For myself and many others of my generation, I feel like the above image, of the Buddhist monk Thích Quảng Đức protesting via self-immolation in South Vietnam in 1963, was one of the most powerful images associated with Buddhism. I know that personally, this was the first image that came to mind when this assignment was announced in class, and it made such an impact on my young self upon the discovery of this image, that it was what I associated principally with Buddhism for a long time.
It seems that this image and images and attitudes akin to it emphasize a stereotype of Buddhists as masters of their domain. These monks are portrayed as having no fear of death or anything else, of being able to block out all pain, and of being able to put aside all material concern to do what they must for their faith and calmly accepting anything and everything, even something as painful as lighting themselves on fire.
And all of that is true, to some extent. Every stereotype has as its basis some grain of truth. But in this situation, much of the stereotype is based on false assumptions. For one, self immolation is not a common form of protest, and when it is performed, it is often done with the intent of honoring the Buddha. According to some Buddhist schools of thought, self immolation violates certain Buddhist doctrines advising against self-harm. Neither is the act of self immolation in protest reserved for Buddhists: during the Great Schism of the Russian Church, groups of people performed “fire baptisms,” and apparently it was a scattered practice amongst Jesuits to represent the pain of Jesus on the cross.
This image and the connotation of such radical protest, coupled with the inflammatory (no pun intended) subject matter of the album it has come to be associated (at least by people of my generation), has made many people in the West believe that Buddhists are in total control of their emotions and can withstand anything and everything, and that this sort of self-destruction is commonplace in the Buddhist system.
Brad Warner’s book defies all of this. He points out that Buddhists are fallible, and that they have moments (brief or extended) of weakness and lapses in judgment. He shows that they are prone to conflict and in-fighting just as much as any other organization or faith. Warner's life defies the stereotype completely, in that he, as a Buddhist, does not practice extreme self-denial or protest. He seems, for all practical intents and purposes, like a typical moderate Westerner with a firm belief and following of the lifestyle of an Eastern Tradition, not a radical ascetic prepared to light himself on fire to decry the mistreatment of his people. Warner is not so disconnected with himself or his pain, physical or emotional, going so far as to say, in reference to his dealing with his mother's death "I'm not gonna pretend I just sailed through this thing all starry-eyed, going ' Life is death and death is life" like some cartoon Zen master. It was tough. (47, Zen Wrapped in Karma Dipped in Chocolate)" He does note that the power of concentration and ability to view things from a different perspective (in this situation viewing it without the preference of being without pain) make it "hard to say whether or not pain exists (119, Zen Wrapped in Karma Dipped in Chocolate)," though he goes on to say that he couldn't keep that sort of perspective up for very long, and he wasn't able to escape the pain completely. (So Warner kind of helps to reinforce this stereotype while simultaneously destroying it).
Brad Warner’s book defies all of this. He points out that Buddhists are fallible, and that they have moments (brief or extended) of weakness and lapses in judgment. He shows that they are prone to conflict and in-fighting just as much as any other organization or faith. Warner's life defies the stereotype completely, in that he, as a Buddhist, does not practice extreme self-denial or protest. He seems, for all practical intents and purposes, like a typical moderate Westerner with a firm belief and following of the lifestyle of an Eastern Tradition, not a radical ascetic prepared to light himself on fire to decry the mistreatment of his people. Warner is not so disconnected with himself or his pain, physical or emotional, going so far as to say, in reference to his dealing with his mother's death "I'm not gonna pretend I just sailed through this thing all starry-eyed, going ' Life is death and death is life" like some cartoon Zen master. It was tough. (47, Zen Wrapped in Karma Dipped in Chocolate)" He does note that the power of concentration and ability to view things from a different perspective (in this situation viewing it without the preference of being without pain) make it "hard to say whether or not pain exists (119, Zen Wrapped in Karma Dipped in Chocolate)," though he goes on to say that he couldn't keep that sort of perspective up for very long, and he wasn't able to escape the pain completely. (So Warner kind of helps to reinforce this stereotype while simultaneously destroying it).
I think you did an excellent job illustrating the contrast between the stereotype and Brad Warner (and also probably the majority of Buddhists). They are real people and experience the same struggles, difficulties, and pains of other people, but so often in the media this is not how they are represented. Brad Warner is just a guy, not a superhuman, all powerful Zen Master. Only he is a guy with a better way of dealing with the suffering that is part of being alive on this earth.
ReplyDeleteThat is such a strong image. One that gives a powerful positive stereotype, but one that may not be relevant to all monks. I really admire the definition you gave of the stereotype. You also have a great sense of how that stereotype does not apply to all monks with comparison to Brads writings. Very honest post and depiction, great job!
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