The First Precept, Mass Murders, and Male Gun Obsession

Every time some American man shoots up a building full of people, I feel a deep sense of outrage. Even with years of meditation and Buddhist training, it's still there. No matter how many arguments I have heard from gun rights advocates, I've never been able to swallow the obsession with guns many men in the U.S. have. I'm aware that this is true in other nations - and clearly armed groups of men terrorize people in war torn and oppressed countries all over the world. However, given the last few days in the U.S., I feel called to question again, as a man, why we American men are so attached to our guns.

Many of you probably heard a few days ago about the Major who killed a dozen of his fellow soldiers and injured at least thirty others in Fort Hood, Texas. And then yesterday, a disgruntled former employee walked into his old workplace and killed one person and injured half a dozen others. Two days - thirteen dead, dozens of others injured. Is this another form of war?

The gun lobby, lead by the National Rifle Association, is powerful in the United States. It seems near impossible to get quality health coverage for all Americans, but you sure as hell can get a gun if want one. In fact, recent estimates suggest there is almost one gun per person in the U.S. And let's face it, even though a woman finally stopped the Fort Hood shooter, most of those owning the guns, and doing the shooting, are men.

The first Buddhist precept is a vow of non-killing. It's not an injunction against all killing, and indeed we are always, even in taking a breath, killing something. However, I believe that this precept calls us to examine deeply our desires to kill and to refrain from all killing that is unnecessary.

I can hear the hunters in the audience cringing a bit when I say this. Maybe they will even think I am judging them. Well, I've never had a clear answer when it comes to hunting. On the one hand, how many people in the U.S. have to hunt out of necessity. On the other hand, the common imbalance of populations of deer and rabbits, for example, create their own problems, and hunting, I suppose might be one solution to the problems they create. Hunting is, in a lot of ways, a separate issue from gun violence. However, groups like the NRA are filled with hunters whose numbers and financial contributions contribute to the blocking of laws that might prevent some of the gun violence that happens in the U.S.

But laws themselves are never enough. We men, especially those who own and use guns, must get reflective about why we're so collectively prone to violence. How much of our collective obsession with guns is a feeling that we are powerless in our lives? How much of it is a mistaken belief that in owning and using firearms, we might gain control of our lives? Why is it that it much easier to find men who are publicly, even politically passionate about guns rights than it is to find men who are as passionate about health care rights, just to give one example? And how much of this is driven by unexamined fears, including the fear to be a man who shows fear and vulnerability?

This is something I have never understood. If a man joins and serves in the military, he is heroic. It's especially true if he is killed while in the military. And yet, if a man devotes his entire life to quietly volunteering to nurse the sick, feed the poor, educate the next generation, etc., the word "hero" is almost never heard. Why is that? Why is military service privileged above that of doctors, nurses, teachers, farmers, community organizers, and a myriad of things people do that greatly benefit others?

Now, I've always found the word "hero" a bit dubious. It implies a sense of solid self and individual agency I don't really think is true. When we uphold someone as a hero, I think we often also continue the mythology of a fixed, separate self going on a public scale. And yet, since it's a term we hear often, it's worth paying attention to where it's used, and to question why it's being used.

Here's another question I have: when the word "hero" is applied to a solider who is killed, is this partly an attempt to deflect our attention from the violence that occurred?

Thich Nhat Hanh said the following about the first precept:

It is not just by not killing with your body that you observe the First Precept. If in your thinking you allow the killing to go on, you also break this precept. We must be determined not to condone killing, even in our minds. According to the Buddha, the mind is the base of all actions. It is most dangerous to kill in the mind. When you believe, for example, that yours is the only way for humankind and that everyone who follows another way is your enemy, millions of people could be killed because of that idea.

I've never supported state-sanctioned warfare of any sort, and thus all the questions about the military. However, this issue is much bigger than the military. When you live in a nation where there is almost one gun per person, and where over 9000people were killed by firearms in a single year (2008), and where men last year where demanding the "right" to enter Presidential candidate speeches armed with weapons, you start to wonder what the hell is going on.

Even though we are tiny minority of the U.S. population, we Buddhist practitioners have the tools within our practice to be peace, and help manifest peacefulness within our communities. We can do the hard work of examining our minds and our actions, and to learn and promote more non-violent ways of living together and dealing with conflict. Many members of other religious/spiritual groups are out there, doing different work with similar aims, and are ready to join us. Will gun violence and gun obsession disappear if we do this challenging work? Probably not. But if each of us, in the breadbasket of our spiritual practice, doesn't work to offer more nourishment to peace and non-violence, it's almost certain we will become surrounded by murder and mayhem.

Buddhist Bank Robber's Request for Cat Visitation Denied

My sister sent me this curious story yesterday. Essentially a German bank robber requested that his cat be allowed to visit him in prison because he believes the cat is a reincarnation of his mother. The bank robber, who is said to be Buddhist, told a judge "I know it is mummy. She looks after me just the way she did. I need to see her like other prisoners see their wives and children." My first response was a wild belly laugh. What a great story! And yet, clearly there have also been others who have had similar experiences to this man. Reincarnation is a tricky point of Buddhism for a lot of people. Some have a pollyannaish take on it, and walk around anointing every person, animal, and place as the reincarnation of saint X or buddha y. Others simply strip it off all together, and ignore any Buddhist teachings that speak of reincarnation. Both of these approaches are troubling.

The court's denial of the claim is also interesting.

"While we respect the religious freedom of individuals, the accused has not been able to furnish proof that his deceased mother has been reborn in a cat. Therefore, the request for visiting rights for the feline is rejected."

What "proof" could ever be furnished? Even Tibetan lamas who have demonstrated astounding levels of familiarity and recognition of places and people they never could have physically seen in this life aren't viewed, in rational, concrete terms as having "furnished proof."

How do systems of justice, built upon concrete laws and "reason," effectively address issues of a spiritual nature? Can they?

The journalist's take on the whole thing seems to be of "this is a joke, I want to make people laugh" variety. This is one of the powers, and dangers, of journalism - the ability to pass judgment on a story and then aim your readers towards passing the same judgment.

Even though I question the journalist's approach, I do wonder if this bank robber is simply lonely and wants to see his cat. Or if he feels like messing around with the courts is the only way he can get some control in his life. However, I'm also not willing to dismiss his story as not true.

This is an easy story to make fun of and laugh at. Hell, I though it was funny too! A guy wants his cat to visit him in prison. How can you not laugh? But there are some difficult, somewhat troubling issues behind it which also cause me to pause, and take a breath in the name of remaining open when it comes to stories links to spiritual beliefs.

* The cat in the photo is my mother's cat, who she believes is the reincarnation of a previous family cat. The jury remains out on that one.

Short Meditation on Anger

On the one hand, there is this from Aristotle:

Anyone can become angry - that is easy. But to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way - that is not easy.

On the other hand, there is this image, taken in front of my apartment building last winter:



I don't know about you, but most of my experiences with anger look like the latter. At least this body still has its "sea legs" working.

Questioning the convert Soto Zen obsession with Dogen

This post probably could be filled with citations, quotes, historical data, and every other form of research-oriented, "fact" based information to back up my point. But I'm not going there for now. Maybe later, but for now, I'm just going to say what comes.

Also, to my readers who aren't steeped in Zen, and who don't know Dogen, I apologize. Maybe this post will spark some interest in you anyway, or maybe not.

So, I've been wondering for a long time about what almost feels like an obsession with Zen Master Dogen's teachings amongst those who teach and practice in convert Soto Zen communities. Specifically, what I have experienced in my own sangha at times over the years, and have also seen in writings and blogs of others, is a some times exclusive pairing of Dogen with root teacher X's teachings (Katagiri, Suzuki, and Maezumi being the most prominent) as the gospel of zen. Clearly, some of this is a function of what those root teachers focused on and handed down to us converts. However, I also wonder if there is also some attachment to the view that Dogen was the best, and that the teachings of root teacher X are the modern presentation of the most important parts of Dogen.

Obviously, spiritual traditions tend to revere founders, and look to their words and lives as examples of enlightened living. And clearly, Dogen was an amazing teacher whose words continually spark something within me, even when I find myself disagreeing with something. Yet, sometimes I wonder if such a heavy emphasis on a 13th century monastic, who broke from the past by emphasizing a single practice, zazen, above all else - I sometimes question if his words and life are the most appropriate teachings for us 21st century "in the world" practitioners.

Here are a few issues I have specifically questioned when it comes to Dogen:

1. How does the focus on zazen and monastic living in Dogen mesh or not mesh with living in the world lay practice? And does it matter if the two clash?

2. How much can we truly learn about sex, money, politics and social issues from Dogen? I remember talk during a class about the Tenzo Kyokun last winter that applied its teachings to these issues, but how much of that was simply projection or extension of something that wasn't actually there?

3. Can we always rely on Dogen's teachings? In other words, does he sometimes hit the mark completely and other times not so much? Partly, I think of some of the teachings in the Shobogenzo-zuimonki that seem rather rigid, and even extreme. People love to chalk this up to poor translation, or misinterpretation, but really, isn't that just a justification for continuing the narrative that Dogen was the best, and should go unquestioned? Or that our questioning about Dogen must be kept in the realm of how his teachings illuminate the truth of our lives?

4. What does the over-reliance on a single historical teacher, no matter how wonderful, do to the practice as a whole, and to our individual practices?

So You Want to be a Bodhisattva, eh?

This post, which was just recommended by Barry over at Ox Herding, struck a chord with me for many reasons. One is that the Xinxinming, the dharma poem I have been writing about for awhile now, has equanimity as a driving force behind its words.

I have to say I'm rather attached to remaining, or appearing calm and "with it," under difficult circumstances. The same seems to be true for the author of the post. On trying to work with all that comes up during visits with her ailing, elderly mother in the nursing home, the author writes:

The practice of equanimity failed me over and over as I watched the steadiness I gained on the cushion fracture and words snarl out fueled by long-buried childhood wounds. Every encounter left me raw and bleeding, angered by the weakness of my practice and determined that there was some space to be inserted between the pain her words re-ignited and the protective rage that flashed. I told a friend one day, “I can last about 3 hours, then I lose it! And I hate myself for days after.” Three hours. She was flabbergasted. “Three hours? You need to lose sooner than three hours.”

I've felt this struggle myself many times. I hit a wall, start getting pissed or frustrated or simply try to withdraw from the situation, and then feel bad about it afterward. Not always, and probably less than in the past. But still enough to notice it's not a rarity in my life.

The post author brings up Jizo and other Bodhisattva figures - these wonderful representations of the manifestation of the most loving, most compassionate qualities in the world. I think it's a major challenge in our practice to be able to accept exactly where we are, and not gravitate to the binary of Bodhisattva or complete failure. How does one both hold an aspiration to be a Jizo in the world, and also to stay completely present with all that is actually happening, regardless of how un-Bodhisattva-like it is?

Intentions and Imperfections

A short time ago, Marguerite from the blog Mind Deep left the following thoughtful take on my post of yesterday:

May I share a different take on your story? How about accepting the yoga teacher with all his imperfections, "wrongs" and all? It's interesting I did not get same feeling from your story about him. I saw him more as a man concerned with helping his students attain correct posture, which in yoga is important for maximal benefits. Maybe his tone was wrong, maybe not, given the job at stake. I have heard similar stories about Mr. Iyengar. And also reputed zen teachers. Most important is to discern person's intentions. Lots of your friends' reactions seemed to come from an 'I', wounded place.

Instead of responding in the comments section, I thought a new post would be more helpful for those who read the initial post.

In terms of my view of the yoga teacher in question, what's interesting is that after the initial emotional "jolt", I didn't really have a clear sense of either accepting the yoga teacher or rejecting him. I honestly didn't know, so I just tried to keep listening. The one comment I made towards the end was that, too often, yoga is reduced to a superficial focus on physical posture and physical benefits. Even if the teacher doesn't intend this, that can be the outcome for many students if there is too heavy a focus on posture "correctness." Since I don't know this teacher's work firsthand, I couldn't say much about him in the original post. If what I said came off as outright rejection, I apologize to him, as I didn't mean to imply a rejection of him and his work.

I do think, however, that we can both accept someone completely and comment on things being done or said which may be causing trouble in the world. It reminds me of Suzuki Roshi's statement "All of you are perfect just as you are and you could use a little improvement." If we just go about accepting people as they are, and never comment on "problem areas," then how will any of us ever learn to live more healthy, integrated lives?

From my own life, a series of people commenting on the anger I was displaying a few years ago led me to closely examine the way anger manifests in my life. It's an examination that continues to go on today, and I feel grateful to everyone who kindly, if sometimes firmly, pointed out these issues to me initially. At the same time, one of the main reasons these comments were such catalysts in the first place was that they came from people who knew me fairly well. Thus, they had enough insight about me to approach the issue of anger in ways that illuminated the problem, and didn't simply shut me down or create defensiveness. Odds are a stranger, or even a teacher who wasn't familiar with my life, wouldn't have had such luck.

There's a very interesting recent podcast from the Buddhist Geeks interviewing Insight Meditation teacher Rodney Smith that is influencing some of my comments in the post. Specifically, Rodney speaks about the ways in which the dharma is presented in North American sanghas, and how some of these ways might actually be hindering people, even if there is no intention to do so. You can check it out here if you're interested.

I'm a strong believer in being intentional, and yet sometimes, the best intentions still bring about messy results. This is definitely a teaching that calls for acceptance on a deep level, and a letting go of thoughts about perfection. And yet, it also requires of us that we see intentions as only one part of our work in the world.

On the other hand, it can also be true that different teaching styles will meet the needs of different groups of people. The fellow practitioner at my center spoke of how he felt the group was connected to this teacher, and thus didn't have an issue with the tone of the teaching. So, I really couldn't simply dismiss the guy's work, given that kind of comment.

As for woundedness, we all have some. It's important for each of us to work through those places, and to not put that work on the plate of anyone else. At the same time, those who are in teaching positions need to do their best to recognize these wounded places in their students and themselves, and incorporate skillful means into their teaching methods. When it comes to powerful, charismatic teachers, I think this is especially important, as they can easily be working the edge between being a liberating agent for people, and being a cause of serious damage.

To Hell With Perfection

I had a very short discussion with a few fellow practitioners before a class Wednesday night. Essentially, we were a bunch of zen students talking about yoga and yoga teachers. It was really enjoyable to share with others the blending of zen and yoga as a spiritual path, and to hear a little about other teaching styles than the precise, but balanced approach I have experienced. However, a few minutes before we all headed into the zendo, the discussion took a turn I wish we would have had more time to explore.

There was talk about a teacher whose approach included what sounded to me like harsh, command-like language. The practitioner speaking grabbed his foot, positioned it twisted awkwardly, and then said his teacher would say something like "Not like that. Wrong!" He quickly turned the foot outward as he said "Like this. I should look like this. This is correct." This isn't a word for word quote, but the words "wrong." "should," and "correct" definitely were in there. I felt a jolt through my stomach as I listened to this.

This morning, I stumbled upon the following post on Yoga Spy that speaks to the reaction I had during that conversation. These lines in particular struck a chord:

Just as straight A’s aren’t necessarily proof of smarts, perfect asanas aren’t necessarily proof of real yoga. Some with perfect asana skills are also true yogis, who manifest the philosophical and ethical teachings, while others are strictly acrobats.

Seeking perfection is a troubling form of attachment, as far as I'm concerned. There's definitely some of that attachment in my life, although less now than when I was younger. I remember as a 6 year old in 1st grade getting perfect scores on all the spelling tests we had to begin the year. It was, I think, some sort of badge of honor for me, proof to my little mind that I was a smart person. And then it happened: I got a test back and saw a single red mark next to a word. One wrong. Still an A, but not "perfect" in the technical sense. I had a fit. Tore the paper up, and even flipped my desk if I remember correctly. Not a pretty sight, and the spirit of that I took into my teens and twenties, as I got more and more wound tightly about succeeding, being liked by everyone, and not failing. It was a heavy burden, and ultimately an unsustainable one.

In Zen Mind Beginner's Mind, Suzuki Roshi writes the following:

“In your very imperfections you will find the basis for your firm, way-seeking mind. Those who can sit perfectly physically usually take more time to obtain the true way of Zen, the actual feeling of Zen, the marrow of Zen. But those who find great difficulties in practicing Zen will find more meaning in it.”

I recall a certain air of perfectionism that tainted our zen center during the first years studied there. We had a large community, lead by a charismatic teacher and his many well-seasoned students. In some ways, the energy and intensity of the place was exactly what I needed to start to break through my own addiction to perfectionism and it's cadre of emotional and behavioral followers. In other ways, I gravitated toward a community that was manifesting the very same issues I had, including especially that perfectionism. I can remember the days after the mirror cracked and shattered in pieces - how the disgraced departure of the teacher led to a hell of a lot of soul searching about what it meant not only to be zen practitioners, but also to just be healthy, balanced humans.

There's something violent about saying there is one correct way, or even saying that you have the "best" way. Even though I don't know anything about that yoga teacher my fellow practitioner was speaking about, I find myself a bit suspicious, perhaps because of my own experiences of perfection and "the correct way" to do things. When you do asanas, the physical poses of yoga, no matter what it will be an expression of you in the moment. It has it's own perfection contained in it, regardless of how technically correct it looks. And the same is true of zen practice - no matter what, each of us will be different in a certain way, even if we're all lined up and sitting straight and upright. How can it be any other way?

And yet how many of us are, on a daily basis, caught up in that mind that seeks the perfect? How many of us Buddhists condemn what we're doing now as "half-assed" practice that will only become "true" practice when we have attended long retreats and made some sort of earth shattering breakthroughs? There's a place for pushing yourself, and it's important to keep going beyond what you thought was your limits, but how much of our pushing ends up just being violence to ourselves?

In the end, one of the main problems seems to be that we don't even know what "perfect" is. Do you know? Can you really experience what perfect is without trying to push imperfect out in the process?

I'd like to think that I've grown up a bit from that little boy who tossed his desk to the floor because he missed an answer. I'd also like to think that convert Buddhism in North America has gone beyond that little boy energy as well. But in both cases, the reality seems to be mixed. Sometimes maturity, sometimes little boy who can't handle the truth of the present moment. Maybe that's how it is and will be. Or maybe we all just need to dig a little deeper, but in a more gentle, compassionate way for the truths of this life.