The Lotus Flower
by the Rev. Colin Bossen, November 14, 2010
When I was about three years old I saw a duck that had been run over lying in the middle of the road. I asked my mother, "Why is that duck flat?"
She replied, "the duck is dead."
I did not understand my mother's answer. So, I asked her another question, "Will the duck get up?"
She replied, "no, the duck is dead. It won't get up ever again. It is no longer alive."
I paused. Then I asked, "Will I die too?"
"Yes, some day, but not for a long time," came the answer. With that, I am told, I grew very quiet and did not speak for many minutes.
I offer this story at the beginning of my third sermon on the world's non-Western religions to make a simple point. One of the human quandaries is being alive and knowing that you will die.
It is a central thesis of this sermon series that there is a universal religious impulse from which all religions arise. Supporting data for this thesis includes the observation that all religions in someway help people address mortality. As the Unitarian Universalist theologian Forrest Church liked to say, "Religion is our human response to the dual reality of being alive and having to die."
The topic of today's sermon is Buddhism. Buddhism is a religion particularly oriented towards helping its practitioners face the twin realities of death and suffering. Much of its teachings could be summarized by the American Buddhist Allen Ginsberg's observation, "'Existence is suffering,' it ends when you're dead."
Buddhism is oriented towards accepting the inescapable reality of suffering. It revolves around practices of meditation and mindfulness designed to foster the realization that all of existence including suffering is but a transitory illusion. If suffering is only illusion then it can be accepted with the same aplomb that everything else is.
The scholar Joseph Campbell observed that the founder of Buddhism, Siddhārtha Gautama, belongs to a category of semi-mythic spiritual teachers he called the World Saviors. In this religious motif a savior comes to the world and leaves it utterly transformed by his teaching and actions. Under this schema, to be human means to have a condition that needs to be solved. The World Savior provides the solution.
In Christianity the World Savior is Jesus Christ. The problem is the fallen nature of humanity. The solution is to turn towards God again through Christ. The death of Christ atones for human sinfulness and offers a path for humanity back to God.
In Buddhism the World Savior is the Buddha. The problem is suffering and mortality. The solution is to realize that everything is transitory, that nothing is permanent and that, therefore, everything is an illusion. If everything is an illusion then suffering does not really exist. The Buddha's life and practice offers an example of how to obtain this realization.
Siddhārtha Gautama was born a prince in Hindu India more tHanh 2,500 years ago. His father wished to shield him from the pains and ills of the world. Siddhārtha grew up in a lavish palace where his every want was attended to. He never witnessed sickness, poverty or death. When he reached adulthood his father arranged a marriage for him with a beautiful and kind princess. In due course Siddhārtha's wife bore a son.
With the birth of his son, Siddhārtha gradually became unsettled with palace life. Awash with pleasure, his every need or desire met and exceeded, he grew bored with the monotony of his life. Without pain to contrast it pleasure has little meaning. Without sorrow there can be no real joy.
One day Siddhārtha convinced his father to let him leave the palace and see a little of the world. A grove of trees that was reputed to be wondrous and beautiful was an easy half-day's chariot ride from the palace. All of his life Siddhārtha had heard of the beauty of the grove. He wanted to see it for himself.
He gathered up a party to travel with him. A picnic of delicacies was prepared--succulent mangos, fresh breads and sweetmeats. Musicians gathered their instruments so they could provide soothing melodies for the travelers. Dancing girls dressed in the finest garments, ready to dance and delight Siddhārtha's eyes as he traveled from the palace to the grove.
Meanwhile, his father ensured that precautions were taken so that Siddhārtha would not encounter any form of suffering along his path. The villages were cleared of the sick and the dying. The old and infirm were ordered to stay in doors.
And yet the world cannot be so controlled. Somewhere along his path Siddhārtha saw an old man walking down the rode. Shocked by the man's appearance, he asked his driver, "Who is that man with bent back, white hair and a face lost in the creases of loose skin? Has something happened to him? Or was he born like that?"
His driver replied, "That is a man in old age. Old age is the ravisher of beauty, the cause of sorrow and the destroyer of vitality. That old man drank milk in his childhood. He learned to creep along the floor, walk, talk and enjoyed a vigorous youth. Now, just as his body from childhood to adulthood increased inch by inch, he finds himself diminished slightly with each passing moon. The ravages of old age are upon him."
Shocked by this description, for Siddhārtha had never seen the aged before, he asked his driver, "Will this evil come to me too?"
"Yes, with the passage of time," his driver replied.
Siddhārtha was greatly troubled by this news. Unable to concentrate on the prospects of the pleasures awaiting him in the grove, he ordered his chariot turned around and headed back to the palace.
The next day Siddhārtha awoke with a desire to see the grove. Another procession was prepared. Musicians filled the air with sweet sounds. Dancers dressed in silk floated like the breeze. Siddhārtha's father again sent his men out to rid his son's path of all signs of human suffering. Again they failed. Siddhārtha saw a sick man--pale in countenance, weak in spirit and frail in body--and learned that illness might be his fate. Again, in the face of suffering, he retreated to the palace.
The following day Siddhārtha and his entourage went out a third time. Again the entourage was dressed in their fullest finery and stood ready to meet Siddhārtha's every whim. Again his father sent out his messengers with instructions to clear the path. And again the best work of the messengers was insufficient. On the third day Siddhārtha saw a dead man, learned of death and learned that death was a fate that awaited him.
Siddhārtha demanded to be taken back to the palace. His father, however, had instructed his driver and the caravan that no matter what happened Siddhārtha was to be taken to the grove. A pleasure party with most beautiful women in the kingdom awaited there. Siddhārtha's father figured that no matter what Siddhārtha saw on the road the pleasures of the grove would be enough to lighten his spirits and cause him to forget the suffering he had seen.
The pleasures of the grove were not enough. Siddhārtha's thoughts were consumed by images of old age, illness and death. Unable to cheer the prince, everyone returned to the palace downhearted.
Soon afterwards, Siddhārtha resolved to travel the world searching for a cure to the suffering that he had seen. He informed his father and his wife--his son was still an infant--of his intention. They begged him not to leave. He was resolute. What was the use of all of their love if everyone was fated to fall ill, age and die?
Siddhārtha left the palace and began his search. He travelled to a place where he was certain he would find wisdom--a grove of wise ascetics. He found the ascetics obsessed with yogic practices designed to purify body and mind. They were focused on obtaining heaven or a better rebirth. Siddhārtha believed that just as his current life contained suffering his future lives would also contain it. Rather tHanh eternally move up the chain of being, using each life to secure a better birth in the next one, he wanted to escape being all together. This was, ultimately, the only way to end suffering. And so, after a few days he left the grove of the wise ascetics, finding their teachings and practices wanting.
His journey took him to other sages and schools of religious thought. Each he found lacking. Finally, in despair, he retreated to the shade of a tree, sat down, and began to meditate. He resolved not get up from the tree until he found the answer he sought: how can suffering be escaped?
Siddhārtha sat for many days and nights. Demons came to disrupt from his task. He grew frail. The earth shook. He did psychic battle with the Lord of Death. Pleasures of the flesh were sent to tempt him. Nothing could dissuade him. Finally, after much striving enlightenment finally came.
He saw that the root of suffering was ignorance. This ignorance could be overcome with the knowledge that all was transient and illusory. Nothing truly existed because nothing was permanent. Even the self, the I, that had this realization did not truly exist. If the self did not exist then suffering was illusion that could be dismissed.
After many days Siddhārtha arose from his sitting place. He was now the Buddha, a word that can either be translated as the enlightened one or the one who is awake. The Buddha was awake to the nature of reality and the nothingness that lay at the heart of and behind everything.
Sitting under his tree, deep in meditation, the Buddha had learned that all beings spring from the same nothingness. All beings, therefore, are interrelated. The suffering of any affects all. This knowledge stirred within him a great compassion. When he realized that all was an illusion, that all was truly nothing, he had been given the opportunity to return from the nothingness from which he had originated. He chose instead to stay and teach others how to escape suffering.
Most of you probably know some version of this story. Among Unitarian Universalists, and in the wider culture, interest in Buddhism has grown steadily over the past decades. Ever since the beat poets of the mid-century Buddhist thought has been embedded within much of contemporary poetry. Artists incorporate Buddhist principles into their work. Religious leaders like the Dali Lama and Thich Nhat Hanh inspire people across the world with their peace work rooted in Buddhist practice--something Hanh calls engaged Buddhism.
Buddhism even inspires popular and party culture. There are t-shirts with images of the Buddha. Stores, like City Buddha right down the street, take names inspired by Buddhism. Even bars and dance clubs use Buddhist iconography in their advertising. In Chicago, for example, you can find the Funky Buddha bar, a dance club with a mural of a fat and happy Buddha painted on the outside.
Despite its co-option for commercial aims, I suspect that Buddhism is popular for two reasons. First, it provides an alternative to crass Western consumerism. Second, it contains a clearly defined tradition of spiritual practice--meditation--that yields practical benefits.
In our age of dislocation, cultural cHanhge, economic recession, ecological catastrophe, war and violence, most people seek something in which to root themselves. Over the past years many people have turned away from the traditional Western religions of Christianity and Judaism. They find that the metaphysical claims of these religions, the existence of a transcendental all powerful God, have been disproven by modern science. Tired of the insistent bray of religious leaders who condemn contemporary culture, attack women's rights and seek to oppress the BGLT community, they look beyond the dominant Western religions for anchorage.
For some, even in a recession, the world resembles the pleasure palace of Siddhārtha's father. For others the constant bombardment of advertising reminds them that they will never truly obtain the good things in life. Either way, there are plenty of people who have come to the realization that material goods do not bring happiness.
Consumer culture is about fostering, and creating, needs and then meeting those needs with products. We are constantly told that we will be happy if only we can get a new electronic gadget, article of clothing, automobile or more attractive partner. Achieving these things leads to the realization that, in consumer culture, more is always required to make us happy. The acquisition of one electronic gadget leads to the desire for the next. Consumerism is future focused, happiness is always around the next bend.
Buddhism provides an alternative to the consumerist mindset. Instead of focusing on how happy material goods will make us in the future it urges us to be content with the present. Buddhism teaches that one of the roots of suffering is desire. We desire to have things that we cannot and so we suffer. We desire to have relationships or objects, we obtain them, and then when we lose them--for all is transitory--we suffer.
The core of Buddhist practice is a focus on breathing. Conscious awareness of the breath always brings one back to the present. Instead of worrying about the past or the future, the current moment becomes the object of attention. A focus on the present obliterates desire as well as future and present suffering. Instead of worrying about what will come next we simply are.
The Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh writes, "We are very good at preparing to live, but not very good at living. We know how to sacrifice ten years for a diploma, and we are willing to work very hard to get a job, a car, a house, and so on. But we have difficulty remembering that we are alive in the present moment, the only moment there is for us to be alive."
Hanh, and other Buddhists, urge us not to place a value judgment on our present experience. Rather tHanh worrying about whether something is good or bad, pleasurable or unpleasurable, simply acknowledge it as what is. Then everything can lead to happiness. One famous image of the Buddha is of him sitting cross-legged smiling with a finger in his mouth. He has just dipped his finger in a jar of vinegar. Instead of finding the vinegar to be sour he is able to enjoy it for what it is. He does not pucker at the sharp taste but instead smiles.
Likewise, Nhat Hanh writes about how garbage can be enjoyed because one day it will be flowers. He observes, "If we look... deeply we will see that in just five or six days, the rose will become part of the garbage. We do not need to wait five days to see it. If we just look at the rose, and look deeply, we can see it now. And if we look into the garbage can, we see that in a few months its contents can be transformed into lovely vegetables, even a rose."
Everything can be appreciated because everything is interrelated. In Nhat Hanh's system of engaged Buddhism this also means that what affects each affects all. Poverty only exists because wealth does. Some people have privilege because others do not. In his view, if you wish to address poverty you must also address why some people have much while others have little. Like with the sheet of paper in his meditation "Interbeing," the "affluent society and the deprived society inter-are. The wealth of one society is made up of the poverty of the other."
Poverty and wealth are not the only things that inter-are. Life itself inter-is with death. In order for life to exist, death must also. The garbage feeds the rose. The rose becomes the garbage.
We are all caught in the grand cycle. The duck I saw as a child was dead because it had been alive. Upon death it returned to the nothingness from whence it had come. This is the comfort and the terror of existence. When we die we return to our place of origin. We can seek to deny this, hunt for comfort elsewhere, or we find peace in the teachings of the Buddha. From nothing we came, of nothing we are, of nothing we shall be. All that exists is merely an illusion. Death is but a final shattering of that illusion and a release from the suffering that it causes.
When each of our hours come, when our allotted time is up, may we all achieve the wisdom of the Buddha. May we recognize our ends not as ends at all but as a restoration to our original state of being. In doing so may we conquer the fear of death.
That it may be so, I say blessed be and Amen.