buddhism and the natural world

Buddhism and the Natural World

Reading, discussion, and practice

to deepen our understanding of our world and our relationship to it

Summer 2011

DHARMA FLOWER SANGHA

Phap Hoa Buddhist Temple

85 Prospect Street

Vernon, CT 06066

information: [email protected]

Reading, discussion, and practice to deepen our understanding of our world and our relationship to it

SUMMER 2011

SYLLABUS June 25 – 9-11 a.m.: Buddhist ideas about the world Readings: “Humanity’s Place in Nature” “This Quiet Place that Buddhas Love” Practice: Starry night Place: Great River Park, 301 East River Drive, East Hartford (meet in the parking lot near the entrance at 9 am) July 9 – 9-11 a.m.: Morality and virtue in our relationship to nature Readings: “This World is Not Yours”

“In Search of a Buddhist Environmental Ethics” Practice: Touching the earth Place: Belding Wildlife Management Area, Vernon, CT (meet in the parking area on Bread and Milk Road at 9 am) July 23 – 9-11 a.m.: Buddhist attitude toward animals Readings: “Care for Other Beings/Protecting Other Species”

“Buddhism and Vegetarianism” Practice: Evolutionary gifts of the animals Place: UConn animal barns, Horsehill Road, Storrs, CT (parking details TBA) August 6 – 9-11 a.m.: Buddhist ideas about plants

Readings: “Plants, Trees and Forests” “A Tree Called Steadfast” “Nuns and Trees”

Practice: Beginner’s mind Place: Gay City State Park, Rt. 85, Hebron (meet in the parking lot closest to the lake at 9 am) August 20 – 9:30-11:30 am: Buddhist poetry and stories about nature Readings: Lions in the Wilderness: Early Buddhist Appreciation of Nature Maha Kassapa Thera: At Home in the Mountains Udayin Thera: The Blooming Lotus Mahakapi Jataka Prayer for the Great Family Practice: Writing a gatha Place: Wickham Park, 1329 Middle Tpke W, Manchester, CT ($4 admission fee) (meet in the parking lot outside the Oriental Garden at 9:30 am) PLEASE NOTE LATER TIME.

Buddhist Ideas about the World Saturday, June 25

9-11 am

Readings: “Humanity’s Place in Nature” “This Quiet Place that Buddhas Love” Practice: Starry night Place: Great River Park, 301 East River Drive, East Hartford (meet in the parking lot near the entrance at 9 am)

Attitude to and treatment of the natural world

May all beings be happy and secure. Karan· ıya-metta Sutta, Khp.

’

Buddhism does not see humans as a special creation by ‘God’, or ashaving been given either ‘dominion’ or ‘stewardship’ over animals etc.Like all other sentient beings, they wander in the limited, conditionedrealm of sam

·sara, the round of rebirths. Nevertheless, a human rebirth is

seen as a very rare and fortunate one – a ‘precious human rebirth’ (see p.) – as it is the only one where the key work for enlightenment can beaccomplished. Accordingly, in the Buddhist account of the types ofrebirth – gods, humans, animals, ghosts and hell-beings – humans arelisted in one group, while all other animals (i.e. land animals, birds, fish,worms, insects: M. .–) are listed in another. That is, while all sen-tient beings are ‘in the same boat’ – sam

·sara – humans are in a specific

compartment of this. This is because they have a greater freedom andcapacity for understanding than animals (and a greater motivation forspiritual progress than gods). Most moral and spiritual progress, or itsopposite, is made at the human level. This is not to say that animals areall seen as amoral automatons. Buddhist Jataka stories often attributenoble actions to such animals as monkeys and elephants, and there is alsoa reference to some animals keeping the five precepts (Vin. .).Nevertheless, animals clearly have much less of a capacity for choice thanhumans, and if they are virtuous, for example less greedy, or generous,this is more an expression of their existing character, or a response to anencouraging human example, than any deliberate desire for moral devel-opment (Story: ). Moreover, it is clear that there is a gradation amonganimals as regards their relative degree of freedom, or capacity for virtue(AKB. .b–c). Insects would seem to have little, if any, of either.

The relatively special place of humans in the Buddhist cosmos meansthat they can be seen as at a ‘higher level’ of existence than animals.This, however, is not seen as a justification for domineering and exploit-ing animals. Humans are ‘superior’ primarily in terms of their capac-

ities for moral action and spiritual development. The natural expressionof such ‘superiority’ is not an exploitative attitude, but one of kindnessto lesser beings, an ideal of noblesse oblige (Hall, : –). This isbacked up by the reflection that one’s present fortunate position as ahuman is only a temporary state of affairs, dependent on past goodkarma. One cannot isolate oneself from the plight of animals, as one hasoneself experienced it (S. .), just as animals have had past rebirthsas humans. Moreover, in the ancient round of rebirths, every being onecomes across, down to an insect, will at some time have been a close rel-ative or friend, and have been very good to one (S. .–). Bearingthis in mind, one should return the kindness in the present.

The Western concept of ‘nature’ is one which places humans andtheir artifices over and against the ‘natural’ world of animals, plants andthe physical environment. In the present century, industrialization etc.has led to many environmental problems, and thus to reflection on howhumans should act and live so as to be in a less destructive and self-undermining relationship with ‘nature’. As the Vietnamese monk ThichNhat Hanh says, though:

We classify other animals and living beings as nature, acting as if we ourselvesare not part of it. Then we pose the question ‘How should we deal with Nature?’We should deal with nature the way we should deal with ourselves! We shouldnot harm ourselves; we should not harm nature . . . Human beings and natureare inseparable. (Eppsteiner, : )

Rather than divide the world into the realms of the ‘human’ and‘nature’, the classical Buddhist perspective has seen a more appropriatedivision as that between sentient beings, of which humans are only onetype, and the non-sentient environment, the ‘receptacle-world’ (bhajana-loka), in Sarvastivadin terminology (AKB. .). In this division, plantswould generally come on the non-sentient side of the line, but there issome ambiguity here, and differences of view (see pp. –). The keyquality, then, is sentience, the ability to experience and to suffer, and therelated ability, in this or a future life, to transcend suffering by attainingenlightenment. A good image of this notion of the community of sen-tient beings is a genre of painting popular in Japan, showing humans,gods, and a variety of animals mourning at the death of the Buddha(Suzuki, : –).

Another Western dichotomy is, indeed, between the ‘supernatural’ –the realm of God, or gods, and angels etc. – and the natural world, withman partaking of something of both. Within the Buddhist perspective,


the gods are themselves sentient beings subject to the natural law ofkarma. Their actions do not subvert natural laws, though they may goagainst the normal course of things. In the same way, meditation-basedpsychic powers, such as walking on water, are not seen as supernaturalor miraculous, but as law-governed natural manifestations of certainpotencies latent in the human mind. Except for Nirvan

·a, everything in

the universe is subject to Conditioned Arising, the natural process oflaw-governed arising-according-to-conditions. In this sense, there isnothing ‘supernatural’, except perhaps Nirvan

·a. The gods, then, and also

humans, are part of the play of natural processes that is sam·

sara.Gods are seen as existing at various levels, with some being seen as

(normally) invisible beings sharing the earth with humans. Buddhist textsrefer to certain gods living in large trees (Vin. .–) and even in healingherbs (S. .; M. .): thus one should not anger such a being bydamaging or destroying his or her home (Hall, : –). Other godsdwell on the land. Thus a Thai custom, upheld even in the busy moderncity of Bangkok, is to build a small ‘spirit house’ next to a buildingerected on a previously open plot of land. This is to house any gods dis-placed from the land: to be considerate to them and thus not rouse theiranger. Similarly, in Ladakh, a ceremony at the first planting of the yearseeks to pacify the spirits of the earth and water, as well as worms andfish, all of which might be disturbed by agricultural activity (Batchelorand Brown, : ).

As part of Conditioned Arising, humans are seen as having an effecton their environment not only through the purely physical aspects oftheir actions, but also through the moral/immoral qualities of these.That is, karmic effects sometimes catch up with people via their environ-ment. It is thus said that, if a king and his people act unrighteously, thishas a bad effect on the environment and its gods, leading to little rain,poor crops and weak, short-lived people (A. .–; see p. ). Rightactions have the opposite effect. The Buddha is also seen to have had apositive effect on his environment: when he lay down between two saltrees to die and pass into final Nirvan

·a, these are said to have burst into

a mass of unseasonal blossom, which fell on him in homage (D. .–).Likewise, in the Mahayana ‘Sutra of the Buddha Teaching the SevenDaughters’, it is said that, after the Buddha taught, ‘One-hundred yearold trees bore fruit and flowers . . . the blind could see . . . Hundreds ofbirds and beasts were harmonious in their cries’ (Paul, : ).

The environment is thus held to respond to the state of human moral-ity; it is not a neutral stage on which humans merely strut, or a sterile

An introduction to Buddhist ethics

container unaffected by human actions. This clearly has ecologicalramifications: humans cannot ignore the effect of their actions on theirenvironment. This message is also strongly implied by the Aggañña Sutta,1

which gives an account of the initial stages of the development of sen-tient life on earth. This occurs when previously divine beings fall fromtheir prior state and, through consuming a savoury crust floating on theoceans, develop physical bodies, and later sexual differentiation. At firsttheir environment is bountiful, but it becomes less so the more theygreedily take from it. They feed off sweet-tasting fungus, and then creep-ers, but these in turn disappear as the beings differentiate in appearanceand the more beautiful ones become conceited and arrogant. Then theyfeed off quick-growing rice, gathering it each day as they need it. Butthrough laziness, they start to gather a week’s supply at a time, so that itthen ceases to grow quickly, which necessitates cultivation.Consequently, the land is divided up into fields, so that property isinvented, followed by theft. Here, then, is a vision of sentient beings andtheir environment co-evolving (or co-devolving). The beings are affectedby what they take from their environment, and the environmentbecomes less refined and fruitful as the beings morally decline.

All this takes place according to the principle of Conditioned Arising(see pp. and ‒), in which nothing exists on its own, as each thingdepends on others to condition its arising and existence. In EasternBuddhism, the inter-relationship of all things (and thus of humans andtheir environment) is particularly strongly emphasized. In the Avatam

·saka

Sutra is an image, the ‘Jewel Net of Indra’, explained by Fa-tsang(–), a master of the Hua-yen school, as follows. In this infinite net,a jewel is placed at each knot, so that each jewel reflects every other one,including their reflections of every jewel, and so on to infinity (Cook,: ). This is seen as a simile for reality as a web of interdepen-dence, in which each thing is ‘interpenetrated’ by every other. Each itemis made possible by, and reflects, every other, for they all condition it inone way or another. Nothing can exist by itself, but makes its own con-tribution to the whole. Thus the Sutra says, ‘Every living being and everyminute thing is significant, since even the tiniest thing contains the wholemystery.’ Likewise, the Ch’an monk Sêng-chao (–) said, ‘Heavenand earth and I are of the same root, the ten-thousand things and I areof one substance’ (Suzuki, : ). Cook sees this perspective as oneof ‘cosmic ecology’ (: ).


1 D. .–; cf. Batchelor and Brown, : –.

In the lands of Eastern Buddhism, the traditional ideal has been oneof harmony with nature. This has been particularly emphasized by theCh’an/Zen school, in such actions as blending meditation huts into thelandscape, not wasting any food in monasteries, landscape painting,landscape gardening, and nature poetry (Suzuki, : ch. ). In paint-ings, human beings are just one part of a natural scene, not the focus,with nature as simply a background, as often seen in Western art (Cook,: –). Great attention is paid to seemingly insignificant aspectsof nature, for insight into them can give an intuitive appreciation of theindescribable and mysterious ‘suchness’ which runs through the wholefabric of existence. Such insight requires a mind in which ego-centredthought has been stilled and disciplined, but in which a natural sponta-neity wells up from deep within. The seventeen-syllable haiku poem formis a favourite medium for the expression of such intuitions (Suzuki, :ch. ). Of the following examples, the first three are by Basho (–),one is by Kikaku (–) and one is by Joso (–):

() An old pond, ah! () On a dry branch() A frog jumps in: () A raven is perched:() The water’s sound! () This autumnal eve.

() Lice, fleas – () A little frog() The horse pissing () Riding on a banana leaf,() By my pillow. () Trembling.

() Under the water,() On the rock resting,() The fallen leaves.

Such an atunement to natural phenomena is also evident in a numberof the poems attributed to the early Arahats in the Thera-gatha (Thag.), aTheravada text. A number are attributed to Maha-Kassapa (verses–), an ascetic character claimed by the Ch’an/Zen school as thefirst teacher in their line. He speaks of his appreciation of the delightfulrocks, ‘cool with water, having pure streams, covered with Indagopakainsects’ (verse ), resounding with elephants and peacocks, ‘coveredwith flax flowers as the sky is covered with clouds’ (verse ):

With clear water and wide crags, haunted by monkeys and deer, covered withoozing moss, those rocks delight me. (verse )

Sariputta affirms, ‘Forests are delightful, where (ordinary) people find nodelight. Those rid of desire will delight there; they are not seekers aftersensual pleasures’ (verse ). That is, the enlightened appreciate nature


in a non-attached, non-sensual way. Indeed, Maha-Moggallana speaksof his living at the root of a tree in the forest, contemplating the foulnessof the body (verses –). He is also without fear of natural phenom-ena: while lightning flashes around the mountain, ‘gone to the cleft inthe mountain the son of the incomparable venerable one meditates’(verses ). Likewise Bhuta speaks of contentedly meditating in a caveat night, while outside the thunder rumbles, the rain falls and fangedanimals roar (verse ). In a more tranquil vein, Raman

·eyyaka says,

‘Amidst the sound of chirping and the cries of birds, this mind of minedoes not waver, for devotion to solitude is mine’ (verse ). Non-attacheddelight is, again, expressed by Tal

·aput

·a, who meditatively admires the

beautiful necks, crests, tail feathers and variegated wing feathers of birds(verses –). Moreover, after rain, ‘when the grove is in full flower, likea cloud, I shall lie among the mountains like a tree’ (verse ). That is,he will be rooted and ‘earthed’ through strong mindfulness, while in fullmastery of his formerly wayward mind. For such early wilderness-med-itators, the environment could itself be a teacher, especially of constantchange and impermanence. As Vimala says, ‘The earth is sprinkled, thewind blows, the lightning flashes in the sky. My thoughts are quietened,my mind is well concentrated’ (verse ). The environment could also bean example – for instance a mountain as an image of unshakeability(verse ). Thus Mahanama says that he is ‘found wanting by themountain with its many shrubs and trees’ (verse ). All in all, the moun-tain and forest environment loved by such early saints is one in which aperson can develop such qualities as non-attached joy, fearlessness,energy, and full enlightenment. As Kal

·udayin boldly affirms, ‘While the

wind blows cool and sweet smelling, I shall split ignorance asunder, as Isit on this mountain top’ (verse ).

Such appreciation of the forest is also found in Mahayana texts. Thusthe poet Santideva praises the forest as a delightful place conducive tonot clinging to anything as ‘mine’ (Bca. ., ). In his Siks

·a-samuccaya,

he cites the Ugradatta-paripr·ccha as saying that the forest-dweller should

seek to be like the plants and trees, which are without a sense of self orpossession (Ss. ). He also says that if a Bodhisattva has to be away fromthe forest for a while, to teach or learn from others, he should retain a‘cave-and-forest mind’ (Ss. ).

While communal monastic life has always been important inBuddhism, time alone in the forests and mountains has also been so. It isan opportunity for developing certain qualities away from the support –and hindrances – posed by other humans. For all their positive potential,


humans can also have many negative traits. Thus the Buddha agreeswhen a disciple says that humans are a deceitful ‘tangle’, while animalsare a (relatively) ‘open clearing’ (M. .–). Consequently, a time in thecompany of animals and nature may be an aid to spiritual development.The Buddha’s own association with and appreciation of such surround-ings can be seen from the location of key events during his life. He wasborn under one tree, was enlightened under another, gave his firstsermon in an animal park, and died between two trees. Nevertheless, hespent much of his time in and around towns and cities, teaching people.If he had been one who grasped at the beauties of nature, he would havekept clear of these.

Given all that has been said so far, it is clear that the Buddhist idealfor humanity’s relationship with animals, plants and the landscape is oneof harmonious co-operation. Buddhism emphasizes a disciplining andovercoming of the negativities within the conditioned nature of thehuman heart. Such an approach goes hand-in-hand with a friendly atti-tude to the environment. This can be seen in D. T. Suzuki’s talk ofmaking a ‘good friend’ of a climbed mountain, rather than of ‘con-quering’ it (Suzuki, : ).

-

As an example of the pan-Indian value of ahim·

sa, or ‘non-injury’(Tähtinen, ; Chapple, ), the first of the five precepts is to abstainfrom ‘onslaught on living beings (literally breathers)’ (see pp. ‒). Itsplace as the most important precept is reflected in the fact that SriLankan villagers often sum up what Buddhism requires of them as ‘notto kill animals’ (Southwold, : ). While it is difficult to follow thisfully, clearly a Buddhist should strive to minimize intentional injury toliving beings. The law of karma backs up compassion as a motive for fol-lowing the precept: it means that one cannot intentionally harm beingswithout this bringing harm to oneself at some time. Thus when theBuddha found some children molesting a snake with sticks, he said,‘Whoever, seeking his own happiness, harms with the rod pleasure-loving beings gets no happiness hereafter’ (Dhp. ).

The Theravadin commentator Buddhaghosa explains that it is worseto kill a human than an animal, or a larger or more substantial animalthan a smaller or less substantial one (see p. ). Among animals, it isworse to kill an elephant, which is both large and noble, and bad to killa cow, which gives much to humans through its milk. In the monastic


This Quiet Place That Buddhas Love J. L. Walker 22 March 1999/Parabola Magazine (Copyright 1999 Gale Group Inc. All rights reserved.)

Enchanting caves and fields in peaceful forests Adorned with flowers moving in dance and streams sounding Lhung, In them, may we without wavering contemplate our tired minds, And remain there to fulfill the purposes of precious human life. In that place, not having encountered any wild beings, Having pacified emotional defilements, and having achieved the seven noble qualities, At the time of leaving the living body, May we attain the king of the mind, the primordial state.

--Longchen Rabjam (1308-1363)(1) O THIS QUIET PLACE that Buddhas love,"(2) begins a song by Milarepa, one of Tibet's greatest poet-adepts. He sings the praises of his Red Rock Valley hermitage in all its natural splendor, full of life and sound. Trees dance, and animals large and small play and sing there. Bees hum melodiously in fragrant flowers. As clouds float by the mountain top, he describes the place of the yogin in the scene: "I, Milarepa, practice meditation; I, the yogin, practice the heart of enlightenment." Thus the world of nature is made meaningful. We often think of nature, "this quiet place," in terms of a refuge from the world of action, driven by desire and necessity. But the true refuge lies not in the ever-changing natural world with its objective beauty, or even in a subjective state of peace and solitude within that, but in apprehending the very nature of nature beyond and within its objective content. The healing potential of nature depends on finding this nonordinary, transformative, "vertical" aspect of nature. Otherwise all we have is another "horizontal" translation of it, another way of looking at it, rather than a powerful force of real change in our lives as we must live them in the world. In Buddhist cosmology the world of appearances arises out of its nondual and indestructible Base, described as unborn, the perfectly unobstructed and unchangeable state that is self-liberated and perfect from the beginning. This state of perfect, discriminating awareness is called the natural mind, which cannot be contrived. From this limitless origination, the conditioned existence of universes and beings arises. Samsara, or conditioned existence, is created by beings mistaking the external and temporal appearances of things for their ultimate

nature. This ultimate nature of the mind is forever beyond the intellect, and yet they are inseparably intertwined in a dance of interdependence. The arising of manifestation begins with sunyata, or emptiness. From out of this ground arises the completely pure Wind of the Mind. This wind is endowed with the potential to generate our universe. Above this vast Wind of the Mind arises the actual mandala of the wind element of the universe. The mandala of the wind billows and storms and pervades everywhere. Other winds arise above this, which each perform various functions in the creation of the material universe. The Roughening Wind scatters in all directions. The Gathering Wind causes clouds to gather, and the Stabilizing Wind causes the basic foundation of the universe to settle. The Fire Wind ripens it. Above these winds arise the mandalas of the other elements: first Fire, then Water, then Earth. Thus the outer vessel of the universe is formed, and from these same elements living beings are manifested. Everything that is generated from the Base or ground of existence has three aspects: essence, nature, and energy. The essence of anything refers to its emptiness of a permanent, independent self-existence. The nature aspect is the propensity in this emptiness to continually manifest, and the energy is how it manifests. The traditional analogy to illustrate this triple aspect of things is that of a mirror. Its fundamental clarity and purity, and the fact that it is not changed by any of the reflections that appear in it, represents its essence. Its nature is the inherent capacity of the mirror to reflect whatever is put in front of it, and the energy aspect is illustrated by the reflections themselves. My first Buddhist teacher, Ch'an Master Nan Huai-chin, used to laugh at me when I told him I was going to the small mountain temple I often visited to do a little retreat. "Ha!" he would say. "You can't escape the red dust out there." He was right, of course. One cannot escape anywhere. We take our world with us because it is the reflections we hold before the mirror of our mind: our limited awareness, our attachment, our illusions, all the dust of our habitual ways of perceiving ourselves and our surroundings. So it gets us nowhere to contemplate merely external nature. Gyatrul Rinpoche, a contemporary Tibetan Buddhist master, says, "Here in the West we make a big deal of sunsets and so forth. Another way of looking at a sunset is that it's just another sign of your life passing by."(3) For some reason, we do not notice the impermanence in the natural cycles around us as related to us. We lose a great opportunity to deepen our experience of our own nature, which is not separate from that of the realms of nature. Is Gyatrul Rinpoche telling us we are wrong to enjoy the beauties of nature? I think not, but he is pointing out that we are seeing the sunset only partially. We are like people who are given a precious medicine in a beautiful jar, and instead of taking the medicine, we admire the jar, perhaps setting it in a place of honor, but remaining lost in our sickness. Milarepa gives us an example of one use of the beauties of nature as medicine in this teaching song to his disciple Dar Bum, one of his four main female heirs: Oh, disciple of a hundred thousand merits,

You, girl, who have faith and wealth, Consider this parable of the sky And meditate on limitless space. Consider the parable of the sun and moon And meditate on their unchanging clarity. Consider the parable of the mountain And meditate on its unmovability. Consider the parable of the great ocean And meditate on its bottomless depths. Concerning the self-mind Meditate without errors. After having meditated according to his instructions, she returns and relates her experiences to her teacher, asking him for clarification. She is happy when meditating on the sky but a little unhappy when she meditates on the clouds, happy when meditating on the mountain but a little unhappy when meditating on the trees and bushes, happy when meditating on the great ocean, but a little unhappy meditating on the waves, happy with the nature of mind but not so happy with disturbing thoughts, and so forth. Pleased, seeing that she actually had experience in meditation, Mila sings another song to remove her doubts and obstacles: If you feel happy when you meditate on the sky, You should know that the clouds are a manifestation of the sky. Therefore, identify yourself with the sky.... If you feel happy when you meditate on the mountain, You should know that the foliage and trees are a manifestation of the mountain. Therefore, identify yourself with the mountain. If you are happy when you meditate on the great ocean, You should know that the waves are a manifestation of the ocean. Therefore, identify yourself with the ocean. If you are happy meditating on your self-mind, You should know that disturbing thoughts are a manifestation of the mind. Therefore, identify yourself with the mind-essence. Following his instructions and thoroughly contemplating the nature of mind through these examples, Dar Bum attained enlightenment in that very life. In each case he pointed her toward the essential nature of the object of her meditation, and away from the appearance. The sky is boundless and unchanged by clouds or sunsets, the depths of the sea calm and unperturbed by the activity of the waves at its surface, and so also is the nature of mind. Sky and clouds, sea and waves, mind and the nature of mind are not two, and yet not one.

The greatest of Nyingma (Old School) master/poets, Longchen Rabjam, affirms the value of the beauties of nature to beginning meditators for their ability to generate inspiration and tranquillity of mind. In his Narrative of Joyfulness in the Forest, he writes: In a forest, naturally there are few distractions and entertainments, One is far from all suffering of danger and violence. The joy is much greater than that of the celestial cities. Enjoy today the tranquil nature of forests. O mind, listen to the virtues of the forests.... In forests emotions decline naturally.... In forests the peace of absorption grows naturally. Life in forests is in accord with the holy Dharma, and it tames the mind And achieves the happiness of ultimate peace. We may also find nature to be an excellent instructor in mindfulness and nonattachment. In an oral teaching in July 1998, His Eminence Garchen Rinpoche spoke to us of offering such beauty as we may find anywhere; a weed growing in a crack in a city sidewalk, a nearby park, or a wilderness trail may present us with an unexcelled opportunity to make what we observe into a means of upliftment. With mindfulness, everything becomes our spiritual practice. When we see a flower, we can offer it for the benefit of all living beings. We don't need to pick it and take it with us into our rooms; we can offer it where it sits. When we see the flower and offer it spontaneously, we are really exhausting attachment and desire and thus our self-grasping ego. We become closer to the natural state of pristine awareness by eliminating what is contrived. We need only see the immovable mountain in the plant, the deep sea in the wave, the mind in the thought of offering. This transforms all places, scenes, and things, gradually opening our ordinary view into something beneficial to all beings. The purpose of meditation on nature in the Buddhist way is not to establish an emotional relationship with it, but instead to see uncontrived nature as it is and so learn to recognize that nature in ourselves. In such moments of letting go, of relaxing the mind completely into what is in the present, it seems that the nature of nature and of one's deepest being come to rest in a single point. In that placeless place where the horizontal world of appearances meets the changeless vertical, the ineffable, nondual essence of things, we experience fully the single taste of our nature and of the realm of nature. In such experience, nature and its nature become mutually transparent. Same old hilltop under the moon Walked again and again Written over and over Its inwardness always new

NOTES (1.) Tulku Dondup, Buddha Mind: An Anthology of Longchen Rabjam's Writings on Dzogpa Chenpo (Ithaca, N.Y.: Snow Lion, 1989). All of Longchen Rabjam's poems in this article are from this source, recently renamed The Practice of Dzogchen. (2.) The Hundred Thousand Songs: Selections from Milarepa, Poet-Saint of Tibet, translated by Antoinette K. Gordon (Rutland, Vt. and Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle Company, 1961). All quotes from Milarepa's songs are from this collection. (3.) Padmasambhava, Natural Liberation: Padmasambhava's Teachings on the Six Bardos, commentary by Gyatrul Rinpoche (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 1998). --------------------------- J. L. WALKER has been a student and practitioner of Ch'an and Vajrayana Buddhism for twenty years. She has received teachings from masters of the Gelukpa, Nyingma, and Kagyud Schools of Tibetan Buddhism and has completed over five years of solitary retreat in the Drikung Kagyu tradition.

PRACTICE: Starry Night

The following meditation is a way to cultivate a nonconceptual awareness. It works best on a relatively clear night, preferably away from bright city lights. Find a place outdoors where you can lie down on the ground and view the night sky. Gaze up at that vast ocean of darkness that sparkles with infinite stars until you find the

cluster of stars known as the Big Dipper. Officially part of Ursa Major, the Great Bear constellation, the Big Dipper consists of seven stars broadly spaced apart. Four stars make the shape of a large rectangle, and the other three splay out horizontally to the left from the top of the rectangle, so they resemble a large dipper, or a saucepan with a long and slightly curved handle.

Once you locate this constellation, try to let go of any preconceived ideas you have about it, and look at the cluster of stars without fixating on the shape of a big dipper. Allow yourself to see seven bright dots amid black space. Notice each star individually. Notice the stars in their context in the sky, within the vast field of shining lights. See how the stars are located in relationship to other stars not in this particular constellation.

Observe the spaces between each star. As you continue the meditation, notice if you go in and out of being able to see the stars themselves, without the idea or image of the dipper. If in moments you find it difficult to let go of seeing the Big Dipper, shift your focus to other parts of the night sky. Try looking at just part of the constellation, along with other stars outside the constellation.

Close your eyes for a moment, relax your body, and then open your eyes and refresh your attention using a soft gaze. Let your vision be broad and spacious, and look at the stars without thinking about them, yourself, or anything else—just rest in open awareness. Another approach is to stare at the Big Dipper for a long time; after a while, the concept or memory of a dipper may fade and the stars will return to just being individual lights in the sky.

Once you practice this meditation, you can apply the technique to other constellations—seeing the stars without their associated imagery, taking in the simple reality of what is, and experiencing the vastness of the night sky. Try doing this meditation for up to half an hour, taking time to alternate between simply resting your awareness in the vastness of sky, and noticing whether you get caught up in concepts about specific constellations. You can also expand this practice to include other objects and people—you might try looking at a rose bush without the concept of “rose.”

--Mark Coleman

Morality and Virtue

in our Relationship to Nature Saturday, July 9

9-11 am

Readings: “This World is Not Yours” “In Search of a Buddhist Environmental Ethics”

Practice: Touching the earth Place: Belding Wildlife Management Area, Vernon, CT (meet in the parking area on Bread and Milk Road at 9 am)

3 WINTER 2006 • Insight Journal

EDITOR’S ESSAY

This World Is Not Yours

In a discourse about the teaching of non-self, the Buddha offers the following illustration: “Bhikkhus, what do you think? If people carried off the grass,

sticks, branches, and leaves in this Jeta Grove, or burned them, or did what they liked with them, would you think: ‘People are carrying us off or burning us or doing what they like with us’?” “No, venerable sir. Why not? Because that is neither our self nor what belongs to our self.” (M 22)

As we hear this example today, however, we have to admit that it is no longer entirely true. If that grass were being burned in the Amazon forest, for example, or if those sticks were being carried off from the foothills of the Himalaya mountains, there may well be a great number of people who would be quite disturbed. Why is that? Because one of the fundamental axioms of the modern environmental movement is that the entire planet is the precious possession of us all. The very thing that provides for the preservation of the world’s resources is to extend to every blade of grass the same care and diligent guardianship that we would bring to bear upon our most intimate possession. In short, it seems that extending the range of the self to expand and cover the entire earth is the only way to protect it from harm. The whole world is mine, and if you dump your nasty toxins on it I will take it personally and be deeply offended.

Throughout his many teachings, however, the Buddha points out that great harm and suffering emerges from our tendency to define and then protect the self. The self is a flawed strategy, born in ignorance, nurtured by craving, and perpetuated by endless moments of grasping in which we pull toward us that which we like to consider part of ourselves and push away that which we don’t like and consider to be “other.” Might it be that by enlarging the self to embrace the world we are setting up the conditions for greater attachment and suffering?

This is not to say the rainforest should not be protected, but to suggest that the attitude one brings to the task makes a big difference. There is a lot of work ahead of us as we endeavor to rescue the planet from ourselves, and we are likely to be at this work for a very long time. Perhaps we could come at it from the wisdom of the non-self perspective, rather than the passions of the “world is mine” point of view. As the Buddha says elsewhere in the same text, “Whatever is not yours,

abandon it; when you have abandoned it, that will lead to your welfare and happiness for a long time.”

The Buddha had a penetrating insight into human nature. Among the things he noticed is that while some of our best qualities, such as caring, nurturing and protecting, are directed to the things we feel we possess or own, it is also the case that our worst tendencies, rooted in greed, hatred and delusion, organize too around whatever is taken to be “mine” or possessed by “me.” It can be a useful point of view in the short term or from a narrow perspective, but in the end the self is the source of more harm than good. History offers a sad parade of examples of things being destroyed precisely because they are valued.

If this world is not mine, then what is it? The Buddha’s reply: “The instructed noble disciple attends carefully and closely to dependent origination itself thus:

When this exists, that comes to be;with the arising of this, that arises.When this does not exist, that does not come to be;with the cessation of this, that ceases.” (S 12:37)

This is the universal formula of dependent origination. It provides a model for understanding the profound inter-relationship between all things, but it is a model that allows for no self. Nothing belongs to anybody; nobody has any self to protect; everything just co-arises with everything else.

If the whole world is my self and someone comes along and burns the forest, it is likely that I will respond with anger, hatred and an urge for revenge. If on the other hand the same action occurs in the context of an attitude of non-self, one still discerns the causal relationship between the action and the suffering it brings to many others inhabiting the same matrix of cause and effect. I can still put a stop to the activity, hold the perpetrator legally and morally responsible for the act, and put in place various safeguards to prevent it from happening again. Now, however, my response is more likely to be guided by wisdom and compassion, and to be grounded in a larger view.

I think the Buddha would argue that one is a more skillful response than the other. And considering how much is at stake, we need all the skillfulness we can muster. —Andrew Olendzki

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PRACTICE: The Three Earth-Touchings I. Touching the Earth, I connect with ancestors and descendants of both my spiritual and my blood families. [bell] [touch the earth]

My spiritual ancestors include the Buddha, the Bodhisattvas, the noble Sangha of Buddha’s disciples, [insert names of others you would like to include], and my own spiritual teachers still alive or already passed away. They are present in me because they have transmitted to me seeds of peace, wisdom, love, and happiness. They have woken up in me my resource of understanding and compassion. When I look at my spiritual ancestors, I see those who are perfect in the practice of the mindfulness trainings, understanding, and compassion, and those who are still imperfect. I accept them all because I see within myself shortcomings and weaknesses. Aware that my practice of the mindfulness trainings is not always perfect, and that I am not always as understanding and compassionate as I would like to be, I open my heart and accept all my spiritual descendants. Some of my descendants practice the mindfulness trainings, understanding, and compassion in a way which invites confidence and respect, but there are also those who come across many difficulties and are constantly subject to ups and downs in their practice. In the same way, I accept all my ancestors on my mother’s side and my father’s side of the family. I accept all their good qualities and their virtuous actions, and I also accept all their weaknesses. I open my heart and accept all my blood descendants with their good qualities, their talents, and also their weaknesses. My spiritual ancestors, blood ancestors, spiritual descendants, and blood descendants are all part of me. I am them, and they are me. I do not have a separate self. All exist as part of a wonderful stream of life which is constantly moving. [three breaths] [bell] II. Touching the Earth, I connect with all people and all species that are alive at this moment in this world with me. [bell] [ touch the earth] I am one with the wonderful pattern of life that radiates out in all directions. I see the close connection between myself and others, how we share happiness and suffering. I am one with those who were born disabled or who have become disabled because of war, accident, or illness. I am one with those who are caught in a situation of war or oppression. I am one with those who find no happiness in family life, who have no roots and no peace of mind, who are

hungry for understanding and love, and who are looking for something beautiful, wholesome, and true to embrace and to believe in. I am someone at the point of death who is very afraid and does not know what is going to happen. I am a child who lives in a place where there is miserable poverty and disease, whose legs and arms are like sticks and who has no future. I am also the manufacturer of bombs that are sold to poor countries. I am the frog swimming in the pond and I am also the snake who needs the body of the frog to nourish its own body. I am the caterpillar or the ant that the bird is looking for to eat, and I am also the bird that is looking for the caterpillar or the ant. I am the forest that is being cut down. I am the rivers and the air that are being polluted, and I am also the person who cuts down the forest and pollutes the rivers and the air. I see myself in all species, and I see all species in me. I am one with the great beings who have realized the truth of no-birth and no-death and are able to look at the forms of birth and death, happiness and suffering, with calm eyes. I am one with those people — who can be found a little bit everywhere — who have sufficient peace of mind, understanding and love, who are able to touch what is wonderful, nourishing, and healing, who also have the capacity to embrace the world with a heart of love and arms of caring action. I am someone who has enough peace, joy, and freedom and is able to offer fearlessness and joy to living beings around themselves. I see that I am not lonely and cut off. The love and the happiness of great beings on this planet help me not to sink in despair. They help me to live my life in a meaningful way, with true peace and happiness. I see them all in me, and I see myself in all of them. [three breaths] [bell] [stand up] III. Touching the Earth, I let go of my idea that I am this body and my life span is limited. [bell] [touch the earth] I see that this body, made up of the four elements, is not really me and I am not limited by this body. I am part of a stream of life of spiritual and blood ancestors that for thousands of years has been flowing into the present and flows on for thousands of years into the future. I am one with my ancestors. I am one with all people and all species, whether they are peaceful and fearless, or suffering and afraid. At this very moment, I am present everywhere on this planet. I am also present in the past and in the future. The disintegration of this body does not touch me, just as when the plum blossom falls it does not mean the end of the plum tree. I see myself as a wave on the surface of the ocean. My nature is the ocean water. I see myself in all the other waves and I see all the

other waves in me. The appearance and disappearance of the form of the wave does not affect the ocean. My Dharma body and spiritual life are not subject to birth and death. I see the presence of myself before my body manifested and after my body has disintegrated. Even in this moment, I see how I exist elsewhere than in this body. Seventy or eighty years is not my life span. My life span, like the life span of a leaf or of a Buddha, is limitless. I have gone beyond the idea that I am a body that is separated in space and time from all other forms of life. [three breaths] [bell] [stand up]

Buddhist Attitude to Animals Saturday, July 23

9-11 am

Readings: “Care for Other Beings/Protecting Other Species” “Buddhism and Vegetarianism”

Practice: Evolutionary gifts of the animals Place: UConn animal barns, Horsehill Road, Storrs, CT

(parking details TBA)

21 Journal of Buddhist Ethics

lands," with conditions which are even and peaceful, more conducive to

enlightenment than this world, one can surely see any action to make this

world more peaceful and supportive as Bodhisattva-action.

Care for Other Beings

Buddhist principles counsel non-violence to any sentient being, not just

humans, for Buddhism sees humans and other beings as fellow-sufferers in

the round of rebirth. While humans are seen to be particularly worthy of

respect due to their moral and spiritual potential, these very qualities imply

that we should not thoughtlessly exploit other beings, but show our relative

superiority through kindness and care.

Such actions are also ascribed to the gods: it is said that Sakka (who gained

his divine status by being the helpful Magha, above) was once fleeing with

his army from the army of the asuras. Seeing that his chariot was about to

destroy some birds' nests, he stopped the retreat (which then shocked the

asuras into stopping their pursuit; S.I.224).

In the Cakkavatti-s han da Sutta, the ideal ruler is seen as establishing

"guard, ward and protection" for both various groups of people in town and

country, and animals and birds (D.III.61). Emperor Asoka's edicts relating to

animal welfare include the following:

The Fourteen Rock Edicts: 2 Everywhere within Beloved-of-the-Gods, King

Piyadasi's domain . . . has Beloved-of-the-Gods, King Piyadasi, made provision

for two types of medical treatment: medical treatment for humans and medical

treatment for animals. Wherever medical herbs suitable for humans or animals

are not available, I have had them imported and grown. . . .

The Seven Pillar Edicts: 7 . . . Along roads I have had banyan trees planted so

that they can give shade to animals and men, and I have had mango groves

planted. At intervals of eight krosas, I have had wells dug, rest-houses built, and

in various places, I have had watering-places made for the use of animals and

Harvey, Avoiding Unintended Harm to the Environment 22

men. . . . I have done these things for this purpose, that the people might practice

the Dhamma. . . . (Dhammika 1993)

The Up saka- la S tra says of the Bodhisattva:

In places where there are no trees, he erects posts and builds sheds for animals. .

. . Seeing animals who are in fear, he helps and shelters them and persuades

hunters [to stop hunting] by providing them with material things and kind

words. (Shih 1994:133-134)

If he feeds ants with a bit of noodle, he can also gain immeasurable rewards.

(Shih 1994:113)

The Brahmaj la S tra's forty-eight secondary precepts for Bodhisattvas

include:

20. Failure to Liberate Sentient Beings. A disciple of the Buddha should have a

mind of compassion and cultivate the practice of liberating sentient beings. . . . If

a Bodhisattva sees an animal on the verge of being killed, he must devise a way

to rescue and protect it, helping it to escape suffering and death. The disciple

should always teach the Bodhisattva precepts to rescue and deliver sentient

beings. (Buddhist Text Translation Society)

Of course, one could add a rider here: but not liberate them in ways that

lead others to first harm them!

We should act in such a way as to take into account the interests of other

forms of sentient life in the environment that we share with them. We

might sometimes choose to override such interests in favor of our own

human ones, individual or collective, but we should never simply ignore

them as if they do not exist. We sometimes end up overriding the interests

of other people where we have a conflict of interest with them, but we

should always first seek to find ways in which both parties' interests are


satisfied to a degree, and it is good to sometimes allow the interests of the

other party to prevail. Social interactions often involve such balancing of

interests. To always prefer one's own interests is recognized as acting

selfishly. We should treat interactions with non-human beings in a similar

way. We also need to become increasingly sensitive to the fact that harm to

other forms of life often has knock-on effects that bring harm to humans,

too. Buddhism has often taught that harm, and true benefit, of self and

others are intertwined.

Protecting Other Species

One of emperor Asoka's edicts says:

The Seven Pillar Edicts: 5 . . . Twenty-six years after my coronation various animals

were declared to be protected—parrots, mainas, aruna, ruddy geese, wild ducks,

nandimukhas, gelatas, bats, queen ants, terrapins, boneless fish, vedareyaka,

gangapuputaka, sankiya fish, tortoises, porcupines, squirrels, deer, bulls, okapinda,

wild asses, wild pigeons, domestic pigeons and all four-footed creatures that are

neither useful nor edible. [The identification of many of these animals is

conjectural.] Those nanny goats, ewes and sows which are with young or giving

milk to their young are protected, and so are young ones less than six months old.

Cocks are not to be caponized, husks hiding living beings are not to be burnt and

forests are not to be burnt either without reason or to kill creatures. One animal is

not to be fed to another. . . . (Dhammika 1993)

Trade in endangered species, and driving species to extinction due to

human destruction of their habitat, is now an international problem. The

above edict has Asoka seeking to protect members of a range of species, but

one can ask whether Buddhism has any particularly strong reasons for

protecting species per se. Buddhist concern has always been for the suffering

of any sentient being, of whatever species. In an eons-old world of change

and impermanence, it is to be expected that species will become extinct

Harvey, Avoiding Unintended Harm to the Environment 24

(though this is happening much more rapidly than usual at present).

Nevertheless, each dying species consists of suffering individuals, and

Buddhist concern should certainly focus on these. Buddhist principles might

not strongly support saving "the" whale, but they support saving whales! It

is unlikely that Asoka's edict was to prevent species extinctions, as such.

Where saving (members of) one endangered species involves killing

members of another species, Buddhism would not be supportive. Moreover,

classical Buddhist ethics would not, explicitly, see killing the last rhinoceros

as worse than killing one when they were plentiful, or killing a cow, say.

Although to deliberately kill a rhinoceros so as to try to end the species

could be seen as worse, both because it would be a very destructive act and

would offend many people. A world without a particular species is still the

conditioned world of suffering beings. If the human species became extinct,

then an opportunity to be born as a being capable of enlightenment would

be lost—at least in this part of the universe. While the same could not be

said of any other species (though East Asian Buddhism came to see all

species, even plants, as having the "Buddha nature"), the higher animals at

least are seen as capable of some virtue, so their loss would also hinder the

spiritual progress of beings. Accordingly, for some animals, to kill one when

one knows that this will push its species closer to extinction, even if this is

not one's intention, can indeed be seen as a worse act than if the species

were not an endangered one.

What of endangered species that it would be implausible to see as capable of

any kind of virtue? Is it worse to kill a member of such a species, when one

knows it is endangered, than a member of a similar non-endangered

species? One can argue that this may contribute to reducing the bio-

diversity of an ecosystem, and thus the overall flourishing of the various

kinds of being that are part of it. This argument has some force: we should

not make it more difficult for other beings to live. Some might also argue

that if the species goes extinct, then this would eliminate the possibility of

life for future generations of that species, and so in effect "kill" many

beings. However, from a Buddhist point of view, the beings that might have


later been reborn as members of that species would simply be reborn as

members of other species. Moreover, prevention of birth is not the same as

killing, otherwise contraception would be a form of killing!

One endangered higher species is the tiger, partly threatened by the

traditional Chinese belief that eating parts of a tiger sustains virility. Thus

tigers are still imported from the dwindling numbers of India and

Bangladesh into Taiwan—supposedly as "pets." In 1986, it was reported that

Buddhist leaders there planned to buy twelve such tigers to save them from

being eaten at the Chinese New Year.

Other endangered species are various types of whales, which the Japanese

are active in hunting "scientifically" in spite of a world moratorium on

commercial hunting. Japanese whale-hunting can be seen as the product of

several factors. The fact that Japan is an island has meant that the sea has

been looked to as a great food-provider. The traditional preference for sea-

foods was probably also strengthened by Buddhist concerns over meat-

eating, for fish are seen as a low form of life. With more powerful boats, and

an increasing secularism, there has been much whale killing. To the average

Japanese, killing a whale is no worse than killing a cow, though of course a

pious Buddhist would not want to do either. Given the Buddhist concern for

"all sentient beings," Japanese whaling, and the Japanese emphasis on

memorial rites, it is perhaps not surprising that Buddhist monks sometimes

carry out memorial rites for the whales killed by whalers (Hoshino and

Takeda 1987:310). Kapleau reports one such in 1979, put on by a Zen temple,

and with government officials and executives of a large whaling company in

the audience (1981:46-50). Unfortunately, the service did not seem to

contain any discouragement to whaling, but was more like a way to salve

people's consciences. This is not even a case of unintentionally harming a

group of animals, but intentionally doing so and then trying to compensate

for it with a ritual bandage. Of course Japanese whalers would not want to

cause the actual extinction of the species that they hunt—but sensitive and

intelligent beings are deliberately killed, nevertheless.

Buddhism and Vegetarianism

1. From John Kahila (talk.religion.buddhismnewsgroup):

Are all Buddhists vegetarians?

No. The First Precept admonishes us to refrain fromkilling, but meat eating is not regarded as aninstance of killing, and it is not forbidden in thescriptures. (We are speaking here mainly of the Paliscriptures. Some of the Mahayana scriptures,notably the Lankavatara Sutra, take a strong position

in favor of vegetarianism. Also see Note below)

As recorded in the Pali scriptures, the Buddha didnot prohibit consumption of meat, even by monks. Infact, he explicitly rejected a suggestion fromDevadatta to do so. In modern Theravada societies,a bhikkhu who adheres to vegetarianism to impressothers with his superior spirituality may becommitting an infringement of the monastic rules.

On the other hand, the Buddha categoricallyprohibited consumption of the flesh of any animalthat was "seen, heard or suspected" to have beenkilled specifically for the benefit of monks (JivakaSutta, Majjhima Nikaya 55). This rule technicallyapplies only to monastics, but it can be used as areasonable guide by devout lay people.

To understand this "middle path" approach tomeat-eating, we have to remember that there wereno "Buddhists" in Shakyamuni's time. There wereonly mendicants of various kinds (including theBuddha's disciples), plus lay people who gave themalms out of respect without necessarily worryingabout the brand name of the teachings.

If meat was what a householder chose to offer, it

Buddhism and Vegetarianism http://www.urbandharma.org/udharma3/vegi.html

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was to be accepted without discrimination oraversion. To reject such an offering would be anoffense against hospitality and would deprive thehouseholder of an opportunity to gain merit -- and itcould not benefit the animal, because it was alreadydead. Even the Jains may have had a similar outlookduring the same period of history, despite the strictdoctrine of ahimsa.

Vegetarianism could not become a source of seriouscontroversy in the bhikkhu sangha until the rise offixed-abode monastic communities in which themonks did not practice daily alms-round. Any meatprovided to such a community by lay people wouldalmost certainly have been killed specifically for themonks. That may be one reason for the difference inMahayana and Theravada views on meat eating --the development of monastic communities of thistype occurred principally within Mahayana.

The issue of meat eating raises difficult ethicalquestions. Isn't the meat in a supermarket orrestaurant killed "for" us? Doesn't meat eating entailkilling by proxy?

Few of us are in a position to judge meat eaters oranyone else for "killing by proxy." Being part of theworld economy entails "killing by proxy" in every actof consumption. The electricity that runs ourcomputers comes from facilities that harm theenvironment. Books of Buddhist scriptures areprinted on paper produced by an industry thatdestroys wildlife habitat. Worms, insects, rodentsand other animals are routinely killed en masse inthe course of producing the staples of a vegetariandiet. Welcome to samsara. It is impossible for mostof us to free ourselves from this web; we can onlystrive to be mindful of entanglement in it. One wayto do so is to reflect on how the suffering and deathof sentient beings contributes to our comfort. Thismay help us to be less inclined to consume out ofmere greed.

All of that having been said, it cannot be denied thatthe economic machine which produces meat alsocreates fear and suffering for a large number ofanimals. It is useful to bear this in mind even if oneconsumes meat, to resist developing a habit ofcallousness. Many Buddhists (especiallyMahayanists) practice vegetarianism as a means ofcultivating compassion.


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The Jivaka Sutta hints that one could also make agood case for vegetarianism starting from any of theother brahmaviharas (loving-kindness, sympatheticjoy, equanimity). Interestingly, it is loving-kindnessrather than compassion that is mentioned first in theJivaka Sutta.

If you are considering trying out vegetarianism forthe first time, we suggest discussing it with someonewho has experience. There are a few issues thatought to be considered regarding balanced diet, etc.

Note (by Binh Anson): The Lankavatara Sutra,

although recorded the Buddha's teaching in Lanka

(Sri Lanka), is essentially a product of later

Mahayana development. According to H. Nakamura

(Indian Buddhism, 1987), there are several versions

of this sutra, one fairly different in content from the

other. Most scholars concluded that this sutra was

likely compiled in 350-400 CE. In addition, according

the the popular Zen master D.T. Suzuki (The

Lankavatara Sutra - A Mahayana Text, 1931), the

chapter dealing with meat eating was indeed added

much later in subsequent versions. He also agreed

that this sutra was not the authentic words by the

Buddha, but was compiled much later by unknown

authors following Mahayana's philosophy.

2. From Ven. S. Dhammika (Australian

BuddhaNet):

Vegetarianism

There are differences of opinion between Buddhistson this issue so we will attempt to present thearguments of those who believe that vegetarianismis necessary for Buddhists and those who do not.

Vegetarianism was not a part of the early Buddhisttradition and the Buddha himself was not avegetarian. The Buddha got his food either by goingon alms rounds or by being invited to the houses ofhis supporters and in both cases he ate what he wasgiven. Before his enlightenment he hadexperimented with various diets including a meatlessdiet, but he eventually abandoned them believingthat they did not contribute to spiritual development.

The Nipata Sutta underlines this point when it says


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that it is immorality that makes one impure (morallyand spiritually), not the eating of meat. The Buddhais often described as eating meat, he recommendedmeat broth as a cure for certain types of illness andadvised monks for practical reasons, to avoid certaintypes of meat, implying that other types were quiteacceptable.

However, Buddhists gradually came to feeluncomfortable about meat eating. In 257 BC KingAsoka said that in contrast to before, only twopeacocks and a deer were killed to provide food inthe royal kitchens and that in time even this wouldbe stopped. By the beginning of the Christian erameat eating had become unacceptable, particularlyamongst the followers of the Mahayana although thepolemics against it in works like the LankavataraSutra indicates that it was still widespread or a least

a point of controversy (see footnote in the previous

section). Tantric text dating from the 7th and 8thcenturies onward, frequently recommend bothdrinking alcohol and eating meat and both areconsidered fit to offer to gods. This was probably asmuch an expression of the freedom from conventionwhich Tantra taught as it was a protest againstMahayanists to whom practices like abstaining fromdrink and meat had become a substitute for genuinespiritual change.

Today it is often said that Mahayanists are vegetarianand Theravadins are not. However the situation is alittle more complex than that. Generally Theravadinshave no dietary restrictions although it is notuncommon to find monks and lay people in SriLanka who are strict vegetarians. Others abstainfrom meat while eating fish. Chinese andVietnamese monks and nuns are strictly vegetarianand the lay community try to follow their examplealthough many do not. Amongst Tibetans andJapanese Buddhists, vegetarianism is rare.

Buddhists who insist on vegetarianism have a simpleand compelling argument to support their case.Eating meat encourages an industry that causescruelty and death to millions of animals and a trulycompassionate person would wish to mitigate all thissuffering. By refusing to eat meat one can do justthat.

Those who believe that vegetarianism is not


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necessary for Buddhists have equally compellingalthough more complex arguments to support theirview: (1) If the Buddha had felt that a meatless dietwas in accordance with the Precepts he would havesaid so and in the Pali Tipitaka at least, he did not.(2) Unless one actually kills an animal oneself(which seldom happens today) by eating meat oneis not directly responsible for the animal's death andin this sense the non- vegetarian is no different fromthe vegetarian. The latter can only eat hisvegetables because the farmer has ploughed hisfields (thus killing many creatures) and sprayed thecrop (again killing many creatures). (3) While thevegetarian will not eat meat he does use numerousother products that lead to animals being killed(soap, leather, serum, silk etc.) Why abstain fromone while using the others? (4) Good qualities likeunderstanding, patience, generosity and honestyand bad qualities like ignorance, pride, hypocrisy,jealousy and indifference do not depend on whatone eats and therefore diet is not a significant factorin spiritual development.

Some will accept one point of view and someanother. Each person has to make up his or her ownmind.

REFERENCES:(1) Ruegg, D.S. "Ahimsa and Vegetarianism in theHistory of Buddhism" in Buddhist Studies in Honourof Walpola Rahula. S. Balasooriya,(et.al) London,1980;(2) P. Kapleau, To Cherish All Life, London, 1982.

3. From Samanera Kumara Liew ( dhamma-

[email protected], 06 June 1999)

Is there something spiritually wholesome about

being a vegetarian?

I'm aware there are some people whom arevegetarians here. Being somewhat health consciousmyself, I'm almost one too. However, I can see thatthere are some seem to hold a view that I think theymight like to reconsider -- i.e. the view that there issomething spiritually wholesome about being avegetarian.

As the suttas (discourses) clearly shows, the


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Buddha himself -- with his great wisdom -- did notask his disciples, renunciate or lay, to bevegetarians. And so, you might like to reconsiderthat view that there is something spirituallywholesome about being a vegetarian.

The Buddha himself was not a vegetarian. And so,you might like to reconsider that view that there issomething spiritually wholesome about being avegetarian.

Some may argue that somewhere along the linesomeone might have modified the suttas. It wouldseem quite unlikely, as the Suttas (of the Theravadatradition at least) are brought to the present by avery large group of monks, not individuals. As suchthey can check each other for deviations. Oneperson can't change anything without the agreementfrom others. For about 500 years the purity of thesuttas was maintained by the oral tradition by largegroups of chanting monks. When it eventually hadto be put into writing in the first century due to wars,the monks who have such faith and respect for theBuddha would certainly have made much effort toensure accuracy.

Assuming that despite all that, some people didattempt to modify the suttas, it wound have beenquite impossible as there's *not* even a *single*trace in the voluminous Tipitika (the Vinaya, Sutta,and Abhidhamma Pitakas) which even suggests thatthe Buddha advised on being vegetarians. And so,you might like to reconsider that view that there issomething spiritually wholesome about being avegetarian.

Even if the above cannot convince you, try askingyourself this: "Why do I consider being a vegetarianto be spiritually wholesome?" You may say that "If Ieat meat, I would be indirectly encouraging killing ofanimals"; or that, "If I eat meat, I would be indirectlya killer"; or that "If I'm a vegetarian, it would meanthat less animals will be killed."

Noble considerations, I must admit. But let'sexamine this further to gain a better perspective. Tryasking yourself this: "Where do my vegetables comefrom?" "From farms," you might say. To prepare thesoil for cultivation, wouldn't it have to be tilled? Andwhen the plants are grown, wouldn't pesticides haveto be sprayed? Wouldn't all that kill lots of animals,


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though they may be smaller and seem insignificantto humans? Don't they suffer too?

Some may still continue to argue that one shouldget one's vegetables from hydroponic farms. A goodargument, I must admit. But let's examine thisfurther to gain a better perspective. Such farms usemuch water -- for the sake of the plants, for the sakeof washing things, for the sake of keeping the placeclean, and others. Wouldn't such use of water killlots of animals too, though they may be smaller andseem insignificant to humans? Don't they suffer too?

And let's consider the boxes and pipes in whichsuch farming is so dependent upon, and also thematerials to built the green houses. They need to bemanufactured. And so indirectly factories areneeded; and so lands need to be cleared. Wouldn'tall that kill lots of animals too, though they may besmaller and seem insignificant to humans? Don'tthey suffer too?

The machines and equipment needed by thefactories too needs to be manufactured. And soindirectly more factories are needed; and so morelands need to be cleared. Wouldn't all that kill lots ofanimals too, though they may be smaller and seeminsignificant to humans? Don't they suffer too?

Let's also further consider the supply of electricity,water, telecommunication services, and otherinfrastructures. Just consider all that needs to bedone to supply those things. Wouldn't all that killlots of animals too, though they may be smaller andseem insignificant to humans? Don't they suffer too?

And consider all those transporting this and thathere and there that goes about to set up thefactories and the factories for the factories, theinfrastructures for all those factories, so thatmaterials can be supplied to them, so that the boxesand pipes and the material to build the greenhouses can be made for the hydroponic farms, andthat they may be sent to the farms, so thathydroponic vegetables can be cultivated, so that youmay buy and eat them. Wouldn't all that kill evenlots more animals, though they may be smaller andseem insignificant to humans? Don't they suffer too?

Wouldn't it then be proper to consider that "If I eatonly vegetables I too would be indirectly


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encouraging killing of animals;" or that, "If I don't eatmeat, I would be indirectly a killer too;" or that "Ifdon't eat meat, it wouldn't mean that less animalswill be killed. And in fact perhaps more are killed."

I could go on and on, but I should assume that youshould get the message by now. And so, you mightlike to reconsider that view that there is somethingspiritually wholesome about being a vegetarian. Wemust understand: We live in 'samsara'; and it's notcalled 'samsara' for no reason. In this world, there ISsuffering. That the Buddha has declared. Its causetoo has been declared. So has its end. And so hasthe way to the end of sufferings.

Having drawn such reasonable arguments, somemay *still* insist on arguing further that eating meatmay reduce our craving (tanha), and so there mustbe something spiritually wholesome about being avegetarian. I'd ask: "Who says meat tastes betterthan vegetables?" Have you tasted meat without anyadditives before? A raw carrot would taste muchbetter. I myself can easily have more craving forchocolates than meat. I'd say durian (a local fruit)tastes much better. So it would not be proper to saythat eating meat may reduce our craving. Besides,having aversion over a neutral thing such as meatseems quite unnecessary and even obstructive toone's spiritual progress. And so, you might like toreconsider that view that there is somethingspiritually wholesome about being a vegetarian.

Consider what the Buddha said: "Action (kamma) isintention (cetana)." When we eat meat we do notthink: "Oh, may they kill more animals so that I mayhave more meat to eat. Never mind if being have tosuffer and die." When we eat vegetables, fruits andother non-meat food, we do not think: "Oh, may theyplant more of such food. Never mind if beings haveto suffer and die." When we eat, our intention is toeat.

However, we may try practicing a few things:

- We may be moderate with our intake.Not indulge more than what we reallyneed. That's what the Buddha advised,and there is something spirituallywholesome about this; and not simplynot eat meat.


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- We may choose to eat only "at the righttime" (dawn to noon). This is encouragedeven for lay people on certain days.That's what the Buddha advised, andthere is something spiritually wholesomeabout this; and not simply not eat meat.

- When we eat we may eat mindfully,chew mindfully, taste mindfully andswallow mindfully. This would then helpus eat without craving and strengthenour mindfulness. That's what the Buddhaadvised, and there is somethingspiritually wholesome about this; and notsimply not eat meat.

If you choose to be a vegetarian, well go ahead. Docheck with other knowledgeable vegetarians abouthaving a balanced vegetarian diet. You need tomake sure that you have adequate protein, B12, andzinc.

But for your own sake, do not hold to that view thatthere is something spiritually wholesome aboutbeing a vegetarian. Also, it would certainly not bewise to think oneself superior due to one's choice offood. Check yourself whenever you see others eatmeat. Furthermore, it would be definitely improper toimpose such wrong view upon others.

This message has been written to inform, and notcriticize or offend. Hope it has been regarded inproper light.

Samanera Kumara Liew

06 June 1999

Compiled by Binh Anson Ph.D. ... Web-Site - BuddhaSasana

Also See: What the Buddha Said About Eating Meat


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PRACTICE: The Evolutionary Gifts of the

Animals

Using our own bodies, we learn about our kinship with other life-forms, and the debt of gratitude we owe to our animal ancestors.

The bloodstream: Feel the pulse in your wrist. Blood is circulating. That capacity common to all life-forms arose with the first multi-celled creatures who devised ways to transfer nutrients to their inside cells. As the developed, some of them invented a muscular pump—a heart. That pulsing you feel is the gift of ancient Great-Grandmother Worm.

The spinal column: Feel the bones in the neck, the back. Those vertebrae of the long spine are separate, but ingeniously linked. They cover the central neural cord and, at the same time, allow flexibility of movement. Grandfather Fish did the design work, because he couldn’t swim if his backbone were one solid piece. We can thank him for this marvel, that now permits us to stand and walk.

The ear: Can you hear something right now? That’s because tiny bones vibrate in the inner ear, and that’s a gift from Ancestor Fish, as well. They were once his jawbones and they migrated into the mammalian ear to carry sound.

The limbic brain: Inside the base of the skull is the limbic region of the brain, a gift from our reptilian grandmothers and grandfathers. It allows deep pleasure. It also allows us to protect ourselves by fighting or running away.

Binocular vision: Our eyes are not on the sides of our head, as are those of our fish and reptile cousins, birds, and many mammals. Our tree-climbing primate ancestors moved their eyes around to the front, to function together, so they could know the exact location and distance of branches to leap for. We can thank them for our binocular vision.

Hands: See how the hand curls over. See the size of the space it encloses between fingers and thumb. That’s just the right size for a branch capable of holding a swinging body. Grandmother Monkey designed that hand. And the branch was designed by the sun and wind and gravity, as well as Grandfather Tree himself as he grew high to reach the light, and limber to allow the wind. So we, with these hands, are grandchildren of the tree and sun and wind, as well.

--adapted from Joanne Macy

Buddhist Ideas about Plants Saturday, August 6

9-11 am

Readings: “Plants, Trees and Forests” “A Tree Called Steadfast” “Nuns and Trees”

Practice: Beginner’s mind Place: Gay City State Park, Rt. 85, Hebron (meet in the parking lot closest to the lake at 9 am)

--from An Introduction to Buddhist Ethics, by Peter Harvey

(2000, Cambridge University Press)

A Tree Called Steadfast

Anguttara Nikaya 6.5.54

[Translation and comment by Andrew Olendzki]

Once upon a time there was a royal fig tree called Steadfast, belonging to king

Koravya, whose five outstretched branches provided a cool and pleasing shade. Its girth

extended a hundred miles, and its roots spread out for forty miles. And the fruits of that

tree were indeed great: As large as harvest baskets—such were its succulent fruits—and

as clear as the honey of bees.

One portion was enjoyed by the king, along with his household of women; one

portion was enjoyed by the army; one portion was enjoyed by the people of the town

and village; one portion was enjoyed by brahmins and ascetics; and one portion was

enjoyed by the beasts and birds. Nobody guarded the fruits of that royal tree, and

neither did anyone harm one another for the sake of its fruits.

But then a certain man came along who fed upon as much of Steadfast’s fruits

as he wanted, broke off a branch, and wandered on his way. And the deva who dwelled

in Steadfast thought to herself: “It is astonishing, it is truly amazing, that such an evil

man would dare to feed upon as much of Steadfast’s fruits as he wants, break off a

branch, and then wander on his way! Now, what if Steadfast were in the future to bear

no more fruit?” And so the royal fig tree Steadfast bore no more fruit.

So then king Koravya went up to where Sakka, chief among the gods, was

dwelling, and having approached said this: “Surely you must know, sire, that Steadfast,

the royal fig tree, no longer bears fruit?” And then Sakka created a magical creation of

such a form that a mighty wind and rain came down and toppled the royal fig tree

Steadfast, uprooting it entirely. And then the deva who dwelled in Steadfast grieved,

lamented, and stood weeping on one side with a face full of tears.

And then Sakka, chief among the gods, went up to where the deva was

standing, and having approached said this: “Why is it, deva, that you grieve and lament

and stand on one side with a face full of tears?” “It is because, sire, a mighty wind and

rain has come and toppled my abode, uprooting it entirely.”

“And were you, deva, upholding the dhamma of trees when this happened?”

“But how is it, sire, that a tree upholds the dhamma of trees?”

“Like this, deva: Root-cutters take the root of the tree; bark-strippers take the

bark; leaf-pickers take the leaves; flower-pickers take the flowers; fruit-pickers take the

fruits—and none of this is reason enough for a deva to think only of herself or become

morose. Thus it is, deva, that a tree upholds the dhamma of trees.”

“Then indeed, sire, I was not upholding the dhamma of trees when the mighty

wind and rain came and toppled my abode, uprooting it entirely.” “If it were the case,

deva, that you were to uphold the dhamma of trees, it may be that your abode might

be as it was before.” “I will indeed, sire, uphold the dhamma of trees! May my abode be

as it was before!”

And then Sakka, chief among the gods, created a magical creation of such a

form that a mighty wind and rain came down and raised up the royal fig tree Steadfast,

and its roots were entirely healed.

Perhaps this is a true story—perhaps Steadfast is a name for the entire planet, not just a

mythological tree. How else might we explain the earth’s great forbearance and continued

beneficence in the face of the rapacity and destruction we have wrought upon her? I think

Gaia, the deity inhabiting the abode of our lovely Earth, was taught this lesson by Sakka in

ancient times, and has with great patience and dignity put up with the worst we can render. If

this is true, then she will not give us a sign when we have gone too far—perceiving this is our

own responsibility.

Like every Buddhist story, this one works on many levels simultaneously. It is no

accident that the great tree has five branches, or that the word used for each portion is

khandha—the term designating the five aggregates of form, feeling, perception, formations

and consciousness. The man eating his fill of fruit is manifesting greed, craving or desire, and

his breaking of the branch represents hatred, anger or aversion. These are two of the three

poisonous roots out of which all unwholesome action arises (the third—ignorance—is always

present when others occur). Thus the entire image is representative of a person being wronged

by another or facing the eruption of their own latent tendencies for harmful action.

Notice that the story does not teach the “evil man” the folly of his ways, since there is often

nothing one can do to avoid such people or such inclinations in oneself. The teaching is more

about our response to transgression. Sakka’s point is that it is self-centered to react petulantly

to such an affront, and that the only suitable response is with kindness and generosity—to

oneself as well as to others. As the Dhammapada so aptly says, “Never at any time in this world

are hostilities resolved by hostility; but by kindness they are resolved—this is an eternal truth.”

(Dhp 5)

This teaching is given to Dhammika, a monk who complains of his treatment by certain

laypeople. The Buddha reflects the situation back upon Dhammika, who as it turns out does

not treat his fellow monks very well. It is an occasion to teach Dhammika, with the help of this

story, the “dhamma of a recluse,” which boils down to “not returning the insult of the insulter,

the anger of the angry or the abuse of the abuser.”

PRACTICE: Beginner's Mind Take a walk and let yourself be called to a particular tree. Stay with the tree awhile to study, look, feel, smell, and sense it. Listen to it as wind rustles its branches. Bask in its shade in the midday sun. Get to know it at different times of the day and in different seasons. How is it connected with life around it? How do you get to know it, and which senses do you use? Feel the difference between your idea of the tree and the rich textural experience of it. Notice the impulse to move on because of impatience, resistance, or boredom. When you feel you "know it," what does that do to the sense of curiosity and

mystery? Can you maintain interest even when you think you have reached the end of your exploration? Is it possible to fully know what a tree really is? Start to bring this curious attention to all that you meet.

--Mark Coleman

Buddhist Poetry and Stories about Nature Saturday, August 20

9:30-11:30 am

Readings: Lions in the Wilderness: Early Buddhist Appreciation of Nature Maha Kassapa Thera: At Home in the Mountains Udayin Thera: The Blooming Lotus Mahakapi Jataka Prayer for the Great Family Practice: Writing a gatha Place: Wickham Park, 1329 Middle Tpke W, Manchester, CT

($4 admission fee) (meet in the parking lot by the Oriental Garden at 9:30 am)

Lions In The Wilderness:

Early Buddhist Appreciation Of Nature

By Andrew Olendzki

This article is extracted from a paper presented on March 9, 1996 at the Harvard Conference in honor of

retiring professor Masatoshi Nagatomi.

In East Asia, Buddhism became easily identified with nature poetry—especially in the Ch’an and Zen

traditions. The Buddhist concern for being fully present in the moment harmonized nicely with the Chinese

poetic tradition of evoking a concrete natural image in touching detail. And in the Japanese aesthetic

tradition, the Buddhist teaching of the thorough impermanence of all beauty and of the mysterious deep calm

pervading the cosmos both contributed exquisitely to the poetic expressions of such sentiments as aware and

yugen.

But somehow one does not hear so much about nature poetry in the early Buddhist tradition in South Asia, by

which I more specifically mean the literature of the Pali Tipitaka. How could the aesthetic appreciation of

nature play any role in the path to enlightenment outlined in this literature? Surely the thorough distrust of all

sensory data, along with the pervasive themes of asceticism and renunciation, are so strong in the teachings of

Gotama and his immediate followers that even this subtle form of pleasure might be condemned as an

insidious outrider from Mara’s domain.

Right at the start, the entire sensory world is recognized as being in flux, and the Indian response to this

characteristic of impermanence is not poignant appreciation but full confirmation of dukkha—of the suffering

and unsatisfactory nature of the phenomenal world. Change is not to be relished, but deplored. This is evident

in the standard catechism, coming up often in the Tipitaka, which invariably links impermanence and

suffering:

“What do you think, monks: Is [the world] permanent or impermanent? Impermanent, Sir. And that which is

impermanent, is it suffering or happiness? Surely it is suffering, Sir.“ [MN 22.26]

This theme is pervasive: The very changeability of all phenomena, so evident upon a close examination of the

natural world, is definitive and even fearful proof of the utter unsatisfactoriness of the world. It is a primary

motivation for turning away from the world of the senses and pursuing a life of renunciation. Indeed, this is

the very insight that first set Prince Siddhattha on his path to awakening.

Another dramatic confirmation of the potential dangers of the beauty displayed by nature is found in the

second noble truth itself, which identifies craving (tanha) as the essential cause of suffering. The word nandi

or “delight“ is often used to describe the “lure“ that draws one in to craving, the “hook“ that catches and

holds one fast, or the “snare“ used again and again by Mara to seduce the deer of the forest or the unwary

bhikkhu. The word nandi is basic to the very definition of suffering in all the explications of the second noble

truth. When the question is asked, “What is the noble truth of the arising of suffering?“ the answer invariably

follows:

“It is craving, which…is accompanied by delight and lust, and delights in this and that.“ [MN 141.21]

If one delights in this and that wonder of the natural world, then is one hopelessly caught in craving and

suffering?

Lions In The Wilderness: Early Buddhist Appreciation Of Nature http://www.dharma.org/ij/archives/1996a/lions.htm

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The plot thickens as one enters into some of the details of the Buddhist cognitive model of experience, where

pleasure of any kind is so often the immediate cause of craving and therefore of suffering. As the matter is put

in one of the classic psychological texts, The Six Sets of Six, for example:

“Dependent on the eye and forms, eye-consciousness arises; the meeting of the three is contact (phasso);

conditioned by contact there is feeling (vedana); and conditioned by feeling there is craving (tanha).“ [MN

148.9]

The cognitive model expounded in the Pali texts clearly links all experience without exception to a feeling—a

hedonic tone of either pleasure or pain or neutrality—which in turn conditions our further response of

craving. This craving can of course be of two sorts: When a pleasant feeling arises we crave for its

continuance and grasp after the pleasure; and when it is an unpleasant feeling that arises we crave for its

cessation and react against the displeasure by responses of denial, anger or aversion. Either way the

experience of pleasant feeling leads directly to the manifestation of craving, and this is why responses such as

delight (nandi) are viewed with such dismay. It is this pleasure itself which fuels the desire for more pleasure,

and captures us in the net of craving and grasping. This point is also driven home in the many explanations of

the doctrine of interdependent origination where craving is said to be immediately conditioned by feeling.

Finally, we should recognize that one of the key strategies for liberation, as reflected in the Pàli texts, is the

“turning away“ (nibbindati) from sensory pleasures, the “giving up“ (pajahati) of delight in this or that, the

thorough uprooting or cutting off (chindati) of the very capacity for the craving that emerges from pleasurable

sensory experience. The passages that drive this point home pervade the Pali literature—here is one example

of this type of formulation:

“Seeing [the unsatisfactoriness etc.] of [the world], a well-taught noble disciple becomes disenchanted with

[the world]. Being disenchanted, he becomes dispassionate. Through dispassion [his mind] is liberated.“ [MN

22.26]

In light of this context of concern about pleasure and delight, how could there be nature poetry in the early

teachings of the Buddha? Surely the aesthetic appreciation of the shape of a mountain, the call of a bird or

animal, the fragrance of a blossoming flower, would all be construed as that much indulgence in the

pleasurable sensations entering through the eye-door, the ear-door or the nose-door, respectively. Surely the

appropriate response by one who has “rightly gone forth into the teaching of the noble ones“ is to turn one’s

attention from such insidious sensory seductions to something more enlightening, like the putrefaction of a

corpse in the advanced stages of decomposition, for example. We are reminded of the image of a monk

passing through a village with his gaze focused one plough’s length in front of him, carefully guarding the

sense doors so that nothing too tempting slips into the citadel of his unwavering concentration upon the goal

of liberation.

And yet we do find some remarkable and quite beautiful nature poetry attributed to some of the Buddha’s

most accomplished contemporaries. Most of this is found in the Theragatha, the poems of the early monks,

but there are good examples of it elsewhere. Fully one quarter of the verses in the first chapter of this text

involve nature imagery. There are exceptionally beautiful poems attributed to Sappaka and Bhuta, for

example, two monks who lived on the banks of the Ajakarana river; and Kaludayin, the Buddha’s childhood

companion, evokes lovely images of spring when encouraging Gotama to return to Kapilavatthu after his

awakening.

And we find even the Buddha himself pausing on occasion to appreciate beauty, as for example when he

comments on the Capala shrine just three months before his final passing away at Kusinara: ramaniyam

Capaliyam cetiyam, he says to Ananda. This phrase is usually translated: “Delightful is this Capala Shrine!“

In fact in the Mahaparinibbana Sutta the Buddha praises the aesthetic beauty of a number of places around

Vesali and Rajagaha, suggesting that such agreeableness might incline a Tathagata to remain in this world for


2 of 5 6/14/2011 4:45 PM

an entire kalpa.

How are we to understand this phenomenon in the context of the early Buddhist model of cognition? Is it

possible to experience pleasure without getting caught by it? What exactly is the difference between those

situations where pleasure gives rise to craving and suffering, and those situations where it does not?

The explanation, I think, is to be found in the fact that—strictly speaking—it is craving which is the direct

cause of suffering, not feelings of pleasure themselves. True, that very craving is caused by and dependent

upon feelings of pleasure that arise from experience through the sense doors, but it is precisely the

accomplishment of the arahant that she or he is able to sever this link—she is able to experience a pleasant

feeling without that giving rise to a corresponding craving for the pleasant feeling to persist.

The root of craving that has been extirpated by the arahant is not the pleasant feeling itself, but the underlying

tendencies of greed, hatred and delusion which in most people are triggered by the pleasant feeling. Feelings

give rise to cravings, in the teaching of interdependent origination, for example, but only when the underlying

tendencies or unhealthy roots are present. For the arahant who has extinguished in herself the three fires of

greed, hatred and delusion, a pleasant feeling can be experienced—and yes, even appreciated—without

providing the conditions sufficient for the arising of craving, grasping and suffering.

Such a moment of appreciation—for a natural scene, for example—would be characterized by mindfulness

and clear comprehension, the conscious awareness of a pleasant visual or auditory sensation arising in

dependence on specific objects of visual or auditory experience, and would be held with absolute equanimity.

This last point is important. Equanimity (upekkha) is described as that quality of mind so perfectly centered

and balanced that it is drawn neither towards nor away from any particular object of experience. If the

moment of noting with appreciation a beautiful natural scene is followed immediately by a moment of noting

a terrible pain wracking the body because of old age or illness, the enlightened mind would not be more

inclined to the one over the other.

In either case the experience of the arahant exhibits a thoroughgoing non-attachment, for the fires of passion

have been quenched. Knowing fully with her wisdom that the clouds or flowers or even the mountains are

impermanent, liable to change and passing away, created by the confluence of innumerable interdependent

and impersonal conditions, does not preclude the mindful awareness of a moment of aesthetic appreciation.

Of course there is simultaneously the awareness that the pleasure itself is conditioned and not owned or

possessed by anyone at all. The eye, the cloud, the awareness, the understanding and the pleasure are all a

passing manifestation and are intrinsically empty.

How is all this expressed in the literature itself? Let’s look for a moment at the poem of the monk Abhaya,

from the Theragatha. Abhaya leaves stanzas that describe how the mind gets caught in samsara by attending

to a pleasant visual or auditory object. The way he puts it is very interesting:

“Seeing a form, mindfulness becomes confused—for one who pays attention to a charming object. He

experiences it with an impassioned mind, and stays clinging to it. His asavas increase, which leads further on

to samsara.“ [Thag98]

The pivotal term in this verse is sati or mindfulness, which becomes confused because of the attention

directed to a charming object (rupam disva sati muttha). The result of this confusion is the experiencing of the

object with an impassioned mind, and the ensuing tendency to grasp after the object. The visual form itself is

innocent of all charges throughout this process—it is the stirring up of passion in the mind that is the real

culprit.

We often hear in the Buddhist teachings about the difference between wise and unwise application of

attention during the process of experience—yoniso and ayoniso manasikara. This is clearly an example of


3 of 5 6/14/2011 4:45 PM

unwise attention, which emerges because of the confusion of mindfulness. But presumably if mindfulness can

remain unconfused in the presence of a visual object, through the wise use of attention even to what might to

anyone appear as a charming object, then the entire process of perception is purified and the asavas do not

increase.

Viewing things in this way, I think, absolves the natural world from contempt in the early Buddhist tradition,

and allows for the appreciation of nature in Pali poetry. The proper targets of the ascetic’s ire are the three

fundamental unhealthy roots of greed, hatred and delusion, and the data of experience is only to be so

carefully regulated because of its tendency to trigger the eruption of these latent tendencies in the

undeveloped mind.

A perfectly acceptable alternative strategy, then, is the thorough development and establishment of

mindfulness to the extent that one can see a form or hear a sound without its becoming confused. Once this is

accomplished, the bhikkhu has nothing to fear from the gentle pleasures inherent in the appreciation of

nature, and indeed the remote forest thicket or cave may be the ideal place to tread the path to freedom.

As Radha puts it in his poem, “Just as rain does not penetrate a well-thatched hut, so desire does not

penetrate a well-developed mind.” (Thag 134)

The monk Cittaka says that “the call of the crested, blue-necked peacocks in the Kàraüviya forest, urged on

by the cool breeze, awakens the sleeper to meditation.” (Thag 22)

And Devasabha can say that he will “become fully enlightened, without asavas, while ranging in the

foundations of mindfulness and while covered with the flowers of liberation.” (Thag 100)

Mahakotthika is able to “shake off unwholesome thoughts as the wind shakes off the leaves of a tree.” (Thag

2)

For Ramaneyyaka, “Amidst the sound of chirping and the cries of the birds, this mind of mine does not

waver, for devotion to solitude is mine.” (Thag 49)

And Vimala says, “The earth is sprinkled, the wind blows, lightning flashes in the sky. My thoughts are

quieted, my mind is well concentrated.” (Thag 50)

The final example of early Buddhist nature poetry I would like to look at are some of the stanzas attributed to

Maha Kassapa, one of the Buddha’s most eminent and accomplished Theras. Maha Kassapa’s is one of the

longer of the Theragatha’s poems, and for our purpose here I have lifted eight stanzas from the middle of the

poem. In the section just preceding this beautiful piece of nature poetry, the Thera tells of receiving a food

offering from the hands of a leper who’s finger fell off in his bowl in the process. Maha Kassapa relates that

he ate the bowl of food anyway, without disgust or enjoyment. Perhaps this stark contrast of themes helps to

illustrate the point made earlier about equanimity.

Immediately after these exerpted verses about nature is a stanza, which I do include here, expressing an

appreciation of dhamma and of samadhi. This disclaimer, in close juxtaposition to the praise of nature, is not

uncommon in this genre of Pali poetry. It is as if to confirm that the poet is not getting lost in the pleasure and

hooked by craving, that all this sentiment on the glories of nature—likened by Maha Kassapa to music being

played on five instruments—pales in comparison to the unsullied pleasure of true insight into dhamma.

The poem describes the beauty of nature in the Magadha hills where Maha Kassapa spent his old age, and

each verse has a repeating chorus describing his appreciation of the sights, sounds and textures of the natural

splendors around him. The chorus is: te sela ramayanti mam, which K.R. Norman translates as “Those rocks

delight me.“ But given all that has been said above, I think we need to be careful how we use a word like

“delight“ in this context. As we have seen, the word most commonly used to translate delight is nandi, and


4 of 5 6/14/2011 4:45 PM

this is specifically identified as one of the “hooks“ that bind pleasure to craving.

In fact it appears that the verb used in the chorus, ramayati, is very carefully chosen by the poet, and may

well be reserved for this special usage in much of the Pàli of the Tipiñaka. Based on the root ram—to enjoy,

to be pleased or contented—it is the same word attributed to the Buddha himself in his remark about the

Capala shrine, and is commonly found describing delight in meditation or delight in the dhamma. Maha

Kassapa plays with this word considerably in his poem. In addition to its repetition as ramayanti, applied to

the rocky crags in the chorus, he uses ramma several times as an adjective to describe the earth and the call of

elephants; he employs the common compound manorama, “pleasing to the mind,“ for a patch of earth; and he

uses the related form rati in the last verse to express his appreciation of true insight into dhamma.

In translating the chorus of this poem, I prefer the phrase “These rocks are pleasing to me“ to “Those rocks

delight me.“ Perhaps this is an unnecessarily subtle distinction; but we should be careful that a word like

“delightful“ not suggest something entrancing that stirs up the mind in the manner described by Abhaya.

When the various natural scenes depicted by Maha Kassapa are labled “pleasing,“ I hope to suggest a more

passive—possibly a more emotionally distant—on-looking of beauty. To me, at least, an arahant pleased by a

refined sense of aesthetic appreciation is not incompatible with equanimity, and evokes the image of the

gentle, appreciative smile of the Buddha found on so much of his statuary.

[See companion verse: Maha Kassapa—At Home in the Mountains.]


5 of 5 6/14/2011 4:45 PM

» Tipitaka » Khuddaka » Theragatha »

Thag 18 PTS: Thag 1062-6, 1068-71

Maha Kassapa Thera: At Home in the Mountains (excerpt)translated from the Pali by

Andrew Olendzki© 2005–2011

Alternate translation: Thanissaro

Strung with garlands of flowering vines,

This patch of earth delights the mind;

The lovely calls of elephants sound —

These rocky crags do please me so!

The shimmering hue of darkening clouds,

Cool waters in pure streams flowing;

Enveloped by Indra's ladybugs —


Like the lofty peaks of looming clouds,

Like the most refined of palaces;

The lovely calls of tuskers sound —


The lovely ground is rained upon,

The hills are full of holy seers;

Resounding with the cry of peacocks —


Being clothed in flaxen flowers,

As the sky is covered in clouds;

Strewn with flocks of various birds —


Not occupied by village folk,

But visited by herds of deer;

Strewn with flocks of various birds —


With clear waters and broad boulders,

Holding troops of monkey and deer;

Covered with moist carpets of moss —


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1 of 2 6/15/2011 9:24 PM

[But] there is not so much contentment

For me in the five-fold music,

As in truly seeing Dhamma

With a well-concentrated mind.

Provenance: ©2005 Andrew Olendzki. Transcribed from a file provided by the translator. This

Access to Insight edition is ©2005–2011.

Terms of use: You may copy, reformat, reprint, republish, and redistribute this work in any medium

whatsoever, provided that: (1) you only make such copies, etc. available free of charge; (2) you

clearly indicate that any derivatives of this work (including translations) are derived from this source document;

and (3) you include the full text of this license in any copies or derivatives of this work. Otherwise, all rights

reserved. For additional information about this license, see the FAQ.

How to cite this document (one suggested style): "Maha Kassapa Thera: At Home in the Mountains" (Thag

18), translated from the Pali by Andrew Olendzki. Access to Insight, 8 August 2010,

http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/kn/thag/thag.18.00x.olen.html.

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» Tipitaka » Khuddaka » Theragatha »

Thag 15.2 PTS: Thag 700-701

Udayin Thera: The Blooming Lotus (excerpt)translated from the Pali by

Andrew Olendzki© 2005–2011

Translator's note

This poem by the Elder Udayin evokes one of the most famous of Buddhist images, and is

laced with meaning on many levels. In one sense — emerging from the psychological ethos of

early Buddhist teaching — it can be taken to describe the ability of the awakened person to

thrive in the world of sensory experience without clinging or attachment. Though the human

condition is rooted in the desires that give rise to all life and selfhood, one can learn to live in

this world without being bound by the impulse to crave pleasure and avoid pain. One gets

"drenched by the world" when one succumbs to to the range of grasping behaviors which

inevitably bring about suffering — the mind clings to an object like water that permeates

something and drenches it. Here we see a Buddha that does not transcend the world, but lives

in it for forty-five years with a mind free of all attachments.

As the tradition evolved, the question of just what sort of being the Buddha was became of

growing importance. The image of the lotus emerging from the mud and blooming above the

world became a popular way of expressing the Buddha's transcendence. In the canonical

passage upon which Udayin builds his verse (Samyutta Nikaya 22:94) the phrase "having

passed beyond the world" (lokam abhibhuyya) is added, and this becomes the basis for the

Vetulyaka assertion that the Buddha was essentially a transcendent being. This interpretation

had profound implications for later Buddhism, and set the stage for, among other ideas, the

Three Bodies of the Buddha doctrine of Mahayana Buddhism. In this way of looking at things,

Awakening (represented by the lotus blossom) is something that happens again and again in

all different places and times, and is not limited to a single occurrence of it among the

Sakya's of ancient India.

The tantric Buddhists of the Vajrayana were drawn to the contrast in this image between the

ordinary, defiling mud in which the plant is rooted and the sublime loveliness of the blossom.

Relentless in their non-attachment to dichotomies and their demolition of opposites, the

tantric approach is to be capable of embracing both extremes without clinging to either.

Though the emphasis changes, we can see that the essential teaching of non-attachment or

non-clinging (nopalippati) — to the objects of sense-perception, to a particular mode of

teaching, or to conventional dualities — remains carried through the ages by this simple

image of a lotus growing out of the water.

Udayin Thera: The Blooming Lotus http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/kn/thag/thag.15.02.olen.html

1 of 2 6/15/2011 9:27 PM

As the flower of a lotus,

Arisen in water, blossoms,

Pure-scented and pleasing the mind,

Yet is not drenched by the water,

In the same way, born in the world,

The Buddha abides in the world;

And like the lotus by water,

He does not get drenched by the world.

Provenance: ©2005 Andrew Olendzki. Transcribed from a file provided by the translator. This

Access to Insight edition is ©2005–2011.

Terms of use: You may copy, reformat, reprint, republish, and redistribute this work in any medium

whatsoever, provided that: (1) you only make such copies, etc. available free of charge; (2) you

clearly indicate that any derivatives of this work (including translations) are derived from this source document;

and (3) you include the full text of this license in any copies or derivatives of this work. Otherwise, all rights

reserved. For additional information about this license, see the FAQ.

How to cite this document (one suggested style): "Udayin Thera: The Blooming Lotus" (Thag 15.2), translated

from the Pali by Andrew Olendzki. Access to Insight, 8 August 2010, http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka

/kn/thag/thag.15.02.olen.html.

Help | Site map | About | Contact | Terms of use |

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Mahakapi Jataka -- The Great Monkey King – 407

One day in Jetavana Monastery bhikkhus began talking about the good that Buddha did for his

relatives. When Buddha asked them about their subject, and they told him, he said, "Bhikkhus,

this is not the first time the Tathagata has done good works to benefit his relatives." Then he

told this story of the past.

Long, long ago, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Baranasi, the Bodhisatta was born as a

monkey in the Himalayas. When he was fully grown, he was extremely strong and vigorous and

became the leader of a troop of eighty thousand monkeys.

On the bank of the Ganges there was an enormous mango tree, with two massive branches so

thick with leaves it looked like a mountain. Its sweet fruit was of exquisite fragrance and flavor.

One branch spread over the bank of the river, but the other branch extended over the water.

One day, while the monkey king was eating the succulent fruit, he thought, "If any of this fruit

ever fell into the river, great danger could come to us." To prevent this, he ordered the

monkeys to pick all the mango flowers or tiny fruit from that branch. One fruit, however, was

hidden by an ant's nest and escaped the monkeys' attention. When it ripened, it fell into the

river.

At that time, the King of Baranasi was bathing and amusing himself in the river.

Whenever the king bathed in the river, he had nets stretched both upstream and downstream

from where he was. The mango floated down the river and stuck in the net upstream from the

king. That evening, as the king was leaving, the fishermen pulled in the net and found the fruit.

As they had never seen a fruit like this before, they showed it to the king.

"What is this fruit?" the king asked.

"We do not know, sire," they answered.

"Who will know?"

"The foresters, sire."

The king summoned the foresters, who told him that the fruit was a mango. The king cut it

with a knife and, after having the foresters eat some, tasted it himself. He also gave some of

the fruit to the ministers and to his wives.

The king could not forget the magnificent flavor of the ripe mango. Obsessed with desire for

the new fruit, he called the foresters again and asked where the tree stood. When he learned

that it was on the bank of the river, he had many rafts joined together and sailed upstream to

find it. In due course, the king and his retinue arrived at the site of the huge tree.

Mahakapi Jataka from railing of Bharut Stupa, second century B.C.E., Indian Museum,

Calcutta, India.

The king went ashore and set up a camp. After having eaten some of the delectable mangoes,

he retired for the night on a bed prepared at the foot of the tree. Fires were lit and guards set

on each side.

At midnight, after the men had fallen asleep and all was quiet, the monkey king came with his

troop. The eighty thousand monkeys moved from branch to branch eating mangoes. The noise

woke the king, who roused his archers.

"Surround those monkeys eating mangoes and shoot them," he ordered. "Tomorrow we will

dine on mango fruit and monkey's flesh."

The archers readied their bows to obey the king. The monkeys saw the archers and realized

that all means of escape had been cut off. Shivering in fear of death, they ran to their leader

and cried, "Sire, there are men with bows all around the tree preparing to shoot us. What can

we do?"

"Do not fear," he comforted them. "I will save your lives." Then he climbed onto the branch

stretching over the river. Springing from the end of it, he jumped a hundred bow-lengths and

landed on the opposite bank of the Ganges. Judging the distance he had jumped, he thought,

"That is how far I came." Then he found a long vine and cut it, thinking, "This much will be

fastened to a tree, and this much will go across the river." He secured one end of the vine to a

sturdy tree and the other around his own waist. Then he again leaped across the river with the

speed of a cloud blown by the wind. In his calculation, however, he had forgotten to include the

length to be tied around his own waist, so he could not reach the trunk of the mango tree. He

reached out and grabbed the end of a branch firmly with both hands. He signaled to the troop

of monkeys and cried, "Quick! Step on my back and run along this vine to safety. Good luck to

you all!"

The eighty thousand monkeys, each in turn, respectfully saluted the monkey king, asked his

pardon, and escaped in this way.

The last monkey in the troop, however, had long resented the leader and wished to overthrow

him. When he saw the king hanging there, he exulted, "This is my chance to see the last of my

enemy!" Climbing onto a high branch, he flung himself down on the monkey king's back with a

dreadful blow that broke his heart. Having caused his rival excruciating pain, the wicked

monkey triumphantly escaped and left the monkey king to suffer alone.

Having seen all that had happened as he lay on his bed, the king thought, "This noble monkey

king, not caring for his own life, has ensured the safety of his troop. It would be wrong to

destroy such an animal. I will have him brought down and taken care of." He ordered his men

to lower the monkey gently down to a raft on the Ganges. After the monkey had been brought

ashore and washed, the king anointed him with the purest oil. Spreading an oiled skin on his

own bed and laying the monkey king on it, the king covered him with a yellow robe. After the

noble animal had been given sugared water to drink, the king himself took a low seat and

addressed him, "Noble monkey, you made yourself a bridge for all the other monkeys to pass

over to safety. What are you to them, and what are they to you?" he asked.

The monkey explained, "Great king, I guard the herd. I am their lord and chief. When they were

filled with fear of your archers, I leapt a great distance to save them. After I had tied a vine

around my waist, I returned to this mango tree. My strength was almost gone, but I managed

to hold the branch so that my monkeys could pass over my back and reach safety. Because I

could save them, I have no fear of death. Like a righteous king, I could guarantee the happiness

of those over whom I used to reign. Sire, understand this truth! If you wish to be a righteous

ruler, the happiness of your kingdom, your cities, and your people, must be dear to you. It must

be dearer than life itself."

After teaching the king in this way, the monkey king died. The king gave orders that the

monkey king should have a royal funeral. He ordered his wives to carry torches to the cemetery

with their hair disheveled. The ministers sent a hundred wagon loads of wood for the funeral

pyre. When the regal ceremony was over, the ministers took the skull to the king. The king

built a shrine at the monkey's burial place, and made offerings of incense and flowers. He had

the skull inlaid with gold, raised on a spear, and carried in front of the procession returning to

Baranasi. There he put it at the royal gate and paid homage to it with incense and flowers. The

whole city was decorated, and the skull was honored for seven days. For the rest of his life the

king revered the skull as a relic, offering incense and garlands. Established in the wonderful

teaching of the monkey king, he gave alms and performed other good deeds. He ruled his

kingdom righteously and became destined for heaven.

Mahakapi Jataka from the Great Stupa at Sanchi, first century B.C.E.

After the lesson, Buddha declared the Truths and identified the Birth: "At that time the king

was Ananda, the monkey retinue was this assembly, the wicked monkey was Devadatta, and I

myself was the monkey king."

From Jataka Tales of the Buddha, Part III, Retold by Ken & Visakha Kawasaki, Buddhist

Publication Society, Bodhi Leaves BL 142, 1997

PRAYER FOR THE GREAT FAMILY by Gary Snyder Gratitude to Mother Earth, sailing through night and day-- and to her soil: rich, rare, and sweet in our minds so be it. Gratitude to Plants, the sun-facing light-changing leaf and fine root-hairs; standing still through wind and rain; their dance is in the flowing spiral grain in our minds so be it. Gratitude to Air, bearing the soaring Swift and the silent Owl at dawn. Breath of our song clear spirit breeze in our minds so be it. Gratitude to Wild Beings, our brothers, teaching secrets, freedoms and ways; who share with us their milk; self-complete, brave, and aware in our minds so be it. Gratitude to Water: clouds, lakes rivers, glaciers; holding or releasing; streaming through all our bodies salty seas in our minds so be it. Gratitude to the Sun: blinding pulsing light through trunks of trees, through mists, warming caves where bears and snakes sleep--he who wakes us-- in our minds so be it. Gratitude to the Great Sky who holds billions of stars--and goes yet beyond that-- beyond all powers, and thoughts and yet is within us-- Grandfather Space. The Mind is his Wife so be it. after a Mohawk prayer

Writing a Gatha

A gatha is a short verse that expresses your understanding and inspires your practice. The formula is this: When… I vow with all beings To… …

An example… When I see a path in front of me I vow with all beings To walk the way to liberation Until all are free.

You can use this formula, or you can create your own! Gathas are short, so that they can be memorized. Here are examples of some other gathas for inspiration. From Thich Nhat Hanh, Present Moment, Wonderful Moment

Washing the dishes is like bathing a baby Buddha. The profane is the sacred. Everyday mind is Buddha's mind. Waking up this morning, I smile. Twenty-four brand new hours are before me. I vow to live fully in each moment and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion

From Robert Aitken, The Dragon Who Never Sleeps: Verses for Zen Buddhist Practice

When I hear a mockingbird’s song by my window I promise to him and to me to put aside worries of future and sing for joy to the day. Looking up at the sky I vow with all beings to remember this infinite ceiling in every room of my life.

A little more on gathas: http://www.shambhalasun.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=3252&Itemid=244

http://www.shambhalasun.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=3252&Itemid=244

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