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We live the life of renunciation
because it reflects our heart's deepest yearning.
It quickens an inner longing to awaken to our true inheritance.
Today I would like to ask that we ponder on the question, "What is the
value and the place of the celibate renunciant community in our modern
world?"
A number of years ago when I was about to deliver my first public Dhamma
talk, a friend mentioned to me by way of encouragement that talking
about Dhamma was like contemplating out loud, giving voice to what one
does anyway. It is in this spirit that I ask to talk with you today.
Ideally, we would have a respected and venerable elder to conduct this
ordination ceremony and to address this particularly important subject;
but such individuals are rare in the world, so we have to make do with
what we have at hand.
How relevant is the celibate renunciant life at this time? I wish to
make this enquiry because our participation in this community life,
whether as monks, nuns or lay people, will only genuinely serve us if
what we are doing is directly relevant in terms of Dhamma. If we are
involved for any reasons other than those that accord with our heart's
deepest longings for truth, then we could be creating more difficulties
for ourselves and for each other.
I would like to begin with a story. It is from India where many good
teaching-stories arise and involves the Puja routine of an old swami.
This swami kept a cat in his ashram. There were very few occasions when
the cat and the swami were not seen together. The only time there was
ever any problem was at Evening Puja, when the cat sometimes upset the
oil lamps. After a few incidents, the swami decided the cat could not be
present during the Puja any more and took to putting it out just before
the ritual began. This solved the problem comfortably and Puja went on
for years without interruption. Eventually the swami passed away. All
the faithful devotees continued doing Puja and continued to put the cat
out before it began. One day the cat died. There was no question in the
minds of the devotees: they immediately went out to the market and found
another cat for the ashram. It would not be possible to do Puja properly
without the ritual of putting the cat outside.
So we want to see in our case how much of what we are doing is Puja and
how much is putting the cat out.
The Asians who are here today may have no doubt about the relevance of
this renunciant lifestyle. It is part of your culture and has always
been there for you. But maybe you should doubt it, particularly if you
want to have genuine answers to give to your children when they come to
you with their genuine questions.
The Europeans, on the other hand, might prefer to avoid the question,
out of fear that something that they hold dear will fall apart. But we
don't have to protect reality. Reality doesn't fall apart. We do need to
protect opportunities that help us see reality, which is what the
renunciant lifestyle is designed for. If we inquire carefully, which
implies respectfully, then we don't have to be afraid. In fact our
questioning will give us protection. In this Way of cultivation we are
interested in fostering an unobstructed relationship with the truth of
our own hearts. We don't need to fear seeing what is true. The only
thing we need to guard ourselves from is unawareness.
I want to consider this matter openly today because I've observed a
strong force in the Western Buddhist world which, in effect, is
attempting to deliver a redundancy notice on the renunciant lifestyle.
Often one hears or reads comments like, "We must create a new form for
this time. The traditional celibate form belongs to a different era." If
we are not clear for ourselves about the validity of our involvement in
this lifestyle, there is a good chance that this species of celibate
monks and nuns will die out. Some might say it is supposed to - and
maybe it is. But maybe it isn't. My twenty-two years of attending to
this Way inclines me to believe that it still has life in it - vibrant
life and meaning. This is not to say that there isn't a very real need
for adaptation.
In considering the process of adaptation it is essential that we are
aware of how our assumptions colour our perceptions. These are what form
the basis of our inquiry. For instance, it used to be that monastics
were afforded respect because of their superior learning. Secular
education has changed all that. Over the centuries advances in
technology have allowed more and more people to have ready access to
vast amounts of information. The positive side of this is obvious, but
we have lost the context of the person-to-person relationship which
communicated much more than just information. We should notice how this
might alter our perception of the role of monastics in society - if you
can download Discourses and Commentaries from the World Wide Web, why
bother visiting a monastery?
Respect given in regard to education is one area. Possibly an even more
profoundly important area that has undergone tremendous change is that
of sexuality. With the use of modern medical techniques, the
consequences of an active sexual life have been obscured - birthing and
child-rearing are now an option not an inevitability. Skilful use of
contraception can offer significant benefits in the domain of health and
population. However these techniques have made it more difficult to
appreciate what kind of effort is required to give up sexual intimacy.
The impulse to respect celibacy is no longer a straightforward matter.
So let's take on board collectively, as a Buddhist community, how
changing conditions affect our perceptions. This matter will continue to
exercise our considered attention as we share this ongoing development
of Sangha.
GOING FORTH
Today being Vesakha Puja, we celebrate the birth of the Buddha, we
honour with devotion his Enlightenment and we recall with respect his
passing away. And we are celebrating these events together as members of
the Sangha of disciples of the Buddha. Sangha as we know means
'community' and this community is called the savaka sangha. The word
savaka, meaning 'disciple', has its roots in a word literally meaning
'one who listens'. We are all listeners, hearing - each in our own way -
the teachings that the Buddha gives us. This sangha of disciples is also
called The Four-fold Sangha: monks (bhikkhus), nuns (bhikkhunis, or in
our case siladhara), laymen (upasaka) and laywomen (upasika). The Going
Forth ritual we are about to conduct demonstrates the relationship
between the renunciant sangha of monks and nuns, also called samana
sangha, and the upasaka sangha of laypeople.
This formal ceremony, which is called the Going Forth (pabbajja),
appears for some to create a separation between us. People occasionally
comment on how they feel sad at the loss of a wonderful friendship; that
the closeness of a relationship they had before has been taken away by
putting on the robes. Some sadness is understandable, because something
valued has been lost. But isn't there also something gained? Remember,
wisdom sees both sides, whilst attachment to our preferences causes the
distortion of seeing only one side. The space that appears in our
relationship is also an opportunity for something new to develop between
us. Familiarity is not the only context for insight and maybe not even
the best. Sometimes we assume a familiarity with each other so as to
avoid the pain of the loneliness that we feel. Maybe by emphasising
difference we can arrive at a greater sense of mutual benefit. This
comes out of a new quality of relatedness that has a beauty of its own.
The Buddha required that his monks and nuns have an appearance distinct
from householders. For instance, he established a training rule that we
are not allowed to put our robes aside and wear lay clothes. He wanted
renunciants to be noticed. I'm sure he didn't expect that everybody
would want to join the renunciant sangha, as some people suggest might
happen. We are different beings with different perspectives. It seems to
me that the Buddha saw the celibate renunciant community as having a
particular contribution to make, both to the individuals who live the
life, and to those who support and witness it.
To use an old-fashioned expression, this life is a calling. In the same
way someone might feel called to become a nurse. Have you ever met a
real nurse? If you have been ill and had the good fortune to be cared
for by someone who is a nurse out of a sense of calling, you will know
what I mean. There is a natural healing that comes with their attention.
It is in their nature to nurse the sick. Not everyone should or could
become a nurse and not everyone should become a monk or nun. If it's not
in one's nature to live the renunciant life then it won't work. But I
would say that for those by whom such a calling is heard, follow it. I
truly delight in witnessing occasions such as this, when someone 'goes
forth'. When any of us finds our true way in life, it is a benefit for
all beings and that is indeed a cause for celebration.
BENEFITING THE INDIVIDUAL
Giving up Self-seeking
In the individual making the gesture of joining a community of celibate
renunciants, there must be a conscious interest in going beyond
self-seeking impulses. Without this kind of desire for transforming
selfishness, there is a real risk that the entire effort will turn
against us. Instead of our wild, animal passions being transformed into
that which is truly human, our ego-nature is empowered and we turn into
monsters. This does happen.
So in the training that is this lifestyle, we recognise the compulsive
tendencies of our ego to seek happiness through mere gratification of
desire and we become interested in realising the true nature of desire
itself. We want to experience 'wanting' within awareness, without being
caught by it. We want to train to go beyond the attachment to wanting.
This is skilful wanting, or right practice (samma patipatta). This is
the point. On the conventional level we are asked to give up certain
physical activities, but the aim is an inner awakening: a renunciation
of our commitment to ego-conditioning. The form itself is not it.
In terms of specific training guidelines the Code of Discipline (patimokkha)
requires that we renounce all personal involvement with money - no bank
accounts, not even handling money. It also takes away the security of
having control over how and when we eat. We can't store food, grow food
or cook food. The other primary area of behaviour regulated by the
training is sexuality. A total giving up of all intentional erotic
activity is expected. This is extremely difficult for everyone.
But these requirements of physical restraint in the areas of money, food
and sex are not to be seen as an end in themselves. And we all need
reminding of this, since the struggle that arises from a sincere attempt
to keep to these guidelines generate such an intensity that we can lose
perspective; we forget the real point and focus too tightly on the
rules. This is one reason why, particularly in the early years, it is so
helpful to live in community. For the first five years it is required.
We often need each other to help us remember not to get overly rigid
about it all. As committed materialists, we readily mistake the form to
be something more than it is. The form is there to serve the spirit. The
cat was put outside so Puja could go on uninterrupted. When the cat died
they should have forgotten about it. The Puja was the point. In our
case, the heart's surrender to the Way beyond conditioned, self-seeking
preferences is the point. All the conventions we follow are to support
that.
Energy from Renunciation
When the spirit of renunciation is alive within us it is not unpleasant
to give up things that we want - it begins to feel like a blessing that
we have this encouragement to do so. We feel grateful that we have a
form that sustains a long-term effort of body, speech and mind to go
against the deep, strong flow of self-seeking passions. We know how
without it we mightn't have held the tension long enough for a
letting-go to happen. When letting-go does happen we discover tremendous
energy - all the energy that was previously locked into maintaining the
rigidity. Each time we rediscover this precious reservoir of energy our
aspirations are refreshed and reaffirmed.
In the beginning we are inspired from our studies and association with
wise beings to investigate the possibility of the Way. This interest is
a form of energy, but not enough to dissolve the powerful structures of
personality belief (sakkaya ditthi). This structure of personality,
viewed from one perspective, is quite suitable. Of course we are not
saying that there is something wrong with developing a stable
personality. But from a spiritual perspective, this is a limited stage
of development. It carries with it a burdensome sense of loneliness and
isolation. It feels like a prison and impels us to act out of greed and
anger and confusion. These three 'poisons', as they are classically
called in Buddhism, spread their toxic matter throughout our body, heart
and mind. They are the nutriment of deluded 'me-ness'. This training
points out that enormous energy is required to undo these structures and
renunciation is one of the best ways of finding this energy.
Often people comment to me that they lack energy in practice. Try giving
up something and be aware of the intensity of energy in the 'I want. . .
' that appears. Energy is there, but it is a matter of how to get in
touch with it and how to manage it. We don't want wild energy to flare
up and out in every direction, but neither do we want to be lifeless.
The passions are our assets, or our inheritance, that we must free up so
they become available for our cultivation of the path.
We all have lots of good intentions and ideas, but sometimes these don't
translate into a practice as simple as getting up in the morning at the
time we decided, or being able to focus on a chosen meditation object,
let alone releasing some clinging that we know is keeping us back.
Herein lies the difficulty of this training. It requires energy and it
generates energy. Eventually we come to realise that all of our energy
is needed if we are going to proceed. We need it to dissolve the
barriers, to penetrate through the inertia of our conditioned nature and
see into ourselves. It is this same energy that sustains us when we feel
like everything is lost.
The inspiration towards reality is not a sure thing; it changes and
sometimes feels like it's gone altogether. Our initial inspiration is
like a loan we receive to get us started on the Way. By the time it runs
out we need to have found our own sources of support. Invariably, we run
on inspiration as long as possible. Some try to run longer than is
possible; but eventually inspiration passes and disillusionment sets in.
This might happen five or six or seven years after taking up the
renunciant path. If it coincides with another of life's crises, the
impact will be profound. But whenever it occurs there will be a need to
refer to others for reflection. Hence, once again, we see the value of
community life. If we find trusting, open friendship, then the
empathetic relationship is itself a rightly-sustainable source of
energy. Right relationship itself generates energy. The stage of
disillusionment is more terrible than can be described, but it is as
natural and necessary as is spiritual companionship. It wasn't for
nothing that the Buddha said that true spiritual friends (kalyanamitta)
are essential.
BENEFITING OTHERS
Visible Contrast
I would imagine we all recognise that the option of living in community
is suitable and healthy for humans beings to take up. Communal living
has been around a long time. Just how long celibate renunciant
communities have been around is not so clear. One thing they do is serve
as a sign that affords society a contrasting perspective.
Consider our community here. Our life is based on becoming as conscious
as possible of all frustration that arises. We elevate frustration to
the level of a spiritual force. This is not what most of the world is up
to. Here we are learning to love frustration - that is, embrace it
wholeheartedly. We don't expect to like it. Most people on the other
hand are developing strategies to avoid it at all costs. So it's good to
have a group of people such as ourselves around. By being seen to be
meeting the frustration of life in a contrasting manner, we offer an
example that challenges the generally held assumptions of the world;
assumptions that, if unnoticed, could be pushing an entire civilisation
into over-consumption, over-population and even annihilation. Whatever
the actual result might be it is true that the uninspected assumption of
'the more the better' definitely has sad consequences.
Here today at Ratanagiri, the person requesting acceptance into the
samana sangha is about to formally request to sign up for our course in
applied frustration. He wants to do the work of untangling the habitual
contraction that occurs in the face of personal disappointment, and
engage the energy that is released in cultivation of wisdom and
compassion. I believe the Buddha wanted our world to have this sign as
an active teaching in society. We are not a cloistered group of people
shut off from the world - quite the opposite. By establishing the
restrictions around food the Buddha made it necessary for the monks and
nuns and lay people to maintain some contact. The compulsory dependency
of the samana sangha on the upasika sangha is designed to keep us
involved with each other. We need each other and we know it. Intentional
dependency of this kind is aimed at creating a quality of relatedness
that is not available elsewhere. This kind of dependency is not a sign
of weakness; rather, not being able to depend on others when to do so
accords with increased well-being is more likely to be a sign of
limitation.
Contemplation on the nature of relationship, then, to ourselves, to each
other and to the world, is one of the offerings made to those who live
in or visit places like this monastery. A mindfulness of relationship is
enhanced by the observable differences between us. Our need for each
other is not a symptom of our inadequacy - it is a choice we make out of
perceived adequacy. The quiet inner seeking of a renunciant is, as
Thomas Merton put it, as relevant as the trees that stand unnoticed in
the night converting the carbon dioxide into oxygen for living beings to
breathe.
A Universal Sign
Shortly, a group of nuns will be setting out walking from just north of
London to our monastery in Devon. They will be establishing their own
community there for the first time. I don't know what they have in the
way of safety nets on this journey, but generally speaking it is their
intention to walk all the way, trusting that the people they meet will
want to offer enough food and accommodation for them to complete the
journey.
The monks from Ratanagiri go walking most summers, simply with an
almsbowl and sleeping-bag and they almost never go without. In fact,
there is often a problem with too much food being given. Sometimes
people begin by offering money which the monk has to decline, explaining
that he can only accept food. Often this leads them to the nearest
supermarket but by the time they return someone else has already filled
the bowl.
In our hearts we have a feeling that the sign of a monk or nun means
something. We are not so sure what it means, but there is a universality
of recognition. In traditional Buddhist countries it is easy to
understand how the sight of a samana triggers faith and hope. But even
here in post-modern, secular Europe the sign carries a message.
People see something of themselves in this sign. They recognise by the
appearance of a shaven head, robes and sandals, a human being who has
said 'no' to personal gratification of desire - that is, if they don't
write us off as crazy, which does also happen. But more often there is a
recognition. And I think what is recognised is the monk or nun inside of
them; the one who contemplates life's mysteries and seeks to see beyond
the outer manifestations of the sensory world. By offering food to the
'outer' monk or nun, their 'inner' contemplative is nourished. By
showing respect to someone seen to be living the renunciant life, their
inner renunciant is honoured. This is the meaning of the verse from the
Mahamangala Sutta that we chanted at the commencement of today's
gathering;
Samananca dassanam etam mangalamutamam
The sight of a renunciant is a superior blessing.
If we recognise what is symbolised in the form of the monk or nun, that
contemplative quality which sees beyond the outer appearance of things
comes alive for us. It is for this reason that such encounters often
give rise to so much joy. It is indeed a blessing to reconnect with an
aspect of truth in our own hearts - perhaps an aspect that we had
forgotten or maybe the existence of which we had doubted or dismissed
altogether.
Accordingly it seems to me that such signs have their place. They serve
the truth in all of us, and whenever or wherever the truth is served,
all beings benefit. This is the only reason this convention has lasted
2,500 years. It reflects our heart's deepest yearning. It quickens a
remembering of an inner longing to awaken to our true inheritance.
The Blessing of Service
This inheritance is symbolised for us by the Buddha image. Seeing it can
speak to us of what there is to be realised. The light created by the
faith we have in a real reality generates hope and inspiration to walk
this ancient Way. Our trust in Dhamma enlivens a natural wish to be of
service to that which supports Dhamma. As we say in our Evening Puja;
"I am the Dhamma's servant, the Dhamma is my Lord and guide.
The Dhamma is sorrow's destroyer and bestows blessings on me . . ."
The words used here in translation may or may not work for us, but the
sentiment is what matters. The spirit is the point, not the form. It is
in the spirit of serving Dhamma, in the service of wisdom, compassion
and purity, that we are all united. We are equal and together in this,
and as today we join in celebration of the birth, Enlightenment and
passing away of the Buddha, let's recall and refresh once more our
appreciation for this blessing. Without this refuge in the Triple Gem,
without this orientation of our heart's longing, we would most likely be
seeking security by clinging at something out of fear. How unfortunate
and unnecessary to become rigid. Our willing surrender into service of
the Way keeps us alive, all our body, speech and mind actively according
with the precise and vibrant reality of this moment.
From one perspective, the witnessing of a friend's Going Forth into the
renunciant sangha may create a feeling of separation, but if this new
opening is received with recognition of how we are united, any sadness
won't last for long. The radiance of reality outshines all shadows cast
by false familiarity.
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