Wake Up to the Revolution
by Thich Nhat Hanh

We can all experience a feeling of deep admiration and love when we see the great harmony, elegance, and beauty of the earth. A simple branch of cherry blossom, the shell of a snail, or the wing of a bat—all bear witness to the earth’s masterful creativity. Every advance in our scientific understanding deepens our admiration and love for this wondrous planet.

When we can truly see and understand the earth, love is born in our hearts. We feel connected. That is the meaning of love: to be at one. Only when we’ve fallen back in love with the earth will our actions spring from reverence and the insight of our interconnectedness.

Yet many of us have become alienated from the earth. We are lost, isolated, and lonely. We work too hard, our lives are too busy, and we are restless and distracted, losing ourselves in consumption. But the earth is always there for us, offering us everything we need for our nourishment and healing: the miraculous grain of corn, the refreshing stream, the fragrant forest, the majestic snow-capped mountain peak, and the joyful birdsong at dawn.

We need to consume in a way that keeps our compassion alive. Yet many of us consume in a way that is violent. Forests are cut down to raise cattle for beef or to grow grain for liquor while millions in the world are dying of starvation.

Reducing the amount of meat we eat and alcohol we consume by 50 percent is a true act of love for ourselves, for the earth, and for one another. Eating with compassion can already help transform the situation our planet is facing and restore balance.

There’s a revolution that needs to happen and it starts from inside each one of us. We need to wake up and fall in love with the earth.

Cannes - 'Buddha' Photocall

You don’t need to be an “excellent meditator” to start with. All you need to do is have your heart and mind make the following agreement: “Let’s rest. There is no reason right now to wander around following thoughts or worrying. Let’s be relaxed and open.” There is not even any need to shut down your thoughts. Just be there with them, but not overly concerned or engaged. Let there be total openness, and just relax within that.

— Dza Kilung Rinpoche

人格贤善的判断标准
索达吉堪布

当然,每个人对人格贤善的判断各不相同,有人认为脾气好、性格好、做事勤快,就是人格贤善;有人认为漂亮的人,就具有人格魅力;有人认为心比较软,就是人格很好;有人认为个性坚强,肯定是好人……人格贤善的标准有这么几点,希望大家好好记住:

一、“言行恒时随顺友”:言行举止跟上上下下的亲友和睦相处,跟谁都合得来,不会动辄横眉怒目、处处与人作对、不论到哪个团体都搅得鸡犬不宁。从世间角度讲,人格好的人对上者恭敬,对下者悲悯,对中者和睦。

大家在发心时一定要注意,任何团体都会有许许多多矛盾,人与人在一起难免磕磕碰碰,但人格好的话,对谁都能观清净心,别人说什么也可以随顺。佛陀在经典中说“我要随顺世间人”,佛陀尚且如此,我们凡夫人就更需要了。当然,随顺他人并不是没有原则,别人生贪心你也随顺,生嗔心你也随顺,不是这个意思,而是对如理如法的行为应当随顺,跟谁接触都十分融洽。

不要所有人都上去时,你非要背道而驰,就像藏地有个比喻说:“一百头牦牛上山的时候,嘎巴牛(牦牛中的败类)非要往下跑。”这种说法还是很形象的。人格不好的人,行为上处处与人冲撞,就算坐车从色达到成都,一路上也会跟好多人吵架,在任何地方都会惹是生非。所以不好的人离开后,大家都觉得很舒服,好像眼翳去除了一样,要吃顿饭庆祝庆祝。但一个好人离开了,所有的人会特别伤心:“怎么办啊?我们中午不想吃饭了,那么好的人都走了,呜呜……”

不过,人格的好坏在表面上也看不出来。我每次刚认识一个人时,往往有这种分别念:“他是好人还是坏人呢?”有时候这个人言行举止很不错,但接触一段时间后大失所望;有时候这个人似乎比较坏,结果越接触越觉得他非常好,很让人信赖。

二、“秉性正直”:不管说话还是做事,心要正直,不贪执自方、嗔恨他方,也不会做什么都把自己放在主要位置上,一直不公正地评价,而是始终以真理为主,不偏袒任何一个人。所以,为人正直十分重要,《二规教言论》中也讲了许多这方面的功德。

三、“心善良”:如果为人正直、随顺别人,但心肠狠毒的话,人格也好不到哪儿去。现在有些领导和学者,话说得特别漂亮,可一直有自私自利、害人之心,那做什么都徒劳无益。因为心是一切之根本,宗喀巴大师也说:“心善地道亦贤善,心恶地道亦恶劣。”心善的话,一切都是光明的;心恶的话,只有趋往黑暗了。

这三点做人的道理非常重要。法王又进一步指出,倘若你想长期利益自己,暂时利他是很好的窍诀。作为一个凡夫人,完全不考虑自己是不可能的,但考虑自己的过程中,如果损害其他很多人,自己的事业也不会成功。虽然为了自己而帮助别人是一种狡猾,最好不要有这种想法,但退一步说,假如你实在不能利他,那为了自己的利益,也应该对别人好一点,这样才有自己的生存空间。

记得有一次乘飞机,我旁边坐了个年轻人,看起来很有才华,他是一个企业的总经理,平时不信佛教,但我们聊起来还是有共同语言。他说:“应该要做好人,多帮助别人。实际上企业若想成功,一定要帮助周围的人,这样才有空间生存下去。假如我一味地顾着自己,别人也是很聪明的,谁都能感觉得到,最后我不会有什么成果。”我觉得他讲得挺有道理,点点头说:“我们佛教也是这样赞叹的。”确实,不管依止上师也好,依止企业家也好,如果你始终想着自己,别人不一定看得上你,但若尽心尽力地帮助别人,大家就会对你另眼相看。所以,一个人要想自己得利益,暂时帮助别人是很好的窍诀。

上师曾一边开玩笑一边说:“我通过多年的生活经验发现,如今很多人不会做人,每天自私自利地想着自己,这不一定很好。比如有的年轻人喜欢某个人,就把对方束缚得死死的,拼命地占为己有,结果往往适得其反;而有的人喜欢对方,就全心全意地支持他、帮助他,对方也毕竟是人,最后会接受你的心意。只可惜很多人不懂这个道理。尤其是修学佛法时,不知道人格很重要,没有人格的话,高深莫测的境界不可能生起。”

Just as he pulled the sinner out of the well when he was the monkey bodhisattva, so you too should guide evil people compassionately without expecting good in return, even to one’s detriment.

— Dharmaraksita

How to Transform Anger in 4 Steps
by Judy Lief

According to Buddhist psychology, anger is one of the six root kleshas, the conflicting emotions that cause our suffering. Its companions are greed, ignorance, passion, envy, and pride.

Anger can be white hot or freezing cold. Anger can be turned outward to other people, to a particular situation you are stuck with, or to life in general. It can be turned inward, in the form of self-hatred, resentment, or rejection of those parts of yourself that embarrass you or make you feel vulnerable. Anger can cause you to kill; it can lead you to commit suicide.

Anger is fuelled by the impulse to reject, to push away, to destroy. It is associated with the hell realm, a state of intense pain and claustrophobia. That quality of claustrophobia or being squeezed into a corner is also reflected in the origins of the English word anger, whose root means “narrow” or “constricted.”

Anger can be extremely energetic. You feel threatened and claustrophobic, and that painful feeling intensifies until you lash out like a cornered rat. Or it can manifest as a subtle simmering of resentment that you carry along with you always, like a chip on your shoulder.

Like the other kleshas, anger is a part of our makeup. We all have it, but we deal with it very differently, both as individuals and culturally.

Because the experience of anger is so potent, we usually try to get rid of it somehow. One way we try to get rid of it is to stuff it or suppress it, because we are embarrassed to acknowledge or accept that we could be feeling that way. Another way we try to get rid of our anger is by impulsively acting out through violent words or actions, but that only feeds more anger.

Since anger is a natural part of us, we cannot really get rid of it, no matter how hard we try. However, we can change how we relate to it. When we do, we begin to glimpse a quality hidden within this destructive force that is sane and valuable. We can save the baby while we throw out the bathwater.

In Buddhism there are many strategies and practices for dealing with anger. The overall approach is to start with meditation. In the context of formal sitting practice we can begin to understand the energy of anger, as well as the other kleshas, and to make a new relationship with it. On that basis, we can begin to apply this insight in the more challenging environment of day-to-day living.

HOW MINDFULNESS UNDERMINES AGGRESSION

The formal practice of mindfulness is the foundation for exploring the powerful energy of anger. It is hard to deal with anger once it has exploded, which is why meditation practice is such a helpful tool. By slowing down, and by refining our observational powers, we can catch the arising of anger at an earlier stage, before it has a chance to overtake us completely.

The practice of sitting still, breathing naturally, and looking attentively at one’s moment-by-moment experience is in and of itself an antidote to aggression. This is true because anger and other emotional outbursts thrive on being unseen. They thrive on the ability to lurk below the surface of our awareness and pop up whenever they please. So extending the boundary of your awareness takes away the natural habitat that sustains the kleshas.

Through meditation, we learn to tune in to what we are feeling and observe that experience with dispassion and sympathy. The more we can do that in formal mindfulness practice, the less under anger’s iron grip we will be. In turn, the more chance we will be able to transform our relationship to anger in the midst of daily life as well.

Where does anger arise? It is in the mind. So by taming the mind we can establish a strong base for understanding how anger arises in us and how we habitually respond to it. We can see how anger spreads and settles in our body, and how it triggers formulaic dramas about blame and hurt. We can expose our conceptual constructs about anger, our justifications, defensiveness, and cover-ups. On that basis we can go further using the following practice.

THE POISON TREE: A 4-STEP ANGER PRACTICE

One traditional analogy for a progressive, step-by-step approach to dealing with anger and the other kleshas is the poison tree.

How do you deal with a poison tree? The first thing you might do is prune it, to keep it from getting too large or from spreading. But that just keeps it under control. The tree is still there.

However, once the tree is a more manageable size, it might be possible to dig it up and get rid of it completely, which seems to be a slightly better approach.

But just as you are about to do that, you may remember that a doctor once told you that this tree’s leaves and bark have medicinal qualities. You realise that it doesn’t make sense simply to get rid of that tree. It would be better to make use of it.

Finally, according to this story, a peacock comes along, notices the tree, and without further ado, happily gobbles it up. The peacock instantly converts that poison into food.

1. PRUNING THE TREE: REFRAINING FROM INDULGING IN ANGER

The first step is to refrain from speech and actions based on anger. When anger arises, it has usually already taken us over by the time we notice it. The intensity of the emotion and our reaction to it are so tied as to feel almost simultaneous. We are desperate to do something with this anger, either to feed it or to suppress it.

In this step, we refrain from doing anything, no matter how strong the urge to do so may be. The practice is to stay with the experience of anger. We begin on the boundary, with the second-thought level, where we are tempted to add fuel to the flame or try to stomp it out and get rid of it. The practice is to engage in neither of those two strategies. It is to be with our anger without interpreting it or strategising.

Our reactions tend to be so strong and immediate that initially we may not really get to the anger itself. But as our reactivity becomes less heavy-handed, a small, almost miniscule gap opens up between our anger and our reaction. In that gap it is possible for us to be with the anger and at the same time refrain from being caught up in it. We can relate to our anger more purely and simply, without second thoughts.

2. UPROOTING THE TREE: SEEING THROUGH ANGER’S APPARENT SOLIDITY

Once we are able to be with anger with more openness and less judgement, the second step is to look at it more precisely.

When anger arises, we examine it. We ask questions. To what do we attach the label “anger”? Is it a sense perception, a thought, or a feeling? How real is it? How invincible? Is it still? Is it moving? When we try to pin it down, does it slip away? Where does it come from? Where does it live? Where does it go? What are its qualities? Its texture? Its colour? Its shape? What gives anger its power over us?

In this step we examine anger as a simple phenomenon. Where is the anger coming from? What is it aimed at? Is it our fault or is it the fault of someone or something else?

Look as directly as you can. What are anger’s roots? What is feeding it? Go level by level, deeper and deeper. Can you find its root cause?

3. DISTILLING THE MEDICINE: UNCOVERING WISDOM IN THE MIDST OF PAIN

In the third step we contemplate what it is about anger that is harmful and what might be of benefit. How could anger possibly be a form of medicine? If we got rid of our anger what would be lost?

Here the practice is to discern the difference between harmful anger and anger that benefits in some way. Clearly, the mindless expression of anger through words or deeds leads us to harm others and suffer harm ourselves. Yet repressing our anger also causes harm. The anger doesn’t actually go away but shows up in devious ways, wearing a disguise. So is there another option?

According to Tibetan Buddhism, there is a flip side to anger: there is wisdom in it. Normally we are too caught up in our personal struggles to connect with this wisdom, but anger actually has an integrity and a sharpness. It is a messenger that something is wrong, that something needs to be addressed. Anger’s awakened energy is said to be crystal clear, like a perfect mirror. It tells it like it is with no dissembling. Anger clears the air. It is immediate, and it is abrupt, but it grabs our attention and gets the point across. Anger interrupts our complacency and mobilises us to take action.

When we encounter injustice being done to another, when we see violence inflicted on innocent beings, when we see the ways that humans justify almost any crazy act of violence, it is heartbreaking and makes us angry. So anger could be the catalyst that causes us to act with courage and compassion to address violence, injustice, and entrenched ignorance. And the more clearly we see such tendencies in the world around us, the more we come to recognise within us traces of these same tendencies to violence and dissembling. So anger has the power to strip the screens from our eyes, to cut through our ignorance and avoidance of harsh realities.

The destructive force of anger is real and apparent. In addressing its destructive force, we practised restraint in the first step and we began to see through anger’s apparent solidity in the second. Now we are working with the wisdom potential of anger.

In fact, it may not be the anger itself but our tendency to hold on to our anger and its accompanying story line and self-absorption that is so harmful. When anger awakens us to a real problem that must be addressed, we can respond by wallowing in the anger and feeling good about ourselves for doing so. Or we can actually listen to whatever message that anger is bringing to us, while at the same time dropping the messenger. Then we can deal with what has been exposed to us by anger’s clear mirror.

4. THE PEACOCK: ENGAGING ANGER WITHOUT FEAR AND HESITATION

The final step is not actually a further practice, but more the result or fruition of mastering the other three steps. We continue to practice refraining from impulsive displays of anger, seeing through the apparent solidity of anger, and opening to the messages anger brings without clinging to the messenger. When we can do all that with ease, we may finally begin to be able to make use of anger as a tool or skillful means. If anger is called for and would be useful, we are not afraid to apply it. And when destructive anger does arise, we are not seduced, nor do we run away from it. We gobble it up on the spot. Not a trace remains.

Lotus 202.

When you realise emptiness, it would be absurd to do anything negative. When you realise emptiness, compassion arises with it simultaneously.

— Mahasiddha Padampa Sangye

皈依法的重要性
多识仁波切

提起“三宝”和“皈依法”这两个词,凡懂一点佛教常识的人,都能轻而易举地说出它们的含义。

“三宝”指佛、法、僧,“皈依”指皈信三宝。似乎很简单,但实际上要了解这两个词的内涵并不容易。

什么是“佛”?什么是“法”?什么是“僧”?为什么称“宝”?这“佛”是有形的,还是无形的?这“佛”有什么品质特点?这“佛”和其他宗教的神灵、救世主、太上老君、自在天、玉皇大帝、耶稣、王母娘娘等信仰对象是否同一类型的东西?若有区别,区别在哪里?佛法是指佛陀的思想主张呢,还是事物的本质规律呢?佛法和儒道杂家的学说是同类的东西吗?不同之处在哪里?佛法是释迦牟尼创造的吗?释迦牟尼之前有没有佛法?若无佛法,释迦牟尼根据什么证道成佛?历史上的释迦牟尼早在二千多年前就已逝世,现在还有没有释迦牟尼?若有,是怎么个有法?在何处?是什么样子?若没有,难道佛教徒信仰的是一个并不存在的东西吗?佛就是庙里供的那个样子吗?有些人为了恶意贬低佛教,诬蔑佛教是“庸俗的偶像崇拜”,你能说明他们的说法错在何处?

“僧宝”就是指出家的和尚吗?三宝中的“僧宝”是指具备见道自度和度众能力者,你认为凡出家的男女信众都具备这个条件吗?为什么不去皈依神鬼,要皈依三宝呢?皈依的实质是什么?皈依能解决什么问题?

皈依是指领取“皈依证”,取得入教的资格吗?接受皈依的法师、律师应具备什么样的资格和条件?凡是穿法衣的人都有传皈依法的资格吗?皈依仅仅是初入佛门例行的手续吗?念念皈依法就能起到皈依的作用吗?皈依上师,是否“三宝”会成为“四宝”?皈依的标准是什么?皈依后要做什么?不能做什么?成了开悟的圣人,成了在地的菩萨,还要不要“皈依三宝”?……

以上这些问题,别说一般的信众,就连那些咬文嚼字、照本宣科的和尚、法师和那些只知佛法皮毛不知其精髓的世俗学人,能有理有据、准确无误解答的恐怕也不多。不是说这些问题有多么深,而是由于社会风气不良,正法泯灭,邪法、假法盛行,很少有人关心这类佛法的深层要害问题。由于在很多人心目中,佛法的感召力没有金钱的诱惑力大,他们学佛法、研究佛经的目的仍不出名利二字,因此,治学的态度极不严肃扎实,浅尝辄止,浮光掠影地走过场,以满足名利的欲望。在这种情况下,那些正信弟子更需要正法的营养。

作为“三宝”的弟子,首先应该了解“三宝”,对“三宝”有一个正确的看法,在此基础上建立理性信念,进行身心一致、言行一致的真正“皈依”,并且坚持信心永不退转。做到这一点是非常重要的。写这篇文章的目的,就是为了让更多的人了解“三宝”,产生正信,做到名符其实的皈依。有人也许认为,皈依法是初入佛门的人所需要的“基础法”“小法”,已“皈依”过的人、已入道的人不需要皈依法,如果有这种想法,就充分证明此人对佛法一窍不通。皈依法是佛道入门之法,也是佛道中自始至终需要坚持到底的大法。佛法八万四千,归结在一起就是大小二乘和显密二法。显密二法的法理归结为三法就是根、道、果三法。“根”指生命的本质规律和解脱成佛的基因或者前提,具体地说,就是众生的被污染的光明心,即如来藏、佛心。如没有这个大前提,其余解脱、成佛的道果都无从谈起。使本具的光明心离垢去污、去妄见真的智慧和方法便是“道”。光明心净化,变为法身便是“果”。道果之法,深似海洋,广如虚空,但归根结底,超不出“三宝皈依法”的范围——这是印、藏历代佛学大师共同得出的结论,并不是我的新发现。从这个意义上说没有比皈依法更大、更重要的法。

藏传佛教称“皈依”“发心”“灌顶”为“三入门”,其中:“皈依”是入佛教之门;“发菩提心”是入大乘之门;“灌顶”是入密教之门。

这三重教义就像内外三层城墙:最外的一道城墙是佛教和非佛教的分界线;第二道城墙是大乘教和小乘教的分界线;第三道城墙也就是最里边的城墙,是密教和显教的分界线。每一层城墙只有一个门,别无旁门。这第一道门是佛教之门,要想进入佛门,必须从这道门进去,这道门就是:皈依三宝。进入佛城后,不想停留在小乘的境界,想进大乘菩萨境,就要进第二道门,即“发心门”。再进一步想进入不可思议、无比神圣的密教境界,就进第三道门,即“灌顶门”。

这三道门的关系是:要想进第二道门(大乘门),首先必须进入第一道门(佛教门);要想进入第三道门(密法门),必须先进入第一和第二道门。从这个道理可以懂得,“灌顶门”和“发心门”的进入必须靠“皈依门”。因此,可以说“皈依”是门中之门,法中之大法。

修密法,首先要修皈依法和利众发心法,这一点必不可少,这也是门门相关、法法相连的原因。从这个道理,我们就可以知道那些不讲皈依、不讲发心、不走正道的所谓“密法”是些什么货色。凡正宗佛教密法的每一个观修仪轨,开头都规定“皈依”“发心”,这不仅仅是一种密法仪轨的程式,而是有它深刻的道理。

弥勒在《般若现观庄严论》、《宝性论》和《大乘庄严经论》中详细阐明:众生本具光明心,即佛性种子,从潜藏状态下显现、醒悟需要有适当的条件,就像深深埋藏在地下的植物种子如果没有一定的湿度和温度就不会发芽一样。

佛性种子醒悟发芽的主要条件有四个:

第一,要有佛法的环境。如果没有佛法存在,听不到佛法,没有学佛法的客观条件,佛性种子就不会发芽。

第二,要有指引善道的大乘师。若无具备佛法知识、德才兼备的导师,就无从得知佛名,受到佛法的教育。在这个意义上讲,师恩大于佛恩。宗喀巴大师在《菩提道次第广论》中,把“拜师”当作得道的根本,具有非常深刻的意义。由于密法比显法更重视师教和传承,视师为三宝的代表,是可见、可闻、可以感受到的现世的三宝,所以,在皈依法中首先提到“皈依上师”。有些研究藏传佛教的世俗学者不懂得“上师是三宝”的道理,说什么“藏传佛教有四宝”,这是十分可笑的。

第三,本人要有善良的愿望。若本人没有善良愿望,好比卵石在水中浸泡千万年石心也不会变得湿润柔软一样,虽在佛法中浸泡,也无法使他变得聪明善良。因此,这内因是非常重要的。

第四,要有佛性种子发芽成长的“福田”营养。“福田”是指“积德行善”。这积德行善就如佛种发芽、成长的“肥料”,若缺乏这福田肥料,佛性的萌芽和禾苗就像缺乏营养的婴儿一样,其生理和智力的发育会受到严重影响,变成先天和后天不足的“弱智”或者“畸型儿”。现在虽然学佛的人多,但重视种福田的人很少,这也是学佛不成功的一个主要原因。

以上佛种发芽成长的四个必备条件中,第一条佛法环境属于前生的修积,其余三条(亲师、发愿、行善)都包括在“皈依”“发心”二法中。因此,《佛性论》指出“皈依三宝”是佛种萌发的首要条件。我不知那些不讲皈依、不行善积德、缺乏营养的禅所生的“开悟”是什么样的“开悟”,在佛经中从来没有这种开悟。偏禅、外道的所谓“开悟”,和佛法中的“开悟”名称相同,实质上并不相同。因为那类偏禅的所谓开悟,既不要学法,也不要持戒、 行善积德,单凭某个所谓开悟的禅师的一半句什么“话头”,就能一步踏到彼岸世界,多么神奇啊!说佛法是不管用的语文般若,反而不如狂僧的一句话头,更有甚者烧佛像、谤佛毁法、杀生斩猫,已严重违背了皈依戒规。这种行为若能成佛,就没有成不了佛的人。所以说,他们的这种“开悟”和“成佛”与佛法中所说的“开悟”“成佛”,绝不是一回事。

至于那些气功师和巫婆神汉所谓的“开悟”本来与佛法无关,没有提它的必要,但是他们也都打着佛家的旗号,所以也顺便提几句,以供佛教信众辨认。他们所谓的“开悟”指什么,别人无法知道,但从传法者和学法者追求的目标和他们的言谈来看,“开悟”是指能看到一些一般人看不到的颜色、图像、光线,听到一些特殊的声音,能预感预测一些特殊时空的情况。这些都是属于“五眼”“六通”范围的功能。这些功能大部分都属世间功能,有的生来就有,有的通过特殊的药物和修炼都能做到,有些被人视为神奇的功能动物也有。这类功能和佛法中所说的“慧眼”和“见性开悟”没有任何相同之处。佛法中所说的开悟是指彼岸智慧,是经过资粮、加行二道的长期行善修慧、破除见惑后自然生出的一种直观直觉智慧。除了佛以外,这种见真智慧只有定中才有。出定后俗心复生,就成为分别智。而这种定中智的最大特点是无色无相——凡是懂佛法的人都知道,这是最起码的常识,哪有什么声音、光线、图像。所以说,那种见图像、声光的功能和佛教见性开悟没有任何共同点,把世俗的这类特异功能当成佛家的见道开悟,是缺乏佛教知识的表现。

Next, to meditate the spirit of enlightenment, while meditating the master-deity on your head, reflect in the following manner: If I ask myself whether I now have the ability to establish all sentient beings in complete and perfect Buddhahood, I will have to admit that I do not have the ability to establish so much as a single sentient being in a state of complete and perfect Buddhahood. Moreover, even if I attained one of the two kinds of arhatship, my work for others’ welfare would be partial and I would lack the ability to lead all sentient beings to Buddhahood. Who has that ability? Complete and perfect buddhas do…. In brief since only buddhas possess every kind of good quality and are free of every kind of fault, to complete both my own goals and others’, I must attain Buddhahood. For the sake of all sentient beings, my mothers, by all means, I will quickly, very quickly, realise complete, perfect and precious Buddhahood. Master-deity, please bless me so that I may be able to do so.

— 4th Panchen Lobsang Chokyi Gyaltsen

How Sad Is Your Love?
by Mu Soeng

A phrase in one of the Korean liturgical chants has always seemed to me to be a gateway to a deeper understanding of compassion in the Buddhist tradition. The chant is called the Morning Bell Chant, and, as the name indicates, it is chanted in early morning hours, at all Korean temples and monasteries. Typically, one of the monks sits by a large hanging bell and hits it at periodic intervals in a prescribed manner. This protocol is followed whether the liturgy is done in the mountains of Korea or in a Los Angeles neighbourhood. The monk also chants in a traditional manner and, at periodic and indicated intervals, the congregation joins him in chanting the phrase, Namu Amita Bul, “Homage to Buddha Amitabha.”

The Morning Bell Chant is a curious commingling of three disparate Buddhist traditions that are all inherited from China: Huayen, Pure Land, and Zen. In the Morning Bell Chant, elements of these traditions are blended in a single sonic narrative that’s unique to Korean Buddhism. When and why this chant came to be adopted in its present form is a subject of many debates and interpretations among Korean Buddhists.

The phrase in the chant that has always captivated me is dae ja, dae bi, popularly translated as “great love, great compassion.” The Bodhisattva of compassion is a profound iconic presence in Chinese, Japanese, and Korean Buddhism and, not surprisingly, provides the context for this phrase in the Morning Bell Chant. The Bodhisattva of compassion is called Avalokiteshvara in Indian Mahayana Buddhism; Kwan Se Um Bosal in Korean; Kuan Yin in Chinese; and Kannon in Japanese. In the Korean usage Kwan means perceive; Se means world; Um means sound; and Bosal means Bodhisattva; hence, “the Bodhisattva who perceives (hears) the sounds (cries) of the world.” The Sanskrit term Avalokiteshvara, while literally meaning “The Lord Who Looks Down,” is traditionally understood in Mahayana Buddhism as “He Who Hears the Sounds (Outcries) of the World.”

The Bodhisattva of compassion transformed from a male figure in Indian Buddhism to a female figure in China, Japan, Korea, and Tibet; this transformation remains one of the great mysteries of the Mahayana Buddhism that developed in North and East Asia. In traditional patriarchal societies, male archetypes were associated with the roles of priest, warrior, and merchant, and religious and social hierarchies flowed from this role-playing. These same societies associated compassion and caring with feminine qualities and assigned them to female deities in the religious pantheon. It is likely that as Buddhism evolved in early medieval China, the Taoist model of harmonising the two polar energies of yin and yang (yin as the feminine, compassionate, soft, nurturing, yielding, receptive, and yang as masculine, energetic, proactive, hard, unyielding) may have played a pivotal role in providing a complementary background for the Mahayana’s balance of wisdom and compassion.

Why was this balance needed? The early Mahayana practitioners in India may have felt that the extraordinary emphasis on wisdom in the earlier Pali Nikaya tradition caused or could cause one-sidedness in understanding the Buddha’s teachings. Although compassion is present in the Pali Nikayas as a quality to be cultivated, its role in these texts is secondary to the cultivation of wisdom. The innovation in Mahayana Buddhism was to raise compassion to equal standing, to somehow balance the shocking intensity of the wisdom of emptiness with a leavening of healing and helping through compassion.

A deeper consideration of the phrase dae ja, dae bi offers a stimulating perspective for understanding the subtle nuances of “great love” and “great compassion” beyond the conventional meanings of these terms. Dae means “big, great, strong, and respected”; ja generally means “love.” But this “love” has a particular character to it. It is not erotic love; it is not sentimental love; it is not attachment love. It has a strong connotation of the kind of care given by a mother to her child; the implication here is that the nature of this care supersedes any love based on attachment. In other words, this experience of love is not needy or greedy. It emerges naturally and dynamically in response to the causes and conditions of the child’s needs and development, and is not an expression of neurotic symptoms. Of course what is being described here is an ideal of a mother’s love, and it may not be how each and every mother has experienced it.

The care and love given by a mother to a child is easy to associate with the Bodhisattva of compassion as a female archetype (Kuan Yin or Kannon or Kwan Se Um Bosal). In folk Buddhism throughout China, Japan, and Korea, this female figure is represented as having a thousand eyes and arms, through which she is able to help all those who seek her help. What seems to emerge in these narratives is the quality of care the supplicant expects to find in seeking a refuge in the Bodhisattva of compassion.

We can come to a similar kind of understanding when we consider that bi in the Morning Bell Chant, while popularly translated as “compassion,” has in its historical roots a nuance of meaning that is much closer to “sadness.” This nuance has more to do with a state of mind or a feeling-tone. Thus, the etymological nuances of both ja and bi are much closer to states of mind or feeling-tones rather than idea or concepts.

When the Bodhisattva of compassion looks down with her thousand eyes at the beings caught in the sea of suffering, she feels an enormous sadness for their situation. This sadness is not pity or pathos or commiseration. It is a response to the entire human condition. From the perspective of the Bodhisattva, human beings don’t learn much; they keep going around and around within the same grooves of samsara — greed, hatred, and delusion — in a never-ending cycle. The feedback loop of this cycle is dynamic, but it also remains self-enclosed and keeps itself in place over aeons and aeons. The Bodhisattva feels deep sadness that things are this way, just as a mother feels great sadness when her child goes through physical or psychological agony. The mother of the universe — as the Bodhisattva of compassion is depicted iconographically — does not personalise this sadness. She has seen this phenomenon of numberless beings caught in the web of their own creation for countless aeons. She reaches out with her thousand arms to these beings and helps them in whatever way she can. But this sadness and the resultant compassion and willingness to help are universal rather than personal.

We might understand how the derivation of bi lends itself to the emotion of sadness a little better if we look at our experience in a meditation retreat. During longer retreats especially, the space of personal experience opens up in a periodic up welling of sadness. When looked at closely, this sadness may be the culmination of earlier emotions like anger, rage, frustration, and so on that bubble forth, particularly during the earlier phase of a long retreat. These layered emotions resurface as a manifestation of deeply suppressed intuitions that one’s life has not worked out the way one had wanted it to. But these emotions, after they manifest themselves quite vividly, also spend themselves out. What’s left is a generalised feeling-tone of sadness, which is personal and yet not personal. One feels sad for the turns one has missed in one’s own life through the workings of greed, hatred, and delusion. This particular sadness is not regret and it is not quite sorrow as we generally experience sorrow. It’s something more subtle and finely attuned than sorrow or regret.

Within this sadness one also recognises a certain universal pattern — that one’s life is a microcosm of all human lives that have ever been lived. In recognising one’s own samsaric feedback loop, one also recognises how each and every person who has ever lived has been similarly caught up in the working of samsara. The feeling of sadness for the personal-yet-not-personal is understood as sadness for the fundamental nature of the human condition. One of the healthy outgrowths of this sadness is that one takes responsibility for all the mistakes one has made in one’s life rather than blaming them on someone else, or even blaming ourselves. Sadness is thus a process of growth and maturation.

Sadness for those mistakes and a non-blaming acceptance of their costs provide the essential ingredients for further insights to develop. With sadness as a backdrop, one resolves to care diligently for one’s actions from now on, so that one does not again harm oneself or others. This care or watchful concern is not an overt or covert scheme of “self-improvement” but a deep insight that the samsaric web we are weaving through our thoughts and actions have karmic consequences that ripple out endlessly. As one cares for one’s own being in an authentic way, one also has the sense of somehow being of some assistance to the rest of creation.

It may not be possible to precisely outline the details of this assistance, but one has the general sense of helpfulness. The aspiration implicit in the first great vow of the Zen tradition, “All beings, one body, I vow to liberate,” somehow becomes alive in one’s caring for oneself. An up welling of sadness toward one’s mistakes in life and the cumulative mistakes of all humanity helps serve as a backdrop to the arising of compassion. Our authentic experience evokes our authentic motivation, like the first musical note struck on a string instrument. How the other notes follow becomes a matter of great and delicate care.

Thus, a Mahayana understanding of Bodhisattvahood would mean that authentic practice is forever bound up with this palpable sense of care and sadness — the dae ja, dae bi of the Morning Bell Chant. It is not about an ideological insistence on upholding the paradigm of the Bodhisattva. The Bodhisattva paradigm is a feeling-tone; the doctrine that accompanies it is merely there to explain or amplify. It has no significance without the feeling-tone of care and sadness. And yet there’s nothing neurotic, sentimental, or self-indulgent about this feeling-tone. It is grounded in an awareness that, just as one has come to a place of sadness and care in one’s own situation, it is possible for others to come to the same place of reckoning. If this reckoning is cultivated deeply, the boundaries between self and the other dissolve and will continue to dissolve when constant vigilance to care and sadness is maintained. This is the promise of practice.

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Realisation is not knowledge about the universe, but the living experience of the nature of the universe. Until we have such living experience, we remain dependent on examples, and subject to their limits.

— Chögyal Namkhai Norbu Rinpoche