In Buddhist Asia the role of the meditation teacher is fairly well defined, though it varies by culture. In Japan the role might be inherited, as priests can marry, so a son might inherit a temple and the attendant responsibilities to the local community. In Tibet there were times when as much as one third of the male population was monastic, so obviously not all monks would have been meditation teachers. However, there were many kinds of teachers, and the elder monk who taught the junior monk how to read and write was considered a revered teacher. The sort of person we call a "lama" might have "inherited" his role from his previous lifetime, or might be a person who had achieved significant development in the present life. But in the end, as Tara Tulku told me, a person is a teacher or lama (lama is Tibetan for guru) simply because they have students.
None of this exactly fits the American situation. There are exceptions to this statement, as, for example, at San Francisco Zen Center all the priests are expected to teach at one time or another, even though they do not inherit the role. One feature of American Buddhism which is certainly unique in the larger Buddhist tradition is that of the university professor who teaches Buddhism both in the institutional context and outside of it. Here the sometimes difficult distinction to be maintained by the professor is that of teaching about religion in the university and teaching religion outside of it. Some names come to mind when I think about this situation, such as Robert Thurman. How is it that they are in such a situation and what is the basis, or even authority, for their teaching religion, ie, Buddhist meditation? In Thurman's case he was a monk and his practice of meditation preceded his Ph.D. and his university career. But I think more to the point is the fact of his commitment to the Tibetan people and the Vajrayana path which is usually associated with Tibetan Buddhism, though historically Vajrayana was dispersed across Asia at one time or another. On this path there are many historic instances of non-monastic teachers, such as Marpa in 11th century Tibet. But the main point is that Vajrayana conveys authority to teach from master to student, who then becomes the next master. In fact, the power to convey initiations and hence teach meditation is embedded in many of the practices and the vows. This is important to understand because taking up certain practices comes with a commitment to at least act altruistically, to teach Dharma if one has the capacity and to transmit the Vajrayana practices if one finds "suitable vessels" who request the practices.
So this brings us to me. I am now mostly retired from 36 years of university teaching and during those years I always taught about religion, and almost never taught meditation outside of the university. I offered hundreds of dharma talks in all sorts of situations and locations, but did not directly teach meditation to students until recently. This is in spite of the fact that Tara Tulku authorized me to teach meditation back in the late 1980s and even told a number of people that they could come see me for instruction if they were disposed to do so. To get at the question of why I chose not to teach meditation is to get at some of the problems Americans have with the roles of both meditation student and meditation teacher as well as my own concerns about personal attainment (or more precisely, lack of it).
Let me be illustrative. Those who have followed the history of the Dharma in the west are probably well aware of the scandals attached to a small number of teachers. For instance Baker Roshi was given the abbacy of San Francisco Zen Center by its founder, Suzuki Roshi. He was later deposed by the community for having multiple sexual relations with students. I don't know what was on his mind or that of his students when this was going on, nor am I familiar with the details of all the pain, anger, betrayal and confusion that was later expressed. I simply am aware of the scandal. Obviously there are dangers in the teaching role connected with charisma and authority. But authority is an American problem in general. We claim not to like it, but our relations with authority figures are in fact quite complex, and those in authority are subject to a considerable amount of what psychotherapists call projection. For example, on a deep emotional level it is hard to separate one's supervisor at work from one's parents. This might sound preposterous to some people who feel perfectly adult and mature in their work lives, but many psychologists assert that a child continues to exist in our unconscious mind, and that child views all authorities in the same way it viewed its parents. So the child within us seeks the approval of the boss, or fears his/her wrath. And then of course there is charisma. That is something else Americans have an attraction to. But as much as some Americans may admire movie stars, for example, others devour tabloid stories about "dark undersides." So there is American ambivalence about charisma, to say the least.
My own concerns about teaching meditation have been rooted in two things: an awareness of the problems of projection and an awareness of my own limitations as a practitioner. In the simplest terms, and using a simple example, how can I have the audacity to teach about the virtue of restraining anger and techniques for doing so when my anger all to frequently expresses itself in coarse and subtle ways? And when that happens, what are my meditation students to think and what will they project on me? Surely it will appear that I am not "walking my talk" and that I am a hypocrite.
I do not claim to be a master of anything, or a lama, and I certainly am not a priest. But I have spent the better part of a lifetime practicing Buddhism and trying to make a better person of myself. As required by my own tradition, every morning I begin my meditation practice by reciting a litany which begins with the following stanza:
In my heart I turn to the Three Jewels of Refuge.
May I free suffering beings and place them in bliss.
May the compassionate spirit of love grow within me
That I may complete the enlightening path.
Later I recite:
By means of holding both Sutra and Tantra,
May I liberate all living beings completely.
In that spirit of compassionate concern, and probably because I have the habit of teaching, I feel the need to share my experience and what I have learned with others who are also trying to improve their inner lives and relations with others. For the most part I am no longer constrained by the teaching about religion/teaching religion distinction, and am free to share, as well as run the risks of inflation and projection. And projection runs both ways: from student to teacher and from teacher to student. In fact, I am not sure I actually have a choice in this matter of teaching. Immersion in Mahayana Buddhism comes with a price tag of sorts. It is called the Bodhisattva Vow. To fully practice Vajrayana or Zen one needs to take that vow, and having done so one will be required to assist others in whatever way best suits one's capacities (viz, By means of holding both Sutra and Tantra, May I liberate all living beings completely.) To do anything else is to reject the fundamental teaching of the Buddha that we are all deeply interconnected and that our mutual happiness and freedom depends on our mutual progress on the Buddhist path. So in that spirit of mutuality, as a Dharma friend, I teach and write this blog.
And I thank my friend who set this train of thought in motion, for that is a clear example of the mutuality implicit in the Mahayana Buddhist way.
No comments:
Post a Comment