Читать книгу The Heart of Buddhism: A Simple Introduction to Buddhist Practice - Guy Claxton - Страница 14

These stories illustrate a number of themes that we shall be exploring in more detail as we go along. What I would like to pick up now are the pointers to why Buddhism seems to many people to be the most timely of the traditional religions

Perhaps the most obvious reason for its appeal is that it actually seems to work. People can feel its benefits in themselves, in friends and family members who have been practising, and most strikingly, as we have seen, in the Buddhist monks and teachers that have inspired them. It is mundane and practically helpful. In fact Buddhism is uniquely equipped to meet the particular anxieties and attitudes of the times. Our general feeling of insecurity is partly due to the incredible rate of change in the world – change in values and lifestyles as well as in technology and forms of employment – and change is one of Buddhism’s most central concepts. You could almost say that how to handle change is precisely what Buddhism teaches. It is when personal beliefs and philosophies are weak and conflicting that Buddhism really comes into its own. In more traditional, settled times and cultures, it is only a few unusual individuals who endeavour to peck their way out of a substantial shell of routine ways of thinking and behaving. But in our times the certainties are few and far between, the shell is already cracking, and attempts by traditionalists to keep asserting that the old shell is still valid do not seem, to many people, to be enough. Like it or not, many of us in the Western world are in the pecking business, puzzled about how to live, about how to bring up children, about what it means to be a good son or daughter, about what constitutes maturity, about our responsibilities to the earth, about what occupations are worthwhile, and a host of other such questions that seem to be pressing but difficult. And Buddhism is at hand with teachings and techniques custom-built to help us chip away at old assumptions and present confusions until we see clearly and unequivocally what matters most, and an intuitive wisdom begins to emerge and guide us.

We also live in a rather individualistic age, when the sense of autonomy, of being on our own, of having to make it on our own, is strong. The major concern of the times is with personal and local happiness, with ourselves and the few people close to us, and Buddhism looks from the outside as if it is again tailor-made to offer that personal salvation. It buys in to the preoccupation with the individual and his or her well-being. Buddhism does not tell you to pull your socks up and be nicer to everybody, nor does it wag a stern finger at you when you behave badly or thoughtlessly. The fundamental problem in Buddhism is not of sin, but of delusion, and the way forward is therefore not through the uncomfortable shove that guilt is supposed to provide, but through insight. So the initial sense is of working on yourself for yourself.

It would be a big mistake, though, to suppose, as some critics do, that because Buddhism starts with oneself, it also stops there. Far from it. Buddhism tells you that if you work at it you will be happier and kinder. Being a ‘good person’ is not a matter of denying yourself but of knowing yourself, and the better, the more clearly, you know yourself, the more everybody wins. Thus although many people are drawn to Buddhism for ‘selfish’ reasons, they discover that the package deal on offer includes a greater sense of natural concern for others, as well as the anticipated peace of mind. (In fact the emphasis of different schools of Buddhism is somewhat different in this regard – some stress the personal and some the more social benefits – but at root the development of equanimity and magnanimity must go hand in hand.)

The fact the Buddhism helps people to become kinder as well as more peaceful is not just a fortunate by-product, however. If the first question that drives the search which may lead to Buddhism is, ‘How can I be happier?’, there is a second one just behind it, ‘How can I be helpful? How can I lead a life that is not only happy but worthwhile as well?’ People who are neither terminally cynical, nor suffering from acute ‘compassion fatigue’, are aware of the suffering and distress in the world, but at a loss as to how to respond to it. There is so much of it, the result of stupidity, cruelty, madness or bad luck, in the papers and on the TV every day, that it seems impossible to know where to start – especially when one’s resources are stretched as it is, holding one’s own life together. There is Band Aid and Oxfam, Save the Children and Help the Aged, telethons and little envelopes in the letter box. There are causes to give one’s time to as well as one’s money: Fight the Cuts, Save the Seals, Rebuild the Church Tower, Campaign for Anti-Racism or Back to Basics in the local school … The list of ways to be helpful, to promote one’s ideals, is endless and intimidating. Confused about what to do for the best, it is small wonder that we tend to retreat from these impossible decisions into issues that seem somewhat more manageable – what to give Sam for her birthday, or whether we would be less tense if we moved out of London.

Because Buddhism works, it offers us not only teachings and practices, but also the example of people who seem more cool, calm and collected than we are. Such people, as we have seen, often provide the stimulus for getting more involved with Buddhism; but they also constitute a continuing resource. We have a chance to learn from who they are, from how they deal with everyday life, and to pick up some of their skill at living in the time-honoured fashion of the apprentice – by watching them at work. In some ways, though, this method of teaching by example is unfashionable, and serves to make people suspicious. The individualistic spirit of the times tends to produce a rather anti-elitist attitude, in which the idea of having ‘heroes’, people you look up to and admire, is seen as an unhealthy dependence. To be a ‘grown-up’ is to be as good as the next person, and to be able to make it on your own, thank you very much. Such people tend to see the acceptance of another human being as a mentor in the art of living as dangerous, because it gives one person power over another, and thereby creates the possibility of exploitation. In some measure this is true, and we shall talk more about this kind of risk later in the book. But the attitude of students of Buddhism, whilst not naive, is more likely to be that they are actually not making a terribly good job of it on their own, and could do to swallow a bit of false pride and accept some help and guidance.

In addition, one might think, looking around at the world at large, that a few more people with integrity and wisdom would not be a bad idea; people who are not embarrassed to talk from the heart about deep issues, both personal and global, and who are able to remind us of our better natures. People who, especially in confusing and conflicting situations, are able to keep sight of the ‘big picture’, and to act confidently on the basis of true values rather than expediency. A meditation teacher who now lives in France, Thich Nhat Hanh, tells the story of the hazardous voyages in rickety boats undertaken by refugees from his native Vietnam. In the frequent storms people would be inclined to panic – and in doing so increase the risk of drowning. But the presence of even one person in the boat who could stay calm and not lose his or her presence of mind would exert a calming influence on all the passengers, and they would be able to respond to the situation in a more intelligent, less hysterical way. Just so, he says, the world needs all the wise and peaceful people it can get, and to be on the look-out for them is a sign not of dependency but of basic sanity. Despite the misgivings of the ‘rugged individualists’, therefore, Buddhism’s concern with wise and responsible leadership is another reason for its timeliness.

A less contentious way in which Buddhism suits the times is in its rational, non-magical nature. This may sound odd, as it is often thought of as complicated and ‘mystical’, and indeed some forms of Buddhism do look rather weird on first acquaintance. If you want to take your Buddhism with a pinch of spice and mystery, you can do so. If you want to see pictures of enormous golden statues of Buddha, to hear stories of monks who can keep themselves warm while sitting overnight wrapped in wet sheets in a snow-storm, or to learn how to chant in Tibetan, there are lots of books that will show you and tell you. But this isn’t one of them. In fact much of the popular view of Buddhism is not central to its concern. Any particular form of ritual, of clothing, of haircut, of name is not essential. Being a vegetarian is not essential. Not killing mosquitoes is not essential. Being able to tie your legs in a knot is not essential. The details of Buddha’s life story are not essential. Reciting long chunks of the sutras (scriptures) from memory is not essential.

The heart of the matter, which I am trying to concentrate on here, is most straightforward and pragmatic. You do not have to believe in miracles, nor stretch your powers of credulity. The possibility of enlightenment is entirely reasonable, and the proof of meditation is in the doing. There is an important role for understanding, even for remembering, what the great teachers have said, but this is always an adjunct to the development of your own, first-hand understanding of human nature based on unshakable self-knowledge. Close to the end of his life, Buddha is reputed to have said, ‘Do not believe anything just because some authority, even me, has said it. Be a light unto yourself.’ What the teachers have to offer are maps and guide-books for the journey to self-realization, not edicts that are to be taken as ‘gospel’. Even the doctrine of reincarnation, which some people find hard to swallow, is not an essential part of the Buddhist prescription, and can be interpreted in a way that does not clash with a scientific way of thinking.

Perhaps there is just one leap of faith that is required, and that is the belief that it is possible for one’s personality, one’s way of looking at the world, to change. For people who are wedded to the idea that the way they see things is the only possible way, that their point of view is the only point of view (or the only right point of view), for such people the suggestion that things could look different, or that other people who don’t share their opinions might be at least as ‘right’ as they are, is going to be hard to take.

Yet it is this egocentric attitude that begins to look irrational when we examine it, not the possibility of change. We know that our own perspective alters depending on whether we are in a good mood or a bad one. A problem that had seemed insurmountable becomes much more manageable after a heart-to-heart with a friend, or a good night’s sleep. When we are ‘on good form’ the fact that it is raining on the day of the picnic can seem funny, and an opportunity to do something silly like go anyway and get wet, or to sit on the living-room floor eating with your fingers. When we are ‘off-colour’ the whole thing is a disaster, and the rest of the day is spent sulking or picking a fight with the children. All that Buddhism is asking of us, as the price of admission, is an openness to the possibility that we can acquire the knack of being on good form more powerfully, and more of the time, and that there are other people from whom we may have something to learn. We do not have to accept these people as authorities because somebody tells us to. All we have to do is to be on the look-out for people who seem to us to have mastered the art of living more comprehensively than we have ourselves. The odds seem to me to be overwhelmingly in favour of the existence of such people. (Of course there are also charlatans, and we have also to trust our intuition in steering clear of those candidate ‘gurus’ who do not feel right. We shall have more to say about ‘shopping’ in the last chapter.)

Buddhism, whatever else it does, provides a good antidote to the compulsive business of the present age. Stress is on the increase, not only because of the demands and uncertainties of modern life, but because we are in danger of forgetting how to relax. People are coming to feel guilty when they are not doing anything, as if gentle sources of refreshment, reflection and recreation were of no real value. Traditional forms of meditation in our culture, such as knitting, walking the dog, gardening, fishing and watching county cricket after a good lunch, encourage a peaceful, reflective state of mind, yet they are often given up for activities that favour instead emotional excitement (football matches) or which merely swap one form of mental activity (worrying) for another (watching soap operas and quiz shows on TV). Buddhism at the very least provides a framework and a rationale for being quiet.

The final reason why Buddhism is exercising such appeal in the West is the failure of our own religions to deliver the kind of guidance that people are after. To many people, eager for help in clarifying their own cloudy misgivings about the selfish, narrow, materialistic life they have come to live by default, Christianity is a dead loss. It seems like a husk, a precious relic which is no longer useful for anything, and which instead is guarded and interpreted by an army of curators who are, in their own lives, as much at sea as the rest of us. Of course there are exceptions, Christians whose faith makes them glow with health, and priests who seem to have a better than average grasp of human nature and a love of people with all their faults and foibles. But when people look at the Church as a whole, many of them see something that resembles a trade union or a multinational corporation more than a source of spiritual inspiration and guidance, and they find it unprepossessing and dessicated. Even in the vastness of the Royal Albert Hall in London there are few people who do not feel the difference in quality between the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Dalai Lama. Instead of warmth and wisdom we seem to be offered instead a fairy-tale world of Holy Ghosts and angels, of water that turns to wine and wine that turns to blood, of incantations and rituals that may be good theatre but which do not help me with my drink problem, my furtive infidelities or my gnawing sense of emptiness inside.

The problem with Christianity especially is that its living message has become incarcerated within a prison of metaphor taken as fact, symbol mistaken for reality and ritual for its own sake, a prison with bars of coral, slowly built up from the skeletons of once-useful images that no longer point to anything beyond themselves. God the Heavenly Father (who used to be accompanied by God the Earthly Mother before she was edited out of the Gospels) was an originally helpful but ultimately expendable way of pointing at the reality of a world from which we all emerge, and on which we all depend. But the experience of kinship and at-home-ness that Jesus was trying to convey gets disregarded when we start thinking in terms of God as an entity – or perhaps a team of entities – real and separate from us, whose creatures we are and in whose charge we remain. God becomes a vaguely person-like projection: external, controlling, creating, and usually male. Having missed the point, we are left with a fuzzy surrogate in which all we can do is believe, and which all too often comes to symbolize not the potential for liberation but the necessity for obedience and the inevitability of guilt.

The story gets even more tangled when we are taught to accept that the instrument by which we are to increase our love for each other is Will – a gift from God which, however, like a cheap Christmas toy, is inherently faulty, and which is occasionally (when we are ‘good’) serviced by the manufacturer with a lubricating dollop of Grace. By the time people had done their literal-minded worst with analogies like ‘the Kingdom of God’ and ‘heaven’, and he had found himself involved in such ludicrous conversations as the famous ‘render unto Caesar’ one, Jesus must have had serious doubts about the wisdom of opening his mouth in the first place.

So for many people Christianity will not do. Its officers seem lost, its language archaic, and, because Jesus is presented as definitely a one-off, the best it can offer them is the possibility of falling just a little less short. They are looking for an alternative that is more inspiring, more comprehensive and more optimistic – and Buddhism is a good candidate.