Post #18: Dhamma Posturing

19 May 2023

We all like to present ourselves from our flattering side, to keep our weaknesses out of view, and to make a favorable impression on others. It is the plainest common sense to do so, worldly wisdom even, as well as an imperative of survival that evolution has inscribed on our very bones. In other words, it is so very human that I would not want to be too hard on it.

We are not, as we sometimes think, a species remarkable for our callous indifference to others; on the contrary, we are inordinately gregarious creatures by stepmother Nature’s standards, far more sociable than any other species we know of. We care all right; if anything, we tend to care too much. The need we all have to look good, much more than to be or do good when nobody is watching, can lead us into much pretending and hypocrisy, but that is not the direction I mean to go in here, though it is an important dimension to keep in mind.

Where there is a God who might be thought to favor some over others, the temptation can be overwhelming to parade one’s special closeness with the divine powers that be, sometimes in crass and unmistakable ways, other times more slily or even in ways that we don’t fully recognize ourselves. Jesus was at his best, it seems to me, on this crucial point: “Do not be like the hypocrites who love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. When you pray, go into your room and close the door; then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” It’s arguably the central pivot of the Sermon on the Mount, the very hinge of the Gospels, but that has never prevented Christians, any more than their brethren in other religions, from competing vigorously in the competition for showy praying. (Next time the matter of public prayer comes up for discussion, agree and say that it should be done without fail in the spirit of Matthew 6:5–6.)

Buddhism not recognizing such a favor-giving God—“only” an impersonal law of action and reaction, karmic cause and effect—might be thought immune to these troubles, but as is usually the case in human affairs, the same old problem just takes a different form. Buddhists may not parade their special relationship with God, but they can preen and posture on the Path with the best of them, and what is perhaps more important than such spiritual vanities, they play the same game of comparison, forever preoccupied with whether Peter is holier (more “developed” and “spiritually advanced,” more “pure” in action and demeanor) than Paul or Paula. This game is as human as everything else I’ve mentioned, but a mark of great progress on the Path, of a true and faithful understanding of the Teaching, it is not.

The scene around S.N. Goenka does a pretty good job, on the whole, of keeping a lid on this kind of thing, and no one could accuse then of fostering guruism intentionally or encouraging anyone to show off his or her spiritual accomplishments; but the temptation is so powerful, it seems, that do what one may to warn against it, it will still keep rearing its head and must be constantly guarded against if one is not to succumb. The Vipassana meditators are no exception to the human rule, for all their valiant efforts.

One classic form in which the comparative mindset enters the Buddhist picture, around Goenka and his students too, is the preoccupation with the paramis, the spiritual excellences, a kind of score card with ten tidy items on it by which progress and the lack thereof can supposedly be measured. I am happy to report that this is not something that can be traced to the oldest texts and the Buddha himself, but a later device from a time when the Teaching had long become institutionalized and thereby prone to the usual group dynamics. Again, I do not mean to accuse or point fingers; much of the motivation comes not from pretending and dissembling, but from curiosity and self-protection. We want to see leaders and laggards, and to be seen as the former not the latter; it aligns with the rest of our lives and gives us something to hold on to. But the appearances we have to go by in reaching such judgments can still give a very misleading impression of who is where in his or her development—if that is really ever anyone else’s business, spiritually speaking.

How could you be sure whether the perhaps very eye-catching “mental defilements” and spiritual deficiencies in someone are really a sign of trouble running deeper in that person than in someone else who seems more tranquil, but who may simply be burying his skeletons more deeply? Perhaps what you are seeing in the first case are relatively superficial impurities, openly displayed, while in the second, though giving a much more serene impression, they may run considerably deeper, having been repressed and driven much further underground, perhaps to the point of being entirely unconscious. For the purposes of making everyday social judgments, it may be sensible to go by these outward marks of speech and action, but to get a sense of where someone really stands, karmically speaking, they are almost absurdly inadequate.

Coming from someone who obviously belongs to the weakness-displaying lot, this may sound like special pleading; but I am not making a case for my own secret sanctity, or for the jerk with the golden heart, though his curious example (it is usually a he, isn’t it) needs to be taken more seriously than we seem currently inclined to take it. All I am saying is that we should stay away from such judgments in our meditative lives because I fail to see how we could ever be in any reliable position to know anything for sure. I am not disposed to running fiends and saints together; I am merely insisting that even in the most extreme cases, one can—and often has been—mistaken for the other.

If I am prepared to be taken for a Dhamma laggard, or a Dhamma fool for that matter, it is not because I cherish either role so much, but because I cannot be sure myself, and I am so utterly averse to raising misplaced expectations in this area above all. Pretentiousness is never an ornament; but here it is to be dreaded more than anywhere else. By the same token, I am not often overcome with pious awe when the usual marks of perfection are presented before me. May it be so, I will say, but who really knows, and who really cares. I have my own back yard to clean up, and I am not going to direct my energies primarily towards the front just because it is more exposed to view. As for others, let me take a closer look at their backyards first, and in harsh lighting, before I make even a tentative assessment of where things stand with them. (To be certain one would need to do some thorough digging around, and the metaphor shows how unlikely it is that one will be invited to do so. The owner may have no inkling of what treasures or horrors are buried there, and he is not likely to be keen on letting anyone bring out the shovels and sieves so close to his emotional hearth. Who really knows what bones might be discovered?)

Robes and a shaved head, or matted hair and an impressive beard, this showy feat and that particularly holy demeanor—what does any of it prove? Let the robes be honored for the noble aspirations they are meant to express, fine, but within reason and with a healthy appreciation for the shopworn truth that all is not gold that shines with particular luster, and not all mere dross that fails to do so when the glaring searchlights fall upon it.

It is much the same with reverencing a teacher. By all means express your gratitude and appreciation; teachers matter, as guides, and their help in giving your efforts direction and focus can be invaluable. But they are not to be worshipped, not to be carried before you as in a procession, but to be kept quietly in the heart as you make your own way—make yourself your refuge, as the Buddha so earnestly called on his students in his dying days. Prove your devotion, please do, but let it be done by walking the Path resolutely and without drawing undue attention to yourself. If your progress is real, others will notice it surely enough; and even if they don’t, nothing is lost. There is little point to the Teaching if it does not make you self-reliant and able to find your way inconspicuously.

Even good posture, for all its advantages, can be posturing. Yes, it’s helpful, but why are you really doing it? Don’t you like to be seen sitting like a stone Buddha? Let’s say you do, even a little bit; nothing wrong with that, just the all-too human revealing itself as usual. Recognize it and go on, but don’t mistake the display for the real thing. It is here that the Beatitudes may have unexpected relevance: blessed are the slumpsters in the last row, they have no occasion for showing off. (Which is not to say that those in the first row may not have gotten over it also.) This is not a call to judgment of others, but to self-awareness first and foremost. Know thyself. Then we can talk about everything else, including others.

Reading: Digha Nikaya 16.2:25–26 (the dying Buddha calls on his followers to practice self-reliance—“being your own refuge, with no one else as your refuge”—taking the Dhamma as their island)