people would like: more openness, less defensiveness; more tolerance, less irritation; more ease, less worry; more generosity, less selfishness; more naturalness, less self-consciousness; more equanimity, less frustration. At the heart of Buddhism we find a Buddhism that is very much of the heart. Its subject-matter is the day-to-day business of feelings, relationships and self-respect. Its aim is to enable you to look at yourself in the mirror with absolute honesty – and feel at peace with whoever you see.
Of course people who think reflection is a waste of time (when you might be out there doing something) will not find anything sensible or congenial in Buddhism. In their view all this ‘contemplating your navel’ business is at best misguided and probably harmful as well. It makes you more introspective and more selfish, not less. Their philosophy is: don’t think about things too much, just get on with it and have as much fun as you can, or live up to your principles as best you can, along the way. For them life is straightforward – there isn’t much to be figured out, and they do not hanker for explanations. It may not always be easy or happy, but that’s the way it is. We can click our tongues and feel sorry when we see the sadness that is caused by natural disasters, or human stupidity, on the news at night. We can even send money to Oxfam and march for peace. But the predicament is clear, and we can ignore it or respond to it according to our values and energies.
Buddhism appeals to people who have a sneaking feeling that it may not all be so clear-cut. Instead of taking the diagnosis for granted, and rushing off to look for the cure, such people are keen to burrow more deeply into the questions, and to ponder longer on ‘How come’ before deciding on a change to the game plan. Buddhism supports and guides this enquiry into the ‘big questions’. In fact it encourages you to make the enquiry more rigorous and relentless than you might have thought possible. It holds out the promise of a change, perhaps even a radical transformation, in the way you experience life, and the ease and effectiveness with which you manage your affairs. But the price of this is unswerving honesty – especially when the enquiry is getting rather too close for comfort to our cherished beliefs and attitudes that are taken for granted – and also the willingness to keep at it when it seems pointless or unproductive.
One of the biggest misapprehensions about Buddhism is that it is an escape from life, either into a quiet fatalism or into the safety of mental contemplation. Nothing could be further from the truth. The enquiry is no mere intellectual exercise, with painful realities kept nicely at a distance. Rather it involves a continual rubbing of your nose in the everyday messes of your own devising, so that you actually learn from your experience. The author of a recent academic book about Zen Buddhism, T.P. Kasulis, describes his meeting with a Japanese Master.
“You have asked permission to practise Zen meditation in this temple, but tell me: what is Zen?” inquired the Master. After some hesitation and embarrassed smiling, I said something about Zen’s being a way of life rather than a set of dogmas. Laughter filled the tatami-matted reception room. “Everyone comes here to study Zen, but none of them knows what Zen is. Zen is knowing thyself. You are a Western philosopher and know of Socrates’ quest. Did you assume Zen would be something different?”
If we do not have to travel East to tatami-matted rooms, neither do we have to go back to the Greeks. Here is a character in one of Dick Francis’s novels, The Danger, talking:
“To be logical you have to dig up and face your own hidden motives and emotions, and of course they’re hidden precisely because you don’t want to face them. So ... um ... it’s easier to let your basement feelings run the upper storeys, so to speak, and the result is rape, quarrels, love, jobs, opinions, anorexia, philanthropy ... almost anything you can think of. I just like to know what’s going on down there, to pick out why I truly want to do things, that’s all. Then I can do them or not. Whichever.”
He looked at me consideringly. “Self-analysis ... did you study it?”
“No. Lived it. Like everyone does.”
He smiled faintly. “At what age?”
“Well ... from the beginning. I mean, I can’t remember not doing it. Digging into my own true motives. Knowing in one’s heart of hearts. Facing the shameful things ... the discreditable impulses ... Awful, really.”
The more common attitude was well expressed by Peter Cook and Dudley Moore in one of their sketches. Moore was interviewing Cook about his disastrous attempt to start up a restaurant in the middle of Dartmoor (serving, as I recall, only two dishes – Frog à la Peche, and Peche à la Frog, both equally disgusting). He asked whether Peter Cook thought he had learnt from his mistakes, to which Cook replied, ‘Oh yes. A tremendous amount. And I think I can safely say that I could repeat them almost perfectly.’
The discipline of Buddhism is to learn to look at yourself unflinchingly, especially when you don’t like what you see, so that you can gain practical insight into what makes you tick, and therefore a clearer sense of what it might be possible to do for the best. The effect of Buddhism is not only that of feeling more at peace with yourself, but a more intelligent and skilful involvement in life – career choices, social action, family disputes, whatever.
This brings up another quite common reaction to Buddhism: that its concern – some would say its obsession – with ‘suffering’ is depressing and unhealthy. Indeed, from the point of view of the more usual attempt to deal with trouble by trying to ignore it, it does look perverse. Why on earth would anyone want to dwell on the bad stuff? We cannot really answer this yet, for to do so we have to get right into the core of Buddhism. All we can say is that people discover for themselves that the attempt to avoid the hurt and pain of living is more trouble than it is worth, and that equanimity can be found by staring distress in the face, not by running away from it, or trying to do battle with it. The Buddhist emphasis on ‘suffering’ is not masochistic, but an unsentimental, clear-sighted, pragmatic response to the problem of how to be as happy as possible in a life that is bound to hit you from time to time.
Perhaps the best answer to the question, ‘Why Buddhism?’ is to point to its fruits – the qualities that naturally arise in someone who pursues the Buddhist path. There is a sense that the problems of life are dealt with more smoothly than before. One is less thrown by unforeseen or unwanted events. One takes things in one’s stride more easily. As the advertisement says, one is less inclined to make a drama out of a crisis. Somehow one’s peace of mind is more stable, so that, although things may be difficult from time to time, one does what one can without becoming distressed or confused. Inner strength grows, and one seems to have greater reserves to draw upon. At the same time a non-complacent self-acceptance builds up – one sees oneself more clearly, warts and all, but without the degree of debilitating self-criticism that might have been present previously. One develops the capacity to be self-aware without being self-conscious.
People
