Doubt is Our Friend (xviii)

This is the eighteenth posting in a series of postings reflecting on Thich Nhat Hanh's book, Living Buddha, Living Christ (Riverhead Books, 2007; originally published in 1995). The introductory posting, setting the stage for the series, is (here).

Thich Nhat Hanh does not like doubt.  In his view, one goal of the practice of religion is to dispense with what he terms "the abyss of doubt" (page 169).  He observes that genuine religious practice leads one to eventually "abandon all ideas and images in order to obtain a truly deep realization."  When that realization is achieved, it cannot be taken away from the practitioner because faith in God or nirvana is no longer based on doctrines or notions but on experience (pages 162-163).

Read from a Buddhist perspective, his observations about faith, experience, ideas, and transcending doubt undoubtedly make a good deal of sense so long as we remember that "faith" here means faith in one's practice.  It is an empirical "faith," which proves itself trustworthy through repeated testing.  Almost like a scientific principle that has been proven through repeated experimentation, the practice of mindfulness through meditation proves itself to such an extent that doubt is no longer possible.

From a Christian perspective, there is a slight problem, which is in the use of the term "faith."  If religious practice dispels doubt then it also dispenses with faith.  We don't trust in the truth of things that are sure and certain, such as the basic facts of arithmetic.  One plus one is two.  Period.  Full stop.  Or, again, that dropped objects fall is not a matter of faith.  Let go of an object over thin air, and it will fall.  Period.  Full stop.  If Thich Nhat Hanh is correct that right practice dispels doubt then it does whether we trust it to or not.  Or, rather, faith is involved only so long as we are still learning the practice and its trustworthiness in all cases.  That is to say that it is not correct to say that mindfulness (or insight) "is the very substance of faith," because it replaces faith with certainty.  Where one is sure, one need not trust, and where one does not trust there is no faith.

This is not, I would urge, mere semantics nor is it a criticism of Thich Nhat Hanh.  His use of the term "faith" reflects one approach to religion and one description of the goal of religious practice, which is to quench desire and achieve a true, deep, gentle and yet unshakeable peace.  Notions of belief, gods, and spiritual forces have nothing to do with the matter—indeed, they must be dispensed with as a part of the process.  For Christian, however, we find that we cannot pursue these worthy goals of quenching desire and finding a gut-deep peace apart from our trust, in God in Christ and in God's gift of the Spirit to us.  In Buddhism, the self and its desires are quenched.  In Christianity, they are offered to God whom we know in the three "masks" of Father, Son, & Holy Spirit.  There's not right or wrong here.  We're all headed in the same direction.  But, we follow differing paths each with their own stunning vistas and dark, muddy swamps.

One key difference between Thich Nhat Hanh's path and one that we can legitimately take as Christians is that for him doubt is an abyss while for us it can be a friend.  Amen.

Religion & Politics: A Link to A Helpful Posting

E.J. Dionne Jr.'s editorial, "Election 2012’s great religious divide," is worth looking at. In a nutshell, he argues that it's one thing to uphold the separation of church and state and quite another to argue that the religious views of politicians are not fair game for public examination.  Check it out.

Jesus Needs Christians

For Christians, the way to make the Holy Spirit truly present in the church is to practice thoroughly what Jesus lived and taught.  It is not only true that Christians need Jesus, but Jesus needs Christians also for His energy to continue in this world.

Thich Nhat Hanh,

Living Buddha, Living Christ

page 73

Understanding as the Path to Salvation (xvii)

This is the seventeenth posting in a series of postings reflecting on Thich Nhat Hanh's book, Living Buddha, Living Christ (Riverhead Books, 2007; originally published in 1995). The introductory posting, setting the stage for the series, is (here).

Thich Nhat Hanh believes in understanding.  It is for him the path to salvation and the goal of his religious practice.  In Chapter Six of Living Buddha, Living Christ (pages 74ff), he argues that understanding brings liberation, compassion, transformation, understanding of others, and forgiveness.  He writes, "Buddhist and Christian practice is the same—to make the truth available—the truth about ourselves, the truth about our brothers and sisters, the truth about our situation."  Seeking this understanding, he says, "is the most serious work we can do." (page 82)  Practice leads to understanding, understanding leads to deep insight into the nature of reality, and insight leads to salvation.  And, apparently, salvation leads to better practice and still deeper understanding.  The process isn't a straight line thing but rather a downward spiral beyond all categories or notions—toward Nirvana.

The key to it all is right understanding of oneself leading to right understanding of others and reality.  Thich Nhat Hanh makes it clear in Living Buddha, Living Christ that the understanding he's talking about here is not  mere head knowledge but something much deeper that grows from the experience of meditation.  But, it is still understanding.

Christians have long divided themselves into two large camps, those who believe that faith precedes understanding and those who feel that faith proceeds from understanding.  It's an old, old debate, and the problem with it is that in the real world faith all too often leads to ignorance rather than understanding; and understanding all too frequently turns into arrogance and sterility.  Faith and understanding, belief and practice—these pairs can't be separated from each other.  Our faith deepens our understanding while our understanding gives us deeper insights into our faith.  They are like partners in an intricate dance where it really does "take two to tango."  Amen.

Reality Check (xvi)

Wat Thai Buddhist Temple, Washington D.C.

This is the sixteenth posting in a series of postings reflecting on Thich Nhat Hanh's book, Living Buddha, Living Christ (Riverhead Books, 2007; originally published in 1995). The introductory posting, setting the stage for the series, is (here).

Thich Nhat Hanh has become an important, even inspiring religious figure in Europe and North America.  He has published tens of books in English and has quite a "footprint" on the Web.  As a representative of Asian Buddhism, thus, he casts quite a long shadow in the West and projects a positive image of his religious heritage that intrigues many "seekers" around the globe.  That's good.  It can leave, however, an unrealistic appraisal of Buddhism as a very human religion.  Like all of the major religions, it is a mixed bag of things that inspire and depress, lift up and undermine.  In a recent posting on the Huffington Post entitled, "Western Buddhism: The 50 Year Lessons," the American Buddhist writer, Lewis Richmond, reminds us that the last 50 years have taught Western Buddhists some hard lessons.  He lists three: (1) enlightenment is not what Western Buddhists thought it was, and it is something that has to be lived rather than experienced; (2) meditation is not a cure-all, and in some situations it is not helpful at all; and (3) Buddhist books and teachings sometimes obscure the messy, brutal realities of humanity, including Buddhist humanity.

Thich Nhat Hanh's work tends to offer meditation and its resulting enlightenment as the cure for every ill, the way through every situation.  He purposely introduces his readers to a quieter, gentler, and more focused world, but even when he refers to the messy world it seems distant rather than close.  Thailand's most revered monk of the 20th century, Buddhadasa, devoted much of his energy and writings to reforming Thai Buddhism.  He said outright that much of the religion as widely practiced had lost touch with true Buddhism and the teachings of the Buddha.  This is not to say that Buddhism is somehow a "bad" religion but, rather, to remind us that it is a mark of the human condition that we find ways to corrupt even the best of things.  We see this tendency clearly in the Christian faith, hence the motto of the Reformed tradition including Presbyterian churches that we are to be, "reformed and always reforming."  Buddhism is no different.  That's the point.  And as we do best to read the work of monks such as Thich Nhat Hanh understanding that we still must weigh his wisdom and spiritual depth on the scale of reality, which is evidently the lesson Western Buddhism has been learning these last fifty years.

Taking Sides (xv)

The "Enlightened One" who takes sides

This is the fifteenth posting in a series of postings reflecting on Thich Nhat Hanh's book, Living Buddha, Living Christ (Riverhead Books, 2007; originally published in 1995). The introductory posting, setting the stage for the series, is (here).

Thich Nhat Hanh rejects the idea that God takes sides with the poor against the rich, observing that the rich suffer too sometimes more than the poor.  He writes, "God embraces both rich and poor, and he wants them to understand each other, to share with each other their suffering and their happiness, and to work together for peace and social justice." (page 80)  If we understand God's will, we won't take sides.  Thich Nhat Hanh contends that his views do not allow social injustice to continue and that if we understand the true cause of social injustice we won't condemn any class of people.  Instead, we will respond to injustice with love and understanding.  He concludes, "Any dualistic response, any response motivated by anger, will only make the situation worse."

On the face of it, Thich Nhat Hanh's views are not biblical—and they are.  If the four gospels are any witness, then Jesus consistently took the side of the poor against the powerful and wealthy.  That was what got him executed on the cross as a rebel against Roman (and Jewish) authority.  The Old Testament prophets also habitually spoke on behalf of the "orphans and widows" when they cried out against the injustices of the wealthy and powerful.  At the same time, Thich Nhat Hanh captures something of the spirit of the Bible in his observation that angry, divisive attacks on wealth in the name of the poor only make matters worse.  My sense is that we have here a tension that comes close to the heart of the Christian faith, or lat least one important aspect of our faith.  Our Judeo-Christian heritage is rooted in a demand for social and economic justice, and we are called upon to resist oppression and corruption.  We, in fact, do take sides with the poor (at least, that's our heritage; whether we do it or not is another story).  Yet, we are also called to leave vengeance to God (that is drop it altogether) and practice peace, kindness, gentleness, patience, and all of the other gifts & fruits of the Spirit.  We are to resist injustice but to do so peaceably.  There is a fine line there that we have to wrestle with, and it is important that we do so.

As an aside, we have to remain aware that Thich Nhat Hanh may not be using the word "God" in quite the way we do in the West.  When he says God doesn't want us to take sides, he's coming at things from a different perspective, one we need to listen to, but not one that constrains us to reject the idea that in our tradition God has persistently taken sides and will continue to do so until the Kingdom comes.  Hasten the day, Lord.  Amen.

Ancient Piety

6th Century Byzantine Prayer Box

 The website of the Israeli newspaper, Haaretz, recently reported (here) the discovery in Jerusalem of a small Christian prayer box dating from the 6th century.  Archeologists are especially excited by this find because painted on the interior of the box are two icons of a man and a woman, possibly Jesus and Mary.  This means that the box may be the oldest example of the personal use of icons outside of church worship services.  According to the article, the miniature Byzantine-era box "...was used as a personal ritual object that could be taken anywhere. When worshipers wanted to pray, they would open the box and pray before the icons, and it would function as a miniature church."  A short video on YouTube (here) provides further details about the find and views of the box.

Evidently, this little box provides us with a tenuous, intriguing link to personal piety in the 6th century Byzantine Empire, and it raises questions that we'd love to have answered.  Was this box actually used by its owner as a "miniature church" and thus a focus for personal prayer and worship?  Or was it more of a talisman, a charm carried around to protect the owner from harm?  Or was it both?  Did the owner hold the box itself in reverence, or was it "just" an aid to his or her faith?  How common were these boxes?  Were they expensive, suggesting that it's owner was a person of some wealth?  And are the two images actually of Jesus and Mary—or of other saints, maybe even local ones?   These are questions that we'll never be able to answer, but even so the box gives us a hint of the piety one of our ancestors in the faith held fifteen hundred years ago and gives us a feel for how long Christ has been the focus of our worship and our piety.

The Death of Death: It's Coming (For Some)

Not too long ago, I shared with a group of folks my conviction that it is only a matter of time until doctors are able to cure the ultimate disease of them all, aging. Given the advances in medicine, which are accelerating exponentially, that cure could well be a reality by mid-century, and if not then it will still be only a matter of time until at least some humans (those with money) will no longer die "naturally". They laughed. The reaction was more-or-less, "silly boy."  In the face of the ridicule, all I could say is that they weren't paying attention to things going on around them and leave it at that.

So, now comes a news posting on the BBC's website entitled "Signs of ageing halted in the lab," which reports on research done at the Mayo Clinic that halted signs of aging in lab mice by flushing out dead cells ("senescent cells") that normally accrue over time in the body. Using this technique, the researchers were able to significantly reduce several effects of aging including wrinkling of the skin, cataracts, and deterioration in muscle tissue. The New York Times website reports the same research findings in an article entitled, Purging Cells in Mice Is Found to Combat Aging Ills." Both postings draw on an article just published in Nature entitled "Clearance of p16Ink4a-positive senescent cells delays ageing-associated disorders." (The link is to the abstract for the article). The BBC posting cautions that these findings are preliminary, need much more research, and it is not clear when and how they will be applied to humans. The New York Times article contains a statement from a researcher that debunks the idea that this research will lead to extended life spans.  The goal is to improve the quality of our lives as we age.  What is clear, however, is that this research opens another avenue or strategy that could well contribute to the curing aging.  It also raises the inevitable question that if we are able to cure the various effects of aging does that not mean that we are likely to live longer too?  More generally, these articles are yet another hint to the fact that medicine is closing in on a cure for aging and that it is now only a matter of time until the cure is achieved—for those who can afford it.  (For another 'hint" see my April posting entitled, "Dueling Visions.")

Will we be ready for this? Will we be ready to deal with the fact that medical science is evolving so rapidly that some people living today could be (probably will be) cured of aging?  Will we be prepared for the inevitable social dislocation when it becomes apparent that only those who can afford the cure will get it?  No, I don't think so.  But, I've been known to be wrong before.  Time will tell.

Rethinking the Holy Spirit (xiv)

This is the fourteenth posting in a series of postings reflecting on Thich Nhat Hanh's book, Living Buddha, Living Christ (Riverhead Books, 2007; originally published in 1995). The introductory posting, setting the stage for the series, is (here).

In a recent posting on the Christian Post website entitled "When Man Stops Resisting the Holy Spirit," Dan Delzell argues that the key to the human condition is whether or not we resist the Holy Spirit.  We stand in need of "redemption," he writes, which is provided by Jesus and revealed by the Spirit.  But, we are "unregenerate," and we resist.  As "natural man," we are ignorant of basic spiritual realities, especially that with his blood Jesus washes sin away.  We need to stop resisting, convert, and then begin to cooperate with the Spirit.  Delzell inquires into the state of the reader's soul  He asks his readers, "How is it with you?  Are you resisting the Holy Spirit?"  We warns the readers that their excuses are all false ones, "not worth losing your soul over."  He then calls on the reader to converse with Jesus, asking him to fill the reader with the Holy Spirit and be changed forever.  The reader must choose, right now.

In light of the Living Buddha, Living Christ several things stand out in this posting.  Its dualistic underpinnings are palpable: each person is either redeemed or unregenerate.  There is no in-between state.  The only remedy to the human condition is to change states, which is done not as a process but as a single decision.  A sense of conflict suffuses the posting as does a not so subtle attempt to play on the reader's personal insecurities and doubts in order to invoke feelings of guilt and anxiety.  The traditional language of judgment, particularly the use of the term "unregenerate," seems to be disconnected from the realities of the early 21st century; if a "non-church" person happened to read this posting, its language would in and of itself be a barrier to comprehension.

The spirituality exhibited by Delzell's posting, in sum, is a very different kind of spirituality from that found in Living Buddha, Living Christ.  It is striking, for example, that Delzell doesn't explain the actual steps one must take to open one's heart to the Spirit except to pray an honest prayer asking that it happen.  He promises that if we pray such a prayer we will change and become filled with the Spirit.  We need no preparation, reflection, or insight apparently—just pray the prayer.  Thich Nhat Hanh, in contrast, describes a concrete practice anchored in meditation, which continues through one's life as one grows ever more mindful and open to the Spirit.  He doesn't play on guilt but appeals to his readers' better natures.  His purpose is to dissolve boundaries between people and within the hearts of people rather than to cajole his readers into crossing an ill-defined boundary between two spiritual states.  Thich Nhat Hanh seeks to resolve conflict, ease anxiety, and put away feelings of guilt rather than play on them to gain a conversion.

One last thought: Delzell and Thich Nhat Hanh are both working toward the same end—or, at least, so it seems.  Both see the human condition as being deficient.  Both offer a vision of wholeness and guidance as to how to achieve that change.  Where they differ is in attitude and the means for achieving wholeness.  The difference is crucial, and I suspect that it is Thich Nhat Hanh's spirituality that will grow in the decades to come because, truth be told, Thich Nhat Hanh's approach feels more Christ-like, more reflective of a loving God, and more likely to lead the majority of people unto a path of spirituality and transformation.

Thinking It Through Anew (xiii)

Our friend

This is the thirteenth posting in a series of postings reflecting on Thich Nhat Hanh's book, Living Buddha, Living Christ (Riverhead Books, 2007; originally published in 1995). The introductory posting, setting the stage for the series, is (here).

Read in a Christian context, Living Buddha, Living Christ can be disorienting and even a little disturbing.  Thich Nhat Hanh uses "our" words but not the way we use them.  The Christian tradition, for example, treats the Trinity as if it is a solid, rock-like reality.  The Trinity exists and the doctrine of the Trinity as formulated in ancient times really points to the reality of the Triune God.  Thich Nhat Hanh instead treats the notion of the Trinity as a gateway to mindfulness, an invitation to experience things that cannot be conceptualized and should not be talked about.  He doesn't think in strait lines, and he uses the English language in a strange sort of way that mixes up concepts like life and death with no-life and nondeath.  There are points at which he seems to be writing nonsense.

And yet.  As our a friend, he gently offers us another way to think about our Christian faith, a way in which we begin to see that the heart of faith is not in clinging to doctrines, which we have worked out over the centuries to gain some understanding of spiritual things.  The heart of faith, rather, is a journey into deeper layers of understanding (insight) where the boundaries between things tend to dissolve.  We descend gently into God or ultimate reality or "the ground of all being" and find rest, peace, and compassion there, which then energize us for living a life less stressed and more focused on things that matter.  At the end of the day, Thich Nhat Hanh also offers churches the opportunity to rethink what it means to be "in this thing together."  Institutional and doctrinal concerns recede into the background, and he nurtures the thought that we would do well to rethink what it is that we seek in the church.

I'm not sure that Thich Nhat Hanh provides any clear answers to the questions Living Buddha, Living Christ raise for us as people of another faith.  What he does do is speak to a longing for a less institutional, less dogmatic approach to faith and to church that is alive in many parts of American society today.  Those of us inside the institutional church would do well to stop, look. listen—and seek to do "church" in a way that will speak to the actual spirit of our age.  Amen.