Maladjusted Buddhism

I read this fascinating talk that Martin Luther King Jr. gave during the last year of his life at the American Psychological Association's annual conference. It immediately reminded me of how married convert Buddhist practitioners are to mainstream psychology, and how that isn't necessarily a good thing. This passage in particular is worth considering in more detail:

There are certain technical words in every academic discipline which soon become stereotypes and even clichés. Every academic discipline has its technical nomenclature. You who are in the field of psychology have given us a great word. It is the word maladjusted. This word is probably used more than any other word in psychology. It is a good word; certainly it is good that in dealing with what the word implies you are declaring that destructive maladjustment should be destroyed. You are saying that all must seek the well-adjusted life in order to avoid neurotic and schizophrenic personalities.

But on the other hand, I am sure that we will recognize that there are some things in our society, some things in our world, to which we should never be adjusted. There are some things concerning which we must always be maladjusted if we are to be people of good will. We must never adjust ourselves to racial discrimination and racial segregation. We must never adjust ourselves to religious bigotry. We must never adjust ourselves to economic conditions that take necessities from the many to give luxuries to the few. We must never adjust ourselves to the madness of militarism, and the self-defeating effects of physical violence.

Psychology as a discipline, "social psychologists" notwithstanding, has tended to focus on individuals and their varying levels of adjustment to mainstream norms. Pathology is basically understood as thoughts, behaviors, and patterns which do not conform to the norms, and also are significantly disruptive to the general functioning and well being of the individual displaying them. More often than not, there's an attendant sense that the pathology also is significantly disruptive in some manner or another to others, and society in general. A person with bipolar, for example, is considered difficult to work with, moody, inconsistent, and a whole variety of unsavory characteristics. Instead of being viewed as a whole person with the vastness of depth of anyone else, they're frequently reduced to a diagnosis and a certain subset of characteristics (which may or may not be enduring or consistent). It's as if in order to be viewed as "healthy" and "socially adjusted," there's a certain level of "going along" required. A certain necessity to give up, suppress, or refine behaviors and patterns that are disruptive to the norms of society. If I have the impulse or desire to run naked in the streets, it's probably a good idea for me to overcome that somehow. Lest I be viewed as "crazy" and "sexually perverse," and if caught by the authorities, subject to all sorts of social penalties (fines, jail, sex offender registration, etc.)

Religions have similar conduct codes built into them, linking the well adjusted person to some form or another of divinity. For Buddhists, the enlightened one or Bodhisattva should quickly come to mind. Of course, anyone who has been around Buddhist teachings and narratives for awhile knows that things are more complicated than that. Well adjusted really doesn't cut it when trying to describe the qualities of a Buddha. In fact, Buddhas sometimes act in ways that are completely in line with MLK's "maladjustment." They're called to disrupt, sometimes severely, patterns of suffering and oppression. That's their job in the world. And that's what we practitioners are vowing to do when we chant the bodhisattva vows, for example.

And yet, I think for many convert Buddhists, a lot of that intelligent, enlightened maladjustment has been erased or downplayed. The aspirations we claim to make frequently seem fraudulent in a certain sense. "I vow to liberate all beings, but only if it doesn't upset my neighbors, make anyone uncomfortable, or employ actions that aren't 'normal.'" The majority of convert Buddhists, in North America anyways, were born and bred middle class or higher up the economic ladder. And regardless of material status, with an allegience to middle class norms and values, including an inherent trust in the teachings and practices of psychology. It's just a given, for example, that it's wrong to steal and that anger is always a negative emotion, even if we feel justified in being angry about something.

When I consider many modern, convert interpretations of the Buddhist precepts, these middle class norms are all over the place. And they're reinforced by concepts and practices of Western Psychology, which up until fairly recently, held the behaviors and patterns of white, heterosexual, middle class males as the highest standard of adjustment. The pole by which all is measured and techniques are sourced from.

While it may appear like I'm rejecting psychology outright, that's absolutely not the case. I nearly double majored in psychology during my undergrad days, and have spent much of the decade or so I've been practicing Zen reflecting on various teachings from psychology and how they might apply to my life. And others. I have no interest in romanticizing psychological disorders, or advocating for some sort of loose, anything goes society. What I am interested in are the ways in which the meld of psychological understandings and Buddhist teachings reinforces white, middle class norms, and limits our understanding both of liberation and how that might unfold into action in the world.

We must never adjust ourselves to racial discrimination and racial segregation. We must never adjust ourselves to religious bigotry. We must never adjust ourselves to economic conditions that take necessities from the many to give luxuries to the few. We must never adjust ourselves to the madness of militarism, and the self-defeating effects of physical violence.

Let's consider the economic conditions statement. The majority of convert Buddhist sanghas have adjusted to the economic norms of global capitalism. They traffic in various forms of marketing and "selling" the dharma. They structure themselves in ways that diminish the concept of dana to monetary gifts. And they rarely, if ever, participate in opposing, advocate in favor of opposing, or even speak about opposing economic injustices, poverty, or the like. Taking any sort of deliberate stance on these issues is usually seen as "political," or not in the realm of practice. It's as if the Ox Herding pictures end at number 9, and returning to the marketplace is reduced to one's family, friends, co-workers and immediate sangha.

In my view, the very ways in which global capitalism structure society and our individual lives by default, reinforce all of these issues with convert sanghas and their practitioners. Keeping the doors open requires money, and it's easiest to just go along with what works for other non-profit, religious and spiritual organizations. Individual members need to work - usually full time - and are used to the dharma as product model of funding the organization. And speaking out or opposing economic injustice and poverty in deliberate, tangible ways can - and often does - cause a hell of lot of discomfort. It might disrupt the perceived harmony of the sangha. Furthermore, it can and sometimes does bring certain social penalities, including "negative" press and perhaps lost revenue from individuals or organizations tied to coporate interests. I think Buddhists in general throughout history have leaned towards being a more quiet presence in whatever society they're living in. And certainly, there is no end to the list of examples of ways in which Buddhist insitutions have aligned themselves with political and social power brokers who built their livelihood on the suffering and misery of others (and exploitation of the planet).

But that isn't the whole story. There are plenty of examples of sanghas and individual Buddhists - beginning with the Buddha himself on down to Thich Nhat Hanh's order during the Vietnam war era and continuing today all across the globe - of Buddhists standing in the face of injustice. Speaking out against warfare, economic injustic, and oppression. And also doing various forms of action, from intimate service to those in dire need of relief to calling out the social power brokers and the structures that support them. In other words, while our practice has a strong inward bent it by nature, active engagement in the world is not an alien concept, nor should it be.

Our head teacher at zen center likes to say that zazen is a radical practice. That sitting down and attending to what is right now instead of remaining busy and hooked by our everyday concerns runs against the grain of our society.

I agree with her. Even with the rise of secular mindfulness programs, the art of stillness and dance of not doing are still very foreign in mainstream. Underappreciated and totally devalued.

Yet, this is only one end of the radical pole in my opinion. The other end being the art and dance of engaging in social concerns fully imbued with the teachings and our practice. The active bodhisattva, as opposed to some unobtainable archetype. As I see it, one of the tasks of my generation of convert Buddhist practitioners and those that follow is to help bring alive both ends of the radical pole. To become exemplars of maladjustment in the spirit of MLK's teaching above. And part of the process will be to deeply and critically examine the ways in which white, middle class norms and particularly psychological norms have influenced our understanding of the Buddhist teachings in ways that compromise or limit them. And us.


*Hat tip to Nella Lou from Smiling Buddha Cabaret for the MLK speech.

Practice Like Our Hair is On Fire: A Twist on an Old Buddhist Phrase

One thing I find challenging about practicing Buddhism in a wealthy nation, surrounded by other practitioners who tend to have "enough," is the huge disconnect many have between their spiritual practice and the social environment. This is especially true of white, heterosexual North American practitioners who do not have to face issues of institutional, systemic discrimination and oppression. Beyond this, however, I continue to reflect on how, for example, Buddhist monks and nuns in Burma, or Tibet, or Vietnam to give a few examples, really don't have the easy option of making such separations. Their practice and the social realities in their nations are obviously inseparable. They might be able to complete long periods of intensive meditation and study, or they might wake up one day to gunfire, ramped up soldiers, or some natural disaster barreling down upon them. These folks do not get to "wait" until they become enlightened, or "wise," to get into the fray of social concerns. They just have to step up, and do their best awakened work.

Along these lines, there's the statement "practice like your hair is on fire." It's provocative, but what is it really about? Perhaps more importantly for us in affluent countries, who have "enough" and/or are relatively "safe," what does it really mean?

I've seen numerous articles, blog posts, and comments in recent months about the ways in which dharma practice in affluent countries is too often being reduced to stress relief, psychological health, and other individualistic focuses. Even laments over the loss of a focus on enlightenment often sound individualistic, which makes me wonder if this is a byproduct - in part - of living and practicing in relative comfort. Being comfortable with the discomfort and dysfunction that are produced daily in materially wealthy, capitalist societies. There's something about living with most, if not all of your basic needs met, that can lead to a smug certainty about what Buddha was teaching us, and how we "should" apply it.

Is the general history we have about Buddhist teachings and how it's manifested in different countries accurate? Do we in Western affluent nations also apply our own understanding of social activism to that history, and assume that most Buddhists historically were focused on individual liberation?

Vows of poverty and "home-leaving" seem to have as much to do with breaking down separation as anything else. It's more difficult to think it's all about you, and/or you and your family and friends, when you depend upon others, including total strangers, for your food, clothing, and shelter.

In other words, teachings like "practice like your hair is on fire" might be an antidote to the separations commonly attached to affluent conditions. However, I think it's more useful to pluralize it.

Practice like OUR hair is on fire. All of us. The entire planet. Because it sure as hell seems to be anyway.

Buddhist Anger Strategies

My old friend anger has shown up in discussions here, as well as on some other blogs over the past couple of days. Given how powerful, confusing, and often destructive anger is, it's really good let discussions and teachings around it come right in whenever they appear. Because you never know when you might need them.

Here's a quotefrom Buddhist teacher Sharon Salzberg:

When we step back and re-vision our understanding of life then we don't need to get so lost in our anger. When we look at anger as it arises, what's important is to look at the very feeling, flavor, and texture of anger. We don't say, "This is wrong," "This is bad," "I shouldn't have this anger." Just pay attention to the feeling.

Once I was sitting at the Insight Meditation Society, the center I cofounded in Massachusetts, and one of my teachers, Munindra, who was visiting from India was guiding us. I was very upset at this moment. Anger had come into my mind and I was thinking, "I've been practicing for four years, I shouldn't be angry anymore but I am. What's this still doing here?!" Munindra could hear how disgruntled I was, how dismayed I was, and he said, "Imagine that a spaceship has landed on the front lawn and these martians have come out and come up to you and asked, 'What is anger?' That's how you should relate to anger."

You don't think "I'm righteous. I'm going to do this or that, get revenge, etc." You just ask, "What is anger?" "What's it like in my body?" "What are the layers of this mood?" "How much sadness is there in it? How much fear?"

I like the "What is this?" focus here. Instead of thinking you know what's happening, you investigate. I know that there have been many times when I have thought I was angry, and actually saw something else when I looked. Grief. Confusion. General irritation. Physical illness developing. Hunger. So, it makes a lot of sense to pay attention, and see if you can see what's there, even if you are in the middle of an argument with someone.

But you know, I also find that Salzberg's example typifies the way privileged, middle class Buddhists tend to talk about anger. Anger is considered in the context of individual relationships, and mostly in individual relationships where the potential for grave damage - like rape, murder, or some other awfulness is unlikely.

Petteri and I had a discussion that bled over into a new post, and which offers some challenge to the "standard Buddhist" view. He writes:

Rather than face the anger, I pretend it's not there; pretend that I'm the kind of person I want to be, or you're the kind of person I want you to be.

I think a great many of our problems comes from this turning away.

Maturing kamma is a messy business, and I don't think there are any magic solutions to completely get rid of the mess, even if there are particular medicines that work, to an extent, against particular poisons.

The upshot is a particular pattern of unskilful behavior. Covert aggression. Exhortations to "abandon the ego" and "let go," to become a Zen zombie floating above it all, like a corpse in a river. Resolution avoidance by walking away from conflicts. Hidden vices. Things left to fester, sometimes for years, until they explode in a fountain of pus. I have a hunch that many of the Zen scandals that have been plaguing the scene lately have to do with this pattern, and I think I can see it playing out in a small way among a quite a few Buddhists.

Avoidance is something I'm aware of in myself. And it's also something I have watched members of my sangha being forced to face in recent years - fallout from our own teacher scandal. Too often, I, we, stuck to just watching, just sitting, and trying our damnedest to speak and act non-violently. Some of that was very skillful, and some of that was noble stupidity.

Petteri talks about times when maybe the best way to "mature karma" is to go at it with each other - to get the pissed off out in some manner or another. I think that might be true, but it also might be a poor idea. I'm convinced that one of the skills to being an awakened being is learning to read situations, so that you have a much better sense of how to approach what's happening. Which is almost impossible if you're really angry. But it might be the case that if you've trained yourself to read situations well, you might get a decent sense of things before you get pissed off. And then perhaps be able to handle being angry within such a situation. Does that make sense?

But there's another level here that isn't on the table. The anger that arises during life threatening situations. The anger that arises from deep, collective injustices. The anger of entire cultures, groups of people who have been oppressed for generation after generation.

Working with this might include a lot of the above discussion, but also requires a different view. A different set of "solutions." For example, shuttling the collective anger of indigenous peoples into individualized patterns and approaches is actually not changing the roots. Collective rage requires working towards collective transformation. And that means working towards justice, and seeing that rage as a manifestation - at least in part - of conditions that must be changed by the multitudes.

While it might be true that certain individuals within a group might have entirely too much attachment and fixation on being enraged - and thus might really benefit from something like doing zazen or examining their fear - it's also the case that there's something much larger than any individual going on there. Which is actually why - going back to Salzberg - the skill of paying attention and saying "what is this?" is really valuable. When enough people experiencing and/or witnessing injustice recognize that what they are experiencing is injustice, then there's an opportunity to address the roots.

So, the way I see it, understanding and working with anger requires that we widen our views of what skillfulness might mean, and realize that while there probably is an individual piece within any manifestation of anger, it's possible that said anger is also arising from some broader, more collective place. Maybe 80% of a given person's anger is just attachment, fear, and shoddy attempts to claim power. But the other 10-20% - that might be something bigger, something calling for larger questions and larger answers.