The Temple On The Border

The beautiful temple of Prasat Phra Wihan is in the news again after being out of it for many decades. Popularly called Preah Vihear, this ancient temple is located right on the border between Cambodia and Thailand and the two countries have been at odds over it since the French separated Cambodia from Thailand in the early 1900’s. If you are ever in that part of Thailand make a point of going to see it. Getting there from the Cambodian side is far too difficult and dangerous. Believe me! I know. It sits on the top of a high hill – one side with a gradual slope and the other side ending in a most dramatic cliff. An incredibly impressive stairway in three tires with 214 steps leads up the slope and the entire complex extends for over 800 meters. In 1962 Cambodia and Thailand took their dispute over the temple to the International Court of Justice and judgment was returned for Cambodia. Ever the sore losers, the Thais have never really accepted this judgment and every now and then a politician who wants to make a name for himself will bring up the issue of the temple’s ownership. The Thais like to think of themselves rather than the Cambodians as the decedents of the Khmers (We built Ankor Wat!) and never let history stand in the way of a bit of chauvinism. Just to make sure there is no doubt about who owns Prasat Phra Wihan, the Cambodians have put a picture of it one their 100 riel bank note. Cambodia recently applied to have Prasat Phra Wihan given World Heritage status, the present Thai government agreed to support their bid but last week the Thai High Court, probably egged on by those trying to embarrass the prime minister, blocked the government from doing so. Prasat Phra Wihan could act, quite literally, as a bridge between the two Buddhist neighbors. Instead it continues to be a barrier. My photos of the temple have turned yellow with age so I provide this aerial picture of it. I am going to be in Australia for a conference until the 15th so no new postings until then.

Eyes Tightly Open

Mysticism is a term given to a variety of intense experiences or the means of developing such experiences. Mysticism is notoriously difficult to define. William James said that the main features of the mystical experience are ineffability, noetic quality, transience and passivity. Evelyn Underhill wrote that mysticism could be described as being practical rather than theoretical, an entirely spiritual activity, having love as its purpose and method, and as never being self-seeking. The problem with these and indeed most definitions of mysticism is that they apply mainly to the major monotheistic religions and do not take into account Buddhism, Jainism, Taoism and non-religious mystical experience.
Incidentally, the best examination of the mystical experience I have ever read is that of Walter Kaufmann in his brilliant Critique of Religion and Philosophy. Unlike James, Underhill, G. Parrinder and others, Kaufmann was well acquainted with Buddhism and took it into account in his study. As for D. T, Suzuki’s Mysticism – Christian and Buddhist, I found it more mystifying than actual about mysticism.
Looked at from the perspective of modern psychology we could say that most, if not all, experience usually labeled mystical has these four characteristics. (1) It has an intense emotional component, (2) it is triggered by physical or psychological stress - despair, longing, fasting, suppresses sexuality, long vigils, etc, (3) it never contradicts the mystic’s theological beliefs - Christians do not have visions of Visnu, Muslims never have a glimpse of the Trinity, etc, and (4) it is interpreted as having been caused by an external agent - God, angels, Spirit, etc. The Buddha’s description of his enlightenment does not fit well into either James’ or Underhill’s description of the mystical state nor does it have any of the other four characteristics of mysticism.
The Buddha appears to have been exceptionally calm and poised, emotionless even, as he began his meditation in the hours before his enlightenment (M.I,167). The intense joy (vimuttisukha) he felt only came later (Ud.1-3). He had fully recovered from his austerities at the time he attained enlightenment. He mentioned that he had eaten proper food, rested and regained his strength (balam gahetva, M.I,247). There is no evidence that he had any idea about the Four Noble Truths or dependant origination before his enlightenment. In fact, he distinctly said that the truths he realized had ‘not been heard about before’ (pubbe ananussutesu, S.V,422). The Buddha never described his enlightenment as a gift from God or as the result of divine grace. He always taught that a person attains enlightenment ‘through his own knowledge and vision’ (sayam abhinna, D.III,55).
Some writers on religion occasionally refer to what they call ‘Buddhist mysticism.’ Interestingly, the word mysticism comes from the Latin mysterium meaning ‘to close the eyes’ while the Pali word for enlightenment (bodhi) means ‘to awaken’ or ‘to open the eyes.’ So whether we are justified in describing intense and transformative experience in Buddhism as ‘mystical’ is a debatable point.

Mountains

I thought that after all those words the silence of the mountains and some of their cool, clean air might be welcomed. Besides, I need a break.

Vegetarianism VI

How I Became a Vegetarian
It was a Saturday morning and I was in Phnom Penh’s walking through the central market looking for some fruit to buy. Without trying too, I found myself in the meat section. Even a blind person would know they were there. The stench was overpowering. Chickens with wet feathers and blank expressions sat in tiny cages, probably oblivious to what was soon to happen to them. The goats certainly knew. You could see it in their eyes. But there was nothing they could do and they just stood there, heads bowed, resigned to their fate. Meat hung on hooks, knives and cleavers lay on chopping blocks and everything was covered with blood and flies. I walked on hoping to get to the fruit and vegetable section and a few minuets later found my way blocked by a large round basket that was placed in the middle of the aisle. The basket was full of dead and plucked chickens and a man was crouching beside the basket doing something to the chickens with a hose while a young boy stood on the other side doing something with what looked like a gas cylinder. I stood there for a moment trying to take in the scene before me. Then it dawned on me. The chickens were just slightly putrid, in places their yellowish-white skin was going green or gray. The man was sticking a needle attached to the hose into each chicken and as he did so the boy pumped the cylinder. In countries like Cambodia, when a butcher’s or fish monger’s wares have gone off, they sometimes pump formalin into it to disguise the putrefaction and so that it keeps a bit longer. The association in my mind of food, the chicken, and the formalin, which as you probably know is used by undertakers to preserve human cadavers, revolted me so much that I turned away and actually vomited. A man behind one of the stalls saw this and most kindly offered me a glass of water so I could wash my mouth out. When I got back to the temple I was still feeling a bit nauseous but not so much that I could not eat and when the lunch bell rung I made my way to the dining hall. As I sat at the table with all the dishes of food on it I immediately noticed that the main dish was, you guessed it, chicken. As soon as I saw it my stomach began to churn again and I had to rush from the hall. I didn’t vomit this time but my apatite had quite gone. Over the next few weeks my taste for meat, any meat, just went. It slowly returned but if the memory of the putrid formalin-dosed chickens arouse I had to consciously suppress it or lose my apatite. Three months later on a quick trip to Australia a Sri Lankan friend gave me some things to deliver to his brother back in Sri Lanka. One of these things was a book called Animal Liberation by Paul Singer. I had never heard of this book and its title aroused no interest in me. Back in Sri Lanka I called the brother, he said he would come the next day to collect the things and didn’t show up for another three months. The book and other things sat around my room acting as a sort of silent reminder of how casual Sinhalese are towards keeping appointments, commitments, promises or indeed anything. One hot afternoon as I lay on my bed feeling rather bored and with nothing to read I picked Singer’s book up thinking just to browse through it. As it happened happens, the parts I read interested me so much that I returned to the beginning and read the whole thing in three sittings. I had been expecting it to take the usual vegetarian’s approach – you know, calling meat ‘carrion’ or ‘rotten flesh,’ quoting the opinions of famous odd-ball vegetarians, giving long descriptions of how meat ferments in the bowels and claiming that vegetarianism’ poo smells better than that of meat eaters’. Instead, Singer argues for the kind treatment of animals (including by not eating them) objectively, logically and convincingly. Peter Singer is a professional philosopher and he writes like one. And incidentally, he has nothing to do with the extremist animal rights group Animal Liberation. As I followed his arguments I found myself forced by the logic of them to agree with them. Over the next week or two I returned to parts of the book and reread them and finally decided that anyone who wants metta to be an important part of their character would have to seriously consider being vegetarian. As a Buddhist I do wish to have metta dominate in my life and so I made the decision to abstain from eating meat. Since that time I have cut my meat consumption by at least 95%, the force of long established habit, circumstance or just the desire for a juicy steak accounting for the other 5%. So my decision to become vegetarian was brought about by three things – a gradual awareness of the need for active (as opposed to passive) metta in the Buddhist life, by an incident of visceral revulsion with meat and then by the reasoning of a philosopher helping me see implications in the Buddha’s words that I had not seen before. I could not honestly say that I am grateful for that Cambodian man with his putrefying chickens but I am most grateful to Peter Singer. The fact that he is an Australian had nothing to do with it.
I conclude this exploration into the issue of meat eating, vegetarianism and Dhamma with a final question. If vegetarianism is more consistent with the Dhamma why didn’t the Buddha endorse it?

Vegetarianism V

Meat In Buddhist Traditions

I would like to examine different Buddhists attitude to vegetarianism. The simplistic picture – Hinayanists (Theravadins) eat meat and Mahayanists don’t – does not reflect reality. Although Theravada doctrine does not condemn meat eating, vegetarianism is common in Sri Lanka (although probably more due to the influence of Hinduism than Buddhism) but rare in Burma, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia. Some Mahayana texts advocate vegetarianism, although not all, and all Chinese and Korean monks and nuns and the more devote lay people are strictly vegetarian. Many other Chinese and Korean lay people will be vegetarian at least on certain holy days. Vajaryana texts do not advocate abstaining from meat, indeed some specifically endorse and even encourage it. Vegetarianism is rare in Bhutan, Tibet, Mongolia and also in Japan.
There are two Theravadin justifications for eating meat. We have already discussed the ‘I didn’t see, hear or suspect that the animal was killed for me so I’m off the hook’ argument. The other one goes like this, ‘Monks get what they need by begging and should eat whatever they are given without picking and choosing.’ Like so much Theravada, this explanation of the theory bears little resemblance to the reality. The reality is, and I’m probably revealing a trade secret here, that monks nearly always get exactly what they want. When the average monk wants something he simply buys it or says to his supporters, ‘I need A, B and C.’ The more scrupulous monks will resort to hints, a slightly changed expression or insinuations. Either way, lay people are more than happy to provide monks with all their needs and most of their wants as well, and if a monk wanted a vegetarian diet he would get it without any difficulty at all.
Theravadins traditionally do not use the 3rd point mentioned in my Vegetarianism I post (Feeling and acting with kindness towards living beings is a part of the first Precept) because the Theravada does not teach that meaningful concern for others has a spiritual significance. Likewise points 2, 4 and 5 (Trying to influence and encourage others not to harm or kill living beings and to be kind to them would be consistent with the first Precept. Not killing or harming living beings and being kind to them, is an integral part of the whole Dhamma, not just the first Precept. Eating meat is casually related to the harming or killing living beings and thus to the first Precept being broken) are not included in Theravada discourse on the meat eating-vegetarianism debate because its pedantic and literal interpretation of the Dhamma means that these points are not considered. So when it comes to eating meat, Theravada is not hypocritical, it is just narrow and selfish.
Vajrayana (I will use the term Tibetan Buddhism from now on) is another matter. Most Tibetans Buddhists – living Buddhas, manifestations of Manjusri, rimpoches and tulkus included, don’t just eat meat, they consume it with gusto. Now when I read works on Tibetan Buddhism I find they the subject of compassion is nearly always mentioned somewhere; and so it should be. As if to emphasise its central position in Vajrayana, it is usually referred to not just as compassion but as maha karuna. Numerous commentaries on the Bodhicariyavatara linger with tear-jerking emotion on Santideva’s aspiration to willingly give his life for others. The practice of paratma parivartana ‘exchanging self with others’ forms an important element within the practices of all schools of Tibetan Buddhism. I won’t labour the point because I think you can see where this is going. Is there not a serious contradiction between the Tibetan Buddhist persistent and strong emphasis on compassion and the fact that they eat meat? I think there is. So Tibetan Buddhism may not be narrow but it certainly is hypocritical and inconsistent concerning this issue.
Some years ago I was staying at Bodh Gaya, the Dalai Lama was due in a few days to give some teachings and the town was filling up with Tibetans. A friend and I decided to get out of town for the duration. As we drove to Gaya we found the road blocked by a herd of a hundred or so buffalos and goats being driven by several cowherds. Our driver hooted the horn, inched the car through the animals and when we got to the one of the cowherds asked him where he was going with such a large number of animals. ‘To Bodh Gaya. They’re for the lamas’ he replied. One would think that the least they could do is abstain from meat while they are at such a sacred place receiving teachings that almost certainly included calls to have maha karuna for all beings.
Related to all this is a rather shameful hypocrisy that prevailed and indeed continues to linger in nearly all Buddhist lands. Butchers, leather-workers, hunters, fishermen and fowlers in Buddhist countries provided the community with various animal products including meat but were marginalized for doing so. Costal-living fishermen in Sri Lanka were shunned by the majority and no monks ministered to them. Consequently these peoples were easily converted to Catholicism when the Portuguese arrived. Interestingly, soldiers, whose job was to kill humans, were never similarly ostracized. In Japan the Buraku were and still are treated as outcastes because they did slaughtering and other ‘unclean’ tasks. In Tibet a group of people (I do not know what they were called. Can anyone help?) were likewise despised because they made their living as slaughter men and tanners and were relegated to the outskirts of towns. I will stand being corrected here but I think they were also not allowed into temples. Interestingly, coracle men were likewise despised because their crafts were made of leather. Heinrich Harrer has some interesting comments on how the monastic hierarchy made these peoples’ lives difficult while benefiting from their services. Pious Burmese would never slaughter a large animal (cow or buffalo) but they think that killing small ones like fish, ducks or chickens is okay or that it only creates a manageable amount of negitive kamma. They let the Muslims provide them with their beef and mutton and despise them for doing so.
So it would seem that meat eating is an issue that all Buddhist schools are yet to intelligently, consistently and compassionately come to terms with.
Tomorrow, my own journey into vegetarianism.

Vegetarianism IV

Some Problems With Being Vegetarian
One of the reasons why I only became vegetarian recently (and even now not 100% so) is the hypocrisy and inconsistency I observed amongst so many vegetarians. The awareness of this and the irritation it caused prevented me from seeing intelligent, thoughtful vegetarianism’s consistency with the Dhamma. In 1996 when I visited Hong Kong and Taiwan I stayed in many Chinese Mahayana monasteries. I was always welcomed with the greatest courtesy but inevitably the subject of diet would come up. As is fairly typical of vegetarians, my hosts were fixated on food and about the only thing they knew about Theravada was that Theravadins will eat meat. When I was asked, and sooner or later I always was, ‘Are you vegetarian?’ I would truthfully reply, ‘No I am not. But while here (Hong Kong or Taiwan) I am adhering to your discipline.’ This answer was often followed by a long, usually polite but sometimes reproachful, lecture about how uncompassionate it is to eat meat. While fingers were being wagged in my face I couldn’t help noticing that nearly all my hosts were dressed in silk robes and I happen to know that approximately 50 silk worms have to be boiled alive to make one square inch of silk. I also noticed that all the banners, hangings etc. in the monasteries’ shrines were likewise of silk. One monk delivered his lecture to me while sitting on what could only be described as a throne, flanked by the two of the biggest elephants tusks I have ever seen, each intricately and exquisitely carved with images of Kuan Yin and other bodhisattvas. Both these tusks were still creamy-white indicating that their original owner had only been slaughtered a few years ago. Another thing I noticed was the furniture. You may know that running down the eastern side of Taiwan is a chain of very high mountains and that these are covered with thick forest made up of the most magnificent ancient trees. What you probably don’t know that it has become the fashion in Taiwan to have furniture made out of these trees. A table may consist of a huge cross-section of a trunk a foot or more thick and the five or six chairs around it can be made out of cross-sections of smaller trunks or large branches. The attraction of this type of furniture is the often gnarled outer surface of the trunk slabs and the age-rings within them. I hardly need mention that this furniture is extremely expensive but as Taiwanese temples tend to be very, very, very rich, they usually have at least one or two sets of this furniture. One incredibly lavish temple I visited had five such sets in the visitor’s hall and one in the vestibule of each monk’s room. Another must-have I noticed in many temples is huge twisted gnarled tree trunks, sometimes including the roots, with Bodhidhamma or Kuan Yin carved into them. None of the gung-ho vegetarian monks I met seemed particularly concerned about their role in decimating Taiwan’s ancient forests by having these beautiful but completely unnecessary and destructive luxuries.
But by far the worst thing I saw in Taiwan was the attitude towards pets. The Taiwanese are busy absorbing Western middle-class values and tastes but like all new-comers they still haven’t got it quite right. So of example, everyone wants a fluffy adorable puppy, kitten or bunny but they are not yet schooled in what to do with them once they get them. Three month later or when the animal has grown up and is no longer cute they loose interest in it. This is particularly true of dogs who are often confined in tiny cages. Some of these caged dogs are put at front gates so they will bark when anyone comes. I recall looking down several streets and seeing one of these tiny cages at nearly every gate and hearing their occupants howling with boredom, barking incessantly and whimpering for attention. As in middle-class Taiwanese homes so to in Taiwanese monasteries. In one temple I saw two adult Alsatians locked in a cage barely big enough for them to turn around and in the 3 weeks I was at this temple they were never let out once. Worst still, the abbot of this temple, a rather formidable man, is well-known as an outspoken and crusading advocate of, you guessed it, strict vegetarianism – no milk, no eggs, no animal products at all. Both his Alsatians suffered from severe rickets because being a vegan himself the abbot had imposed his fetish on his dogs when they were puppies by refusing to feed them milk or meat and now their legs are all bowed and bent. Having said all this I should point out that generally I was impressed by the vigour of Buddhism in Taiwan and that the country has an active animal rights movement. My problem was only with the Buddhist vegetarianism.
I’d have to say that a good number of the vegetarians I have encountered suffer from a similar lopsidedness - an almost obsession with meat and its consumption and virtually no interest in any other kind of cruelty to animals or the environment which they need to live. For many people, just not eating meat is enough – and from a Buddhist perspective it is not enough. You could be a scrupulous vegetarian and be thoughtless, unkind and uncaring about other beings. Vegetarianism is good but if it does not go hand in hand with a compassionate regard for all human and animal life it’s just another food fad. So if you are going to be a vegetarian be an intelligent one.
This subject is still not exhausted so there will be more tomorrow.

Vegetarianism III

The Last Link In The Chain
Here is a quandary for you. We said before that a casual link can be discerned between eating meat and animals being killed. Nowadays there are many persons between these two points - the cutters, the meat packers, the distributors, etc. but in either its simplest or most complex form the three key participants are (1) the slaughter man, the one who actually draws the knife across the animals throat; (2) the middleman who sells the meat and (3) the customer, the person who buys and consumes the meat. Now it is obvious why the Buddha mentioned slaughter men, hunters, fishermen, etc. as those who do not practice Dhamma (S.II,256). It is perhaps less obvious but significant that he describes people who sell meat as failing to practice Right Livelihood (A.III,207). But interestingly, nowhere does the Buddha complete what seems to be the logical sequence by mentioning the third and last link in the chain, the buyer/eater. Why?
Here is another quandary for you. The Buddha said that his lay disciples should avoid making their living by five trades (vanijja); these being trade in weapons (sattha), in human beings (satta), in meat (mamsa), in alcohol (majja) and in poisons (visa, A.III.208). Although this seems clear enough, looking at it a little more carefully might be relevant to the question of meat eating. Why are these trades wrong, unwholesome or kammicly negative? Let’s have a look at arms dealing. While the blacksmith is forging steel to make a sword he is unlikely to have any evil intensions, he is probably preoccupied with forging his steel and he certainly does not kill anyone. The arms dealer who sells the sword does not kill anyone either. So why did the Buddha consider arms trading to be a negative means of livelihood? Obviously because weapons, like poisons make killing possible. The arms dealer is centrally situated in a chain that could lead to someone being killed even though he himself does not kill anyone. Now if we reverse this sequence and apply it to meat eating then surly the same conclusion would have to be drawn;
A, sword maker – B, arms dealer = C, purchaser and killing;
C – eating meat – B, meat seller = A, slaughter man and killing.
Why in both these cases has the Buddha left one of the key links out of the chains? I would be interested to receive your comments and thoughts on this matter.
Tomorrow I’m taking the kid gloves off, so stay tuned. No! Hold on! Now that I’m switching to vegetarianism and am trying to be consistent in the practice of harmlessness I don’t wear kid gloves anymore.