note, this is clearly against the teachings of the Tirokudda Sutta which says that there is “neither business…nor buying and selling with money” amongst the pretas (verse 7).
Educated young Chinese often have a serious difficulty with such simplistic beliefs and ask questions like:
(1) Does this mean that when a Chinese dies, he goes straight to hell as a preta?
(2) What can the pretas buy or need in hell with all the “money” that is burnt for them?
(3) How do the pretas end up in hell, when they actually have no realm of their own?
Let me close this reflection on a light note. In the years when I was a monk in Malaysia, it was reported to me that a young Chinese once left a wad of newly-designed one-ringgit notes on the table. His old mother, thinking that it was hell notes for their ancestors, piously burnt them as offerings! I fully endorse this practice as it is likely to encourage more discreet burning, and also probably raise the value of the country’s money supply!
Readings:
(1) (Saddha) Janussoni Sutta (A 10.177/5:270) = SD 2.6a: http://dharmafarer.googlepages.com/2.6a ... 77piya.pdf
(2) Tirokudda Sutta (Kh 7 = Pv 1.5) = SD 2.7: http://dharmafarer.googlepages.com/2.7T ... h7piya.pdf
Piya Tan ©2009 rev
-
shamanyeoh - 帖子: 202
- 注册: 周四 8月 30, 2007 12:30 am
- 地址: 我们是南大的一群~
Re: 法喜分享
由 shamanyeoh 于 周一 9月 21, 2009 5:23 am
COMPASSION OR GRATITUDE?
One of the most memorable counseling cases I have carried out concerned a young girl, Mei (not her real name), freshly graduated from teacher’s college in the 1970s when I was still a Theravada monk.
Mei began by asking me if she should support her mother who had neither loved nor supported her. Mei had begun working as a teacher, and wondered if her mother had a change of heart because she was merely eyeing Mei’s money.
In the past, said Mei, her mother did not support her in any way, saying that as a Chinese girl, she would marry and bear someone else’s surname, and be no more part of her mother’s family, and so on. So Mei had to give tuition, and pay her own way through college.
After she has finished telling all that she felt like saying, I began to counsel her in a Dharma-inspired manner.
Firstly, I told her, the fact that she bothered to talk about this matter in a counseling session showed that the whole affair, especially her rejecting her mother, troubled her. She had compassion deep inside here.
Secondly, her mother might not really be at fault, even if she told Mei that being a girl she was useless to her and the family. This was probably due to negative cultural conditioning of her mother. She was probably mindlessly transferring her own sad past upon Mei. Moreover, they were a very poor family then. And she had no father, too.
Thirdly, Mei now had a choice. She could rightly reject her mother and not support her in any way. For, since her mother had neither loved nor supported her, there was basically nothing that Mei needed to reciprocate her (except for giving birth to her).
In other words, there was almost nothing that Mei should be grateful for towards her mother. Mei had been rejected by her, and had supported herself ever since, and been a good person despite her mother’s rejection. Despite this, Mei only felt sadness, not even blaming her mother for giving birth to her.
However, as a Buddhist, we need to be compassionate, too. To be compassionate is to be kind to someone even when she or he does not deserve it, or especially when the recipient does not deserve it. We do not deserve the Buddha’s compassion, and yet his teachings are for our benefit. The Buddha keeps no secret of his teachings.
Then, there is the matter of karma. Perhaps, Mei’s mother’s inability to love her, and Mei herself suffering the rejection, were both the fruits of some common past karma. The attending social reality was that her family was too poor to support Mei in the past.
Mei had every right, as it were, to now reject her unloving mother. But then, Mei would only be perpetuating what her mother had done, and maybe what her own grandmother had done to her mother before that. Mei would then be fuelling the samsaric rejection cycle down to her own daughter and beyond.
Yet, the pain could end here. That is, if Mei told her mother that she (Mei) understood her mother’s situation (cultural conditioning, poverty, etc), and forgave her as she was still her mother, despite everything. The point is that Mei was now in the best position to help her own mother, and herself, too.
The rejection cycle could end right there if Mei wanted it. She had the power to break the cycle with her compassion.
She broke down and cried. Then she looked relieved and happy that she now saw the meaning behind all her and her mother’s sufferings. The lesson of it all was not to reject loved ones even in the greatest of difficulties, but to see one another’s potential goodness.
Here, we are confronted with the significance of two important Buddhist virtues: gratitude and compassion. What are they and how are they different? GRATITUDE is our reciprocal (or returning) kindness to those who have been kind to us because they DESERVE that kindness.
In Buddhism, a grateful person is said to be “kata~n~nuu-katavedii.” Kata~n~nuu means “knowing what had been done,” that is, acknowledging the good done for our benefit. Kata-vedii means rejoicing in that action, that is, being joyful in the goodness of others (which is also called muditaa). This way, both the giver and the receiver gain in goodness.
COMPASSION is our effort to show kindness fully and effectively to others, whether or not they deserve it. Compassion is especially potent when it is motivated by WISDOM. For, it is a kind of giving that sees potential goodness in others; that is, the other party could likewise benefit others. It builds up and enriches the common good and wisdom.
Deep inside, we are all responsible for suffering and goodness, whether in ourselves or in others. That is, if we understand that they both arise from conditions (a network of causes, not just one). If we understand such conditions, we will be able to reduce and stop suffering, and cultivate and promote goodness. This is called right effort, that is, acting with right view.
One of the most memorable counseling cases I have carried out concerned a young girl, Mei (not her real name), freshly graduated from teacher’s college in the 1970s when I was still a Theravada monk.
Mei began by asking me if she should support her mother who had neither loved nor supported her. Mei had begun working as a teacher, and wondered if her mother had a change of heart because she was merely eyeing Mei’s money.
In the past, said Mei, her mother did not support her in any way, saying that as a Chinese girl, she would marry and bear someone else’s surname, and be no more part of her mother’s family, and so on. So Mei had to give tuition, and pay her own way through college.
After she has finished telling all that she felt like saying, I began to counsel her in a Dharma-inspired manner.
Firstly, I told her, the fact that she bothered to talk about this matter in a counseling session showed that the whole affair, especially her rejecting her mother, troubled her. She had compassion deep inside here.
Secondly, her mother might not really be at fault, even if she told Mei that being a girl she was useless to her and the family. This was probably due to negative cultural conditioning of her mother. She was probably mindlessly transferring her own sad past upon Mei. Moreover, they were a very poor family then. And she had no father, too.
Thirdly, Mei now had a choice. She could rightly reject her mother and not support her in any way. For, since her mother had neither loved nor supported her, there was basically nothing that Mei needed to reciprocate her (except for giving birth to her).
In other words, there was almost nothing that Mei should be grateful for towards her mother. Mei had been rejected by her, and had supported herself ever since, and been a good person despite her mother’s rejection. Despite this, Mei only felt sadness, not even blaming her mother for giving birth to her.
However, as a Buddhist, we need to be compassionate, too. To be compassionate is to be kind to someone even when she or he does not deserve it, or especially when the recipient does not deserve it. We do not deserve the Buddha’s compassion, and yet his teachings are for our benefit. The Buddha keeps no secret of his teachings.
Then, there is the matter of karma. Perhaps, Mei’s mother’s inability to love her, and Mei herself suffering the rejection, were both the fruits of some common past karma. The attending social reality was that her family was too poor to support Mei in the past.
Mei had every right, as it were, to now reject her unloving mother. But then, Mei would only be perpetuating what her mother had done, and maybe what her own grandmother had done to her mother before that. Mei would then be fuelling the samsaric rejection cycle down to her own daughter and beyond.
Yet, the pain could end here. That is, if Mei told her mother that she (Mei) understood her mother’s situation (cultural conditioning, poverty, etc), and forgave her as she was still her mother, despite everything. The point is that Mei was now in the best position to help her own mother, and herself, too.
The rejection cycle could end right there if Mei wanted it. She had the power to break the cycle with her compassion.
She broke down and cried. Then she looked relieved and happy that she now saw the meaning behind all her and her mother’s sufferings. The lesson of it all was not to reject loved ones even in the greatest of difficulties, but to see one another’s potential goodness.
Here, we are confronted with the significance of two important Buddhist virtues: gratitude and compassion. What are they and how are they different? GRATITUDE is our reciprocal (or returning) kindness to those who have been kind to us because they DESERVE that kindness.
In Buddhism, a grateful person is said to be “kata~n~nuu-katavedii.” Kata~n~nuu means “knowing what had been done,” that is, acknowledging the good done for our benefit. Kata-vedii means rejoicing in that action, that is, being joyful in the goodness of others (which is also called muditaa). This way, both the giver and the receiver gain in goodness.
COMPASSION is our effort to show kindness fully and effectively to others, whether or not they deserve it. Compassion is especially potent when it is motivated by WISDOM. For, it is a kind of giving that sees potential goodness in others; that is, the other party could likewise benefit others. It builds up and enriches the common good and wisdom.
Deep inside, we are all responsible for suffering and goodness, whether in ourselves or in others. That is, if we understand that they both arise from conditions (a network of causes, not just one). If we understand such conditions, we will be able to reduce and stop suffering, and cultivate and promote goodness. This is called right effort, that is, acting with right view.
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Re: 法喜分享
由 shamanyeoh 于 周六 9月 26, 2009 6:13 am
RELIGION CAN BE BIPOLAR
Humans are sometimes defined as tool-using animals. Our evolving minds teach us how to use tools, at first a simple stone to break or cut something, and then fire, and then the wheel, and now the computer and the Hubble telescope, and so on. We invent tools, use them, and discover new things.
One of our enduring inventions is religion. We started off trying to understand why our colleagues change like decaying bark of a tree, and then stop moving like a rock. We learned that we die. Then we noticed that plants, too, die, but they lived again when we planted their seeds. There must be something that survived death: man invented the soul.
But who “really” made the soul? This took a bit longer to understand. We noticed the whims of the weather, and changes in climate, the power of lightning and the natural elements. We felt overwhelmed by the sky, the rivers and the mountains. These things were very much bigger than us. We decided that they were gods. They must have made the soul, too.
Of course, we do not really know how our ideas about soul and God arose. They evolved over millennia. The idea of a single all-powerful God understandably evolved as man found safety in numbers and became more tribal. As the tribe became bigger and more diverse, the many gods, spirits and demons only added to the difficulty of crowd control and the public safety (to simply put it).
As tribe evolved into nations, the many gods too were nationalized. The numerous different cells and tissues that were spirits, demons and gods, slowly scaffolded to form organs of more complex functions, and then into a supreme being, God. One nation under God is likely to be more powerful than divisive tribes with many gods.
Those with the genius of defining God became priests, and those who made use of such definitions to their advantages were the kings, emperors and politicians. And in between them, there were a range of uses and abuses of the God-idea.
The process of defining God is still going on today, as religious groups mushroom with their self-defined God and compete for members and resources. Such a centralized system cannot tolerate deviance or dissidence, because if the centre falls apart, the whole system collapses. That is why God-systems can never be tolerant.
Despite great advances in religion, science and civilization, we are still animals deep down inside. Wild beasts still lurk in the shadows of our unconscious. The Buddhist texts call them “latent tendencies,” comprising of greed (pleasure instinct), revulsion (death instinct) and ignorance (the shadow). We veritably turn into a beast when we are taken over by lust, by hate, or by ignorance.
And yet, we have the ability to know what we are doing: we have reflexive consciousness. That is, we are aware that we are aware. With this reflexive awareness, we can notice what causes pain, how to avoid pain, how to satisfy needs, and most importantly, how to relate causes rightly to effects, to question, to discover, to be happy.
If we fail in these things, we are hardly human (yet), even if we have a human body. Our bodies have evolved but not our minds. Our prehistoric ancestors learned how to save themselves from dangerous animals, for example, either by running back to the safety of their populated caves, or by climbing up a tree.
But our intelligent ancestors did not (fortunately) think in an either-or way to escape danger. It was not either the cave or the tree. What if the cave was too far away, or there were no trees high enough for safety? They learned that they had a wide range of possibilities for safety from all kinds of danger: they could use a strong broken tree branch as a spear, or hide downwind, and so on. Otherwise, we would not be here today.
Having said that, I must say that I am sadly amused whenever a self-righteous bi-polar God-believer challenges others to choose between us or them, either God or damnation, eternal heaven or eternal hell-fire. On a light side, if this kind of heaven exists, it would be populated by profoundly boring bipolar self-righteous one-tracked non-thinkers (who, by the way, swear by the same God, and at each other, too). Surely, most people would rather be in a hell of like-minded free-thinking seekers with different perspectives of life.
The Buddhist view is that whatever exists, by definition, must exist in time: it is impermanent. If something does not exist in time, it is meaningless. There is nothing to talk about. We cannot define something into existence. If we do, then we are delusional.
The Buddha, in his first sermon, admonishes us against two extremes of belief: that of eternal life and that this is our one and only life. The eternalist view is the basis for the God idea, the either-or dualism, the eternal heaven or eternal hell threats. All such ideas can never be real because all existence is impermanence.
The other extreme--this is our only life, so make the best of it is also false, and can be a basis for self-centred materialism: eat, drink, and do our darndest thinking we won’t get caught. Those Singapore lawyers who absconded with their clients’ millions and the financial manipulators who crashed world markets are likely to hold such an idea.
If we are to awaken to true liberating reality, we need to rise above these two extremes, these bipolar ways of thinking. The answer lies in self-understanding, that we live in an intimately interconnected world we are both innerbeings as well as interbeings. And we need to relate to one another ever more from the inside, from our hearts.
Piya Tan © 2009
Humans are sometimes defined as tool-using animals. Our evolving minds teach us how to use tools, at first a simple stone to break or cut something, and then fire, and then the wheel, and now the computer and the Hubble telescope, and so on. We invent tools, use them, and discover new things.
One of our enduring inventions is religion. We started off trying to understand why our colleagues change like decaying bark of a tree, and then stop moving like a rock. We learned that we die. Then we noticed that plants, too, die, but they lived again when we planted their seeds. There must be something that survived death: man invented the soul.
But who “really” made the soul? This took a bit longer to understand. We noticed the whims of the weather, and changes in climate, the power of lightning and the natural elements. We felt overwhelmed by the sky, the rivers and the mountains. These things were very much bigger than us. We decided that they were gods. They must have made the soul, too.
Of course, we do not really know how our ideas about soul and God arose. They evolved over millennia. The idea of a single all-powerful God understandably evolved as man found safety in numbers and became more tribal. As the tribe became bigger and more diverse, the many gods, spirits and demons only added to the difficulty of crowd control and the public safety (to simply put it).
As tribe evolved into nations, the many gods too were nationalized. The numerous different cells and tissues that were spirits, demons and gods, slowly scaffolded to form organs of more complex functions, and then into a supreme being, God. One nation under God is likely to be more powerful than divisive tribes with many gods.
Those with the genius of defining God became priests, and those who made use of such definitions to their advantages were the kings, emperors and politicians. And in between them, there were a range of uses and abuses of the God-idea.
The process of defining God is still going on today, as religious groups mushroom with their self-defined God and compete for members and resources. Such a centralized system cannot tolerate deviance or dissidence, because if the centre falls apart, the whole system collapses. That is why God-systems can never be tolerant.
Despite great advances in religion, science and civilization, we are still animals deep down inside. Wild beasts still lurk in the shadows of our unconscious. The Buddhist texts call them “latent tendencies,” comprising of greed (pleasure instinct), revulsion (death instinct) and ignorance (the shadow). We veritably turn into a beast when we are taken over by lust, by hate, or by ignorance.
And yet, we have the ability to know what we are doing: we have reflexive consciousness. That is, we are aware that we are aware. With this reflexive awareness, we can notice what causes pain, how to avoid pain, how to satisfy needs, and most importantly, how to relate causes rightly to effects, to question, to discover, to be happy.
If we fail in these things, we are hardly human (yet), even if we have a human body. Our bodies have evolved but not our minds. Our prehistoric ancestors learned how to save themselves from dangerous animals, for example, either by running back to the safety of their populated caves, or by climbing up a tree.
But our intelligent ancestors did not (fortunately) think in an either-or way to escape danger. It was not either the cave or the tree. What if the cave was too far away, or there were no trees high enough for safety? They learned that they had a wide range of possibilities for safety from all kinds of danger: they could use a strong broken tree branch as a spear, or hide downwind, and so on. Otherwise, we would not be here today.
Having said that, I must say that I am sadly amused whenever a self-righteous bi-polar God-believer challenges others to choose between us or them, either God or damnation, eternal heaven or eternal hell-fire. On a light side, if this kind of heaven exists, it would be populated by profoundly boring bipolar self-righteous one-tracked non-thinkers (who, by the way, swear by the same God, and at each other, too). Surely, most people would rather be in a hell of like-minded free-thinking seekers with different perspectives of life.
The Buddhist view is that whatever exists, by definition, must exist in time: it is impermanent. If something does not exist in time, it is meaningless. There is nothing to talk about. We cannot define something into existence. If we do, then we are delusional.
The Buddha, in his first sermon, admonishes us against two extremes of belief: that of eternal life and that this is our one and only life. The eternalist view is the basis for the God idea, the either-or dualism, the eternal heaven or eternal hell threats. All such ideas can never be real because all existence is impermanence.
The other extreme--this is our only life, so make the best of it is also false, and can be a basis for self-centred materialism: eat, drink, and do our darndest thinking we won’t get caught. Those Singapore lawyers who absconded with their clients’ millions and the financial manipulators who crashed world markets are likely to hold such an idea.
If we are to awaken to true liberating reality, we need to rise above these two extremes, these bipolar ways of thinking. The answer lies in self-understanding, that we live in an intimately interconnected world we are both innerbeings as well as interbeings. And we need to relate to one another ever more from the inside, from our hearts.
Piya Tan © 2009
-
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Re: 法喜分享
由 shamanyeoh 于 周六 10月 17, 2009 2:50 pm
THE SEVEN WONDERS
(1) It’s a wonder,
Even without eyes, to see what naked eyes see not:
Close your eyes to truly see.
The open eye often looks to the past.
Our heart opens the inner eye opens, and looks deep
Into another: as I am so you are; as you are, so am I.
(2) It’s a wonder,
Even without ears, to listen to what prying ears fail to hear:
Don't just hear, but listen long
To the silence of the words, the stillness between the music.
For there can be no sense nor music without silence.
Above all, listen to your heart, yearning to be free.
(3) It’s a wonder,
Even without a nose, to smell what pointed noses fail to smell:
The true fragrance of love without walls,
Loving others as you would others love you.
They pass us by, all looking for love, but not knowing how,
Till the heart smiles, and beats in your outstretched hand.
(4) It’s a wonder,
Even without a tongue, to taste what flat tongues fail to taste:
The taste of freedom in true goodness,
Flowing like gushing rivers down mountains and valleys
Into the mingling mighty ocean,
Where water is simply called water.
(5) It’s a wonder,
Even without a body, to feel what the sensual body feels not:
The joy of inner stillness, when the body has had its fill.
To be kindly aware of your own body is like coming home,
A warm home that breathes every moment for you,
Till you are one with nirvana’s breath.
(6) It’s a wonder,
Even when troubled, to laugh at our sufferings and silliness,
And to teach others not to fall where you have fallen.
For, pain is our first teacher, and the last,
Before joy comes gently but firmly to hold our hands:
We have never suffered really, only we have not looked hard enough.
(7) It’s a wonder,
Even when unloved, to show love to the unloving;
For, only in giving love, do you have love.
Even when the other does not requite your love,
It is not your fault that one loves you not.
For, a greater love awaits you, but whose time is yet to come.
Ask me not what these words mean;
For only your heart will tell you;
Look deep into the stillness there
For what words fail to say.
(1) It’s a wonder,
Even without eyes, to see what naked eyes see not:
Close your eyes to truly see.
The open eye often looks to the past.
Our heart opens the inner eye opens, and looks deep
Into another: as I am so you are; as you are, so am I.
(2) It’s a wonder,
Even without ears, to listen to what prying ears fail to hear:
Don't just hear, but listen long
To the silence of the words, the stillness between the music.
For there can be no sense nor music without silence.
Above all, listen to your heart, yearning to be free.
(3) It’s a wonder,
Even without a nose, to smell what pointed noses fail to smell:
The true fragrance of love without walls,
Loving others as you would others love you.
They pass us by, all looking for love, but not knowing how,
Till the heart smiles, and beats in your outstretched hand.
(4) It’s a wonder,
Even without a tongue, to taste what flat tongues fail to taste:
The taste of freedom in true goodness,
Flowing like gushing rivers down mountains and valleys
Into the mingling mighty ocean,
Where water is simply called water.
(5) It’s a wonder,
Even without a body, to feel what the sensual body feels not:
The joy of inner stillness, when the body has had its fill.
To be kindly aware of your own body is like coming home,
A warm home that breathes every moment for you,
Till you are one with nirvana’s breath.
(6) It’s a wonder,
Even when troubled, to laugh at our sufferings and silliness,
And to teach others not to fall where you have fallen.
For, pain is our first teacher, and the last,
Before joy comes gently but firmly to hold our hands:
We have never suffered really, only we have not looked hard enough.
(7) It’s a wonder,
Even when unloved, to show love to the unloving;
For, only in giving love, do you have love.
Even when the other does not requite your love,
It is not your fault that one loves you not.
For, a greater love awaits you, but whose time is yet to come.
Ask me not what these words mean;
For only your heart will tell you;
Look deep into the stillness there
For what words fail to say.
-
shamanyeoh - 帖子: 202
- 注册: 周四 8月 30, 2007 12:30 am
- 地址: 我们是南大的一群~
Re: 法喜分享
由 shamanyeoh 于 周一 10月 26, 2009 10:39 pm
From Piya Tan
Revisioning Buddhism 4
[an occasional re-look at the Buddha’s Example and Teachings]
ARE BODHISATTVAS SELFISH?
While I was having a meal at a mixed rice stall, a person comes up to me and asked me to pay for his meal. I agreed and asked him to order what he wanted to eat. However, he said he wanted to buy his meal elsewhere: he was asking for money, and I don’t think he’s honest about it. So I said no. It is wrong because the message would be that it is all right to lie.
This set me thinking about some of the Bodhisattva stories we read or hear about. The Vyaghri Jataka, a Sanskrit tale from the Jatakamala, for example, tells of how the Bodhisattva sacrifices his own life to a hungry tigress that was too weak to even attack him. So he cut himself up so that the tigress drinking his blood, would gain strength and devour him.
So the Bodhisattva, it is said, practises his perfection of giving to the highest level, giving his own life away to others. The question now is, what happens to the tigress? What is her karma? Isn’t it karmically horrible to eat a Bodhisattva’s flesh. The tigress will face even more painful rebirth on account of the Bodhisattva’s giving. Anyway, this is just a story, which should help us think deeply.
Compassion unguided by wisdom easily make pious fools of us, fearing bad karma even in criticizing evil and wrong, and so become easy lackeys of the cunning and canny. Wisdom untempered by compassion turns us into clever talking heads who would give the best explanations for a problem without raising a finger to solve it. We need to have a right balance of wisdom and compassion when examining or executing a skillful means.
With such an understanding let us now examine an oft-quoted Zen story; indeed, popular enough to be cited by even non-Buddhist writers as their own.
Two Zen monks, Tanzan and Ekido, traveling on pilgrimage, came to a muddy river crossing. There they saw a lovely young woman dressed in her kimono and finery, obviously not knowing how to cross the river without ruining her clothes. Without further ado, Tanzan graciously picked her up, held her close to him, and carried her across the muddy river, placing her onto the dry ground.
Then he and Ekido continued on their way. Hours later they found themselves at a lodging temple. And here Ekido could no longer restrain himself and gushed forth his complaints:
“Surely, it is against the rules what you did back there…. Touching a woman is simply not allowed…. How could you have done that? … And to have such close contact with her! … This is a violation of all monastic protocol…”
Thus he went on with his verbiage. Tanzan listened patiently to the accusations.
Finally, during a pause, he said, “Look, I set that girl down back at the crossing. Are you still carrying her?”
(Based on an autobiographical story by Japanese Zen master Tanzan)
Tanzan (1819-1892) was a Japanese Buddhist priest and professor of philosophy at the Japanese Imperial University (now the University of Tokyo) during the Meiji period. He was regarded as a Zen master, and figured in several well-known koans, and was also well-known for his disregard of many of the precepts of everyday Buddhism, such as dietary laws. I’m not sure if there is anything virtuous in this.
The first thing we should note is that this is an autobiographical Zen story; it probably did not happen, not exactly in this manner, anyway. For if it did, then it has a serious ethical problem, where one is good at the cost of the perceived evil or foolishness of another. I think it was the Irish playwright, George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950) who quipped, “There are bad women because there are good women.”
Indeed, a bodhisattva who is regarded as good or compassionate on account of the evil or lack in others, would actually be a selfish person, as the bodhisattva is not independently good. A true bodhisattva is one who, being himself highly virtuous, is capable of inspiring goodness in another, even if it is to the bodhisattva’s apparent disadvantage.
Tanzan’s self-told tale has a serious moral flaw if he made himself appear virtuous on account of Ekido’s concern for the Vinaya. Such a person as Ekido, however, was simply rare in Meiji Japan, where priests were as a rule non-celibate (on account of the nikujiki saitaiior “meat-eating and marriage” law of 1872). As such, it was likely than Tanzan had invented a Vinaya-respecting monk as a foil for his self-righteousness.
On the other hand, Tanzan’s tale also evinces his serious lack of understanding of the Vinaya rules. For, in a real life situation, even a Vinaya-observing orthodox Theravada monk would help this lady in every way he could, or he would ask his collegue or some other suitable persons to help the woman. If a Vinaya-keeping monk has helped the woman, he has done a good deed by breaking a minor rule, for which he only needs to confess before another monk, and remind himself not to wander into improper places the next time. There is no need of any skillful means here, only common sense.
Revisioning Buddhism 4
[an occasional re-look at the Buddha’s Example and Teachings]
ARE BODHISATTVAS SELFISH?
While I was having a meal at a mixed rice stall, a person comes up to me and asked me to pay for his meal. I agreed and asked him to order what he wanted to eat. However, he said he wanted to buy his meal elsewhere: he was asking for money, and I don’t think he’s honest about it. So I said no. It is wrong because the message would be that it is all right to lie.
This set me thinking about some of the Bodhisattva stories we read or hear about. The Vyaghri Jataka, a Sanskrit tale from the Jatakamala, for example, tells of how the Bodhisattva sacrifices his own life to a hungry tigress that was too weak to even attack him. So he cut himself up so that the tigress drinking his blood, would gain strength and devour him.
So the Bodhisattva, it is said, practises his perfection of giving to the highest level, giving his own life away to others. The question now is, what happens to the tigress? What is her karma? Isn’t it karmically horrible to eat a Bodhisattva’s flesh. The tigress will face even more painful rebirth on account of the Bodhisattva’s giving. Anyway, this is just a story, which should help us think deeply.
Compassion unguided by wisdom easily make pious fools of us, fearing bad karma even in criticizing evil and wrong, and so become easy lackeys of the cunning and canny. Wisdom untempered by compassion turns us into clever talking heads who would give the best explanations for a problem without raising a finger to solve it. We need to have a right balance of wisdom and compassion when examining or executing a skillful means.
With such an understanding let us now examine an oft-quoted Zen story; indeed, popular enough to be cited by even non-Buddhist writers as their own.
Two Zen monks, Tanzan and Ekido, traveling on pilgrimage, came to a muddy river crossing. There they saw a lovely young woman dressed in her kimono and finery, obviously not knowing how to cross the river without ruining her clothes. Without further ado, Tanzan graciously picked her up, held her close to him, and carried her across the muddy river, placing her onto the dry ground.
Then he and Ekido continued on their way. Hours later they found themselves at a lodging temple. And here Ekido could no longer restrain himself and gushed forth his complaints:
“Surely, it is against the rules what you did back there…. Touching a woman is simply not allowed…. How could you have done that? … And to have such close contact with her! … This is a violation of all monastic protocol…”
Thus he went on with his verbiage. Tanzan listened patiently to the accusations.
Finally, during a pause, he said, “Look, I set that girl down back at the crossing. Are you still carrying her?”
(Based on an autobiographical story by Japanese Zen master Tanzan)
Tanzan (1819-1892) was a Japanese Buddhist priest and professor of philosophy at the Japanese Imperial University (now the University of Tokyo) during the Meiji period. He was regarded as a Zen master, and figured in several well-known koans, and was also well-known for his disregard of many of the precepts of everyday Buddhism, such as dietary laws. I’m not sure if there is anything virtuous in this.
The first thing we should note is that this is an autobiographical Zen story; it probably did not happen, not exactly in this manner, anyway. For if it did, then it has a serious ethical problem, where one is good at the cost of the perceived evil or foolishness of another. I think it was the Irish playwright, George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950) who quipped, “There are bad women because there are good women.”
Indeed, a bodhisattva who is regarded as good or compassionate on account of the evil or lack in others, would actually be a selfish person, as the bodhisattva is not independently good. A true bodhisattva is one who, being himself highly virtuous, is capable of inspiring goodness in another, even if it is to the bodhisattva’s apparent disadvantage.
Tanzan’s self-told tale has a serious moral flaw if he made himself appear virtuous on account of Ekido’s concern for the Vinaya. Such a person as Ekido, however, was simply rare in Meiji Japan, where priests were as a rule non-celibate (on account of the nikujiki saitaiior “meat-eating and marriage” law of 1872). As such, it was likely than Tanzan had invented a Vinaya-respecting monk as a foil for his self-righteousness.
On the other hand, Tanzan’s tale also evinces his serious lack of understanding of the Vinaya rules. For, in a real life situation, even a Vinaya-observing orthodox Theravada monk would help this lady in every way he could, or he would ask his collegue or some other suitable persons to help the woman. If a Vinaya-keeping monk has helped the woman, he has done a good deed by breaking a minor rule, for which he only needs to confess before another monk, and remind himself not to wander into improper places the next time. There is no need of any skillful means here, only common sense.
-
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