3.
RW: In your position as abbot, how would you instruct your monks to prevent the possibility of taking things for granted, especially receiving charity from lay supporters? How do you advise them to guard against things becoming routine, matter of fact, secure; the feeling that it is just a nice, comfortable life?
AS: Well, it is not exactly a comfortable life. In England the problem does not lie in sinking into a routine, because there is no tradition there to sink into. It is new and fresh. So, it is not a case that one can really sink into anything.
In England there is not the security that there is in a Buddhist country. Life as a monk in Britain is risky, a chance; it is not guaranteed. One then needs to be much more alert, whereas in Thailand one can take it all for granted because it is so established and secure there.
All one can do is to encourage and keep reminding people -- because they forget. But how they develop is really up to them. As they say, 'you can take a horse to water ...' And that is all one can do.
RW: Yet for some people there might be a gap between their own tendencies and inclinations, and the ideology that they are following. How can that gap be bridged?
AS: That is why one has to allow people space. That is the real value of the monastic life. One has to allow people time and the opportunity to develop, rather than to expect them to make great changes all at once. Some people understand immediately; for others it will take years. That does not mean that one will teach only the ones who understand immediately -- they do not need to be taught very much!
One can also provide in the monastery a place for people to live at least a good life in a wholesome way. Eventually something will filter down to them. At least it is good kammically. One is not doing any harmful actions. That kind of environment encourages one to do good and refrain from doing evil. It is a moral environment. The emphasis is on paying attention, being alert, and watching; confronting one's life as one experiences it, looking at it, and learning from it.
How determined and resolute one is in that practice is an individual matter. Some are very quick, others are very slow; some are neither quick nor slow. In the monastery one can allow for the fast and slow. It is not that one is selecting only the best, the quick ones. The advantage of having a monastic community is to have the opportunity for many beings to develop. Some may not ever be enlightened but at least they can develop harmlessness in their lives.
In Thai monasteries, sometimes very 'heavy' people ordain, criminals and the like. Monastic life is a refuge for them where they are all the time encouraged to do good. Whether they attain enlightenment or not, who knows? At least it is a more skilful way of dealing with these types of people (who have enough faith that they would ordain) than to lock them up. Some monks tell of their past, which can be quite shocking. When one asks them why they ordained, they answer: 'I have faith in the Buddha's teaching and it is the only way that I can break from my old ways and habits.' In worldly life they tend to get pulled back into their old patterns.
RW: You would not think, then, that a community of monks would be like a crutch or a bondage, preventing a person from growing?
AS: No. Anything can be a crutch or a bondage. It all depends on whether one uses it or leans on it. People think that having crutches is bad. Crutches themselves are not bad. Sometimes we need them.
Imagine saying to a new-born baby, 'You have two legs. Get up and walk! I'm not going to pick you up, feed you or do anything for you. You're now in the world. You have to learn to take care of yourself!' The baby is just not ready yet. Understanding the situation, one feeds it and takes care of it.
As soon as the baby starts crawling, one would not say, 'If you depend on crawling, you are going to crawl the rest of your life and never get anywhere. Get up and walk!' But the baby cannot. He is not ready. He is not strong enough.
By crawling and waving his arms and legs, pulling himself up on the chair, and mommy taking his hand, etc., he is developing strength and growing until it is time to take his first step. When he starts to walk on his own, he does not want to use crutches anymore, naturally. When children learn to walk independently they throw away their crutches. They do not want to hold mother's hand anymore.
In the spiritual path, too, sometimes crutches and refuges are deliberately provided for strengthening. When one is strong enough, one starts walking independently.
RW: You gave the analogy of a baby crawling, developing slowly, gradually. A person who is within the system, just conforming to the pattern of it without really digging in -- how can that system or organisation help to shake him out of the rut he is in ... Well, I am just talking about myself, you know ... Sometimes I feel it is necessary to make a break for the sole purpose of shaking up what can be a complacent life-style.
AS: Life itself is ever-changing. It is not that structures and conditions themselves change. Some monks have to disrobe and leave. Some, after years, find nothing in it for themselves and seek something else to do. All that one can ask them to do is to try to be as honest as possible about their intentions. Each individual has to work out his own life ...
If someone feels one has had enough of monastic life and wants to do it another way, that is quite alright; it is one's choice. But one should be honest about one's intentions rather than just using an excuse. That is important. The only thing that is not nice to hear is when someone leaves [the monastic order] but is not honest about why one is leaving. One may justify one's leaving by putting down the tradition. Yet sometimes people leave for justifiable serious doubts.
RW: As Abbot of Chithurst, how do you advise your monks to view ceremonies and rituals that might seem rather remote to the actual practice?
AS: I personally like rituals. They are quite pleasant to do; they are calming. One does them with a group of people. It is doing something that is pleasant, together and in unison. The intention is always good: to radiate kindness and to chant the teachings of the Buddha in Pali. It tends to uplift and inspire the minds of many people. That is its only function as far as I can tell.
I think ceremony makes life much more beautiful. I have seen Dhamma communities which do not have ceremonies. They are a bit gross, actually.
RW: Gross?
AS: Gross. People just do not have a sense of etiquette, a kind of refinement, a lovely movement, a sense of time and place that one has when one understands the value of precepts and ceremonies. They have their beauty.
The bhikkhu form is a kind of dance one does. One learns to move. It has its own beautiful form, which is a way of training the physical form in beautiful movement, the mental and the physical combined. However, it is not an end in itself. It can become silly if it is an end in itself. And it is not necessary, either. If it does not fit or if people do not want it, then one just does not use it. It is something one can use or not use according to time and place.
If one has never used ceremony or does not understand its purpose, then when one is faced with a ceremony, one might reject it, thinking, 'I don't like it', or 'ceremonies are wrong'. But they aren't! There is nothing wrong with ceremonies, they are quite alright to have. To feel one should not have ceremonies is just as much an opinion as to feel one should. It is not a matter of having to say one should or should not have them. They are a part of our tradition, so we use them if they are appropriate. If they are not appropriate, we do not use them. It is a matter of knowing, rather than of having opinions about it.
RW: How do you view your role as abbot? How do you see yourself as a figure of authority at Chithurst?
AS: Well, I really do not think about it. I act very much like the abbot. It is my nature to appreciate dignity and hierarchical structures. I do not find those unbearable. Actually, I find [the role of abbot] great fun. It is a pleasant position to be in. It has its disadvantage in the sense that one gets everything thrown at oneself.
Yet I quite like serving others, too. I like to go back and be number ten in the line. In Thailand it was very nice to be nobody, without always having to be up in front of everybody.
However, our training is to adapt, not to choose. It was not easy to be an abbot at first. It was difficult for me to accept that position because many feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt arose. So I penetrated it. I worked with these feelings, making them my meditation to the point where my position became easy for me. I adapted to the position rather than believing the thoughts, 'Oh, I'm not ready for this', or 'I don't want to do this'. Becoming attached to the role of abbot would also be an easy thing to do; that is, taking oneself to be someone important.
If one is mindful, one is checking and watching; these things are just the changing conditions of samsara. Sometimes one is the abbot, sometimes the servant -- everything is changing. If one has no preferences, then one has no suffering when conditions change. But if one is determined not to be an abbot or to take a position of responsibility, then when conditions arise where one is supposed to do that, one suffers.
On the other hand, if one wants to be someone important, but is only number ten in the line, one also suffers, because of feeling resentful and jealous of those who are above oneself. So one also has to watch for that.
The point of Buddha's teaching is to have that awareness of suffering. Everyone suffers, so we all have to watch this. It is not to choose any position in the line as 'mine'. One has to be able to move up or down or stay, depending on time and place.
RW: How did you meditate on this 'inadequacy' that you felt? How did you confront that?
AS: I just watched. I just brought up and listened to the complaining, whining conditions of my mind that kept nagging, 'I'm not ready' ...
RW: Again, during this morning's meditation anger and resentment were arising. This time I just let it come, watched it, looked at it ... arising and passing ... without identifying with it, without getting caught up in it. And it went (and will surely come back again!) Is that all the practice is: a continuous, steady, constant watching of the arising and passing away of phenomena?
AS: It is just awareness.
RW: And these hindrances will just peter out, dissolve after some time?
AS: Right. If one is not acting on it, the habit will just fade away.
RW: But even though one is not acting on it, because the propensity or tendency is present for a particular mental disturbance to arise, is there not action being created from that?
AS: One cannot help the conditions that are present which make that delusion arise in one's mind. One of two actions may follow: either one reacts by getting caught up in the action or one represses it.
If one tends to repress the unpleasant, listen to the guilt or self-hatred. Bring up the mood, 'Oh, I'm hopeless, stupid, I can't do anything right, I'm wasting my life ...' Just listen to it! Keep bringing it up and listening to it. One sees it by skilfully bringing it up and looking at it. And it goes away. Otherwise one tends just to repress it.
RW: Even though the delusion or emotion is not arising at the time, because one knows that it is a predominant condition that causes one continuous agitation, does 'bringing it up' simply mean letting it arise?
AS: I would even go seek it. About seven or eight years ago I had a problem of jealousy. I hated the jealousy. I had the insight that jealousy was a problem so I tended to try to annihilate it. When that condition would arise I would think, 'Oh God, here it is. I've got to try to deal with this now. What do I do?' Well, one is supposed to have sympathetic joy (mudita) for those of whom one is jealous. So I would think, 'I'm really happy for so-and-so. I'm really happy he's successful.' But I did not mean a word of it. I was just lying through my teeth. It was not solving the problem. I would repress it, annihilate it, and it would always come back bashing on me.
Finally, I realised that the problem was not with jealousy, but with my aversion to it. I just hated myself for having that. I felt I should not have that condition; I was ashamed of it.
When I had that insight I started being jealous of everything. I started bringing it up, thinking of everything that made me jealous. I kept looking at it. After doing that for some time, the problem was no more there.
Lust is something we have greed for, it is something we enjoy. One does not have to keep bringing up lust to look at, because one will get lost in it; it is too easy to absorb into lust.
However, emotions like anger and jealousy are a nasty kind of experience for me. I simply do not like them and do not want them. So instead of pushing them away, I had to bring them to me, just so I could see them.
I deliberately thought of past experiences with jealousy; I just brought up all the memories that that particular problem caused. I did not analyse it and try to figure out 'Why?', but simply looked at the impermanent nature of it. This movement toward neutralised the habit I had developed of pushing away. Then there was no more problem.
That is why wisdom (pañña) is necessary. When one understands the movements of attraction and aversion, then one really knows how to practise. Finding the balance between drawing near and pushing away comes from trusting the wisdom here [points to his heart]. I am just giving a guide to consider using. See if it works!
RW: How do your monks relate to you? Is it a similar type of relationship as you had with Ajahn Chah?
AS: The monks who are now with me are quite respectful. They are a very good Sangha. I have had on occasion monks who gave me difficulties. But one learns from that also. Difficult monks who do not like or respect one can teach one an awful lot. They cause friction.
RW: But could that not cause problems in the Sangha?
AS: Well, we learn to deal with problems rather than create ideal environments.
RW: How would you advise one of your monks if he had qualms about following certain precepts? For example, if one of the monks felt it would be better to don layman's clothes instead of wearing the robes when going into London?
AS: We would never wear lay clothes.
RW: Then, no advice is necessary.
AS: Unthinkable. But generally, it is a very individual thing. One has to take into account many things. However, the whole point is to get the monk to know his intention, to know what he is doing, rather than forcing, compelling or conditioning people.
We are just using these particular customs and traditions as a standard of reflection, as a way of looking at ourselves. It is not a matter of making everybody obey the rules, but to try to arouse the honour in a person, to be responsible for his conduct in the community and in the world. One can make people, out of fear, obey rules. They would be afraid to break them because they would be caught, chastised and humiliated. But that is not arousing integrity and honour in a man.
On the other hand, one does not want to make it lax, either, letting everyone just do what he wants. One wants a kind of strictness, an impeccable standard, from which one can learn. Otherwise, people tend to think, 'Oh well, the robes don't make any difference', 'Oh well, eating in the afternoon is ok', 'Oh well, carrying money is alright'. One can rationalise anything.
There are good reasons for breaking all the rules as far as I can see. What if a family next door is starving to death? Why should I not be able to go steal a loaf of bread from a rich man to give it to them? There is always a good reason to justify the action. So it is not the rationalising that we are trying to develop, but the sense of honour and wisdom. That can only be done by conditioning them through fear, binding them to a set of rules that are so inflexible and rigid that they just become rats in a maze.
RW: I used to think that Theravada monks interpreted the vows very literally. Yet when I observe you and Bhikkhu Sucitto, I see that the Vinaya can be used as a lesson in the development of mindfulness. That is all it is.
AS: Right. It is really quite a good vehicle.
RW: But as you mentioned, precepts can become a neurotic discipline.
AS: Right. At first it has to be like an exercise. One trains oneself. When one learns to play the piano, it is not possible to start with the variations of themes. First one must learn the themes. In the beginning one needs to develop skill and become coordinated. One has to do repetitious things, like sitting for hours, until one acquires the skill. One can then play the standard themes simply by following. Eventually, as skill increases, one does not have to follow or imitate anymore. It is natural. Then one can play the variations, and it becomes a joy to listen to. But if one tries to play variations before one knows the theme, it can become very unpleasant -- for everybody.
That is why Vinaya discipline is like piano exercises. The first few years are boring. One has to listen to it over and over: everything has to be done in a certain way. Although it all looks a bit fussy and irrelevant to anything grand, once one learns how to do it, one does not have to think about it, wondering, 'Should I press this key or that one?' It is automatic. One already has the skill with that particular instrument. From that point on, one is free from it; one can use it.
Some monks, like piano players, just play the standard theme over and over because they are afraid to let go of the standard. They are not confident; they lack wisdom; they have only conditioned themselves. The point of the Vinaya is not to condition one but to give one complete freedom -- not freedom to follow desire but freedom to be spontaneous. One can only do this through wisdom and not through desire. One cannot be spontaneous with desire; one just becomes overwhelmed by it.
The Vinaya is a way of training body and speech, of giving them beauty and form, and of establishing relationship with others. For example, many people criticise the rules concerning women: 'Why can't monks touch women?'; 'Why can't monks be alone in a room with a woman?'; 'Why can't I have a woman up here and talk to her alone in a private interview?'; 'What is it about women? -- Was Buddha a male chauvinist pig?' Questions like this often come up. It is a matter of establishing a proper relationship so that the Dhamma can be taught. (Most women here have forgotten how nature works. The female attracts the male. It is a natural condition).
Also, if I have a woman up here in the room, even though thinking 'I don't have a problem with lust anymore', how would that look to others? If Bhikkhu Sucitto sees a naked woman walking out of my room ... well, it looks bad. It is a way of protecting women, of keeping their reputation from being gossiped about.
Moreover, women often fall in love with teachers and figures of authority. For monks who are still very attracted to women, women have a tremendous power to draw them in, especially if the women are discussing their own personal problems. One can easily get emotionally caught up in that.
Buddha did not say that a monk cannot teach women. He said that a monk should establish a relationship in which teaching can be given. This I have found very helpful in training the monks at Chithurst. There are no scandals or problems there. When women come, they know the conditions for instruction and accept them. Therefore, the teaching of the Dhamma can be given without emotional involvement and all kinds of gossipy problems.
Many bhikkhus in England, both Thai and Western, have lost their reputation due to their laxity with regard to women. That is a very strong natural force. When I went to England, I also thought it would be a problem. I felt that Western women were going to hate and resent the regulations. But they do not. When they understand them, they respect them very much. Our four nuns at Chithurst are more meticulous than we are. They are very careful about the Vinaya because they really want to do it correctly.
In our monastic community there is no jealousy about women. Such as, Venerable Sucitto has a girl friend or favours one of the nuns! Situations like this, where jealousy arises is a traditional world problem, isn't it? Men fighting over women is a natural condition, too, This kind of training avoids those difficulties.
RW: You teach everyone equally, don't you?
AS: Yes. In Chithurst the nuns are very much a part of the monastic community. They come to all the functions and have the same training.
* * * * *
RW: Do you feel that Westerners are more suitable to the satipatthana practice than to the study of philosophical analysis?
AS: Satipatthana is the whole point of the Buddha's teaching. One need not spend much time reading about it. I certainly do not feel it is necessary [to study], even though it is quite alright to do that. I have nothing against it.
However, some people feel inclined toward scholarship and approach the practice in that way. I can only speak from my own experience. I felt that just the basic training was enough: the Four Noble Truths and the satipatthana practice. I needed the Vinaya discipline and the satipatthana practice in order to know the Buddha's teaching through experience rather than through theory. Otherwise, it is like reading maps all the time without going anywhere.
RW: In Tibet, however, the practice seemed to develop quite differently. There was much memorisation of root texts and commentaries, and the debating upon them.
AS: Not having been born or lived in Tibet, I cannot very well speak for a Tibetan. Yet they obviously must have their reasons for their ways. I can only speak of my own experience. But to this day, the idea of spending years just studying about the Dhamma ... I would not do it. I just would not! To me it is like reading cookbooks without preparing any meals.
RW: I mentioned to you about the Lam-rim: a systematic outline of the Buddha's sutra teaching. It is a graduated series of meditations that is taught as a method for attaining liberation. By studying and integrating it in one's mind, habituating the teachings to one's thinking, investigating though critical analysis -- do you feel this approach can cut through mental distortions?
AS: I really cannot say. I just don't know about it. I have never tried it out.
RW: I find the Lam-rim to be an excellent framework for the satipatthana practice. Having taken a number of courses here during these past six months, it is possible to do the sitting and walking practice, but I wonder if there is a deep understanding of what one is doing and why one is doing it. A conceptual framework can give one a good basis for understanding what the practice is all about. The reflective meditations are also a good motivating force, helping one to understand the rarity and meaning of having taken a human form, its impermanent nature, and the sufferings of cyclic existence.
AS: I agree. This type of study is very good. I cannot see why the two cannot go together. I cannot see myself just studying it without doing it. In Thailand I have seen monks study and learn Pali for forty years, not doing the actual practice, and then even disrobing. But that is their problem.
The fact is that one does not need to know an awful lot. The teaching is so simple. That is why for many people the practice is enough. Yet I also seriously doubt whether people understand the point of the walking and sitting practice. It is still rather spoon-fed when people are dependent upon being told what to do and having everything arranged for them.
When I now read the Suttas and Abhidhamma, I can understand them. I know what is being said. Before I practised meditation, I read many of the texts but just could not understand what they really meant. When one is practising, one is actually taking the teachings of the Buddha and really looking at oneself. When one investigates the nature of suffering, one is not taking someone else's definition but is looking at the experience in here [points to himself]. The Four Noble Truths, the Eight-fold Path and Dependent Origination all become very clear when one meditates upon them.
I do not want to be quoted on any opinions because they are just that. I can only speak from my experience. Some people seem to be able to get great benefits from studying Abhidhamma. Now I have just no interest in Abhidhamma as a subject that I would study.
RW: In Tibet, the study of Abhidhamma came last on the list. However, the process of debate, as a skilful means for sharpening the mind -- two people confronting each other in a quick, concentrated exchange -- is like taking a dull knife (the mind) and sharpening it so that it can then be used as a sword to cut through ignorance.
Presumably, many Tibetans have attained realisations through using philosophical analysis as a tool to prepare their minds for meditation. The Gelug tradition, however, is often ridiculed by the other three sects of Tibetan Buddhism for its heavy emphasis on study. For those who are capable of pursuing such a system of learning, it seems quite valuable.
AS: In your life here at the Insight Meditation Society, you will find your Tibetan tradition to be more meaningful and useful if you learn to use it and have more confidence in it. So do not be just blindly attached to the satipatthana practice. You are already established in a tradition and trained in it. So when you have had enough of sitting and walking ...
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