Why the Genpo Roshi Controversy Just Won't Go Away

I was going to write about something else today, but when I opened the blog today, I had a comment waiting on a postfrom over two years ago. The infamous Genpo Roshi article during the height of his implosion back in 2011. This post is, by far, the most read piece ever published on DH. Almost 10,000 views and 67 comments to date, a crazily high amount given that most of my posts get a few hundred views and a handful of comments, and then essentially stay quiet in the archives.

Something about Genpo's story keeps people hooked. There have been plenty of other Zen teacher scandals in recent years. Several have broke open since Genpo. I've written about more than one of them here, and while those posts gained a lot of attention as well, none have had the lasting power of the Genpo post.

Sure, there's kind of a flies attracted to garbage thing around these scandals in general. Gawking at the downfall of folks with some elevated level of wisdom is a popular pastime these days. Maybe it always has been. And certainly these stories always give the opportunity for dissecting delusion, and offering warnings and insights into how to practice - especially with teacher figures.

But for some reason, the Genpo post in particular lingers on. If you type in "Genpo Roshi controversy" into Google, the post comes up #6 on the list, so that's probably part of it. I tend to think that the big money making of "Big Mind" also plays a role in continued interest. Power scandals that involve lots of money are always major attention grabbers. Along those lines, the most recent commenter said this:

It interesting to me that as soon as someone, particularly someone who is teaching something in the spiritual sphere, makes money from what they do then it's a scam.

Good on Dennis Merzel for having the courage to share his work and charge what it's worth, the world is a better place because of it.

This linkage between making money and what's being offered being considered a scam is worth investigating. Living in a capitalist society creates a lot of challenge for spiritual lay teachers, writers, and others on similar paths. The safety net of support from a community, or even societal norms that monastics traditionally have experienced, just isn't really there for most lay folks. Even monastic sanghas in countries like the U.S. are finding it difficult at times to support the needs of its individual members, and also offer teachings and/or practice opportunities to the broader community without cost (or at low cost.)

In capitalist societies, those teachers, spiritual writers, and similar others who are able to give freely most of time are often in economically privileged places. They aren't dependent upon students or interested folks giving them money for the time and energy they give teaching. And the expectation that this be the case - that they not be dependent for material needs on their students and interested others - is a really curious warping if you think about it. Instead of figuring out ways to develop communities of giving and receiving that encourage a general flow of material support to those teaching, writing about the dharma, etc., we've mostly imposed a capitalist framework that turns offerings of the dharma into products for purchase. So, either teacher X accepts the commodified exchange, or they have to get their material needs met elsewhere. Usually in the form of a job or career of some sort.

So, in one way, what someone like Genpo does is really just an exaggerated form of compliance to the capitalist framework imposed upon the dharma. Charging piles of money for the teachings he is "giving" ensures that he'll be able to keep functioning for a long, long time as a teacher within the framework. Most others charge much less and either barely get by, work somewhere else for pay, or are privileged. But in all cases, what's reinforced is the notion that an individual "I" is fully responsible for covering his/hers material needs at all times. A notion that really runs counter both to the teachings of interdependence, as well as the ways in which sangha and "enlightened" societies are supposed to run.

The greed that I see in folks like Genpo streams forth from this collective place. When you are indoctrinated from a very young age to believe that "a good citizen" is someone who always produces, always has enough money, always takes care of their needs on their own or within their own immediate family, it's terribly likely that you'll feel compelled to take more than you need when you can. That you'll horde and justify hording. That you'll exploit others in small ways or great ways. Because in the back of your mind, you don't want to be viewed as "a failure." You don't want to be at the mercy of something like a faceless government bureaucracy, unforgiving family members, or random strangers on the street. It doesn't matter how much you pile up, there's that nagging feeling of lack hanging around which never seems to let up. Not only fears about lack of material goods and/or money, but a lack of self worth as well.

None of this justifies charging $50,000 for a Zen retreat, for example. Nor any of Genpo's power abuse, sexual greed and exploitation of his students either. However, I think that one of the reasons why stories like Genpo's remain "hot" long after they have cooled in a certain sense is that they provoke all the unexamined and unsettled narratives each of us have around need and lack, especially those of us born and raised in capitalist dominant economies like the United States. Where self worth and value is intimately tied up in money making, continuous production and consumption, and "personal" responsibility. And where power is mostly linked with control over the general consensus means of gaining that self-worth (i.e. the jobs, money, and material goods.

Greed is certainly a universal, human predicament. But it's that much harder to face and overcome when you live in a society that essentially is built upon rewarding and upholding acts of greed. And has as a central narrative the rejection of all those "in need," whether temporary or ongoing. We won't get anywhere with issues like power hungry, greed ridden spiritual teachers as long as the communities we built around them fail to address the broader issues of need and lack head on. As a regular, ongoing focus of practice.

*If you're interested in going more in depth on these issues, I highly recommend Scott Edelstein's excellent book.

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.

Why Eat, Pray, Love Might Be Valuable Inspite of Itself

Trevor from The Big Old Oak Tree published parts of a really cool discussion he and some friends had on Facebook. At the center of it was the book and now movie Eat, Pray, Love. I have to say I find Gilbert's writing pretty self-absorbed, and also littered with unexamined privilege, spiritual materialism, and exoticizing (oh, those lovely, spiritual Asian people) kind of crap.

And yet, at the same time, beyond this, there is that appeal of the spiritual journey being documented which is worth considering. Gilbert is, like the rest of us, just trying to figure things out.

Both of these view points appear in the discussion Trevor and friends had. Just behind them, though, is really an effort to consider what it means to practice in the middle of a capitalist, material driven society.

On the one hand, you have this:

Koji Rick Dreher
i came to buddhism through punk rock, i have a different angle than most of my peers and teachers in dharma. this leaves me feeling pretty isolated and sometimes i want to scream from the rooftops to see if there's an echo. michaela echoes, robert aitken echoed, david loy echoes, gudo uchiyama echoed, ajahn amaro echoes. to me, the robe is 100% save all beings, 100% fuck capitalism, and 100% fuck self-interest. i'm gonna have to bum some people out if i'm gonna say what i think. i'm against mainstream, secularized, self-indulgent yoga culture, i'm against the omega institute, i'm against esalen, i'm against cafe gratitude, i'm against work, and i'm against the economy. i'm coming out! chant down babylon!

A lot of this echoes for me as well, but the "100%" and "against" spirit doesn't quite work in my opinion. It feels too dramatic, and also too much like all these other groups throughout history that have been reactions against, rather than responses to, a dominant culture. Do you understand the difference? Reactions against are stuck in duality, whereas responses to can include what's present, but transcend the limitations of what's present (and also what's absent).

On the other side of Koji's statement is this:

V:
Maybe one day, some of you here will be in the position to offer practice discussion. And maybe one day a 'rich, white, skinny lady' will come to you and sit down in front of you and fold her yoga-clothes clad legs and speak to you about h...er suffering. How will you respond? Hopefully not with the contempt and judgement I hear in some of these posts. I hope, for your sake as well as hers, you will respond with compassion. Now I know compassion can look a lot of ways and can even include a slap and a shout, but I don't feel that's the kind of slapping and shouting that's happening here. It's contempt and judgement, plain and simple, and it's just as toxic as spiritual materialism. So please be careful.

Koji -- That "nuerotic self-obsessed rich lady on the vacation of a lifetime" is caught in a cycle of suffering and while you say that this doesn't have anything to do with genuine spiritual practice, nothing could be further from the truth. Those yoga clothes have the first noble truth written all over them. Our vow is to meet the person behind the clothes and help them.

Y'all are raising excellent, important points about spiritual materialism and I'm glad you're doing this. I hope you never stop using your sharp wits and critical thinking to ferret out hypocrisy and I hope you will always raise your voice against what's lurking in the shadows. But I also hope you can find a way to keep doing that without using them as a weapon against your fellow human beings.

The last two sentences seem to be the crux of dealing with a lot of life. How to renounce being nasty towards others without also going soft, and being "nice" in the process. I do bristle as the comment "Our vow is to meet the person behind the clothes and help them." Maybe it's just the word "help," which I also use a lot, but feel is sloppy at best, and at worst, creates a mental power imbalance that often translates into an actual power imbalance when working with others. The old director at my workplace used to say "We don't help people, we walk with them." This is closer to what I feel the vows I took were talking about.

Without the success of Gilbert's book, these kinds of discussions might not be happening. So, even though I have a load of reservations about the actual product and the syrupy-sweet reception many people are giving it, I'm thankful that the book and now movie have given people an opportunity to really consider what they are doing with their lives, and how "the spiritual life" might occur in these challenging times.