Reflections for September 2008
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
Since 2002, I’ve been conducting a research study at the Ekoji temple in Richmond, Virginia. This isn’t the Ekoji in northern Virginia that some of you may have heard about. Rev. Tsuji, the former bishop of the BCA, started both Ekojis but the Richmond temple is not really a Jodo Shinshu temple. Rather, it is multi-denominational, with five different kinds of Buddhist groups meeting under one roof. One of them is a Pure Land group which includes some Shin elements, such as Juseige, but it is not a full-fledged Jodo Shinshu group. The others are Zen, Tibetan, Vipassana (a type of Theravada), and a quasi-Zen meditation group. I was fascinated when I first heard about all of this activity going on in one temple. This is a very unusual situation: in Japan and elsewhere, usually only one type of Buddhism would be found in each temple. For example, when we visit Hongwanji in Kyoto, we don’t expect to find a group practicing Tibetan tantra or people organized to do Zen meditation. This group in Richmond developed because people in America don’t have access to the same sort of resources that people in Asia do: even though Buddhism has been here over 100 years, in many parts of the country it is still new and unusual, and different kinds of Buddhism have to stick together in order to gather enough people and funds for a temple. Trying to practice Buddhism in a new place like Richmond presents many challenges. At the same time, there are some advantages too. Because they have so many kinds of Buddhism in the same temple, they are able to learn about many different Dharma paths. Often, people start with one group, and they don’t know much about other kinds of Buddhism. They may have bad ideas about unfamiliar types of Buddhism: for example, if they practice Zen they may think that Pure Land is a useless sort of Buddhism, or if they practice Tibetan they may think Zen is a deviation from the Buddha’s teachings. If they were isolated, it would be easy for them to think only about their particular sect and disparage other kinds of Buddhism out of ignorance. But because they are all together, eventually they begin to learn about each other. People from the Zen group sometimes visit the Pure Land group and learn about it, and people from the Tibetan group sometimes participate in the Vipassana group. Also, they meet together several times per year, such as at Buddha’s Birthday (Hanamatsuri). Then they can practice together as one Sangha and appreciate the richness of the Dharma. Even though they interact with each other, most people have chosen the path that suits them best and spend the majority of their time on one practice, be it nembutsu, zazen, or something else. They may blend their practices a little, but they still remain true to one school of Buddhism. Thus they find ways to go deeply into one practice while also learning about others and coming to appreciate the variety within Buddhism. This is the sort of advantage that Americans have in Buddhism. Even if we are dedicated to one path, we have the opportunity to learn about others and discover how people in many parts of the world live the Buddha’s teachings. We don’t have to live in Richmond in order to experience it. Los Angeles is the most diverse city for Buddhism on the planet (it’s true!), and we can find many other kinds of Buddhist practice going on. Sometimes there are other kinds of Buddhism right around us and we don’t know it: I remember dancing at Obon at the Betsuin, and there were not only people from the many Shin temples in Southern California, but also Zen Buddhists, Shingon Buddhists, Nichiren Buddhists, and people connected to Tibetan, Burmese, and other kinds of Buddhism. Perhaps we don’t have the same sort of advantages that people in Japan do, but at the same time we also have some unique opportunities that we can be thankful for.
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Reflections for May 2008
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
Whenever I read the poetry of Issa it seems that he has two meanings. One is the simple beautiful surface meaning where he delights in the things of this world just as they are giving thanks for being enabled to live a life in this bittersweet human world. But he often seems to have a deeper meaning too, where he points to the truths that his Jodo Shinshu religious training revealed to him. For instance, take this haiku of his:
even poorly planted rice slowly, slowly becomes green!
On one level, this is a poem that extols the way rice seedlings struggle to manifest the life force within them, and eventually fulfill their potential by becoming green rice that basks in the sun and waves in the wind. Even when poorly planted by the farmers, they manage to persevere and become rice, achieving their destiny. But there is another possible reading of this haiku as well. We are the poorly planted rice, with our scant roots of good karma and many obstacles blocking our way to enlightenment. Like a poorly planted rice seedling, the odds are against us. Yet there is a life force stirring within each of us that yearns for the sun of awakening, and with the ever-present help of Other Power, we are slowly, slowly made to ripen into Buddhas. It may take a long time, but we are promised to achieve our destiny of liberation from the problems and attachments of the world. Amida assures that we will all become green rice some day, no matter how poorly planted we may feel ourselves to be. Issa has a second haiku on green rice that I think completes this thought. Gazing out over the mature rice, he comes to a further realization:
your rice field my rice field the same green
The rice doesn’t take heed of who planted it—it just grows and becomes green naturally. Someone else’s rice may seem better than one’s own, or vice versa, but really they’re all the same green and all good together; a lesson worth heeding. And again, there is something more going on here as well. No matter how poorly planted we may be, we all come out the same green in the end. I may feel that I have a better chance of becoming a Buddha than another person. Maybe I think I am good or feel that someone else is bad because they are different from me or annoy me somehow. Or I may feel the opposite that I am unlikely to ever advance and be better than I am now. But really all of these are mistakes. Other Power embraces the worst and the best, and brings all to become the same green. In the Pure Land there are no differences among people, only mutual support and equal Buddhahood. Poorly planted or not, it makes no difference in the end for we all blossom under the influence of Other Power and become free. Green rice is a good symbol for the awakened heart. Like green shoots, the trusting heart of shinjin is full of life, always fresh, flexible, and rooted in the Vow power that gives us the stability to be able to bend naturally in the winds of life and right ourselves effortlessly when the wind passes. I know that whenever I pass green rice while walking in Japan, I think of all the causes and conditions that contribute to it fulfilling its purpose, and am thankful for those that support me.
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Reflections for April 2008
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
One time Shoma, an illiterate myokonin who did manual labor for a living, was staying at a Jodo Shinshu temple. The priest had been reading one of the Pure Land Sutras and had a thought, which he expressed out loud,What is the meaning of the phrase Amida's compassion embraces all beings, forsaking none? Shoma jumped up, flung his arms wide, and began speaking in a loud voice. The priest thought Shoma had gone crazy and went running away. Shoma raced after him, close behind. They ran back and forth in the worship hall, the priest's robes flapping like a giant black crow trying to raise itself into the air. Finally the priest ducked down a corridor and hid himself in a closet. Shoma came pounding down the hallway and stopped outside the closet.Priest, I am here! he shouted. Then he threw the closet door open and stood there with his arms outstretched. In a booming voice he said,This is the meaning of the phrase, embracing all beings, forsaking none! The priest laughed and said joyfully,Now I understand. That which never lets me go, despite all my desperate attempts to escape or deny it that is the meaning of embracing all beings and forsaking none. I always loved this story I can just picture the terrified priest running wide-eyed away from the hulking Shoma who chases after him determined to viscerally show how Amida never, ever stops working to bring all beings to awakening. This active nature is a hallmark of Amida in the Shin school of Buddhism. For instance, Shin statues of Amida typically are standing, not sitting in quiet meditation, as if they are ready to spring into action. Furthermore, they lean ever so slightly forward toward the viewer indicating that Amida actually comes to rescue suffering beings by working in their lives rather than waiting passively in the Pure Land for beings that are able to qualify to come to him. In Jodo Shinshu, everyone qualifies for the Pure Land by virtue of being unawakened the only ticket you need for admittance is to not be a Buddha and therefore to be a proper object of infinite, never-ending compassion. There is a Buddha statue in Kyoto that I have always felt best expresses this ideal. It is housed in Eikando, a famous Jodo Shu temple. Eikando is a beautiful temple with graceful stairways and halls. If you climb high enough into the grounds you find a chapel dedicated to Amida. The statue inside is rather unique. Amida is standing and looking backwards over his left shoulder rather than directly facing the viewer. This is the Amida-Who-Looks-Back. To me it wonderfully sums up the intentions of the Pure Land school. For people who aren't able to understand the abstruse doctrines of the Sutras (or, in previous times, weren't able to read at all) this statue has been provided to directly show everyone what Amida's compassion is like. Amida is proceeding toward the Pure Land, but his mind is solely on the beings who need further help to be liberated. He looks back continually, checking to see that we are keeping up and ready to go back again and again to the suffering world until everyone, with no exceptions, is released from pain and awakened to deepest reality. This is a concrete representation of the Sutra teaching that Amida embraces everyone, forsaking none, no matter who they are or what they are like, no matter if they are Buddhist or not, regardless of their good acts or evil deeds. As long as space endures and even after if need be, Amida works tirelessly to help others, no strings attached. And though we may not be able to fully follow this example ourselves, it provides a role model for how we should act toward our fellow beings, with non-discriminating love and compassion.
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Reflections for March 2008
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
Now that we've moved to Canada and winter has begun in earnest, we have to put up with a lot more snow than we did in Los Angeles (to say the least!). However, even though I often have to do a bit of shoveling, I don't mind it at all. I grew up in Connecticut so I have a fondness for snow in the wintertime. There is something so wonderful about snow. It is soft, quiet, humble, and very beautiful when it blankets the ground outside. Walking outside after a fresh snow is always very moving to me. It reminds me of one of Issa's greatest haiku: Just existing I exist Snow drifting down Perhaps this seems very mundane to you, but I find it to be profound. I imagine Issa walking with me after another heavy snowstorm, maybe in Kyoto or Ontario, with the familiar world transformed into a new landscape of soft round edges and muffling pure white snow. A few tardy flakes are still falling haphazardly from the clearing sky, and the air is fresh and clean. Issa points to the simple miracle of our existence, just bare existence itself, a wonder greater than any act of nature. Snow is just drifting down, just as it is, and we are just walking along in appreciation, just as we are. Things are right in their naturalness, with nothing needed for joy beyond a few snowflakes and gratitude for our lives and the chance to experience beauty. Like many of Issa's poems, this one works on another level as well. The snow may be taken for a model of ourselves. Just as it simply drifts down, so too we drift through life, just existing in the same manner as a snowflake our lives are short, beautiful, unique. And when the time comes, the sun of Other Power shining on us melts our icy ignorance and returns us to the purity of clear water, merging once more with the all-embracing ocean. Whether it snows, rains, or is 100 degrees, each day we express the amazing fact of our existence. If we can learn to be like Issa, embracing that fact in wonder and appreciation, then how blessed our lives become. A universe of supporting causes go into the creation of each flake of snow and each human being. Walking between snow drifts, murmuring nembutsu in the chilly air, just existing together with all things, what a touching thing it is to be alive. Namu Amida Butsu.
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Reflections for January 2008
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
Many Shin practitioners are familiar with Issa, one of Japan's greatest haiku masters. Himself a follower of Shinran, Issa's poems often express the deepest emotions of the nembutsu way. For instance, here is one of his haiku:
the old wall's grass trusting beads of dew This is such a simple, small moment, yet it offers deep insight into the Shin approach to life. In the shade of an old wall, some grass clings humbly. It is nourished by the dew's moisture.
The key to the poem, and to the life of shinjin that the poem subtly hints at, is in that single word of the second line: trusting. Just as the grass lives on trust in the life-giving properties of the dew, so we are given true and real life in the trusting of power beyond the self. This trust finds expression in both the cosmic and mundane aspects of our experiences. For instance, my family and I moved from Los Angeles to Canada a few months ago so that I could take a new job as a professor. Such life changes certainly require lots of trust: trust that we would find new friends, trust that we would be able to live comfortably in a foreign country, trust that our love for one another would help us through the difficulties of such a big transition. And trust that wherever we go, we take the nembutsu with us. This is the second time we've moved away from a temple community. First it was a move to North Carolina a state with no Jodo Shinshu representation after several years of membership at the New York Buddhist Church. Now it is a move to a Canadian town without a Shin temple after two lovely years at West Los Angeles Buddhist Temple, and the opportunity to visit many of the other temples of the Southern District. Each time we've been sad to leave, and frankly it isn't fun being without regular access to a local sangha. But living away from temples, whether in the South or in Canada, has shown me that ultimately it is your own individual relationship with the Vow that is most essential. Community is a vital expression of the Buddhaway and a wonderful part of the Buddhist experience, but ultimately we have to say goodbye to even the most supportive sangha. Only the embrace of Other Power remains with us always and nurtures us even through the process of death. There is a silver lining to moving to Canada. Now we live about an hour from the Toronto Buddhist Temple, and while we're often busy, we do manage to attend services once or twice a month. Moving has afforded us the opportunity to get to know a new community of nembutsu practitioners. We always enjoy the friendliness and happiness we encounter at Shin temples, whether they are in the East or West, whether North or South of the border. Amida's light pervades throughout the ten directions and I'm pleased to report that those who trust in Other Power are worthy fellow practitioners no matter where they live. Whatever old walls' shadows we may live in, we can all rely together on the Buddha's compassionate vow. Namu Amida Butsu
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Reflections for September 2007
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
Ever since the baby was born, it has been hard for me to get much work done or go out and do things I used to do. Kristen is at work all day so I'm at home taking care of him until about 5:30 pm. Among the things that I used to do that are now very difficult is attending the Thursday study class at the temple. But this past week I thought that Tai might be ready, so I fed him, put together a bag of diapers and other baby stuff, and we went to the temple. I'm happy to report that he did just fine, and everybody seemed to enjoy seeing a youngster at the meeting. Often, I'm the youngest person at these events, but with the baby in tow I've lost my special status! At the study class, a very important, puzzling issue was raised. This often happens: some people really come prepared to air their most knotty confusion in the hopes that Rev. Usuki and the others will be able to clarify matters. Sometimes we do manage to answer such questions, and sometimes we don't. But either way I really admire how nothing is off limits in Rev. Usuki's study class and he doesn't pretend to always have every answer. I think this kind of openness and honesty is very important in Buddhism. The question this time struck right at the heart of Buddhist thought: if there is no self, then what does reincarnation or rebirth mean? How can you be reborn if there's no you to begin with? This is a paradox that all schools of Buddhism have struggled with. In fact, because there are many forms of Buddhism, this question has been answered in many different ways. I want to provide my own approach to the subject. I don't pretend it is the right one it is just another attempt by yet another Buddhist to deal with this issue. As I understand it, there is a crucial core to Buddhist thought, and then there are many other beliefs and attitudes that act as support or ways of teaching that are not as fundamentally important. Sometimes these two things conflict with each other. If you are unable to resolve these conflicts, you should hold to what is central and discard or at least leave alone what is less important. Beliefs about reincarnation, talking snakes (nagas), Mt. Sumeru, and other things were common in India before and during the Bud-dha's lifetime, and there is nothing particularly Buddhist about them. They are just part of the shared religious atmosphere of India. But the Buddha did pronounce four marks of existence that are utterly unique to Buddhism and that he considered to be the most important aspects of his Dharma. These unique Buddhist contributions to human religion are 1) there is a degree of suffering in all unawakened human experiences, 2) there is no unchanging self or soul, 3) there is nothing truly permanent anywhere in the universe, and 4) there is peace and liberation obtainable through awakening (known as nirvana or the Pure Land). All forms of Buddhism, no matter what else they disagree on, hold true to these four teachings. When we talk about no-self, it means that there isn't some sort of eternal spirit hiding somewhere deep inside the body or mind and that constitutes our true identity. Instead, we exist as collections of different parts (bones, brains, blood, etc), mental states (thoughtful, sleepy, hungry, etc), and relationships (son, father, brother, husband, etc). These parts are changing all the time, and as they change, we change. We never stay the same, even from one moment to the next. But we tend to cling to ideas about ourselves (and others) and are slow to change, and so we suffer. This is certainly true in my own life. The Buddha was 100% right. Reincarnation, to me, is one of the secondary or provisional aspects in Buddhism. We can see this in part because while all schools of Buddhism agree on no-self, they disagree about reincarnation: there are many rather different interpretations of this idea. Many Tibetans talk about a subtle level of the consciousness as being reincarnated, for example, while many Thai talk about karma as what is reborn. Because there is no agreement, I tend to put this question aside as secondary. There is a famous recorded dialogue of the Buddha, where someone asked him if anything survives after death, and the Buddha said that this is not an important question: what is important, he said, was to understand the way of freedom from suffering. Clearly, no-self was far more important to the Buddha than reincarnation.
Some scholars say that no-self and reincarnation don't really fit together, and that the Buddha probably only talked about reincarnation because his Indian audience couldn't understand religion if he left it completely out. That may be true, but I don't think we can ever be sure either way. Whether or not the Buddha really cared about rebirth, it is a fact that all forms of Buddhism that have survived until today do carry beliefs about it in one way or another. For myself, rebirth is not an important issue. I may have lived many lifetimes before this one, but I don't have any way of knowing for sure. What I do understand is that I am embraced by Amida, so I don't have to worry about anything bad happening to me after I die. So future reincarnation isn't an issue for me either. With the past and the future taken care of as issues for me, I am enabled to focus on this present lifetime and apply the Dharma to what I can see and understand: the here and now. In the here and now, there is no permanent Jeff that never changes. Instead, this Jeff is always dying (changing from what I was) and being reborn (becoming something new) moment to moment. In the present life, no-self and rebirth are completely intertwined. It is because there is no self that I am reborn every day. If there were some fossilized, permanent Jeff-self, then I would never change and never be able to adapt to life as it comes. If there were no rebirth, I'd be stuck forever as a baby or a surly teenager or a guy who hadn't learned about Buddhism yet. So when I reflect on these things in this way, no-self and rebirth stop being confusing ideas about metaphysics and the afterlife, and instead become sources of gratitude for me. I don't think I've settled the issue of no-self vs. reincarnation in this short essay. Ultimately, each person has to come to a balanced understanding of their own. But in sharing a little of how I, as one Shinshu follower, have approached these issues, I hope I can point out how others might also fruitfully deal with them. I am not sad that I have no permanent soul, that everything changes, and that I'm always being recreated day by day. It is these facts that offer me some hope of living the way of nembutsu. Often I am overwhelmed by all the stress and responsibility in my life. But I am not permanently stressed or overwhelmed. Just as often, a sudden moment comes when I wake up to all the forces that are supporting me in every situation, and I am reborn as a thankful person who can't help saying Namu Amida Butsu! And then I am grateful that I am able to change from my self-obsession toward a more Buddhist attitude. So, in this way, rebirth is important to me after all. Whenever we turn away from self-centeredness we are born once again in the Pure Land. Namu Amida Butsu.
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Reflections for July/August 2007
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
On the first page of The Old Man and the Sea, Ernest Hemingway describes how the tattered sail of the fisherman looked like the flag of permanent defeat. That's an evocative phrase that has stayed with me long after I finished reading the book. In some ways, I think it applies to Jodo Shinshu Buddhism.
To me, our o-kesas are our flags of permanent defeat. When you slip the o-kesa over your head and go before Amida Buddha, you are acknowledging that your own power is never enough to get by. You are permanently defeated. Even the o-kesa itself seems to signal this defeat. Once upon a time the o-kesa was the full robe worn by Buddha's disciples, who were celibate monks and nuns striving mightily to free themselves from samsara. But over time the robe has shrunk until it is just this little strip of cloth, incapable of protecting us from the elements or hiding our nakedness. From holy monks we have devolved into ordinary foolish laypeople, fully exposed for what we are.
And yet, it is at the moment of permanent defeat that we are enabled to win. When we truly give up on trying futilely to become Buddha through our own limited efforts, we discover that Buddha has always been embracing us. It is like the fisherman in Hemingway's story. He hoisted the flag of permanent defeat, even as he set out once again to wrestle a living from the sea. That very sail, tattered and defeated, carried him out to the deep ocean waters, where great fishes silently swim. With the wind, the sail, the waters, and everything coming together, he was able to hook a fish and fulfill his destiny as a fisherman. He still put in his share of the work, yet his efforts were only fruitful because of all the other factors that allowed his efforts to succeed.
Jodo Shinshu is the Buddhism of permanent defeat. That isn't something to celebrate or take pride in. We are only special in the way we have come to realize that we aren't going to reach the goal on our own, that our defeat is permanent, part of our nature, and existed before we even tried. It is by accepting the permanency of our defeat that we become aware of another avenue to the finish line, of the possibility that, odd as it may seem at first, defeat leads to victory when it causes us to relax back into our natural state and simply let Other Power, like the calm but relentless winds and tides, carry us to our destination. And when surrender has been declared, strangely enough, we are enabled to go forward and live our lives as Buddhists in gratitude, seeking to do good and walk the path without fears of winning or losing.
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Reflections for May 2007
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
There are many famous writings in Jodo Shinshu Buddhism, but among them there are a few that we return to time and again throughout our lives. One of these is Rennyo's letter on white ashes, in his collection Gobunsho. I remember thinking it was rather depressing the first time I read it, but over the years it has slowly unfolded for me as it came to have ever more relevance and meaning in my life. One way that we can identify those enduring Shin classics is in how they continue to provide us with fresh insights even when we were sure we understood them. So it is with White Ashes, which hides amazing depths in its short few sentences.
Normally, White Ashes is read as a meditation on our own mortality and impermanence, as suggested by the use of the pronoun we when rendering it into English. In the morning we may have rosy cheeks; in the evening we may become white ashes. We is inclusive and suggests that the reader is to imagine him or herself becoming white ashes by the end of the day. Therefore, you should not take your life lightly, but live in gratitude and say the nembutsu. This is how I always understood it up until recently.
As many of you know, my son was born at the end of January. As it turned out, the delivery was extremely difficult. My wife was severely injured and faced death, and though the baby seemed alright, it was impossible to tell if there might be something wrong with him resulting from all the labor. What was supposed to be the best day of our lives was turning into the very worst.
On the second day, I was tired of the hospital food and felt that I wanted to get outside for a little while. So I walked down the street and ate in a restaurant. After about forty-five minutes, I started back to the hospital. As I walked, I thought about how I didn't know what was going on back in the intensive care unit. It was quite possible that while I was out, my wife or son or both had passed away. Although I was in good health and had just had an enjoyable meal, circumstances might have already occurred that would ensure that in a few moments I would be miserable. The rosy cheeks of my wife or baby might already be white as ash.
It was then that I realized that Rennyo's message has two sides. It isn't enough to realize our own mortality and try to live thankfully for the time we have. We also have to be brutally aware of the impermanence of everything we love, and live in such a way that we never take them for granted. Truly, I think it would be easier for me to die in peace than it would be to go on living after the death of my loved ones. But regardless of my feelings, everyone I care for will disappear eventually. As Rennyo wrote, Those who depart before us are as countless as drops of dew. Now I wonder if this wasn't an even more important point for Rennyo, who lived a long life while watching wife after wife and child after child die. As a person of shinjin, he knew that if he were white ashes in the evening it would merely mean he had returned to his natural home in the Pure Land. But as the survivor of so much loss, he was deeply aware that those left behind are the ones who bear the full burden of mortality.
I did not quicken my pace as these thoughts came to me. If my wife and son had already passed, what could I do? Instead, I just chanted nembutsu softly as I walked along Wilshire back toward the hospital. For the years my wife had given me and the hours received from my son, I was grateful. And whether I found them living or dead when I arrived, I would have to be grateful now and each day forward, or else lose the chance to show them how much they meant to me.
Mother and baby are fine now and we are all happy. But White Ashes has changed for me. Now when I read it I am reminded not only of my own mortality but that of others as well, and I realize that truly we live in a universe of white ashes, where everything is already on its way to destruction. I can do nothing to stop this. But today, right now, my wife, baby, and I have rosy cheeks, and I can say the nembutsu in joy and gratitude not only for the time I am allowed with them, but also the time they are allowed with me.
Namu Amida Butsu.
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Reflections for March 2007
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
Senator Tim Johnson of South Dakota had to have emergency brain surgery in December. If Johnson, a Democrat, had died or had to resign, the Republican governor of South Dakota would have appointed a Republican to take his place, and just like that the Republicans would have snatched the Senate back from the Democrats who had won it in the November election.
Although I am not affiliated with either party, I have been displeased with how the Republicans ran the country when they controlled the White House and the Congress. So I was glad to see the Democrats gain the Congress and offer some balance to our government. I hope this will lead to a resolution of the Iraq quagmire, bring more compassion and sense back to our domestic policies, and less corruption. That's not really the point of my reflection, however. What I really want to talk about is how difficult it is for us to really be good in the way that the Buddha asks of us. Senator Johnson's situation reminded me of this point, which is central to Shinran's thought.
What if the situation had been reversed? If Johnson had been a Republican with a Democratic governor, and his death would have been the key to usher in a Democratic Senate, how would I have felt?
As much as I wish to deny it, I believe that in my heart I would have hoped for Johnson to die from a brain hemorrhage.
This is really a terrible fact about human nature. Even though people suffer and die because of bad policies, that really doesn't excuse the desire for a man to drop dead and leave his family traumatized just before Christmas. I am sure many Republicans hoped for just that outcome, even if they wouldn't admit it to others (or themselves). But how can I blame them? Although this is an awful way to be, I too am like this.
And I think most people, Buddhist or otherwise, are likewise like this. No matter how much meditation or chanting or other practices you do, your first reaction in such situations is probably always going to be for self benefit before the benefit of others. The Buddha wanted us to purify our hearts and learn to look with com-passion and equanimity toward all people, friends and enemies. It is a beautiful goal and one we should strive for, but we fool ourselves if we think we can fully achieve it. We can move from more bad to less bad, but as Shinran puts it, we will never really know good in the way that Amida knows good.
That gap between our best effort toward goodness and real goodness is not small. It is not within our power to bridge this gap, just as nirvana cannot be reached by a being who is fundamentally self-attached and full of blind passions.
When I encounter that chasm between the good person that I want to be, and the foolish being I really am and always will be, I am moved to say Namu Amida Butsu. It is a nembutsu of regret and apology, of acknowledgement of how life is, but also still of gratitude. Because while Buddhism urges me to be the best I can be toward others, it doesn't demand that I do the impossible. We are not rejected for falling short. When our efforts do fail, Amida nonetheless embraces us. In Other Power there is never abandonment.
And strange as it may sound, it is also a nembutsu of gratitude for being less than perfect. If I was truly able to overcome my self-interest and think only of others, then I would be cut off from the rest of humanity who cannot achieve this Herculean task. Being imperfect keeps me on a level with everyone else, and means that we can all enter the Pure Land together with one another, rather than the rare exceptions leaving the rest of the pack far behind to suffer. Even if I don't agree with the Republicans (or many Democrats, for that matter), I don't want to enjoy happiness while they suffer. I will only be happy when all of us fellow deluded beings can be at peace and awaken as one. So for the ultimate reconciliation of all beings in the Pure Land, I say Namu Amida Butsu in thanks.
Reflections for January 2007
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
This year, I spent Thanksgiving with my wife's family in Georgia. I have always thought of Thanksgiving as the most Shin of all American holidays. Not only does it celebrate family and community, it is specifically based on the idea of recognizing our indebtedness and expressing gratitude for the things we receive. Surely this is the heart of Shin Buddhism. Whether you are saying the nembutsu at temple or counting your blessings over a shared turkey dinner, the attitude of Thanksgiving is what we aim for in Buddhism.
Gathering with the family also means that many generations come together in one place. In the past, it was common for multiple generations to live in one household or at least one village. But today we often live separated from much of our family, and these holidays take on extra meaning because children, parents, and grandparents can be with one another. Family is the most natural place for us to learn about indebtedness: even if we can't see the more abstract ways in which all people and things contribute to our lives, we can at least acknowledge the direct effect of parents and ancestors in bringing us into the world and raising us. The separation of family members in the modern world is surely part of the difficulty we have in developing thankful hearts.
When families gather, little dramas naturally play out as well. One of my sisters-in-law is only seven years old, so she is still learning about manners and the way the world works (of course, at thirty-one I too am still learning these things). One big problem she has is with saying thank you. When she receives a present, she is clearly happy, but she has a hard time actually saying thank you in front of other people. It isn't clear whether this is embarrassment, greed, forgetfulness, or what exactly is going on. She got in trouble at one point and was sent to her room, followed by a lecture on thankfulness by her parents.
This incident got me thinking. How do we understand this little girl's lack of gratitude in reference to Shin Buddhism? We often talk about how we need to be thankful to Amida and that it is the heart of entrusting, the grateful heart, that leads to our birth in the Pure Land. If my sister-in-law never learns to be grateful, will she be forever shut out of the Pure Land?
In my understanding, even an ungrateful person will be born in the Pure Land. Amida accepts us just as we are, even when we don't accept ourselves or others find us unacceptable. As Shinran noted, Amida knows us as persons deeply sunk in delusion and attachment, yet allows us to ride on the power of the Primal Vow all the same. Shinran affirmed that even murderers will be accepted into the Pure Land, so surely the ungrateful will be too.
Yet, this doesn't take away the necessity for gratitude. Let us look again at the situation of the little girl. She is ungrateful, but nevertheless she is embraced by great compassion. Other Power works to awaken her, through the voice of her parents, teachers, and friends. She will not be abandoned. But while she persists in being ungrateful, she is harming herself. Stuck in a self-centered mindset that greedily wants things but doesn't want to acknowledge the source of her benefit, she is closed-off from the very human connections that seek to share love and happiness with her. She thinks of herself as a solitary unit, missing the joy of her interconnection with others. Her refusal to say thank you hurts the feelings of people who care for her, and worries those entrusted to be her guides. She is only able to enjoy one half of her presents: the things themselves. She cannot enjoy the other, better half: the joy of the receiving itself, which is only felt to its utmost by the open heart of thankfulness. In short, her life is worse off because she cannot manifest a grateful heart.
Sometimes people talk about Pure Land Buddhism as being other-worldly. But to me, it is heavily oriented toward this world. The other world is already taken care of completely by Other Power; there is nothing that we have to do in relation to the next life. In fact, there is nothing at all we can do, since our birth in the Pure Land and return to this world to help others rests solely on the Primal Vow. That means that Shin Buddhism is fundamentally concerned with our lives right now, in this situation, dealing with our troubled experiences before the release of nirvana after death. When we are implored to be grateful, I do not understand it as the key to attaining a reward after death. To me, it means the key to being happy in this very life. It is possible to live a long life without ever learning to be thankful, but it hardly seems like a real life to me. The true and real life is only touched when we wake up to our fundamental indebtedness and learn to live a life that makes every day Thanksgiving.
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Reflections for December 2006
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
Perhaps if I had only one word to describe what most moves me about the Pure Land tradition, that word would be togetherness. Togetherness is an important concept in Buddhism. It is expressed in the Sutras as the desire to be born together with all beings in Amida's realm. We don't just seek our own salvation we are only happy when we can be born together with all others. No one is left behind by Amida, no one is left out. This is not the sort of world that we live in today, but it does give us something to aspire for. Amida's vows include that all people in his realm will have an appearance of gold, that is, that regardless of what we look like we will all be highly valued. This togetherness has a technical term in Pure Land Buddhism: kyosei, co-living or symbiosis.
Specifically, kyosei is the application of born together with all beings to our present, imperfect world. I don't believe that this difficult, stressful world of ours can ever fully become a Pure Land. But the Pure Land is never apart from this world, and we have the ability to work toward a better approximation of it here. Thankful for the blessings we receive, we can try to be kinder, more open-minded, and more accepting of one another. And we can work to eliminate barriers between people, so that our togetherness is brought to light and honored.
During my time in Japan I encountered something that seemed to drive home the fundamental heart-feeling of togetherness in Pure Land Buddhism. Chionji is a temple in northeastern Kyoto, belonging to the Jodo Shu school. The temple has a very unusual artifact: the largest nenju (Buddhist rosary) in the world. The nenju is made out of large wooden beads about the size of a person's fist, strung together in a string so long it loops around and around the inside of the large hondo. But the nenju is more than just an incredible artifact—it is also a practice. On the fifteenth of every month, laypeople and priests come together to chant one million nembutsu while holding the nenju as a group.
I was very stirred by this giant nenju and the million nembutsu practice, because to me it symbolizes the deep feeling of Pure Land Buddhism. Everyone, monk and lay, gathers with one another and holds onto the nenju thus they are all equal and connected. The nenju is a huge circle, so there is no beginning or end to the nembutsu and the people who embody it, and no one higher or lower. Although they each have an individual encounter with the Buddha, they are expressing a wish to be born together. Thus even as they sort out their own birth, they acknowledge the importance of the community and the relationships that they hold dear. This seems like togetherness given concrete form, in a commonly held nenju, in a shared nembutsu chant, and in hearts beating as one in the wish to embody and express our fundamental togetherness.
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Reflections for November 2006
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
During my time in Japan, I was struck by how different Jodo Shinshu is from other forms of Japanese Buddhism. In my research, I visited many temples and observed the practices they promote. Especially interesting to me were the charms, amulets, and oracles that seem to be the basic stock-and-trade of every Buddhist sect except Jodo Shinshu. In every country Buddhism has made some accommodation with the mundane wishes of everyday life, providing some sort of magic to influence the cosmic forces of luck and fortune. But Jodo Shinshu alone refuses to make money off selling omamori, omikuji, and similar talismans, such as the traffic-safety and good grades trinkets found everywhere in Japan.
The difference was brought home to me most forcefully in a Buddhist cemetery. Perhaps this is significant, since the graveyard is the central realm of Buddhist practice in Japan, maybe even more than the hondo. As I wandered through a Jodo Shinshu cemetery, I mused on the fact that while the graveyard was large, most of the graves themselves were very similar. There were no statues of bodhisattvas or Buddhas and no toba (the tall wooden plaques found in most Japanese graveyards). Suddenly, in a distant corner, I saw a bunch of toba sticking up. I hurried over, but when I got there, I found a low wall in the way. I was looking over it into another cemetery next to it, belonging to a separate temple. As it turned out, the other temple was Jodo Shu. That other cemetery was full of various bodhisattvas, Buddhas, and deities, with toba of all sizes and charms hanging off many gravestones.
Jodo Shu and Jodo Shinshu are often thought of as very close to one another. Certainly, of all the types of Buddhism, none is more similar to Shin than Jodo Shu. So I think it really says something that the contrast between these two adjoining cemeteries was so stark. On the Jodo Shu side, people were unsure of the fate of their loved ones. Despite practicing the nembutsu, they clearly weren't sure of anyone's future birth. Many different Buddhist saviors were being pleaded to for salvation, toba were being made to send merit to help out people in the afterlife, and all sorts of sundry mantras and other practices were being resorted to out of desperation. Meanwhile, the Jodo Shinshu graveyard simply held memorials for the dead, so that the living could remember them and have some solace. The Shin temple didn't sell anything designed to help out the dead. With faith in Amida, such anxieties were simply settled and no longer an issue.
It is natural for us to want the comfort of magic and charms. Life is a challenge and sometimes the promise of any kind of help is heartening. But it can be a trap too: charms are just paper, cloth, or wood, with no real ability to change our fate. We are privileged to have something much more special, something exceptional in Japan and indeed in Buddhism: assurance of liberation through Other Power, which never abandons us. Whether we buy charms or not, whether we pray to one Buddha or a hundred, whether we are good or bad, it makes no difference. Our birth is settled, and so is that of our loved ones, end of story. In fact, even all those nervous people in other Buddhisms will also be grasped by Other Power as well. 800 years after Shinran, such a realization remains revolutionary in Japanese Buddhism, and in human religion generally. Abandoning fear and anxiety about this world and the next, we should appreciate what a gift we have been given and return our thanks in gratitude with nembutsu and acts of loving-kindness.
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Reflections for October 2006
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
Among Shin Buddhists whom I speak with, some express confusion and doubt about how we can give up self-power and entrust in Other Power. If everything we do is calculated and carries the taint of self-attachment, how can we genuinely perform any action, even the action of giving up on ourselves and relying on Amida Buddha? We can make a show of not doing difficult practices and cultivate a humble face, but all the while we may just be following our deep-seated desires as usual. These are the sort of questions I hear and I think they should be taken seriously. These are real issues for Shin Buddhists.
On a certain level, we should heed these voices of concern. We can indeed use the façade of shinjin as a mask to cover our bonno, which is quite ironic. When we entrust in Other Power, we should not then develop trust in ourselves—while Other Power embraces and supports us, bonno is not extinguished and we should not indulge it thoughtlessly.
But, in my opinion, it is unnecessary to lament over how giving up self-power and choosing to entrust in Other Power can appear to involve elements of self-power and bonno. Rennyo, who is often quite pessimistic (one might say realistic) about the fact of bonno's persistence in all human activities, nonetheless gives us a clue to help us out of this bind. In receiving shinjin, he says, we should simply disregard the fact that we are helpless beings of deep karmic evils and just go ahead and entrust in Amida anyway. Other Power then saves us without any exception: as he puts it, ten out of ten and a hundred out of a hundred.
Just disregard bonno and entrust anyway—it will be effective. That's pretty clear. I think the solution lies in the fact that while we correctly perceive the depths of our bonno, we fail to correctly perceive the vastness of Other Power. Although our bonno is a vexing thing that rules our lives, compared to Other Power it is a speck, it barely even exists. Other Power can easily swat self-powered attachments away. So when we turn to Other Power, even if that turning itself includes some bonno, we are turning toward something that can remove the taint.
It may not even be right to speak of our turning toward Amida. Really, I feel as if I have been made to entrust by something beyond myself, something much larger and wiser. Although I made a decision to become a Shin Buddhist, when I reflect on it that decision was virtually made for me by the many conditions that supported it: the Primal Vow, good teachers and friends, etc. If we can say that there may be bonno in the decision to entrust, we must also say that there is surely Other Power in the decision to entrust. And it seems clear to me which is the stronger of these two forces. So if you're hesitant because you feel the presence of self-power even in the abandoning of self-power, please don't let it stop you. Just disregard bonno and go ahead as Rennyo says.
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Reflections for September 2006
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
There's a show on the Discovery Channel called Dirty Jobs. The premise is that the host goes around visiting people who have really dirty, smelly, messy jobs: plumbers, trash collectors, worm farmers, and so on. He hangs out with them, tries his hand at doing their job (usually poorly), and demonstrates just how awful their jobs are. But the point isn't just to laugh at how miserable these jobs are or to feel glad that we don't have jobs as gross as theirs. The real point of Dirty Jobs is that thousands of people are working everyday at really undesirable jobs so that we can enjoy the relative comfort, hygiene, and convenience of modern life. The host wants us to acknowledge their sacrifices and feel thankful to them for enabling us to live in a way that isn't dirty.
I really admire this show Dirty Jobs. Before I watched it, I didn't have a clear sense for how many factors must come together to allow me to live as well as I do. Sure, I saw the guys haul off the trash and recycling every week from behind my building, and every now and then I had to call a plumber for help. But all the while there were so many people I wasn't aware of who toiled in dirty jobs so that I could eat, enjoy my home, receive electricity, gas, and water, wear decent clothes, and basically do virtually anything and everything that I do.
In Buddhism, these connections between us and other people are called interconnection. The late Shin thinker Kaneko Daiei also used the term inner togetherness. Whether or not we are aware of them, our whole lives exist only because of the existence of other lives. The whole world comes together in my living, which is especially apparent in our modern globalized situation, where I can type this message for an American temple on my Japanese computer while wearing Chinese clothing, eating some Italian food (probably prepared by Mexicans), and listening to music from Africa.
When we think of interconnection, sometimes we tend to think of the amazing aspects, like eating food and listening to music from another part of the world. But there are also the very mundane or even unappealing aspects as well. Interconnection means that I can have a clean job (such as being a teacher) only because someone else has a dirty job (hauling away my trash) that supports me. Even if we aren't aware of it, what those people are doing affects us. Interconnection also means that even if we aren't aware of it, what we do impacts others too. Somehow, on some level, what I do affects the violence in the Middle East, the homeless people down on Skid Row, the migrants working in the fields, and everyone else. We all share this inner togetherness.
For me, an important part of Buddhism is waking up to the myriad ways in which I am interconnected with others. When shows like Dirty Jobs reveal to me my indebtedness, I feel humbled and thankful. Then, I try my best to act in ways that will make positive contributions to everyone who shares this inner togetherness with me. Just as a limited being such as myself can't know all the factors that support my life, I can't know what impact I am continually having on others. But to the extent that I am awakened to the presence of others—known and unknown—enabling me to live, I can work at returning a small portion of that gift with compassion and gratitude.
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Reflections for July/August 2006
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
Late last year, my Grandpa died, and just recently my Great Aunt Eula Belle passed away. She was the baby in the family—in fact, she was often just called Aunt Baby—though she was already in her 90s when she died. But she had three older siblings, so even at her advanced age she still couldn't escape being Aunt Baby. Her siblings—my grandmother, my Great Aunt Mineola, and my Great Uncle Brother (the only boy)—all died within the last few years. Their deaths bring to a close an epic chapter in the history of my family, and leave me without some of the most important touchstones of my life and identity. I am saddened by the loss of these family giants. And yet, as I reflect on the situation, I find that I am moved to gratitude for the fact of death amidst the wonder of life.
Shakyamuni Buddha identified death as one of the four great causes of suffering in the world. The others are birth (because it leads to the pains we experience in life), sickness, and old age. I'm certainly not going to argue with the Buddha—death is a cause of great misery. Among those left behind, we feel bereft and broken, and are often financially or otherwise imperiled by the death of another. For the dead, the process of dying itself is often tremendously hard: our primal animal self-attachment usually refuses to give up life, dragging out the inevitable. And for all of us, the worry of death—our own and that of those we care for—stains this already often difficult life.
But there is another side to death as well. We could not enjoy life without death—life exists only because of death. All living things survive on the death of countless others: from the animals consumed for meat to the plants that push their roots deep into the soil that has been fertilized by the decomposed beings that came before. Death is the necessary ingredient that sustains life, recycling precious nutrients and making room for new generations. As much as I miss them, the elder generation of my family enjoyed more than 450 years of life collectively, and had they continued indefinitely it would have removed scarce resources from the mouths of the young. So too, when it is my time to go to the Pure Land, I hope to die well and clear some space for the fresh ones coming behind me. If I don't die someday, I will rob them of resources which I am only borrowing for a time. So somehow when I say Namu Amida Butsu out of gratitude for all I receive, I have to include thankfulness for death along with thankfulness for life. Otherwise, my gratitude is incomplete. Namu life, Namu death, Namu ALL that sustains me and everything that lives and dies.
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Reflections for June 2006
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
I once heard a story that summed up the difference between the Path of Sages and the Path of Pure Land. Long ago, a rural village in Japan decided to build a temple and invite a Buddhist monk to come and minister to them. There were two applicants who seemed qualified, so the village decided to put them to a test in order to determine which one would be their new spiritual leader.
In the middle of the village two gigantic iron pots were set up and a fire was lit under each one, bringing the water inside to a boil. Then the two applicants were asked what they would do with the pots to prove their worthiness. The first monk was an advanced Zen meditator. Without batting an eye, he calmly climbed into the first pot, which reached up to his neck. Unaffected by the boiling water, the monk meditated for hours. The villagers were amazed and impressed—here was a monk who truly had amazing powers.
The second applicant was a Shin priest. He didn't have impressive robes like the Zen monk, and he didn't even shave his head. Everyone wondered how he could possibly do better than the first man, especially since while the Zen monk had been quietly preparing himself for his intense meditation, the Shin priest had just been chatting casually with the villagers, asking about their families and how the harvest was going. But when his turn came, the Shin priest gave a big smile and walked up to the second boiling pot. Quick! he called out. Bring me some vegetables and salt! Puzzled, the villagers gave him what he requested. Whistling to himself, the Shin priest chopped up the veggies and threw them in the pot with the salt. After a while he called out, Soup's ready! He served the whole village supper from the big pot, and talked with them late into the night about their hopes and fears, offering advice and telling them to take comfort in Amida's never-abandoning compassion. In the morning, the villagers thanked the Zen monk for coming and asked the Shin priest to stay and minister to their village.
Here we see an important difference between Shin and other types of Buddhism. The self-powered Zen monk was a very impressive meditator, and doubtless he knew the Sutras well and faithfully followed the precepts. With his powers he could maintain mental clarity in any situation, and he probably generated lots of merit that could be dedicated to the deceased members of the village.
The Shin priest, on the other hand, had no special powers. Instead, his approach was to meet ordinary people where they were and see what their everyday needs were. He demonstrated the principle of compassion by feeding everyone and bringing the community together to share and support each other. He didn't need to accumulate merit because he knew that he and the other villagers would all be embraced by Amida and be born in the Pure Land just as they were. In the end, this was a Buddhist teaching which didn't separate the good and the skilled from the rest of the community. I'm grateful that today we still have Shin priests whose concern is not just their own nirvana, but the liberation of everyone.
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Reflections for May 2006
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
There is a beautiful term that appears in the Visualization of Amida Sutra (the Kanmuryojukyo). According to the text, when Shakyamuni Buddha revealed the presence of the Pure Land and that all one had to do to go there was to call Amida's name, Queen Vaidehi was wonderstruck. What a lyrical way to express our first amazement at encountering the Primal Vow and the great compassion of Other Power. Truly, there is something wondrous and striking about the discovery that Amida offers us freedom and ease despite all our shortcomings.
There are many things in my life which fill me with wonder and awe. Sometimes it is the beauty of nature when I'm out hiking in Topanga Canyon or Will Rogers State Park. The scenery is breathtaking and the harmony of the natural world just beyond our crazy chaotic city is humbling—it's easy to understand why Shakyamuni uses descriptions of lovely trees, streams, and birds to evoke the Pure Land for Vaidehi. Other times people I know or read about strike me with wonder, when I learn about the hardships they've managed to overcome or the good things they've done for one another. Although this is a difficult world with many problems, there are many people who try to make it a better place for us to live in. And sometimes wonder strikes me just at the realization that I am alive and breathing, and that my life is upheld by the uncountable actions of so many people, beings, and things. The whole world comes together to enable our lives in each moment—surely this is some sort of miracle.
Whenever I wake up for a moment to the infinite support of others, I feel wonderstruck. Like Vaidehi, suffering in her prison, I feel suddenly released for a moment from my problems and given a glimpse of true and real life. Without a thought, Namu Amida Butsu pops out. Even in the toil of our daily routines, life offers us many opportunities to wonder and give thanks. I hope that we can all remain open to the call of Amida in each moment of wonder.
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Reflections for April 2006
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
My family comes from Texas, a proudly unusual state that used to be its own separate country. Besides being the birthplace of the Lone Ranger, the Dallas Cowboys, and, yes, George W. Bush, Texas has its own cultural holidays. My favorite one has always been Juneteenth. Now when I think about it, Juneteenth seems to reflect the central liberating truths of Jodo Shinshu Buddhism.
Juneteenth celebrates the day when Texas' slaves learned that they had been freed. The Emancipation Proclamation legally set them free on January 1, 1863. However, for some reason the Texan slaveholders neglected to tell their slaves about this development. . . Therefore the slaves continued laboring and suffering for several more years. Finally, on June 19, 1865, an American general sailed into Galveston and announced that legal slavery had been abolished. Huge celebrations broke out amongst the freed slaves, and for 140 years since there have been annual memorial observances commemorating this event, known nowadays as Juneteenth.
We're just like those poor men and women in Texas before they heard the announcement. They were free, but they didn't know it, and therefore they kept working and suffering. Then someone told them that they were free, that they had been free all along, and when they trusted this amazing proclamation they felt the bonds fall off and disappear. Just so, Amida's Vow—his Emancipation Proclamation—freed us long ago, but we don't realize it, and we continue to toil and suffer in the endless cycle of samsara. Then, one day we hear about Amida's actions on our behalf, and we are filled with awe and gratitude.
When we awaken to the operation of Other Power in our lives, nothing really changes. We don't receive freedom from our foolishness—we discover that this freedom already existed, but we just didn't know it. Amida was always embracing us and the Pure Land was always present, but we didn't realize it. It's a cause for celebration just like that which broke out on Juneteenth all those years ago—as the Larger Pure Land Sutra says, we feel like leaping and dancing with joy. We celebrate by saying nembutsu, and from then on the Name reminds us of that unexpected gift of freedom. Namu Amida Butsu.
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Reflections for March 2006
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
A question came up in the Thursday afternoon study class which I have heard other Buddhists ask before. Rev. Usuki mentioned the common Buddhist understanding that all beings have Buddha-nature. Someone then asked, Did Hitler have Buddha-nature? At first this might seem like a clichéd question. But actually, it is vitally important. Could someone as evil as Adolf Hitler have Buddha-nature? Wasn't he obviously beyond the possibility of redemption, to say nothing of the potential to become a Buddha? The core of this question is even more important: are there some people whom Amida cannot or will not liberate from samsara? This question concerns the most central truths of Jodo Shinshu Buddhism.
Shinran is pretty explicit on this point. As he says in Kyogyoshinsho, Among all human beings and even insects that leap or worms that crawl, there is none that does not see Amida Buddha's light. All human beings, Hitler included. Even worms. That's about as clear as you could want it. Amida's light reaches all beings. That means Hitler, Osama bin Laden, Jeffrey Dahmer, your least favorite politicians, Bill O'Reilly, everybody. No matter how evil or deluded a person is, they are still within the reach of Amida's light. They may not perceive it now, but ultimately they will awaken to the way of the Buddha.
There's something else which Shinran said in Kyogyoshinsho that seems relevant to this question. In their selfless love, these incarnated ones—Devadatta, Ajatasatru, Vaidehi—all aspired to save the multitudes of beings from pain and affliction, and in his compassion, Sakyamuni, the great hero, sought indeed to bless those committing the five grave offenses, those slandering the dharma, and those lacking the seed of Buddhahood. First, we see here that Shinran considered Devadatta and Ajatasatru, two of the most evil persons in the Buddhist records, to be bodhisattvas in disguise. Their seemingly evil acts led directly to Sakyamuni Buddha teaching the Contemplation Sutra (Kanmuryojukyo), in which for the first time the idea that even a single utterance of nembutsu is sufficient is taught. I'm not saying that Hitler was a bodhisattva, but sometimes someone who seems evil or bad to us may end up being of benefit, and that's worth keeping in mind. Secondly, these teachings were designed to bless those who were hopelessly evil and even those who allegedly lacked Buddha-nature.
That's powerful stuff. Most religions divide humanity into two categories: those who can/will be saved and those who won't. This has led to tremendous suffering in human history. But for Shin Buddhists, there is only one category of people: those who, like us, are foolish beings, yet who also, like us, will be awakened to Buddhahood by Amida. Namu Amida Butsu.
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Reflections for February 2006
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
In Tannisho, Shinran writes that he has never once said the nembutsu for the sake of his mother or father. This is the sort of statement that is easily misunderstood if taken out of context. Didn't Shinran love his parents? What kind of ungrateful son was he? Actually, Shinran is trying to teach us the true nature of the nembutsu, and in the process he teaches the true nature of parenthood as well.
Before Shinran's time, the nembutsu was always seen as doing something. People chanted nembutsu to ward off ghosts, or to make it rain, or to get Amida's attention so he would take them to the Pure Land. Often people chanted nembutsu for the sake of their parents—they believed that saying the nembutsu built up a store of good karma, which could be dedicated to their parents so they would be reborn in the Pure Land.
But Shinran changed how people thought about nembutsu. He taught that saying the nembutsu didn't do anything. Rather, the nembutsu expresses something that has already been done: Amida has already guaranteed that we will go to the Pure Land, so our nembutsu is an expression of joy and gratitude at this gift. This is the true nembutsu, the nembutsu of sincere thankfulness, according to Shinran. As I understand it, we don't need to say nembutsu for the sake of our parents, because Amida has already taken care of them.
Like Shinran, I don't say the nembutsu for the sake of my parents, but I do often say the nembutsu because of my parents. When I reflect on how much care and attention they have given me, as a child and even now as an adult, I am moved to say nembutsu. In the same passage, Shinran also points out that because we have been revolving in the wheel of life for countless eons, all creatures have been our mothers and fathers at some point. This is something amazing to think about. When I meditate on how all beings have been my parents, and that even now all beings and things together contribute to my life in so many unacknowledged ways, I feel deep gratitude toward everyone and everything. And I am grateful to Shinran for pointing out to me a way to express my thankful feelings, through Namu Amida Butsu.
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(Editor's note: Jeff has just returned to Los Angeles from his stay in Kyoto for research on his PhD thesis topic. He is now busily writing the remaining chapters of his thesis.)
© 2008 West Los Angeles Buddhist Temple Online
