Reflections for September 2010
by Prof. Jeff Wilson
Hello everyone, it has been a while since I was able to write a column for the newsletter. I have been very busy, both with teaching and writing and with being a father. Not only is Tai now a boisterous three-year-old, but we welcomed his baby sister Hera in January. She had her hatsumairi at the Toronto Buddhist Church in May. At that time, we recalled fondly Tai’s hatsumairi with you all in West L.A. back in 2007.
This month, I would like to talk about missionary activities. Normally, we have a tendency not to think of Buddhism as a missionary religion. After all, we’ve all met missionaries for other religions and they are far pushier than Buddhists. Plus, Buddhism in America has often tended to avoid outreach. This is partly out of trying to be a good neighbor, and partly because Buddhists (especially Asian-Americans) encountered serious prejudice in the past. So it is understandable that we haven’t always been as outgoing toward the general public as we might have been.
That said, as a historian I have to note that Buddhism has very much been a missionary religion. After all, how do you think Buddhism spread so far from northern India: how did it get south to Sri Lanka, east to Persia, north to Siberia, and west to Japan? They didn’t even have the internet and bullet trains back then! It was through the dedicated efforts of countless generations of monks, nuns, and committed laypeople that Buddhism was able to spread across Asia (and now, around the world).
The problem arises when we conceptualize missionary activities as being about pushing our religion on others and trying to replace their beloved beliefs and practices. That is what some Christian and other missionaries have tried to do to us. But that is not the model that Buddhist missionaries use. We need to conduct missionary activities, not in order to prove how great our religion is, but because it is the fulfillment of Buddhism itself.
What do I mean when I say that missionary activities are the fulfillment of Buddhism? The spirit of Buddhism is about helping others. That is the bodhisattva path, the way of spirituality through 3 West Los Angeles Buddhist Temple September 2010 service to others and trying to help reduce the suffering of the world. Dharmakara Bodhisattva practiced on behalf of others for five eons, that is how he was able to become Amida Buddha. Now, none of us is able to work that hard (I certainly can’t!), but we can take the example of the numerous bodhisattvas of the past and apply it today. The reason that we should be sharing Buddhism with other people is that Buddhism may be helpful to them. After all, I hope you who are reading this newsletter have found Buddhism helpful to you. If you have, then it would be appropriate to repay that debt by offering Buddhism to others who may need it as well.
I can recall a time in my life before I became involved in Buddhism. I was a young university student with many questions and confusions about life. If no one had offered Buddhism to me, I’m not sure what my life would be like now. What I do know is that because Buddhism was made available to me, it helped me to settle my spiritual life and become a person oriented toward gratitude and insight. It would be hard to list all the ways I’ve benefitted from my encounter with the Dharma. I wasn’t missionized in the sense that someone pressured me or brainwashed me into joining Buddhism. Rather, kind people caringly made it available to me as a gift which I chose to accept. I’m deeply thankful that they took the time and effort, and risked rejection or disappointment, in order to give me this gift.
Many people are working hard to offer the gift of Buddhism to those who may benefit from it and are interested in accepting it. I hope that even more of us will get involved in such activities, for the sake of suffering people in our society. And if others decide that Buddhism itself won’t be helpful to them at this time (perhaps they already have a perfectly good form of spirituality that nourishes them), then we can look for other ways that we can be helpful and express the bodhisattva spirit. Because it is always offered in the spirit of generosity—not divisiveness—we don’t need to fear the effects of missionary activities on Buddhism. There is no need to convert the world to Buddhism. But many people could benefit from exposure to Buddhism—either a little taste or full immersion—and they will never have the opportunity unless we are brave enough to assist them.
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Reflections for March 2010
by Prof. Jeff Wilson
In Jodo Shinshu we have a lot of diversity. There are modernists and traditionalists, Japanese and Westerners, priests and laypeople, liberals and conservatives, expert theologians and basketball moms. Sometimes it may seem confusing what all of these people share in common—what makes them all fellow members of the same religion.
However, there are some things that we can identify as binding these various people together. First, all of them—no matter how great their learning, how strong their Shinjin, or how deep their practice—are all foolish beings. Secondly, because they are foolish none of them fully understand Amida, Jodo Shinshu, or even the true depth of their own foolishness. And third, being foolish, they are all equally embraced by Amida and ensured of liberation.
Of course, these characteristics are actually things shared by all people, Shin practitioners or otherwise. So what is it exactly that all Shin people specifically share, whether they are of the 13th century, the 16th, or the 21st? It seems to me that there are three basic essentials that are common in the Jodo Shinshu tradition:
1. Amida liberates all beings;
2. Trusting Amida is the vehicle of liberation;
3. Nembutsu expresses our grateful trust.
There is a lot more to the Jodo Shinshu tradition, and to Shinran’s Buddhist teaching, but these represent the core.
Why do I say the essentials? Well, for one thing, we know that one of the distinguishing elements of Buddhism as a religion is that it is fundamentally about practice—actions—not about beliefs. Here I have listed the three basic activities of Shin Buddhism. First, and most importantly, we have Amida’s practice of liberating foolish beings. And secondly, we have the actions of Shin practitioners: trusting and expressing (i.e., saying the Nembutsu).
In other forms of Buddhism, the individual practitioner—wholly or at least partially—liberates herself via reliance on self-power. Thus, placing liberation fully into Amida’s realm of activity is a distinguishing aspect of Shin practice. This is followed by Shinran’s insight that it is trusting—not any form of good practice, even Nembutsu recitation—that brings about the fulfillment of liberation, the fulfillment of Amida’s Primal Vow. And all this leads to the uniquely Shin understanding that Nembutsu is an expressive form of thanksgiving that arises from our trusting realization of Amida’s liberating practice. It is these elements that distinguish us even from other Pure Land practitioners.
Shinran says that Amida is beyond conceptions, but, being human beings, we naturally come up with all sorts of conceptions about Amida. This is one source of the diversity within Jodo Shinshu. Another is simply that we all live in different circumstances and therefore have different degrees of interest in religion or different perspectives on Buddhism. All of this is natural and a source of strength since a diverse Jodo Shinshu allows Amida’s light to reach the widest number of people in all their various situations and temperaments. As long as we at least hold to these three core forms of practice, then we can recognize the common thread of Shinran’s vision that weaves through the lives of all Shin practitioners.
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Reflections for November 2009
by Prof. Jeff Wilson
As Shin Buddhists, we have particular traditional scriptures that we return to again and again as guides in the religious life. The writings of our spiritual ancestors Shinran and Rennyo are especially important to us. Since they are important, we should reflect on how and why we go to them for nourishment. The point of hearing Gobunsho or reading Tannisho is not to have abstract dogma—which is utterly alien to Jodo Shinshu—preached at passive, ill-informed recipients. Rather, the reason these documents from the tradition are so well-loved and so often returned to is that they allow us to encounter Rennyo and Shinran in their own circumstances, and to write these texts ourselves along with them through our own lives.
Gobunsho, Tannisho, Shoshinge, and so on did not descend fully-formed in fossilized amber from heaven, nor are they some sort of Bible that perfectly encapsulates the Word of God. In fact, they were produced by warm-blooded living beings in difficult situations, who came to entrust in Other Power through the living of their own lives. Likewise, we come to trust not through practices or doctrines, but through the arising of the settled heart within the turmoil of our ordinary challenges, loves, attachments, and failures. Shinran and Rennyo were not enlightened buddhas—they were the recipients, like many others, of great wisdom and compassion. They were us. When we hear their voices in their writings, we hear the joys and also disappointments of real men who struggled with the teachings and their relationships, and in the process left us invaluable records of their shinjin-infused lives.
These were long lives, full of mistakes and successes, with lots of joy and sorrow. Over the course of their lifetimes, Shinran’s and Rennyo’s religious understandings changed and matured, as we can see by reading their works chronologically. Shinjin did not freeze them into a single, locked perspective, but freed them from calculation and anxiety so that they could respond to life naturally. Thus when Rennyo wrote of his sadness, his tears actually fell and smudged the original copy of his Gobunsho.
In the same manner, we will have truly understood Shinran and Rennyo when our own tears fall upon reading Tannisho or Gobunsho. At the moment of writing these were not words but feelings, emotions that came out as nouns and verbs in the same way that nembutsu is not the six characters of Na-Mu-A-Mi-Da-Butsu but is the vocalization of overflowing gratitude. This is why abstract dogma or rigid fundamentalism is alien to Jodo Shinshu. Shinjin is not assent to beliefs or doctrines—which are secondary phenomena that arise out of subsequent human attempts to define the inconceivable—but a heart-reliance that frees us from such deadends.
I don’t mean by this that we cannot understand Shinran and Rennyo at all if we don’t cry each and every time we hear Gobunsho. These great writings work on many levels, and we may each receive different things from them, especially at different parts of our lives. There is no single, right approach to or interpretation of these scriptures, just as the sutras of the Buddha allow for a breadth of interpretations so that they might guide and nourish as large a number of people as possible.
Rather, what I intend is a caution and an invitation. Let us be humble about assuming our ideas about the great men and women of our tradition are fully accurate, for who can claim to fully know the innermost heart of another? And at the same time, I invite you to encounter them again through the eyes and ears of the heart; which is to say, to meet them through your own life and struggles. Like you, Shinran and Rennyo were the children of real mothers and fathers. Therefore they felt love for their parents and also chafed at the restrictions that parents place on them. They were spouses of living human beings, which means they fought and made up, acted thoughtlessly and tried to please their wives. They were parents of many children, so they knew fear, heartache, frustration, pride, and unbreakable love. As we experience the facts of our own lives, we come closer to these living men and women of the past, and begin to perceive the range of circumstances in which they said the nembutsu. At such a point, we could be said to be writing the Gobunsho and Shoshinge ourselves, through our own living of the nembutsu.
Namu Amida Butsu
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Reflections for September 2009
by Prof. Jeff Wilson
Shinran often uses the phrase “true and real” to refer to important aspects of the tradition, such as the nembutsu and the Primal Vow. We should be careful to understand the intention of this idea of being “true,” as there are various types of truth in Japanese and their different inflections are lost in the single English word “true.” This is especially the case in the religious realm, where competing “truth claims” even within single denominations have led to great conflict, even violence, to say nothing of differences between religions.
In Shinran’s usage, true does not mean “factually correct.” Rather, it means “corresponding faithfully to the essence.” For example, this is the intention of the term Jodo Shinshu: the True Pure Land School. It does not mean “The Factually Correct Pure Land School.” The other schools of Pure Land of Shinran’s time also used the same motifs of Amida being a former king, the Pure Land being far away in the West, and so on, which were common to all Pure Land traditions. Thus Shinran was not trying to imply that others were factually incorrect while his teaching alone was accurate. Rather, Jodo Shinshu means “The School that Faithfully Corresponds to the Essential Point of the Pure Land Teaching.” This is the root of Shinran’s criticism of the other forms of Pure Land. While other disciples offered the same teachings as Honen, on the whole they did not express the essential insight that underlies the entire Pure Land stream, as Shinran saw it: they did not teach that liberation is through the working of Other Power alone, with no working on the part of the recipient.
For Shinran, everything, even the nembutsu that one utters in gratitude, comes from Other Power. So important was this teaching, which he felt was embodied by the Primal Vow, that he declared that this alone was the true reason for Shakyamuni Buddha appearing in the world. Again, here we see the distinction between being “factually correct” and being “true and real” as Shinran understood it: factually, Shakyamuni taught many different things and had a wide influence on world culture, well beyond just the teachings attributed to him about the Primal Vow—but in the view of the true essence of his teachings, it all boils down to power-beyond-self as the source of the false-self’s emancipation. This idea of “true” as corresponding to essence, rather than as mere historical fact or literalness, is what led him to proclaim his spiritual lineage in the Seven Pure Land Masters. All other forms of Buddhism use a biological metaphor, and try to prove that they are true by stating that their teachings directly trace back in an unbroken chain of face-to-face contact between masters and disciples that supposedly goes all the way back to the Buddha. This is a kind of factual or literal truth claim. But Shinran alone goes another route. He claims a lineage of adherence to the inner truth of the Buddha’s teaching. He chooses seven masters from different continents and time periods, almost none of whom even met one another. What distinguishes them, for Shinran, is that they each provided innovations to the Pure Land tradition that nonetheless corresponded to the essence of the Pure Land way: being rooted in the universal liberation through Other Power. It is hard for us, so removed in time and place from Shinran, to realize how profoundly radical this shift in the concept of true lineage was. And of course it was a necessary step for Shinran, since he too was an innovator who changed the traditional readings of the scriptures and made extensive modifications to the forms and expressions he received, yet fundamentally he wished to elaborate by, paradoxically, bringing forth the original intent of the stories and practices of the Pure Land tradition.
Thus when Shinran says that the nembutsu alone is true and real, he doesn’t mean that everything else in the world is fake and illusory: if you think it is, just try putting your head through a wall—you’ll soon discover that both the wall and your head are truly quite real. Shinran means something much deeper. He means that the nembutsu corresponds faithfully to the essence of the Dharma, because it is the expression and practice of Other Power. It is truly Shin Buddhism—i.e., “True on the Deepest Level”—that he provided to us.
These distinctions between types of truth are not just academic. They have consequences for us who follow in Shinran’s wake. If we obsess too much about truth as factual or literal, then we create an opening for needless anxiety and fear to arise. After all, how many of us know all the facts about Buddhism (does anyone?), or even about Jodo Shinshu? What if we don’t know some crucial fact, and don’t even know that we don’t know it? Or what if, as often happens in religion, evidence appears that shows a scripture being written under different circumstances than we believed, or a minister we trusted turning out to be a scoundrel? Does that invalidate the truth of the teachings we trusted in?
Shinran’s “true and real” allows us to relax in the face of these anxieties. There is no need to know all the facts about Shin Buddhism, so long as our heart rests in power-beyond-self. That is the true essence of Shinran’s teaching. The heart that relies on Other Power corresponds faithfully to the deepest intent of the Buddha-dharma, so that even if it were revealed that every single Sutra was made-up, or even that Shinran himself was a fabrication, it would not matter. Our liberation is true and real on a level more profound and enduring than mere fact or truth in any conventional sense, because it is produced by Amida, the spontaneous nature of reality itself reaching out to embrace us amidst all our delusions and misconceptions.
Namu Amida Butsu
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Reflections for June 2009
by Prof. Jeff Wilson
Many people get confused when they hear that Shin Buddhists have no practice, and that the nembutsu is not a practice or a good act. This confusion is very understandable, because often it is not explained clearly what we mean by the terms “practice” and “good act” that Shinran rejects. Does this mean that Shin Buddhists don’t do anything at all, or that the nembutsu is a bad act?
The term practice has several meanings in English, all of which we use, but we may not reflect on the implications of each definition and its context. The most common usage of the word practice refers to someone who is learning how to do something that they have not yet mastered. Thus if we want to learn to play a musical instrument or speak a new language, we must practice over and over until we gradually acquire skill at this new activity. This is not the sense in which practice is used in mainstream Buddhism. Buddhists who meditate or read the sutras or are not “practicing” buddhahood— they don’t eventually master the techniques and thereby mean that they are buddhas, in the way a student masters a language and therefore becomes fluent. Therefore, this is not the sense we mean when we say Shin Buddhists have no practice—because while it’s true that Shin Buddhists don’t do repetitive activities in order to perfect buddhahood, that’s also true of many other Buddhists as well.
A second common usage of the word practice refers to the performance of any sort of activity. For example, we say that a doctor practices medicine, even though he has already (hopefully!) mastered its techniques, and a lawyer practices law even though she has already (hopefully!) acquired a thorough understanding of the rules of the justice system. On a mundane level, you might say “It is my practice to get up at seven a.m. in the morning, and to read the newspaper while eating my cereal.” Presumably, you already know how to wake up, how to read the newspaper, and how to eat cereal. So we can realize that here practice simply means to carry out some sort of activity. In this sense, Shin Buddhists very much do have practices—a great many of them! We say the nembutsu, we chant the sutras, we sing gathas, we listen to Dharma talks, we maintain our butsudans, we donate to the temple and to charity, we dance Obon odori, we make incense offerings, we bow in gassho, and do many other practices. This is not the sense we mean when we say Shin Buddhists have no practice.
Another usage of the term practice is an act someone carries out with the intention of getting some sort of result. This is the sense in which practice is intended in Buddhism. This is practice as a method, as a technique, in order to reach buddhahood or obtain good karma. Thus monks practice meditation and read the sutras in order to increase their insight and release their grip on their attachments, which eventually causes them to (hopefully!) have a breakthrough and become buddhas. This differs from practicing a musical instrument because the methods lead up to a breakthrough into a different type of consciousness—the point isn’t mere perfection of a skill, such as meditation or scriptural knowledge. Shin Buddhists do not do any practices of this type. We don’t meditate or listen to Dharma talks or say nembutsu in order to earn some sort of reward, such as enlightenment or birth in the Pure Land. Rather, as Shinran understood it, there are no techniques that we have to do in order to be accepted by boundless wisdom and compassion. Amida embraces all of us just as we are, and therefore there is absolutely no need for practice in this sense. We are free to just let go and relax into our own natural state, rather than chasing anxiously after buddhahood or a ticket into the Pure Land. Therefore it would be most accurate for us to say that Shin Buddhists have no required methods—but in a conventional sense, we have plenty of practices. These practices help us to express our gratitude, support the community, and put our values into action for the good of others.
What about good acts? In everyday life we use the term good acts to refer to actions that are positive, especially if they benefit other people. Thus we might say it is a good act to turn off the television and go outside to get some exercise. And we are particularly likely to say it is a good act to help out at a local soup kitchen or start a recycling program. This is not the sense in which good acts are meant in a Buddhist context. Shin Buddhists do many good acts of this nature every day.
When we talk about good acts in the Buddhist context, we mean actions that are designed to accumulate good karma for ourselves. Thus many Buddhists believe that giving money to the temple or chanting sutras or saying the nembutsu generates good karma that will improve our lives or help us be reborn in a better condition. Shinran, however, completely rejects this understanding of the nembutsu. The nembutsu does not create good karma because we say it out of the prompting by Amida, who has already settled the matter of our future karma by guaranteeing we will become buddhas in the Pure Land. And our other positive actions are not “good acts” because we have no need for good karma, since our liberation is already assured. Therefore it would be most accurate for us to say that Shin Buddhists do not say the nembutsu as a meritorious act—but in a conventional sense, the nembutsu is a wonderfully good act that expresses our joy and thankfulness.
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Reflections for May 2009
by Prof. Jeff Wilson
I was thinking recently about the differences between Christianity and Jodo Shinshu. I have never been a Christian, so my understanding of it may be somewhat skewed, but I have spent an awful lot of time around Christians, many of whom were very eager to discuss Christianity with me and try to make me join their team. Hopefully, then, my comments won’t be too far off base.
It seems to me that the key phrase in Christianity is “I believe.” Many Christians urge their friends (and strangers) to believe in Jesus Christ as their personal lord and savior. Believing in Jesus and the Bible is a ticket into heaven; failing to so do means you deserve to go to Hell and suffer forever. Of course, various types of Christians have different ideas about what exactly you have to believe, so belief becomes a cause for anger, resentment, and disagreement, even persecution at times. Naturally, there are also many lovely people who are Christian, and Christians who don’t take a divisive approach to religion, but nonetheless their understanding of spirituality tends to boil down to sets of beliefs.
Because Shin Buddhists sometimes talk about faith or belief, many outsiders have assumed that we are more or less the same as Christians. But what may seem true on the surface level definitely doesn’t seem to be true on the level of actual experience and outlook. The most important phrase in Shin Buddhism is not “I believe.” In fact, this is a rather unimportant phrase. For practitioners of Jodo Shinshu, the key phrase is “thank you.”
Amida takes care of our liberation; our role is to learn to express gratitude for all that we receive. When we say “Namu Amida Butsu” we aren’t begging to get into the Pure Land or trying to suck up to the Buddha. We are saying “How wonderful to receive so bountifully! Thank you very much!” Furthermore, saying the nembutsu is just the most visible edge of a grateful life. As Buddhists, we are action-oriented rather than belief-oriented, and our practice is to deepen in thanksgiving throughout our lives. Every day brings innumerable gifts: life, love, nourishment, shelter, challenges, friendship, fun, and more. And each is an opportunity to recall our indebtedness to others. We can remember Other Power within, say nembutsu, and try our best to give back to others by being patient, helpful, and caring.
It isn’t that there are no beliefs in Shin, but really our approach is better characterized as “trusting” rather than “believing.” We listen to the Dharma and explore the teachings until we come to trust in the truth of power-beyond-self. But it is through the arising of gratitude that we complete the spiritual journey in this life.
There is something deeply moving about this path of thankfulness. It is a journey that we can all take together, no matter what sort of Buddhism or Christianity or other religion we belong to. Beliefs can never hope to unite us; indeed, beliefs can’t even seem to unite particular denominations, who still fight amongst themselves and with others. But gratitude is something that we can all express, and awakening to our inner togetherness with all other beings is possible for everyone. That is my vision of the Pure Land: not a place full of faithful Shin Buddhists who happened to say the nembutsu, but a land of peace and sharing where everyone—Shin and otherwise—is born together in the embrace of unlimited compassion and wisdom. And on the lips of each of them are the simple, profound words “thank you.”
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Reflections for February 2009
by Prof. Jeff Wilson
In the last Reflection I wrote, I described how I have spent many hours on trains with Tatsuguchi Myosei, a professor at Ryukoku University. We share an interest in the sacred sites and practices of Japan, and have visited dozens (perhaps hundreds) of places together, from Ise Shrine to Koyasan, the headquarters of Shingon Buddhism.
Visiting so many shrines and temples from various Buddhist and other traditions with Tatsuguchi Sensei has been very valuable to me. Not only did it afford me the chance to see and learn about Japanese religion, but it gave me a chance to observe how Tatsuguchi Sensei approaches these other groups. Like myself, Dr. Tatsuguchi is a professor of Buddhist studies and a practicing Shin Buddhist—in fact, he comes from a very long line of Shin priests and is himself ordained. He therefore is able to teach me about Shin Buddhism, not simply through doctrine (something I am able to access on my own) but through something even more important: his example.
Tatsuguchi Sensei goes to Tofukuji monastery to do Zen meditation every month. He has climbed holy mountains with Shugendo ascetics. During the Obon season he gets up early to visit temples of various temples and hear their Dharma talks: last year we went to talks by Zen, Shingon, Hosshu, and Shin priests. When he attends Shingon temples, he chants mantras; when he visits a Shinto shrine he bows solemnly. No matter what tradition a temple belongs to or what the image of worship is, Dr. Tatsuguchi always goes first to the main altar, kneels, and offers gassho. He is a scholar of Abhidhamma, having spent a lifetime exploring the earliest Buddhist philosophical texts, long before the Pure Land Sutras were produced. It seems like every temple we go to, whether in Kyoto or Nara or elsewhere, he always bumps into some friend from another tradition whom he has practiced with at some point.
And yet, I feel he does all this exploration of religion not in spite of being a Shin Buddhist, but because of it. If ever I have met a person of true shinjin, it is Tatsuguchi Sensei, who is humble, patient, and generous to a ridiculous degree. A mutual friend of ours, who isn’t even a Shin Buddhist, has said repeatedly with reverence in his voice that Tatsuguchi Sensei is a myokonin. It is precisely because he is grounded in his reliance on Amida that he is able to move so effortlessly and respectfully through all these various religions. As he has said to me on many occasions, “Zen is good, Shingon is good. But for me, I rely on Jodo Shinshu. I am a foolish being, and only Amida can save me.”
This isn’t a dogma, or a wish or hope. He simply and honestly understands himself as unable to complete the religious journey on his own, and relies on Other Power for his salvation. With that foundation, he is able to go forward and enjoy others’ religions as well, learning from them at times. In doing so, he has helped me to give up any worry that participating in other religious practices might somehow violate my commitment to Jodo Shinshu. I too meditate, and chant mantras, and say the Lord’s Prayer, and do all sorts of other activities as the situation calls for it. It is always good to be respectful to one’s hosts, whether they are Christian, Shinto, some other sort of Buddhist, or whatever. And still whether at home before my butsudan, alone on a walk in the woods, or engaging in someone else’s religious practice at a church or shrine, my heart is always saying Namu Amida Butsu.
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Reflections for November 2008
by Jeff Wilson, Ph. D. Candidate in Buddhsim
I spent a month in Kyoto this summer, staying at the Hongwanji International Center and researching Japanese religion. I’m writing a book about modernday Shin practice in North America and Hawaii, so it was very useful to have access to the Ryukoku University library and to talk to folks in Japan who are knowledgeable about Jodo Shinshu. It was also a privilege to get up in the mornings and attend services at Hongwanji, something I always try to do when I’m in Japan. One of my friends and mentors in Japan is Tatsuguchi Myosei, a professor of Buddhist Studies at Ryukoku and a Shin minister from a long line of family priests. Our academic interests differ somewhat: he is an expert on early Indian Buddhism, while my research focuses on Buddhism in modern Japan and North America. But we both enjoy visiting historic temples, and so we’ve traveled together to dozens of places in Kyoto, Osaka, Hiroshima, and elsewhere. When you spend so much time on trains with someone, you end up learning a lot, and that’s been true of my relationship with Tatsuguchi Sensei. For example, we were on the train headed to a temple somewhere, and I was reading a famous collection of sayings by and about Rennyo. I remarked to Dr. Tatsuguchi about a passage concerning what sort of images we should enshrine on our altars. Rennyo said that a statue of Amida is OK, but that a painting of Amida is better, and that a calligraphy of Namu Amida Butsu was even better. The reason is that when we have a statue, it is easy to make the mistake of just thinking of Amida as a solid, humanlooking person whom we might meet walking down the street someday. Even a painting looks like a person, though at least it is less threedimensional. But the name is abstract and therefore points us on to the reality of Amida as the light of boundless wisdom and compassion, which is how Shinran thought about Amida. When I read this passage to Dr. Tatsuguchi, he nodded in agreement. But then he commented, “Nothing at all is best.” I thought that was a very good statement. No image at all. This would prevent us from turning Amida into some sort of idol. Ultimately, even the image of Amida is intended as a skillful means that points us on toward true reality, which is beyond form or color. But if we have no image, it is easy to feel like we are abandoned or have nothing to take refuge in. This world is difficult, and even if reality as the Buddhas understand it is beyond form or concepts, we are still ordinary beings and need such things to help us out. That is why I was grateful that Dr. Tatsuguchi didn’t stop there. After he said “Nothing at all is best,” he paused for a moment, and then put his hands together in gassho. “Or maybe it would be best to do this,” he said, and bowed in gassho in several directions. To me, this was a very deep understanding. He didn’t go beyond form and then just leave me high and dry, with nothing to bow toward. Instead, he went beyond form and concepts by bowing toward all directions and all things as indicating the presence of Amida. Amida isn’t contained in a statue, or in a painting, or even in a calligraphy of the name. Amida is everywhere at all times, supporting us and working to wake us up. Wherever we look, whether at the beautiful statue in the naijin or the leaves moving in the breeze, we can see Amida and feel grateful. Namu Amida Butsu.
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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.)
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