Attitudes towards the socially active Buddhist monastic

Attitudes towards the socially active
Buddhist monastic in Canada and India

by Sean Hillman
Religion Department
University of Toronto
March 2008

A recurring theme in socially engaged Buddhism, in its myriad manifestations, is its focus on tackling modern problems long-removed from the circumstances of the time when Shakyamuni Buddha turned the Wheels of Dharma in India. The engaged approach also skilfully adapts to address such unique modern quandaries, even going so far as borrowing methods of engagement from non-Buddhist systems as well as using methods that are not entirely in accordance with the letter of the Vinaya, both at times drawing accusations by some as straying from traditional Buddhist principles and practices. The Sri Lankan Sarvodaya Shramadana movement is an example of borrowing with its incorporation of the Ghandian principle and practice of non-harm (Skt: Ahimsa). The Taiwanese Tzu Chi and Fo Guang Shan organisations are examples of a looser interpretation of the Vinaya, as the ordained leader of Tzu Chi is the CEO of an international organization and Fo Guang Shan have ongoing involvement in politics. Similarly, for better and for worse, monastics in today’s world may find themselves, by choice or not, engaging in activities and living in environments which are unique in the history of Buddhist monasticism. Particularly, the socially active monastic often must pioneer ways of engagement that draw both admiration and scorn alike from other Buddhists. A monastic for 13 years, my attempts to be socially engaged both in Canada and India ensured that I did not become too isolated in study or retreat, but also led to many obstacles. Usually such obstacles came from rigid views as to what kind of activities is appropriate for a Buddhist monk to engage in outside of the monastic environment, and to what degree. It is very useful to explore these obstacles and their source.

As with modern engaged Buddhist movements, today's monastics face the challenge of living within a modern society while striving to stay true to the ethical training principles laid out by Lord Buddha in the form of the Pratimoksha vows, codified in the Vinaya texts. A contemporary Buddhist monastic may find themselves cloistered in a heavily traditional, community-based training environment aimed predominantly towards mutually supporting each other in the keeping of pure vows of morality. Thailand provides a good example of this and their communities are often used as a barometer as to what is current best practice in the realm monastic discipline. Although I initially yearned to belong to an Asian-based monastic community when first inspired to become a full-time mendicant, it was not possible at that time. I learned that I was not alone in experiencing obstacles to training in an ideal environment. Places such as Korea and Israel require military service (which mutually excludes ordination), and many anti-religious governments restrict religious rights and make it impossible to practice freely. In my particular case the main difficulty to overcome was not as grave as the former examples, but much more subtle. I was without a Buddhist familial and community heritage. This is an experience shared by practitioners who grew up in a place where the Buddhadharma does not yet have roots. As a result, there are monastic environments in traditionally non-Buddhist environments which are less than ideal, but given the context, are best attempts to work within their limits. For example, in the West there are many monastic communities that have monks and nuns living under the same roof, and some even have lay-people in charge of discipline, both of which I encountered and which are unacceptable from a strict standpoint of the Vinaya code and in relation to current best practice. Interestingly, such flexible interpretation of monastic ethics allowed me to begin on a course of engagement outside of my first community. Many, and I would even say most, Western monastics have at some point in their religious vocational career earned a living. Some choose to do so, some have no choice, but in every case the touching of money is the breaking of the vow to not handle precious substances. I have found no satisfying line of reasoning to counter this fact. Despite this, I took this as an opportunity to try and emulate Bodhisattva activities and chose a career that was based on usefulness and helpfulness: caregiving. I do not include my activities in health-care having to do with supporting lay Buddhists and teaching Dharma to Buddhists and non-Buddhists alike within the unique scope of social engagement because these are activities that monastics have done all along. My inspiration at becoming engaged grew exponentially and led to increased involvement in the palliative care and AIDS movements. I grew so full of confidence that I asked permission to receive further training in end-of-life care and to finish my university degree, with the hopes that I could become of even greater use, through the power of education. This became a problem for the leader of my community who saw my energy given to the greater community as a loss of energy for our own small Buddhist community. A sad irony, given the context of a renunciate faith community, I was stifled because the return earned in my pursuits would not translate monetarily. This was based on the misguided logic that it would be most meritorious and of the highest benefit to serve the Buddhist community, and our own community in particular.

Knowing that I had been in a questionable monastic community and still remaining hopeful that I could find a more traditional monastic setting in Asia, I moved to India. Livelihood was not an issue for me when in India since my requisites were fully sponsored. Being a caregiver for so many years led me to seek out ways to be of physical service in my spare time, away from (and yet complementing) meditation retreats and scriptural debate and study. Again, within the Buddhist context I was easily able to be of great service by teaching, organising ceremonial gatherings and giving ongoing support to Buddhists and would-be Buddhists. This was wonderful, and common. There was a need that I had that these activities did not meet. I wanted to do the dirty, hard work. Offering myself to both the local Tibetan hospital and old age home, the first flat out sent me away and the latter, although saying in words they were overjoyed to have me, made it quite clear that they found me to be a nuisance. They also preferred me to not wear the monk’s robes. My attempts to give nail-care to the local lepers drew mockery even from Western monastics, those I thought might have more sensitivity to social activities. Lastly, caring for the local dogs, both on my own and with visiting Dutch vets, drew great criticism from Tibetans and Indians alike. I could easily blame these reactions on the very rigid (even superstitious) religiously-based views around purity held by these Asian cultures. The service activities I have mentioned are indeed quite dirty. However, I feel that the main source of their aversion comes from long-standing beliefs, mutually reinforced by householders and monastics, as to what is within the scope of appropriate activities for a fully-ordained monk. “Monks should study or meditate…that’s it.” These are seen as “holy” activities. Contrarily, I feel that selfless service can be even more meritorious and necessary to complete the tripod of practice.