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Hearing these teachings is like receiving
an invitation from the Buddha.
This invitation is given freely and we are each
free to respond in our own ways.
Tonight's talk has been announced as: 'A Buddhist Perspective on Faith,
Hope and Despair'. We have called it 'a' perspective because there are
as many different perspectives on this as there are Buddhists. And the
talk is to be about 'faith, hope and despair' because these are concerns
that are important to all of us, regardless of what our beliefs might
be.
I would like to present to you this evening the idea that for us to
engage hope with any degree of enthusiasm we must have a sure foundation
of faith in our lives. Without real faith we feel like we can't afford
to really hope for anything, out of fear of being disappointed; and that
is a great pity - it feels hopeless.
And as for despair, it comes to all of us at some time or other. I'm
sure many of us are already aware of the serious consequences of denying
its existence. We need to find a way to meet despair so that the message
it carries can get through without our being crushed by it.
FAITH
What is Faith?
To begin with I'd like to talk not so much about what we have faith in,
but what faith is. What actually is faith? We are not considering who
has the 'right' faith or whether my faith is better than yours, but
rather the reality of faith as a dimension of our lives.
First, how might we recognise the presence of faith? There is much that
has been said about faith from an abstract perspective, that is,
philosophically or theologically, but we might gain more by
investigating it from an experiential perspective. In fact we lose a lot
by not doing so. If direct personal experience as well as speculative
thought informs our understanding then we find that we have our feet
firmly on the ground. There is no need to defend our faith; rather, we
find what emerges is a way for that faith to defend us, without any
struggle.
If we consider this matter by exploring the functioning of faith, one of
the first things we notice is that it enables trust. Remember, we are
not yet saying anything about what we trust in; we are looking at the
very activity of trusting. What are the consequences of trusting and
not-trusting? What happens if we feel unable to trust? Taking the
example of relationships in our outer life, many people experience the
difficulty and struggle of dealing with a damaged capacity to trust -
the possibility of entering into meaningful caring relationship with
others is simply not available. There are genuinely-felt limitations
regarding participation and co-operation.
But, thankfully, demanding as it may be, this hurt can be addressed. As
it is regarding relationships with others, so it is inwardly with
ourselves: it is important that we find how to enter into a relationship
with ourselves wherein we are able to simply trust; not necessarily be
sure, but trust.
To bring this contemplation alive, imagine swimming in the ocean. Can
you recall the experience of attempting to just float on the surface? As
we relax and trust, we sense that the water will support us; we don't
have to hold ourselves up. Faith feels like that. We trust in it by
surrendering to it and allowing it to carry us.
Learning and Un-learning
Many people, maybe even most these days, have never enjoyed the benefit
of the company of another human being who fully trusts him or herself.
The consequence of this is that they have never been introduced to that
possibility within themselves. It is more than an introduction; it is an
induction that hasn't taken place and should have. Often we don't even
realise how disabled we are as a result. Maybe we don't suspect that
such an experience of well-being exists. Have you ever wondered why so
many people flock to be near Asian teachers when they visit the West? It
is as if we are starving. One reason is that at some level we recognise
these teachers have something, something we have not had before; and we
want it. I'm suggesting that what we want is an induction into that
place within ourselves that is genuinely trusting and trustworthy.
It's unfortunate if we confuse the capacity to live in faith with the
holding to mere beliefs. In our early lives, many of us were introduced
to beliefs that we might now consider spurious; that is, we were taught
to go along unquestioningly with what someone else told us. Their
instruction may have been backed with the force of tradition and
popularity; it may have been the generally accepted view of the society
we were born into; it may have convinced us because of a charismatic
presentation or appeared attractive because of its impressive logic.
From the Buddha's perspective none of these provide us with a sufficient
foundation for genuine faith.
In the well-known Kalama Sutta, it is related how a group of villagers
at the time of the Buddha had become confused and disheartened because
so many gurus of various traditions had come by, each saying he had the
only answer to questions concerning the mystery of life. Because of
this, these villagers had become cynical. They listened to the Buddha's
teachings and then said to him something like: "This whole affair is
very confusing. Why should we believe what you say?" The Buddha replied,
"That is very good. It is no surprise that you are confused about all
these views and there is no reason why you should believe me just
because I say something is true. However, if you pick up what I say and
examine it for yourselves, take it inwardly and inquire until you are
able to see with your own eyes whether these teachings accord with your
experience, then any faith that arises will be sound; it will be based
on mindfulness and investigation. "
As we make our investigations, let's not rush to find answers. For
instance, the question, "How do I find this faith if I don't have it?"
doesn't necessarily demand an immediate answer. If we hold the
'not-knowing' carefully, it can elicit a clear connection with a quietly
felt interest in the matter. Grasping at solutions too quickly deprives
us of the chance for a possible deepening. Because we do care about
truth, we move gradually. As we reconsider conditioning that has taken
place in the past, we take care not to throw things out just because
they appear useless. Further inspection might show us how to recycle
some of it. And likewise we take care to notice where we are holding on
out of attachment to familiarity, resisting the growing sense that it is
time to firmly put something aside.
Taking up a different religious path from that into which we were
conditioned can be likened to starting a new relationship after having
felt badly betrayed by the last one. We learn from feeling how it feels
as we gently move forward, giving it time. In developing Buddhist faith,
we meet ourselves where we find ourselves, acknowledging our distrust or
unwillingness as part of finding our way. Progress on this path occurs
when we appreciate afresh that which we already have, however
undeveloped it may appear. Reliable faith grows out of the faith, or
lack of it, that we already have. It is worth pondering on the fact
that, if we had no faith at all, we wouldn't be at a meeting like this.
On this point of what faith is, there is a story from Japan of a
meditation master who asked the question: "What is the heart of faith?"
He followed on, saying, "The heart is that which asked the question and
faith inspired the asking." For me, this speaks very loudly of what
faith is, or at least how it manifests. It offers direct appreciation of
how faith is a dimension of our own hearts out of which we can live.
FOCUSING FAITH
No Quick Fix
Now what is it that we have faith in? This is not easy to talk about.
The difficulty lies in our wanting to 'get the right answer'. We tend
towards thinking there is some 'thing' out there that, if we can 'get
it', will make us safe. It's similar to how I used to think there must
be, somewhere, a perfect monastery where I would perfectly fit. For
people living the householder's life, it may be the case that you
believe there must be the right partner somewhere, who would make you
feel good for ever.
The inquiry into finding a truly suitable object of faith is difficult
because of the attitude with which we approach it. We tend to be looking
for something which guarantees our safety: we want to be sure. I am not
saying there is anything wrong with this approach, just that we need to
be aware of it. We need to know on what assumptions our investigations
are based. In this case, we readily assume that there is actually some
'thing' that will do the trick for us - even take responsibility for us
- and in Buddhism this is not on offer. In Buddhist practice, we don't
have faith in any 'thing'. As I said previously, faith is a dimension
out of which we live, it is not an object which we stand on or even
stand by. It is simply not a thing in any case.
To attempt to understand faith by thinking about it is like trying to
appreciate the fragrance of a flower by grasping for it - we wouldn't do
that. Faith is a heart fragrance, so let us try approaching our inquiry
with this image. At the beginning of Evening Chanting, as I offer the
incense at the shrine, I silently reflect: "May the fragrance of truth
permeate my entire being - my action of body, action of speech and
action of mind." Faith is that inner dimension that gives shape and hue
to all of our character.
The Buddha's Way
In his wisdom, the Buddha emphasised how all things are impermanent.
Although this observation can be difficult, it is also very helpful and
needs to be applied in our investigation of faith. Saying that there is
no-thing that will make us secure and no-thing that we direct our faith
towards doesn't mean we are left with nothing. What we are offered in
Buddhist teaching is a 'Way'.
A 'way' is about movement through life; a 'thing' is what we own or
have. We all know how much we like to have things and the feeling of
self-esteem or self-value that can grow as we get more things. We assume
that the more 'I' have, the better 'I' am. Intellectually we can accept
that this is false thinking, but it is still there in our minds and we
must be careful that this view doesn't creep into our contemplation.
So the Buddha isn't giving us a faith to grasp and set up against other
faiths. Speaking about his Awakening, he said, "I rediscovered an
ancient Way that many others have walked before . . . ." Nobody had been
down this Way for a long time, so there were a lot of lost people
around. The Pali word the Buddha used in talking about his discovery was
magga, which literally means 'way' or 'path' and this refers to the
Noble Eight-fold Path.
Traditionally this Way is spoken of as having three aspects: morality or
discipline (sila), collectedness or tranquillity (samadhi), and wisdom
or discernment (pañña). These three aspects should not be seen at all
sequentially - they proceed together. However, for the sake of our
discussion we can consider them separately.
SILA SAMADHI PAÑÑA
Integrity
So what is sila? In Asian Buddhist culture it is recognised that someone
'with sila' has a particular quality to their life. This quality has a
feeling tone to it. It's automatically understood that to meet such a
person immediately elicits a sense of respect. Whilst the usual words
for translating sila - morality and discipline - both apply, the term
that I find approximates this quality most closely is 'integrity'. A
life lived with sila is a life lived with integrity. And it is always
said that in Buddhist practice this is what provides the foundation for
the spiritual life.
Maybe you will have noticed that Buddha images usually show the Buddha
seated on a lotus flower. The lotus is a symbol for purity of action of
body and speech. But anybody who has spent time in the East may have
seen lotuses growing in smelly, swampy ponds. Where I lived in Northeast
Thailand, jute was one of the main cash crops for the villagers. Once
harvested the plant had to be soaked for a few weeks in any low-lying
water that could be found before it could be processed. And that water
really stank. Yet out of that same water a beautiful white lotus would
grow up and open - totally unspoiled by the filth out of which it rose.
Similarly with a life lived with sila, even though our circumstances in
the world may be messy, a beauty radiates from the heart of one whose
life is characterised by integrity. And the Buddha, a symbol for our
potential to awaken, sits well-balanced with this as his foundation.
Without this foundation the Buddha sinks into the swamp where we can't
see him. He doesn't disappear but we might think he has. This is how it
can feel at times.
With sila, or integrity, as the foundation of the Way in which we have
faith, we are encouraged to see how it applies to all aspects of our
lives: our professions, our relationships, all our activities. We should
notice very clearly the effects when integrity is compromised. It
doesn't take very much lying or cheating in a business before tensions
caused by distrust undermine the operations of that enterprise. It may
be that the majority of problems in companies can be traced to
difficulties in this area. We need to be willing to look at this. I am
not saying that you should agree with me but I'm asking that you
investigate to see whether this is the case or not. See how a small
thing can breed distrust and notice what effect that has.
Noticing this in our outer life, we can also look inward and find that
the same process applies. How do we feel when we know we have
compromised ourselves? It is as simple as recognising how our attitude
to someone changes when we discover that they are dishonest. We feel
just the same towards ourselves if we know we are not meeting the mark
when it comes to integrity.
When Ajahn Chah visited America at the invitation of various Buddhist
groups there, he listened to a lot of 'yogis' (meditation students),
each telling a personal story and talking about the struggles they had.
After hearing a few, he started shaking his head in disbelief. He told
them, "Many of you folk are like criminals going around committing
crimes all over the place until you get caught and put in prison. The
prison is this retreat centre; you are asking me to be your solicitor
and get you out. The trouble is, when you get out I know that you'll
just go back to your old ways again. You will carry on committing
crimes, get caught again and ask some other smart solicitor to get you
out." He said Westerners had to 'clean up their act' if they wanted
their practice to bear good fruit and that this was a very basic matter.
It's not anything subtle or sophisticated. It's about not lying, not
misappropriating things, considering carefully what responsible
sexuality means, stopping all killing, giving up drink and drugs. These
are the five basic moral precepts of a Buddhist. If we heed the
encouragement to examine our personal attitude in these areas we can
find ourselves living with more complete trust in ourselves. On this
foundation real practice and well-being prospers.
Another helpful connotation that this word integrity carries with it is
that of cohesion. In a community where there is a firm basis of openness
and honesty there is invariably also a tangible sense of some force
holding things together. It is said in Buddhist Teachings that when a
group of individuals live together observing what is called the 'Human
Standards' (manussa dhamma) - these are the five precepts - then there
is a real possibility of that group's living with concord and harmony.
Regardless of opinion on the matter, if these principles are not
accorded with then there is no possibility of lasting concord. Lack of
integrity is the same as lack of cohesion. Once again this applies
outwardly and inwardly. On the psychological level, compromising
standards of integrity undermines self-respect and leads to a loss of
cohesion or co-operation of inner structures which in turn generates
confusion.
Finally, when dealing with these particular aspects of the Way it is
very helpful to take note of how this practice of sila creates a sense
of containment. If you and I were to get to know each other to the stage
where we felt we were able to trust completely, we would experience a
feeling of safety in each other's company. This feeling of reliability
or safe containment is indeed precious and crucial in the foundation of
our practice.
I think the best metaphor I've ever heard for demonstrating how this
principle of containment works as an essential element of the Way is one
that was given to me by a highly respected teacher and good friend, the
Venerable Myokyo Ni. Prior to her ten years of training in Japan and
eventual appointment as Abbess of the Rinzai Zen Centre in London, she
had obtained a Doctorate in Geology from an Austrian university. Drawing
on the experience of that earlier training, she related to me how, as a
student she had been taught to make industrial diamonds out of graphite
in their laboratory. The raw material, a pile of carbon dust, was
subjected to tremendous pressure and high temperature at the same time.
Besides pressure and heat, what the transformation of that coarse black
matter into pristine diamonds depended on was the strength of the
container. If there was any weakness, she explained, one would end up
with an awful mess.
Sadly, this can happen amongst spiritual practitioners, if they confront
their wild animal passions while there are still cracks in their
container of self-respect. Self-respect or self-trust is the container.
This quality grows naturally out of appropriate action of body and
speech. And we do come under considerable stress during times of
intensity, whether such times arise from intentional formal practice or
from everyday life.
Using this image, we can see how strength of containment is a
requirement, not simply an option, before we allow a build-up of heat
and pressure. This basic structure of sila means we can proceed with
increasing safety and a well-founded sense of confidence.
Collectedness
Now let's talk about samadhi. This particular aspect of the Way is
traditionally spoken of as 'concentration', but I prefer to contemplate
it using the words 'collectedness' or 'tranquillity'. It is
characterised by clarity and energy - a fullness of energy. (We should
note at this point that underlying delusions could still be operating
and the work of dealing with such tendencies is the domain of
discernment.)
We have all experienced this state of collectedness at times; it is not
necessary to sit in meditation for it to occur. It happens when the
body, the heart and the mind all come together; it is also referred to
as 'one-pointedness'. This coming together is experienced as a joyous
fullness, bliss. It is true that, from a Buddhist perspective, not all
the means that can take us to such an elevated state are considered
wholesome and we do need to ponder on this. But it is also important
that we recognise the condition of one-pointedness as a normal human
phenomenon - it is not something special. It is unfortunate how much
misunderstanding and mystique have evolved around the subject of altered
mind states. I hope we can learn to see the cultivation of this
dimension of ourselves as thoroughly natural. I think we can, if we are
interested in discovering what reliable faith is about.
The calm and ease found in this integrated state is natural. With one-pointedness
established, a pleasant form of peacefulness arises. We don't have to
force our minds to become peaceful; we don't have to strain to think
clearly. When there is collectedness then clarity is there also. As it
has often been observed, when the winds stop and the waves on the water
cease, a reflection appears in the surface of the lake.
We benefit enormously if we come to know that the work of generating
clarity and fullness of energy is something that we can actually do.
Through not understanding this we might assume that we are helpless in
the face of our poor quality of attention. It might appear that we are
somehow obliged to distract ourselves from difficulties by watching
television and going along with the mediocrity of our casual culture.
But from the perspective of the experience of regular practice we find
that following such activity is a choice, not an obligation at all. We
could also choose to sit meditation regularly. We could decide to bring
awareness to the consequences of our low-grade attention span. There is
something we can do about it.
Discernment
The third aspect of the Buddhist Way is referred to in Pali as pañña.
This usually translates as 'wisdom'. I find the word 'discernment' is
also helpful. Depending on how precise we are in applying attention to
our experience, and how present we are, we can discern accurately or
falsely. The teachings on discernment are aimed directly at showing us
that we have this potential to see deeply beyond the apparent world. The
Buddha wanted us to recognise for ourselves the ability to see into and
beyond the way things appear to be. Discernment or insight is a power
that both introduces us to this ability and supports us in exercising
it.
Examining our outer life, we can readily recognise the consequences of a
lack of discernment. At present here in Britain there is a General
Election taking place. Very impressive speakers are each attempting to
convince the population that they have all the answers. Without
discernment we can easily become cynical or frustrated, thinking, "They
are all the same. They all lie!" But such observations are simplistic.
In reality we just don't know whom to believe. The truth is we are
uncertain, just like the Kalamas were. And the Buddha told them they
were right to feel uncertain; that is a suitable reaction in an
uncertain circumstance.
So what do we do in this circumstance? If someone is trying to sell us
their product and we don't know ourselves well enough to trust our
response, where does this leave us? It leaves us with a clear indication
of what our work is. We have to fully accept that we need to train our
faculty of seeing beyond the apparent to what is real. In this way we
will be able to exercise discernment accurately in the midst of
confusion. Furthermore it will be wisdom itself that we'll engage by
acknowledging the need to train this faculty.
Once again taking an example from our experience of human relationships,
suppose someone visits us and asks that we hear them talk about the pain
in their life. Maybe from their perspective the pain is too much. They
are convinced that they can't handle it any longer. If we listen from
one place within ourselves we only hear what they believe. But by
relaxing our attention and feeling for a deeper place from which to
listen, a place that doesn't habitually reject uncertainty, we can hear
beyond the surface appearance. Their presentation of their predicament
is probably full of the judgement, "This really is too much for me." If
we go to a place within ourselves that, through insight, is freed from
compulsively grasping at evaluations, we receive a different impression.
And if we have the skill to reflect this impression back to them then
they might meet themselves in that place where there are many more
possibilities than those they already know.
This is training our hearts to listen truly. We abide in an awareness
that is freed from being driven to know the answer to the existential
questions of life as they're happening in front of us. We are not saying
that the way things appear is right or wrong; we simply hold the 'not
sure'. In our example the person talking with us feels sure about the
limitations of the situation and that contributes significantly to
creating the problem. With skilful intention we can discover the ability
to hear deeply, beyond the apparent. Feeling beyond the obvious, we
arrive at a new way of seeing altogether.
THE RADIANCE OF FAITH
These three aspects of the Way that I've been presenting as integrity,
collectedness and discernment are what we as Buddhists look towards in
faith. Hopefully, you can see this is not a blind form of faith but a
considered response to the actual uncertainty of life. We choose to
trust that actions based on these well-considered principles will guide
us towards responsible living. And from the confidence that grows out of
this felt sense of personal responsibility we find the strength that
supports daring. If we can afford to be daring, then we can really hope.
Hope is a natural radiance that emanates from faith. When we realise
this, then we can dare to engage hope enthusiastically. And, as we do
so, the daring releases a potential for extraordinary creativity - a
wonderfully constructive and agile mind is already waiting to be
uncovered within faith. Where do you think Nelson Mandala or Mother
Theresa found inspiration? It wasn't in the lovely scenery around them.
It was in the same place inside them that was able to receive, free from
evaluation, feelings of hopelessness and despair. If they were not
familiar with that place of faith, despair would have been denied and
all hope, with its faculty for limitless imagination and its possibility
for resolution, would have lain unrecognised.
This variety of daring doesn't necessarily mean being bold or heroic. It
means having freedom from fear of uncertainty; freedom to discover
something new. It means engaging creative investigation without needing
to know where we'll end up. Because of an inner attitude of trusting in
reality we are able to adjust and accord with what is immediately in
front of us.
To give one last example, at present I am involved in helping to build a
monastery in Northumberland. It is a risk to attempt to establish a
celibate renunciant community based on an ancient tradition, in Britain
at the end of the 20th century. There is a large investment of time and
energy and of course that carries responsibility so we have to look
closely at what we are doing. Robes, alms-bowls and shaven heads fitted
comfortably in an agrarian society and one wonders how they will cope as
they encounter the Internet. This is definitely an uncertain affair. But
there is nothing wrong with uncertainty. Uncertainty is the fact.
For the past four years, the Trustees of Ratanagiri have been dealing
with a legal dispute that arose over a neighbour accusing us of stealing
his land. Whilst there is no foundation in reality for such accusations,
the nature of the legal system and of culture-clash have meant a huge
expenditure of monastery funds on something with which I would never
have imagined becoming involved. In the beginning, some mornings I would
wake with a sick feeling in my stomach and I would start wondering if it
was worth all the struggle. I've not attained to the stage of being able
to remain perfectly passive in the face of such an unpleasant attack.
However, without considerable faith and the tolerance it affords, I know
I would have found the complexity of the situation overwhelmingly
hopeless. I couldn't have dared to believe that the whole thing would be
amicably resolved. Now I'm pleased to have been able to stay with it and
come to see the doubts and fears for what they are: apparitions of
despair that challenge faith in true principle. They are not what they
appear to be. But such challenges seem real in their appearance - there
should be no mistake about that.
As the monks and nuns of the Chinese Ch'an tradition have put it, our
task is to "Accord with conditions without compromising true principle".
To be able to accord with what is happening in our lives now without
losing ourselves is the point. To live our lives in this manner is
blameless, regardless of what the world might say. And in this
blamelessness we are free. Our imagination and creativity can blossom in
the service of reality. It is our faith in true, considered principles
that has brought this about.
Without firm inner grounding, the outer conditions of change disturb us
excessively. Hence the encouragement to contemplate. Joyously, when we
reconnect with the ability to engage our life in hope, we find that a
heart of faith is already there to guide us.
I wish you well in your daring.
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