THE DANGER OF RELIGION

The Danger of Religion

We must be very careful of the understandings we take from scriptures and any author and our own for that matter. Inducted thinking can be misleading.

If we believe the Aggañña Suttaṃ, evolution of the human race are inextricably linked to ethical behaviour. The Aggañña says, kamma, cause and effect due to volition, operates not only at the level of the individual, but it also drives the evolution of humans, animals, vegetable life and the fundamental physics of the planet. This suggests that if the human race changes what it thinks, it can consciously determine the evolution of the planet, and all on it, for the better.

This may seem like a sweet, harmless concept, but it can still give rise to some dangerous dogma. It follows from this nice idea that responsible government should impose renunciative values upon society. And, why not, what is there to lose? Except that history is littered with dire consequences, as a result of enforcing spiritual value and practices upon others. The Spanish Inquisition, for example, spent nearly a decade perpetrating widespread punishment upon individuals, and even declared war on England and Holland. Today Islamic sharia punishment includes public stoning, floggings, amputations (fingers, hands, feet, noses, eyes and teeth), decapitation, defenestration and lynching¹. These punishments may be for as little as wearing nail varnish, not wearing a head covering, adultery, blasphemy and homosexuality. Yet who would disagree with ethical standards being maintained?

So, what’s making the difference to spiritual practice? The difference is that a true spiritual practice, that is the values followed, are for the mastering of oneself, whereas the organisation of spiritual values is used to master others. One is seeking to be lord of himself, while the other is seeking to lord it over others.

Forcing renunciative practices on others is religious, and religion is particular cause of manmade suffering. The urbanite has fundamentally different motivations and functions to the renunciant. The function of renunciation is to escape existence, not determine it.

Monotheistic religions are focused on hierarchy, hedonism and eternity, which make ideal bedfellows for feudalism. Historically, monotheism has served the plutocrat well. He wants everyone in society to serve him first, and will have his pound of flesh, whether he has to impose taxes or chop off the hands.

Neither renunciation nor monotheism can provide a basis for democratic society. Neither are able to preserve the principle of proportionality. Society should not be directed by those who seek an end to existence, nor those who believe, or pretend, they are the voice of God-almighty.

A democratically evolved society is a far better instrument for moderating urban behaviour. An ideal democracy is directed by compassion, sustainability and equity. It calls upon its denizens to voluntarily practice a communal level of selflessness, where everyone shares in the work of maintaining and developing standards, evolved through case law and precedent.

We can listen to our own hearts, as distinct from the voice of someone else’s authority in the head. Your potential to look after your own spiritual welfare far, far surpasses anything anyone else can achieve.

The reasonable conclusions that follow do not necessarily negate all that falls under Mahayanaism. There has to be at least some truth for something have some credibility. After all, who cares where you get your wisdom from, as long as it is good?

Community Life – A Warning

The wisdom in this book warns of bringing intensive renunciative practices into an urban environment, other than briefly, and under suitable conditions. Other than this, an urbanite well follows the maxim: moderation in all things. Alternatively, a meditation retreat is a safe way to increase the rigour of one’s practice temporarily. There is also something called the community life, which I feel compelled to warn the reader about.

Firstly, we should distinguish community life from a meditation retreat. Meditation retreats are safe because they are short, conducted in silence, and behaviours and activities are restricted and timetabled. A meditation retreat is a tightly run ship. The retreatant would not excel himself otherwise. Community life on the other hand is a half-way house between urban living and a dedicated renunciative environment. Be warned! This is not a happy compromise. In fact, it is confused and conduces to confusion.

I am going to keep this discussion short and direct, as I want to get the message across in an uncomplicated way. It is very important the reader understands, communities are notoriously difficult environments. Community life contains no shortage of overly zealous and religionist company who see others as subordinate, and no shortage of mischievous company that enjoys demeaning others.

It is no exaggeration when I warn that mischievousness is dangerous for those making a sincere renunciant effort. This is because a renunciant community is a necessarily sparse environment. The idea is to restrict ordinary self-expression, which in turn requires the inmate to manage his energies more directly. This makes inmates very sensitive. It also makes the mischievous and those with executive power all the more tempted to behave insidiously².

It should be understood, most people cannot handle prolonged sensuous restriction. This is largely due to a lack of rightly enlightened teachers/leaders able to convey the purpose and perspective of the Buddha-Dhamma, along with that which is difficult to teach, and which should be taught, regardless of how poignant it sounds.

I have never known the Dhamma get taught to satisfaction, other than to make an occasion out of an event, such as Uposatha day. But this is far too little and too infrequent for practical purposes, let alone reveal that which is difficult to understand.

Compound a lack of insight with mischievousness and hierarchy, and the worst of cultish behaviour is often passed off as normalcy. I have known some centres require residents to sit cross-legged on the floor, literally looking up the nostrils of community leaders who would sit on chairs. Residents often found themselves interrogated on the most personal of issues, by someone with the demeanour of a military officer interrogating a prisoner of war. This is not an exaggeration. It is an appalling practice imported from the East, of which I say has no place in the western practice. It is the worst kind of management and an insidious way some people get themselves worshipped. Bear in mind this attitude is likely supported by religious zeal.

People who do not show deference to the hierarchy are made to feel so uncomfortable they leave. Verbal daggers, the evil eye, and intimidating body language, and even physical abuse, are common practice in my experience. I have even seen people physically thrown out of centres.

The sincere inmate must be very careful of being exposed to prolonged negativity. The combination of feeling sensitive due to your practice and living in an emotionally toxic environment, is not only acutely painful, but can cause a serious loss of self-esteem and even long-term psychological damage. Without a real appreciation of the subtle power of psycho-physical chemistry and human psychology, the renunciative environment invariably becomes evil. Be of no doubt, you will not be able to vipassanā-your-way around this. The mischievous have no intentions of allowing that to happen, and their appetite for glee at another’s expense knows no boundaries.

Since the late 70s, I have gotten to know more than half a dozen Buddhist groups, as well as groups with similar credos. Amongst these were three, unrelated, international Buddhist initiatives, between whom I spent around 18 months in residence. I estimate the suicide rate to be at least 35 times, and as much as 70 times, higher in these communities, compared to the rest of my adult urban life³.

I have seen many people left deeply hurt, spiritual aspirations destroyed, left full of resent, hate, depression, and psychologically damaged for the long term, because of the emotional toxicity of community life⁴ and confusion regarding the true values of Buddhism. Most long-term inmates become offensive or predatory types, if they weren’t already, in order to avoid becoming a victim. The logic being; either I make you suffer, or I risk becoming your victim. All humans have some propensity to go this way. It is part of our primitive survival mechanism. Even so, it is still socially gross, and buddhistically unskilful. It is clinging to life. It is a failure/refusal to self-transcend.

There is no wondering why the Buddha commended solitude.

The renunciant life is never escapist and a community has to be capable of self-criticism. This alone is enough to put one’s defence mechanism on alert. Even so, this is no excuse for poor social skills, let alone mischievousness. All inmates rightly expect a caring and supportive environment. The Buddha could not have been more explicit. Beautiful friendship, beautiful association and beautiful intimacy, is all of the spiritual life (SN V 2).

But beautiful friendship, beautiful association and beautiful intimacy does not mean the renunciant life is a substitute for family and friends. These qualities are, as one would expect of the renunciant environment, still acts of self-effacement. Putting yourself second for the benefit of others is selflessness. Hence, those that do make a sincere effort to renounce selfishness are vulnerable.

These sentiments are not vehicles for gushing emotion however positive one might feel. Beautiful friendship, beautiful association and beautiful intimacy can only be beautiful if there is reciprocation. Practiced mindlessly, they leave one susceptible to contempt from the immature and mischievous. There must be reciprocation from all parties. If there is no reciprocation, the Buddhist solution is not to give as good as you get; better to leave.

Do not expect an appeal to fair mindedness to win the day in a toxic community. The mischievous have no intentions of playing it straight.

All centres and viharas I have gotten to know, were compromised by urban comforts. In one town wat in London’s East End, I found Thai monks had satellite TV, mobile phones and laptop computers. The last Theravada monastery I visited in England had purpose built cottages, one for the head monk, and one for the head sister. The senior monks took themselves off to California at least once a year. I assumed the lesser monks had to make do with the 250cc quad-bike they had acquired. I noticed a lot of dana got poorly utilised and even wasted. They were of course more blaggards than bhikkhus. They certainly failed the test for a bhikkhu dependant on one source of alms.

Seniority in the Saṅgha was once based on time served. This was possible because life as a bhikkhu was so simple. But not so today in a meditation centre or monastery. Some are more like small towns. It is not possible for a senior monk who knows nothing about plumbing to advice an experienced plumber. This logic applies to electrics, catering, laundry, heating, gardening and maintenance. What was once a very simple hierarchy in the ancient Saṅgha, is now a very different social structure amid the complexity. Institutionalisation, power, and prestige have made long-term residential life a fight not to end up at the bottom⁵ of a pecking order. Woe betides the person at the bottom of the hierarchy, and that is usually the newcomer. Complex living environments preclude the renunciant effort.

Here are a few personal examples of unnecessary and unacceptable treatment I have been subjected to. While in one long-term residence in a community and worker’s co-operative of around 20 men, I was subjected to Cunda’s punishment (no one talks to you). I was also prevented from eating for several days. As we were not paid, I could not buy food. I was also punched and kicked. This story is too lengthy to complete here, so I will simply add, the inmate who left on my arrival, and whose bed I took over, shortly after committed suicide.

In the Town wat I got to know, one monk admitted he and the head monk practiced sending, not metta’ but ill will towards me during meditations. I suspected they were doing this because I felt it, and instinctively touched the floor with my right hand, as did the Buddha in the fable of his enlightenment under the Bodhi tree. I suspect this evil practice is common in Saṅgha communities, as a similar experience happened to me while staying in a monastery (again it was Thai).

After agreeing to help on a meditation retreat for one Buddhist inspired centre, and travelling nearly 100 miles to get there, I was told to leave. Apparently, their email system was at fault and they didn’t need me. That night was the worst fall of snow in the UK for over 50 years. The next day, my bus home was not until the late afternoon, yet the manageress would not let me wait in the centre. I spent 8 hours trying to keep warm until public transport restarted.

While leaving the centre of one latter-day Chinese-Tibetan sect one evening, two women in a car tried to knock me off my bicycle. The car came diagonally across the road at me⁶. I was alerted to the oncoming vehicle by the screams of pedestrians. The following week, at the centre I was asked by a community leader if something awful had happened to me the previous week while travelling home, “something really awful”. They obviously knew about it, and yet I was miles away from the centre when the incident happened, and I had mentioned it to no one.

The reader should not think I am a miscreant character. I always made sure I was scrupulously behaved, as a visitor and resident and always worked hard supporting the community. But there in was my Achilles heel. Propriety means little to the mischievous. A group of ordinary humans is not unlike a pack of dogs or wolves. They are always testing each other for a place in the hierarchy. Hence, good behaviour and hard work will not protect an inmate. Survival depends on knowing one’s place in the pack. Once this survival instinct takes over, and the renunciative effort is long gone.

There is also another problem that starts at the very conception of a group or institution. Any group with an ambition necessarily puts its own existence first. Any associate that doesn’t respect this, isn’t an associate for long. Anyone who has been to school, had a job, joined the armed forces, been part of any institution, will know that stepping out of line can result in expulsion. This is also true of spiritual groups and institutions. A significant difference is that spiritual groups are not as regulated as public institutions, and this is what makes them so dangerous (sexual abuse, for example, is common wherever there is celibacy).

There is a lot that could be said about the role of survival instinct and social groups. I suggest an integral part of it is formed of an inability to withstand loneliness. Being part of a group is the antidote to loneliness, and a group is never better consolidated and gratified than when it sees off those who are not the same. There is no choice when joining a group; do as everyone else does, whether its ethical or not; otherwise!

Joining any institution, let alone an unethical one, precludes the renunciant effort. Consider the following: “A bhikkhu does not live in association with laypeople (SNIII 22:3, SNI 4:24)”, and why the Buddha was asked, “why don’t you form any intimate ties (SN1:4.24 verse 498).”

The venerable Bhaddali asked the Buddha why it was that in the early days of the Buddha’s ministry there were fewer rules and more enlightened disciples than at the end, when there were many rules and proportionately fewer fully enlightened disciples. The Buddha explained he formulated guidance when circumstances dictated (and only when). He then listed five circumstances why the Saṅgha was becoming full of taints. These were the acquisition of ‘greatness [power*]’, ‘gain’, ‘fame’, ‘learning’, and ‘long standing reputation (MN65:29-31⁷)’. These five qualities do more than collectively describe the circumstances for taints, they also describe the aspirations of institutions and corporations.

All institutions that purport to be renunciative fail to understand that it is not possible to set up and maintain an institution, and renounce the world at the same time. Because an institution must put its own existence first, institutional and renunciative values are oxymoronic.

The reader must not under-estimate the evil people are prepared to perpetrate in the name of their higher authority, cause, or to ascend the hierarchy. No one gets involved with a renunciant community on my recommendation. I would like to write that not all communities are the same, but after getting to know well over half a dozen centres over 35 years, I still have doubts. Nor am I prepared to risk my wellbeing anymore. Urban life and renunciant life mix like night and day. There is a brief twilight, but that is neither good for working in, nor sleeping. Whatever twilight is good for, it doesn’t last long.

Do not turn to the renunciant community to fulfil your need for family or friends. You will not find satisfaction. Those who want more than a meditation retreat, and would still like to explore community life, are advised not to rush into things. Organise brief stays first, and always have the means to leave at the drop of a hat (literally). Do not forget that a true man does not have to wear robes (MN113:20), and conversely, not everyone in robes (or in a community), is a true man.

Those who do find success in community life are warned about bringing the renunciant’s mentality to bear in their urban environment. The urban community will find it offensive.

The Buddha’s Teaching In Summary

The Pāli Canon is not the pristine teaching of the Buddha, but corrupted with Mahāyānaisms. Its sheer size alone raises suspicion. I for one would not be surprised to discover it was still being revised in recent centuries. We should also understand that its cosmology is taken from prevailing beliefs and re-presented in a Nibbānic context. Something which has made life easier for the revisionist.

The Pāli Canon contains many unreasonable faith-based teachings, some of which do more to frighten than enlighten, or cannot be realised (DN19:6). And yet, the Buddha presented the Dhamma as scientific truth, calling it “realisable” and “timeless”. This means, even though the true Dhamma has been obscured by revisionism, it can still be uncovered by empirical investigation. The methodology in this book has evaluated enough context, and identified enough empirical and practical Dhamma for it to be validated for oneself, even if easier said than done.

Despite the revisionism in the Pāli Canon, it is still by far the most fulsome and detailed body of work on renunciative practice and higher psychology in existence.

Comparing the Buddha's teaching with what preceded him helps us appreciate what he had to say all the more. Siddhatta Gotama was born into a society where Brahmanism was the orthodox spiritual paradigm. Homelessness and mendicancy, asceticism, meditation, celibacy, the doctrine of kamma and cyclic rebirth and death, already existed. In order not to be exclusive, he was obliged to teach using the Vedic lexicon he grew up hearing and trained in. But he always qualified what he used, often re-presenting it in the context of his perspective.

This is not unlike a pioneering scientist, who starts with current understandings and then moves things on through his own insights.

Understanding the place of eternity is crucial for distinguishing Buddhism from Brahminism and the Abrahamic faiths. The latter two are founded on eternalism, while Buddhism says nothing is forever. The Brahmin believes in an eternal self, called the atman. The Abrahamist believes eternal life is possible. But the Buddha taught there is no immutable self (SN IV 44:7), nor eternally discreet existence. All is subject to change.

In the Mūlapariyāya Suttaṃ (MN1:9-10), the Buddha refers to Pajapati, the Over Lord of Creation (The Supreme Brahman). By mentioning Pajapati, he was not saying Pajapati exists or does not exist. It would appear he didn’t know either way. He taught, “I wandered through the rounds of countless births, seeking but not finding the builder of this house (Dhammapada, verses 153–54).” He was simply teaching bhikkhus not to identify themselves in terms of Pajapati, which tradition taught was eternal.

Whilst Indra (DN20:21, DN13:25, DN32:10) and a host of other Vedic gods make appearances in Buddhist discourses, they are fleeting in detail. Their function within the Pāli Canon serves primarily to affirm there is an array of qualitatively different levels of existence in the universe. We may never know how much of what we read in the Pāli Canon about the gods and heavens and worlds of woe is an appeal to Brahmins and monotheists. Even so, whilst we might question the fine details, the principle of many echelons of existence is reasonable.

Brahmins believed earth, wind, fire and air were manifestations of gods. Rather than reject this teaching out of hand, the Buddha used these elements for qualitative analysis of the body. He also taught that evils spirits, such as Mara (Maya in the Vedas), were better understood as fable.

Brahmins relied on rituals, spells and incantations to secure their welfare, as well as ethics. The Buddha taught that his teaching must not be treated dogmatically or practiced by rote. It is to be realised; not ritualised. Predictably, the Buddha did not approve of Vedic sacrificial animal slaughter (SN I 3:9. DN 5:18).

Brahmin rishis believed their rituals kept the world and universe in proper working order. This is one level of understanding of the law of kamma⁸. For the Buddha and his contemporary, the head of the Jain sect, cause and effect was a more personal affair. Kamma is cause and effect generated at the level of mind, body and speech. The Buddha taught mind was of primary importance in the generation of kamma, while the Nigaṇṭha held bodily actions were primary (MN56:4). It doesn’t follow that at least one of these is wrong. It depends what one wants, or doesn’t want out of life, that determines how one evaluates anything.

Where one reappears after this life can be fatal or it can be self-determined. Kamma is a fundamental factor in rebirth, but luck can also be involved. Even though it is possible to override both kamma and luck, and reappear where one chooses, this does not mean one is freed from unspent kamma. All kammic seed grows and comes to fruition when the time is right. The Buddha did not expect anyone to match the fruition of kamma to a specific cause.

The Buddha’s wisdom says that by attenuating gross expressions of energy, we refine the energy that we are. Refined energy reappears in a refined place, gross energy in a gross place (other things being equal). Without the renunciant’s wisdom, and efforts, there are few sentient beings who are not reborn in a world of woe. Only the right wisdom and effort can bring the cycle of rebirth and death to an end.

The Vedas taught a person who moderated their life with the ethics of not stealing, not drinking liquor, not killing and no sexual misconduct ‘attains a good world’⁹. The Buddha agreed, although there is a major difference between Brahmins and Buddhists. The Brahmin believes the atman can be freed from karma and rebirth, but still exist in the Brahma Loka. This is the attainment of Moksha and Mukti, also known as Krishna-consciousness. The Buddhist also works towards no more rebirth, and may also spend time in heaven(s), but his freedom from kamma and rebirth is no existence (Parinibbāna).

Brahmins make devotional and worshipful practices out of the Brahma Vihara, which they direct towards an avatar of Brahman. This practice is known as bhakti. By contrast, Buddhists make a very subtle use of the Brahma Vihara sentiments by employing them as nimitta in meditation. They are also used to moderate everyday behaviour and maintain good mental housekeeping.

The chief practice of the Buddhist is not devotion but attenuation of sensuous and mindless living. This is what refines one’s energies and conduces to heaven, nobility and Parinibbāna. The noblest of all Brahma Viharas is equanimity, which is signless meditation. It is unique as it is the only vehicle that can bring about voidness. Voidness has no kammic comeuppance, whereas jhāna and the absorptions are commensurate with some level of existence.

So we see, rather than rejecting the prevailing Vedic wisdoms out of hand, the Buddha re-presented them to serve the renunciant’s endeavour. This is also consistent with his graduated approach as it avoided having to develop new lexicon that would have alienated and lost many.

He did however make one unique claim. He discovered that only signless meditation can bring about Full Liberation (MN122:6), which is always temporary.

Buddhists believe the road to Nibbāna had been lost by humanity, but Siddhatta Gotama was unique in rediscovering it. History confirms he gave new meaning and life to previous renunciant teachings which then spread globally. He produced a teaching that was first and foremost an empirical practice, and recommended a personally graduated approach. This would have contrasted against faith-based theistic teachings of the time, not only because of its empiricism, but because it taught permanent liberation from existence as an additional possibility to damnation and salvation. It is easy to see how he also came to be described as enlightened.

But why would the Buddha teach the path to extinction and why would anyone walk it? The cornerstone premise of the Buddha’s teaching is that life is indivisible from suffering. He also taught the prevailing belief that we live countless lives, and are destined to continue to do so. The conclusion of these two premises is that we stand to endure suffering without foreseeable end. He taught that which we are attached to, is that which attaches us to life and how to sever these fetters. The outcome is not a perfect existence at the highest level of god-consciousness but extinction. This may seem like a grim alternative. But because all is transient, all is unable to offer eternal succour. Only true nothing can reliably extinguish suffering forever.

By reducing the fuel we put on the fire of passion, we can bring it to a point where its energy is too low to power the steam engine that turns the wheel of life. At this point, the renunciant is guaranteed Full Enlightenment within a limited number of lives, if Nibbāna is not realised in this one. However, the Pāli Canon is inconsistent over the number of lives a Noble being might live before Parinibbāna.

Few people are unlikely not to take offense upon first comprehending the Buddha’s message, but nor can it be rightly appreciated without first finding life offensive. Renunciant insight can only be borne from an appreciation of whether life is worth its inherent sorrow. Of course, there are times when we feel life is worth living, and in that moment we want to fuel up the fire. And there are times when we are so unhappy we would prefer the fire to swiftly and simply die out. But running down the fire is not easy, even when you know how.

Renunciation practice is self-denial, which flies in the face of our mind-body survival mechanism. The fire cannot be switched off in an instant. Jumping off a cliff, per se, cannot bring Parinibbāna. Running down the momentum in the wheel of life requires insight, and a long-term practice, tailored to what one is inured to sustain.

The Buddha’s teaching is not a remedy for life. He didn’t find one, and he saw nothing to convince him otherwise. But his teachings do show us how to see life as it really is, how to minimise our involvement in the cycle of birth and death, and escape by extinction. As disturbing as this may sound, it is nevertheless philosophically sound, and empirically investigable. Whether we like it or not, the Buddha’s wisdom is a unique jewel in the crown of humanity’s knowledge base.

May you be happy, may you be well, and if it accords with you, may you attain Parinibbāna.