Book Write-Up (Loosely-Speaking): The Teaching of the Buddha

Teaching of the Buddha.  Tokyo: Bukkyo Dendo Kyokai, 1966, 1991.  Printed by Toppan Printing Co.

I got this book at the Goodwill.  It contains Buddhist sayings from various Buddhist writings.

I have long known about Buddhism.  I may have first learned about it when I visited a museum as a child and saw a giant statue of the Buddha, or when I saw a picture of the Buddha in an encyclopedia.

There were three milestones that actually informed me about the religion.

The first milestone was when I watched the 1993 movie Little Buddha, starring Keanu Reeves.  I was in high school at the time.  Maybe it was my decision to watch the movie because it would teach me about another religion, or maybe it was my sister’s decision because she thought that Keanu Reeves was cute.  (The movie Speed was popular at this time.)  In any case, we checked out the movie from the video store and watched it.

The movie covered some of the basics of Buddhism.  Reeves plays Siddhartha Gautama, the rich prince who leaves behind his life of comfort to become an itinerant.  He is exposed to the ills and terrors of life outside the palace, and he advocates a path of moderation, in between asceticism and over-indulgence.  Eventually, he is tempted by demons while sitting under a tree, and he learns that salvation comes through compassion.  “Well, that’s different from Christianity!”, I thought at the time.  “It teaches salvation by works, whereas Christianity teaches salvation by grace through faith!”  And, of course, I believed that Christianity had a better analysis of the human condition and offered a better solution: that we were inherently sinful and needed God’s grace and transformation of us in order to become righteous people.

The second milestone was when I was as an undergraduate in college.  I took an Introduction to Religions course, which covered Hinduism, Buddhism, and Islam.  Theravada Buddhism, I learned, was atheistic or at least agnostic about the existence of a deity.  Mahayana Buddhism, by contrast, had divine-like beings who were believed to assist people.  The common ground between these Buddhisms was a belief in non-attachment: that things in this world are continually changing, so we set ourselves up for disappointment when we desire or become attached to anyone or anything.  The best posture is non-attachment.  There were other aspects of Buddhism that the class covered: reincarnation (as in Hinduism), the noble path, and the need to concentrate in meditation, otherwise the teacher may whack you on the head with a stick (or so we saw in a video)!  But non-attachment was the main theme that stood out in my mind.  My assessment at the time was that Buddhism identified a real problem—-disappointment that flowed from desire and fluctuation in the world—-but that Christianity had a more fulfilling solution to this problem.  Rather than putting a lid on our enjoyment of the world, why not keep enjoying it?  Even if things change, God does not change, and God promises an eternal bliss for those who love God!

The third milestone was when I was a student at divinity school, and a Zen monk was my roommate.  We discussed religion, and he mentioned certain themes in our conversations.  One theme was that all is one, and all is God.  Meditation is a way by which one can arrive at a sense of that oneness.  The monk also mentioned times that Buddhists demonstrated a social conscience, as when a monk stood in front of an army to stop a war.  I especially identified with a story that my roommate told me, about a monk who spent a lot of time on the mountain meditating, then he came down to the market and got upset at someone.  This monk then realized that he had to go back up the mountain and meditate some more!  Walking the walk of what we believe can be difficult!

In reading The Teaching of the Buddha, a lot of these themes appeared: compassion for others, non-attachment, moderation, and the oneness of all people and things.  Giving to the poor was a recurrent theme, and so was equality.  Men and women can both become enlightened, the text affirmed, and yet homeless monks were warned to stay away from women, lest they violate their own chastity (sort of like the Billy Graham rule, but not entirely).  The book also had political theory: What is a just ruler?  What does a just ruler do?  It discussed how a ruler can approach war, in light of Buddhist principles: he should try to be peaceful but may realize that war is the only option, in certain cases.  The book also contained household codes, like Ephesians 5, Colossians 3, etc.  There was also a sense of mission: that spreading the message of Buddhism will encourage more people to become compassionate and less greedy and hateful, thereby improving society.  There are Christians who approach the Gospel this way, but the Buddhism in this book seemed to lack the pessimistic eschatology that characterizes much of Christianity.  The book did value this world, and yet it also seemed to maintain that this world is not entirely real.  I was unclear if it was disputing the world’s ontological reality in these cases, or was merely reaffirming its belief that things are continually changing and so we should not become attached.

On God, the book was rather variegated.  It occasionally expressed agnosticism about the existence of a god, and yet gods appeared in some of the Buddhist tales.  The Buddha was also depicted as an eternal, heavenly, cosmic figure, almost like God, who manifested himself as the human Siddhartha.  People need the assistance of the Buddha to become enlightened, and the Buddha is compassionate towards all.  On the one hand, the book asserted that Enlightenment is deep inside of everyone, even those who are greedy and selfish.  On the other hand, the book asserted that Buddha must plant the seeds of Enlightenment inside of a person.  The latter view is similar to Christianity, which stresses the role of God’s grace in enabling people to come to God and become virtuous.

Regarding the afterlife, there were occasional references to reincarnation, as far as I can remember.  But there were many references to hell or long-lasting or eternal punishment, as well as to the Pure Land.  Is the path away from hell and towards the Pure Land easy or difficult?  Some passages suggest that faith in the Buddha is sufficient for salvation, even on one’s deathbed.  Orientation towards the Buddha is powerful and life-changing, according to this view.  On the other hand, there is an acknowledgement that some may talk the talk without walking the walk, resulting in fruitlessness.  Certain sins, such as dishonoring parents, can also land one in hell.  The New Testament explores similar themes of faith, works, and the afterlife.

There are passages in this book that appear relativistic—-that assert or promote a state that is beyond right and wrong.  This is odd, since so much of the book clearly maintains that there are right actions and wrong actions, sometimes articulating “Thou shalt nots” that sound similar to the second table of the Ten Commandments.  What are the relativistic passages about, then?  I can only guess, based on themes that appear in the book.  The book encourages people to get beyond evaluating people and situations according to their likes and dislikes, for this is part of becoming un-attached, suppressing desire, recognizing the oneness of all, and becoming compassionate.  On the other hand, the book also encourages monks and devout Buddhists to avoid the greedy.  Christianity, too, attempts to navigate between love and protecting oneself from negative influences.

The book also seemed to suggest that evil has a role: for example, Enlightenment can grow from the soil of ignorance, and ignorance is a foil for Enlightenment.  This reminds me of the saying that “Without darkness, there is no light.”  That is somewhat consistent with Christianity, but not entirely.  Many Christians have asserted that God permits evil for a righteous purpose, as if evil has some role or value in God’s plans.  At the same time, Christianity teaches that good came first, that evil was a fall from the good, and that God one day will eliminate evil, leaving only good to remain.  Ultimately, for Christianity, light can exist without darkness.  Maybe Buddhism, too, has a similar notion: Is not the Pure Land free from corrupting desires?

An appendix to the book dates a lot of these Scriptures after Christ, while believing that they contain teachings of Siddhartha, who predated Christ.  That makes me wonder: Could these Scriptures have been influenced by Christianity?  The similarities seem so salient: incarnation (sort of), grace, faith, and relying on a higher power.  In one case, though, I wondered if the text was arguing against the New Testament.  On page 120, we read: “But it would be foolish for a man to put out his eyes for fear of being tempted by beautiful forms.”  Is this a response to Matthew 5:29: “If your right eye offend thee, pluck it out” (KJV)?  Is this a coincidence?

On whether I identified with the spirituality in this book, I identified with the theme of relying on a compassionate higher power to become virtuous.  I also liked the theme of being instructed by everyday life (nature, experience, and everyday tasks) about Enlightenment.  I had difficulty with the Buddhist teaching that we should avoid desires.  If things are changing, why not enjoy what we can when we can?  At the same time, I realize that becoming overly attached can result in greed, covetousness, jealousy, and hate.

Church Write-Up: The Imperfect and the Stunted

I have two items for my Church Write-Up this week.

A.  Last Sunday, I visited a Missouri Synod Lutheran church.  The theme of the service was lament.  Preaching about Psalm 31:9-16, the pastor said that the Psalmist offers to God his sadness.  The pastor remarked that this is odd: Are we not supposed to offer God our best?  Why is God willing, even eager, to take the Psalmist’s sadness?  The answer is that it’s because God loves us.

The Psalms are raw and honest.  The Psalmist does not always manifest a joyful, forgiving attitude!  And this is ironic, considering that God in the Book of Leviticus desires pure, unblemished sacrifices.  Moreover, Jesus in Mark 11:25 tells his disciples to forgive as they stand praying, and God will forgive their trespasses.  Does this imply that God needs to forgive us to hear our prayers, and God will forgive us only if we forgive others?  On that note, see Tim Challies’ Six Ways to Hinder Your Prayers.

Is there tension within the Bible, on this issue?  On the one hand, God hears imperfect people, with imperfect attitudes.  On the other hand, God desires perfection.

Christians may respond to these questions in a variety of ways.  One way is to say that God hears the prayers of sinners when they are covered with the blood of Christ.  We are imperfect, but Christ our sacrifice is perfect, and that is how God hears the prayers of sinful people.  Another way is to say that God will hear us if we are on the right track, or at least try to be on the right track.  To refer to the Challies post, many Christians will find that they fall short on that list.  Their obedience is partial and imperfect.  Their forgiveness falls short.  They cannot eradicate every trace of doubt.  They fail in being perfectly kind to others.  But are they at least trying to do the right thing?  Are they growing in doing the right thing?  For many Christians, God honors such an attitude and hears the prayers of those who hold it.

Speaking for myself personally, I know that I fall short, even in trying to have the right attitude and to do the right thing!  I am grateful for God’s law because it challenges me and upholds a righteous standard, but I know that I need God’s mercy.  I do not know if my attitude is good enough for God to hear my prayer, but my policy is to pray, and whether God listens to me or not is in God’s court.

B.  I also listened to a sermon delivered at the church that I normally attend.  The pastor was continuing a series on prayer.  He was baffled that a person can be a Christian and yet not pray.
I have actually thought about this issue before.  Years ago, I read a blog post by a woman who had been a Christian for decades, and yet she confessed that years went by in which she did not pray or read the Bible.  That baffled me.  How can one be a Christian without cultivating one’s relationship with God in prayer, or deriving nourishment from the Scriptures?

I can ask that question, and yet other Christians can look at me and find my Christian practice deficient.  Prayer and Bible study come easy to me because I can do those things by myself: they do not necessarily involve interpersonal interaction.  But I struggle with the practices that involve interpersonal interaction.  Consequently, Christians can ask: How can James be a Christian and not reach out to others with love?  How can James be a Christian and not be motivated to serve?

I learned a while back that there are plenty of Christians who struggle with prayer.  They do not know what to say to God.  It is awkward for them.  They may excel at serving or reaching out to others or witnessing, but personal prayer is a challenge to them.  That Christian woman who went years without prayer may have felt that she was practicing her faith in other ways: by being a kind, loving person, and by basing the way that she lives her life on the love of Christ.

I am reading a book called The Teaching of the Buddha.  On page 178, we read: “Therefore, to believe in the Dharma and to cherish the Brotherhood is to have faith in the Buddha, and to have faith in the Buddha is to believe in the Dharma and to cherish the Brotherhood.”

The Dharma is the path that the Buddha commands, and the Brotherhood is a group of people who are committed to following those commands.

That passage reminds me of certain Scriptures.  Love for God entails love for one’s brother or sister (I John 4:21).  Jesus in John 14:23 says that those who love him will obey his teaching.

It sounds automatic, doesn’t it?  And, on some level, that makes sense.  If I love God, I will value those God loves, God’s people.  If I am secure in God’s love for me, that will enable me to love others, even if they hurt me.  In Buddhist terms, if one walks the Buddhist path and becomes clean of greed and covetous desires, one will get along better with those in the Brotherhood.  The human flaws that hinder relationships will not be a problem.

But this is easier said than done, and people, in their own lives, may not find that B naturally follows A, assuming one can even get A right in the first place!

Book Write-Up: Good and Angry, by David Powlison

David Powlison.  Good and Angry: Redeeming Anger, Irritation, Complaining, and Bitterness.  Greensboro, NC: New Growth Press, 2016.  See here to purchase the book.

David Powlison is the executive director of the Christian Counseling and Educational Foundation, and he edits the Journal of Biblical Counseling.  He has an M.Div. from Westminster Theological Seminary and a doctorate from the University of Pennsylvania.

As the title of the book indicates, Powlison addresses the topic of anger in Good and Angry: Redeeming Anger, Irritation, Complaining, and Bitterness.  Part of his agenda is to encourage people to use their anger in constructive ways, especially when that anger is directed towards injustice.  Powlison talks about the importance of confronting people who have made us justly angry, in order to persuade them tactfully not to hurt others.

But Powlison also offers strategies on how to deal with anger that arises from things simply not going as we wish.  For Powlison, recognizing and identifying the roots of our anger, placing our desires in a proper perspective, and appreciating God’s mercy, sovereignty, and benevolence are all strategies for alleviating anger.  Powlison believes that prayer is significant in this process.

Another issue that is discussed in the book is whether anger at God is justified.  Powlison criticizes ranting against God or forgiving God, for Powlison regards God as righteous, and human beings as flawed.  Powlison disagrees with those who claim that the Psalms justify ranting against God, for he maintains that they indicate a desire for God’s righteous intervention and presence, not an anti-God attitude.

Powlison includes anecdotes in this book.  He is honest about his own shortcomings and describes his own experiences with anger.  He refers to people he has known who were angry: one story that comes to mind is the one about the lady who was angry about things that occurred a long time ago, and they were still fresh in her mind, as if they had occurred yesterday!  Powlison also draws from books that he has read, both fiction and non-fiction.

The Bible looms large in Powlison’s book, as he finds helpful biblical insights about anger and how to deal with it.

In terms of the book’s positives, the author’s honesty gave his discussion credibility.  Powlison is talking about an issue with which he has struggled, and he is offering insights for others who struggle.  The anecdotes were helpful.  And the book manifested an tone of acceptance towards where people were.  Powlison encouraged readers to identify BWAs—-“But what about”s—-which are areas in which they disagreed with the author, or wondered if or how his discussion would address certain issues.

Powlison also offered a specific way to cope with anger in a scenario: you are caught up in  unexpected traffic and will be late for your doctor’s appointment, your business meeting, or lunch with an estranged friend.  How can you cope in that situation?  Powlison provides questions to ask that deal with identifying insecurities and reflecting on the consequences of anger.  Psalm 23 plays a significant role in his advice, as does showing concern for others.

As one who struggles socially, Powlison’s discussion about people who are angry because they lack social skills resonated with me: Powlison said that it is not a sin to lack wit!  He encouraged people to care more about God’s opinion of them than their own or other people’s opinion.  There may be wisdom to that.  At the same time, there are people who can read the Bible and feel condemned by it.  There are also Christians who accuse introverted people of lacking love, and that can negatively shape an introverted person’s view of what God thinks about him or her!

In terms of the book’s negatives, the book could have been more specific about how to do interpersonal confrontation.  Powlison should have provided scenarios about how to confront someone in a tactful, humble manner.  Powlison also appeared rather critical of attempting to insulate oneself from anger through distance, or by watching television.  In my opinion, distraction can be a useful way to get one’s mind off of the things that make one angry!  And, as far as Scripture was concerned, the book perhaps would have been better had it wrestled with Jesus’ statements about God not forgiving us if we do not forgive others.

Overall, though, the book offers wisdom.  Powlison writes from a Christian perspective, but a lot of what he says reminds me of Buddhism, or the twelve steps of twelve-step groups.  Like Buddhism, Powlison recognizes the role of our desires in making us unhappy.  And the fourth step encourages those in recovery to make a list of people towards whom one is bitter, and to identify what exactly those people threatened: one’s self-esteem, livelihood, security, etc.?  Many people have been helped by twelve step programs, and that is something that, in my mind, gives Powlison’s advice credence: that similar advice has worked.

I received a complimentary review copy of this book through Cross Focused Reviews, in exchange for an honest review.

Reinventing Richard Nixon 8

I finished Daniel Frick's Reinventing Richard Nixon: A Cultural History of an American Obsession.  In this post, I'll use as my starting-point something that Frick says on pages 222-223:

"...Dallas Boyd, who has developed a fascination with Buddhism, theosophy, astrology, and channeling, has come to believe in an authentic Richard Nixon who exists outside the man's physical shell.  Through his intense identification with the role he plays on stage, Boyd has been inviting this genuine Nixon into the actor's body.  Enticing this spirit to experience the play might permit the man's tortured soul to slough off the 'prejudices and stubborn self-images' that imprisoned the historical Nixon throughout his life.  The point of all Boyd's efforts of these past fourteen months, he comes to realize, is to provide some form of expiation for the disgraced former president: 'I've already forgiven myself.  It's all for Tricky Dick from here on out.'  As he prepares for his performance each night, Boyd meditates, channeling all of Nixon's 'anger and hatred,' transforming it into 'the most peaceful, wonderful feelings.'  Exploring Nixon's guilt permits the actor to realize that Nixon's chance to exorcise the demons of his past might redeem us all.  As Boyd, transformed into Richard Nixon, makes his entrance on stage, the walls and ceiling of the theater evaporate.  The stars of the Milky Way shine overhead while, below, the dead from Cambodia and Kent State join the audience, along with Pat Nixon and the actor's dead lover.  Together, all these imperfect people, 'as flawed as Dallas, as flawed as Richard Nixon,' desire simply 'a glimpse of the truth.'  And that release, through Boyd's spiritual performance, seems only moments away."

Frick is talking here about the short story "Nixon Under the Bodhi Tree," by Gerald Reilly.  The story is about a forty-three year old homosexual actor named Dallas Boyd, who is going to play Richard Nixon in a one-man show.  Boyd is getting rave reviews, but he is finding that he is too tired for the two-hour performance, since he is in the late stages of AIDS.  Also, Boyd learns that Richard Nixon has recently died.

I don't know if Boyd is literally channeling Nixon, in the sense that Nixon's spirit is possessing him, or if "channeling" in this case simply means that Boyd is really identifying with his character.  I am not a supporter of channeling, but the image of healing, redemption, and reconciliation in the midst of human imperfections is beautiful in the passage that I just quoted.

The passage reminded me of something that Frick said near the beginning of his book.  Frick was discussing Richard Nixon's funeral, and he noted that evangelist Billy Graham in his sermon at the event likened Richard Nixon to Saul.  Frick describes Graham's sermon as follows:

"Reading the noted Hebrew Bible scholar Ernest Wright's characterization of the first king of the Israelites evokes an unsettling case of reverse [deja vu]:  'Saul had some fine political successes, but he seems to have possessed a certain instability of character.'  By conjuring up this tragic figure of a man who could have been a great king had it not been for 'an evil spirit from the Lord [that] tormented him,' Graham reminded us of Richard Nixon's presidential accomplishments while calling us to mourn that he had succumbed to his demons.  At the same time, Graham insisted, the nation must cease to condemn Nixon, because 'in the end the only thing that really counts is not how others see us here, but how God sees us' (Services, 18).  Pronouncing that he believed Nixon was now in heaven, Graham attempted to complete the process of spiritual healing by forever taking the power to judge the former president out of the secular realm and by aspiring to inter not just Nixon's physical remains but also the uneasy spirit of his political legacy that had haunted recent American experience."

I've long felt sorry for Saul because he had his inner demons, and he came to a bitter end.  He's a tragic figure.  II Samuel 7:15 even goes so far as to say that God removed his mercy from Saul.  Does this call into question God's unconditional love for each and every human being?

I like the themes of healing and reconciliation.  I would like to think that everyone, regardless of who he or she is, will experience that.  But some might think otherwise.  Alger Hiss, the man Nixon claimed was a Communist spy, said that Nixon went to his grave with sins un-atoned for.  Does believing in some healing, reconciliation, or mercy in the afterlife entail assuming that sin and whom it hurts does not matter, that God is a God of cheap grace?  I don't think so.  Even a number of universalists will say that there may be discipline and purgation of sin in the afterlife for those who are in "hell."  I believe, though, that it's a positive thing to hope that people will arrive at a state of happiness, inner healing, and reconciliation with others.  We were born into this world, and some had a harder road than others, which may have influenced how they turned out.  All of us had made poor choices, for different reasons.  We all need mercy and healing.

Spiritual Experiences: Discipline and Quiet

On page 286 of Circle of Life: Traditional Teachings of Native American Elders, James David Audlin talks about attitudes to avoid when one wants to receive a vision:

"If we decide in our own minds, 'I am never going to have a vision,' or 'I insist on having a vision,' we make it harder to have the vision that the Grandmothers and Grandfathers may want to bring to us.  It's like telling yourself, 'I could never learn to play the piano' or 'I insist on learning to play the piano.'  If you tell yourself either, it becomes much more difficult to learn to play the piano.  Rather, chant[e] ishta, seeing with the heart, is learning to be quiet within and not make presumptions, so the vision, if there is to be one, may come to us.  Gautama Buddha taught well that desire (including anti-desire, or fear) blocks us from progress.  Zen Buddhism in particular teaches us how to be quiet within so the delicate wakan presence of a vision, like the sighting of a rare bird or of an albino deer, such as I once saw in Vermont, is not chased off by our loud desires or fears."

What I get out of the above passage is that sometimes we need to get out of our own way in order to have a spiritual experience.  Does this accord with what I have seen, read, or heard?  I'd say that many have told me that I need to work hard in order to have a spiritual experience.  "Keep seeking the baptism of the Holy Spirit", a Pentecostal once told me.  "You have to do the first eight steps of the twelve step program, then you will have the spiritual experience that Step Nine talks about", people in twelve-step recovery groups are told.  The first century Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria believed that, in many cases, an ecstatic spiritual experience came after rigorous asceticism and contemplation.  And James David Audlin himself, on pages 273-277, quotes a story about someone who fasted from the comforts of modern life (i.e., hamburgers, television, etc.) and repeatedly cried out to the Great Mystery, but he eventually felt great peace when he accepted the wilderness around him and, in turn, felt accepted by it.

I think that having a spiritual experience does require work, discipline, and preparation.  Even James David Audlin says in the passage that I quoted at the beginning of this post that Zen Buddhism has a technique that helps practitioners to become quiet within.  I'm sure that takes discipline!  But it seems to be the case that the spiritual experience comes when we are at a state of quiet and peace, when we're just open----when we're not despairing that we will never have a spiritual experience, on the one hand, and we're not obsessed over having one, on the other hand.  Sometimes, the spiritual experience may come when we're not expecting it.  An old man once told me a story about how he was praying on his tractor and, out of the blue, just started speaking in tongues!  C.S. Lewis at the end of Mere Christianity says that we will find Christ when we look to Him and not to ourselves.

We can take steps to make ourselves receptive, but when, how, and if we have a spiritual experience is the prerogative of God, as the spirit blows wherever it wishes.  But, at the same time, I believe that God loves us, even if we don't have a spiritual experience.  That realization can take off of me the pressure to have one, or the despair at not having one, and perhaps it can put me in the position of enjoying God for God's company and being open, whatever happens.

Seeing the Elephant

For my write-up today on Paul Knitter's No Other Name?  A Critical Survey of Christian Attitudes Toward the World Religions, I'll comment on points that Knitter makes on page 221 and page 229.
On page 221, Knitter states the following:

"More concretely, the Christian doctrine of the trinity needs the Islamic insistence on divine oneness; the impersonal emptiness of Buddhism needs the Christian experience of the divine Thou; the Christian teaching on the distinction between the ultimate and the finite needs the Hindu insight into the nonduality between Brahma and atman; the prophetic-praxis oriented content of the Judeo-Christian tradition needs the Eastern stress on personal contemplation and 'acting without seeking the fruits of action.'"

On page 229, Knitter states: "A global practical theology is telling Christian social prophets that they must be more contemplative, and Eastern mystics that they must be more prophetic.  As John A.T. Robinson concluded from his passing over to Hinduism: 'The mystical center needs the prophetic center if it is not to become airborne....But equally the prophetic center needs the mystical center if it is not to become arrogant, narrow, and unlovely."

There's a lot of wisdom in what John A.T. Robinson is saying.  There are advocates of social justice who are arrogant, self-righteous, condescending, and unhappy, and why not?  They're concerned about injustice and how it is hurting and killing vulnerable people, and yet they live in a world that is unjust, where a number of people do not share their concerns.  And then there are mystical people who sit around staring at their navels without accomplishing any concrete good in the world.  But they themselves are taming their inward beasts, as they become more patient and understanding of themselves and of others.  As Robinson astutely affirms, both a concern for social justice and self-reflection are good to have.

That said, I'd like to comment on what Knitter says about inter-religious dialogue in the passages that I just mentioned.  Many of you have probably heard the story of the blind men and the elephant (see here), in which blind men are feeling different parts of the elephant and disagree about what it is that they are touching.  The blind man who is feeling the elephant's leg believes that he's touching a pillar, the one feeling the elephant's tail thinks that he's touching a rope, and so on.  The lesson of the story is that, by talking with one another, the blind men can get a fuller picture of what it is that they all are touching, and perhaps they would then realize that it's an elephant.

The story has been said to be a parable that supports relativism or religious pluralism, but I can understand the argument of critics that this is not so.  The story does not appear to be saying that each blind man is correct according to his own point of view; rather, the story is saying that there is a truth out there (the elephant), all the blind men have the wrong idea, and that only by talking with one another and bringing their experiences to the table can they arrive at the truth of what it is that they are touching.

Knitter believes that he sees the elephant.  Granted, he says that we should all be humble as we realize that we do not have the full truth, and thus we should be open to learning.  But he seems to have an idea in his mind about what the conclusions of inter-religious dialogue should be, and where the world religions are right and wrong.  Perhaps he makes good points: As I said above, I'm all in favor of balancing the prophetic with the mystical.  And I also see value in viewing everything as one, while also respecting individuality.  But I think that it would be presumptuous for a Christian to tell a Buddhist that he needs to recognize a divine Thou.  Maybe the Buddhist does not want to recognize a divine Thou because he's a Buddhist and has a more impersonal conception of the transcendent.  Is Knitter interested in letting Christians be Christians and Buddhists be Buddhists, or does he want everyone to convert to his own conception of what religion should be?

I suppose that the way that I would approach this issue is to be open myself to what other religions can teach me, while realizing that others are free to be open or closed to the lessons of my religion.  At the same time, I would feel free to explain why I believe that elements of my religion are so valuable----why I think that a personal God is important, why I am committed to social justice, why I feel that apathy regarding social justice has disastrous consequences, etc.  Perhaps my approach of listening and trying to persuade overlaps in areas with Knitter's conception of inter-religious dialogue.

David Marshall: "Guan Yin"

I read Chapter 8 of David Marshall’s True Son of Heaven: How Jesus Fulfills the Chinese Culture. This chapter is entitled “Guan Yin”. Guan Yin is an East Asian goddess of compassion. Marshall opens this chapter with a story about a man’s concubine and his son. The son hated his father’s concubine because his father paid more attention to the concubine than to his wife, who was the son’s mother. On a family picnic, there were bandits nearby, and the son planned to kill his father’s concubine, thinking that the bandits would be blamed. But the concubine cried out to Guan Yin, and the son could not lift a finger against her. The son eventually became an official in Taiwan, and he told an American friend that the concubine was immoral, but that Guan Yin, a compassionate bodhisattva, desires to save every sentient being, regardless of how moral or immoral they are.

(On a side note, what would Marshall do with this story? It’s an eyewitness account of an event that appears to be supernatural. Does this account verify the existence of Guan Yin, the way that Marshall believes that the Gospels as eyewitness accounts support the truth of Christianity?)

Marshall believes that there are parallels between Guan Yin and Jesus. He quotes Guan Yin as saying: “Yes, the world has need of me, even if I have to die. My love can overcome death.” At the same time, Marshall does not think that, overall, Guan Yin has challenged immorality in China. Marshall talks about brothels in China. “Guan Yin has been worshipped [in the Dragon Mountain Temple] for a hundred years without disturbing business”, Marshall says on page 97. “She reaches out her thousand arms to the brothels, one for each girl in the district, and draws back…cash.” Marshall says that China needs an intolerant Savior, one who gets angry and overturns tables in standing for justice.

But Marshall tells a mythical story about Guan Yin that depicts her as transformative. The story dates back to 1102, and it’s about Miao Shan, an incarnation of Guan Yin in China. Miao Shan’s father (a king) had her killed because she would not marry his choice to be her husband. Wikipedia’s summary provides more details: the suitor was wealthy, and Miao Shan offered to marry the suitor if her father would ease suffering in aging, illness, and death. According to Marshall, after her death, she went to hell. But Miao Shan transformed hell, as “Irons fell off prisoners” and “Ogres learned to smile” (page 94). When her father became sick, Miao Shan visited him and healed him after plucking out her eyes. Marshall states that the king repented in response to his daughter’s gesture, and she became whole again.

The wikipedia summary tells a variant of the tale, which discusses what happened when the executioner sent by the king tried to kill Miao Shan, and failed because she had some sort of supernatural protection:

“Miao Shan, realising the fate the executioner would meet at her father’s hand should she fail to let herself die, forgave the executioner for attempting to kill her. It is said that she voluntarily took on the massive karmic guilt the executioner generated for killing her, thus leaving him guiltless. It is because of this that she descended into the Hell-like realms. While there she witnessed first hand the suffering and horrors beings there must endure and was overwhelmed with grief. Filled with compassion, she released all the good karma she had accumulated through her many lifetimes, thus freeing many suffering souls back into Heaven and Earth. In the process that Hell-like realm became a paradise. It is said that Yanluo, King of Hell, sent her back to Earth to prevent the utter destruction of his realm, and that upon her return she appeared on Fragrant Mountain.”

Essentially, Miao Shan took the guilt of her would-be executioner, went to hell, and liberated suffering souls, on the basis of her own good karma that she had accumulated in her incarnations. She does sound like Jesus, in a sense. I am not an expert on Chinese religion, so I do not know if some maintain that Miao Shan was based on Jesus, or if scholars think that there are simply common themes that appear across different cultures.

These are beautiful stories. I do think that it would be better if Guan Yin stories encouraged more social and moral transformation, but that’s a problem that all sorts of religions have, including Christianity: they can get to the point where they sanction the establishment rather than challenging it. As far as China needing an intolerant savior (Jesus) is concerned, I can see Marshall’s point—-if the savior is intolerant about moral matters, or issues pertaining to social justice. But intolerance concerning doctrinal points? That doesn’t make as much sense to me.

David Marshall: "Buddha Walks the Silk Road"

I have three items for my write-up today on Chapter 7 of David Marshall’s True Son of Heaven: How Jesus Fulfills the Chinese Culture. This chapter is entitled “Buddha Walks the Silk Road”.

1. On page 82, Marshall critiques the Buddhist belief in reincarnation: “Buddha didn’t want to believe in rebirth. In [the movie Little Buddha], he called it a ‘curse.’ And of course, Buddha was right. Life has meaning as a story. But what if after every chapter, you forget the chapter you just finished? What if (to use another Little Buddha example) you make on false move and spend 500 lives as a goat? If the Asian view of reincarnation is correct, this world is like a slope in hell up which we each push our boulder, each time to have it crash down on us again.”

I agree with Marshall’s critique. But is the Christian doctrine of eternal torment in hell that much better? One problem I have with hell is that, as Marshall notes, life is a story. It just does not make sense to me for a person to live and to grow and to learn lessons and to love and to be loved and to suffer, and then to die and go to hell just because he failed to accept Jesus Christ as his personal Savior before his death. The story sounds incongruous, to say the least. Some people I know who believe in reincarnation (and these are not Easterners, but people from the West) think that reincarnation makes sense because it gives us opportunities to learn lessons that we may not have learned in a previous lifetime. I wonder how efficacious the lesson would be, though, if we cannot even remember the previous lifetimes, or even this lifetime after we die and become something else. But perhaps my Western friends who believe in reincarnation would respond that the lesson is still inside of us, even if we don’t remember the exact details of how we learned it, or what the lesson was.

2. On pages 87-90, Marshall critiques Buddhism because it undermines family bonds. After all, Buddhism began when Siddhartha left behind his family to seek Enlightenment! On page 89, Marshall comments on another scene in Little Buddha: “To kill desire for spiritual fellowship with beings who are external to ourselves and different is to kill our humanity. It is indeed like giving our children over to an ogre. Yet, in another scene this same monk showed how even trained Buddhists have too much of the image of God on their souls to fully give their hearts to the ogre called ‘detachment.’ The Old Master died and was buried, his successor found. The American boy was ready to go home. The Tibetan monk who brought him to India from America choked back tears as he said goodbye, saying to the boy’s father, ‘I’m afraid I’m not a very good example of Buddhist detachment.’”

Some of you reading this who did not see the movie may wonder what is going on. I won’t summarize the movie in this post, but you can read about it here. Essentially, the point that Marshall is making is that Buddhism promotes emotional detachment from friends and family, since attachment is what leads to suffering, but that even some Buddhists feel sad when somebody close to them dies, and that is because they have the image of God on their souls. I like Marshall’s appeal to the image of God—-the notion that none of us is far from knowing about God’s goodness, on some level, since God’s image is upon us. But what about the things in the Bible that offend people’s moral sensitivities—-the slaughter of women and children in the Conquest, for example? And, speaking of detachment, what about Jesus’ exhortations to his disciples to hate or to leave their families (Mark 10:29; Luke 14:26)?

I don’t think that Jesus in the Gospels was against family, in an overall sense. He raised a man from the dead and restored him to his mother (Luke 7:12-15). He told someone from whom he exorcised demons to go home and to tell his friends what God has done for him (Mark 5:19). He criticized Pharisees for dishonoring their parents (Mark 7), as well as lambasted divorce while presenting marriage as a life-long bond that no man can put asunder (Matthew 19).

Moreover, one reason that Jesus believed that the disciples should prefer him over their families was that he knew that many of them would be placed in a situation where they would have to choose, for families would be hostile towards Christianity and would even persecute it (Matthew 10:36; Luke 12:53). But it also appears to be the case that the disciples were expected to leave behind their families and to travel with Jesus. Jesus praises the disciples for doing so in Luke 14:26. When a man wants to follow Jesus but asks that he first be allowed to say farewell to his family, Jesus likens that to putting one’s hands to the plow and looking back. Perhaps Jesus was afraid that the family would persuade the man not to follow Jesus. Or maybe Jesus thought that the apocalypse was so urgent that there wasn’t time to dilly-dally by saying good-bye to one’s family. In any case, there is a sense in which Jesus promoted a sense of detachment from family, even though that’s far from being the whole story, for Jesus also affirmed family-ties—-in his healing ministry, in his teaching, in his example (at times), etc.

3. On page 85, Marshall talks about how the Taiwan Chinese have adapted Buddhism to their culture: “Taiwan Chinese have more temples per capita than anyone else in the world. Most Taiwanese answered my survey by telling me they went to the temples and believed in Buddhism. They had positive feelings toward Siddhartha: ‘With great compassion he saves people who are in distress.’ ‘(He was) a person who loved people.’ But, when asked the purpose of life, few if any said ‘to escape suffering’ to ‘to attain detachment.’ Almost no one believed in reincarnation. The only one of the Four Noble truths that seemed to have stuck in most minds was the idea of right conduct, thought and attitude, which in any case Chinese believed long before Buddhism came to China. If I were to pick an antonym for what the vast majority of Chinese really think, it might be ‘Buddhism.’”

Buddha promoted detachment as a way to alleviate suffering, which is consistent with monasticism. But many Chinese like marriage and family and happiness and prosperity, or fu. As a result, they have adapted Buddhism to their culture. This reminds me of what one of my commenters, Looney Fundamentalist, said under my post, “David Marshall: “The Pursuit of Happiness”", after I talked about Marshall’s statement that Buddhism is opposed to desire. Looney has Chinese relatives and lives in Taiwan, and he said the following:

“With all my Chinese relatives, the notes on the Eastern religions always bring in a disconnect. I had listened to several lectures on this subject recently from a western professor that reinforced this. The only thing I have ever heard prayed for by Buddhists is health, wealth and good grades. i.e. the prosperity gospel on steroids.”

David Marshall: "The Pursuit of Happiness"

For my write-up today on David Marshall’s Jesus and the Religions of Man, I’ll blog about Chapter 8, “The Pursuit of Happiness”. But I will also bring up things that Marshall has said elsewhere in this book. Unfortunately, I can’t find every reference, so I will be going with my memory a lot, and I apologize for any inaccuracies.

Marshall’s essential argument in this chapter is that believing in Christianity can make people happy. And he contrasts Christianity with Eastern religions, which he does not think can make people truly happy. For Marshall, a key ingredient to happiness is service to others, but Eastern religions have concepts that tend to go against that. They either present all as God or as one, which merges everything into a blur and is different from the Christian obligation to help and to love the other, even those who are different from us. But Eastern religions also have an inward rather than an outward focus, even if practitioners believe that their solitary acts are somehow contributing to the larger stream of life. Marshall also notes a tendency in some Eastern religions to try to kill emotions: to become desire-less in order to avoid disappointment. But Marshall believes that Christianity offers a better way: “Christianity also tells us not to ‘brood’ over results, but to do our best and leave the results in God’s hands” (page 177).

That’s my summary, and Marshall’s actual presentation has more detail and nuance, as he draws from his knowledge and experience of Eastern religions and their practitioners. I can identify with his critiques, on some level. What I like about Buddhism, though, is that it exhorts us to make peace (albeit a cynical peace) with life as it is, with all of its changes and ups and downs, whereas I feel that Christianity pressures me to be happy (“rejoice”) and makes me feel less if I am not happy. Moreover, I wonder if certain Eastern beliefs that Marshall discusses can be taken in a positive direction. The view that all is one or God and the attempt to see our differences as mere illusions can actually be conducive to love, for, in many cases, my dislike of others is based at least partially on differences or divisions between us. Marshall himself, in parts of this book, stresses that we all have certain commonalities, for he says that we’re all in need of forgiveness and we all put our pants on one leg at a time. But, overall, while I believe that Eastern religions offer a lot of wisdom, I find that I need a personal God to ameliorate my loneliness in this world.

I’ve talked before on this blog about how the Bible and Christianity have concepts that may not be conducive to happiness, such as hell. Marshall actually touches on that point in this chapter, for he refers to a lady who felt guilt because she believed that her friends and relatives were in hell. Marshall is clear that she is mis-applying the Christian faith, in that case, and that she should not blame herself. In my opinion, however, whether or not she should blame herself, the doctrine that people go to hell for not believing or behaving in a certain way can still put one’s mind in a tailspin. I know people who are not Christians. Sure, if it turns out that Christianity is true and they end up in hell, that may not be my fault. But it still stinks that God has an economy in which they will go to hell and suffer forever! I hope that universalism is true: that hell is a place of temporary discipline, chastisement, and education rather than a place of eternal torture.

More on Clones

For background, see Altruism and Jesus Clones.

Felix links to an article on his blog that criticizes a common Christian claim: that Christians should give up themselves. In "Altruism," I discussed this in light of altruism. In "Jesus Clones," I referred to the belief of many Christians that all of us should be like Jesus, which, for many, means happy-happy extroversion.

Here I want to talk about the Christian belief that everyone should believe the exact same way. For me, life is interesting because it has different people with different beliefs. The different ways that people get through life are of interest to me.

There is a strong part of me that likes John Hick's view on religious pluralism: that God interacts with people through various religions, making them better people through his grace. Or, as "God" said in Joan of Arcadia, God made different people, so there are different ways of relating to him.

At Harvard, a teaching assistant defined Thomas Jefferson's view on religion as follows: different religions are like different flavors of ice cream. As long as you're kind to others, you can pick whatever flavor you prefer.

I wonder if there are insights that non-Christian religions have that Christianity does not emphasize as much. Buddhism, for instance, talks about non-attachment as a key to happiness. I guess Christianity has that concept in some way, shape, or form, but Buddhism expresses it in its own unique fashion. As a result, I'm not sure if I'd call Buddhism superfluous.

On the other hand, is it wrong for all of us to believe the same way on certain things--how we should treat one another, for example. And not all of the religions can be right in their truth claims, right? Truth is truth. Shouldn't everyone believe in the truth, whatever that may be?

Is there a way for Christianity to be true, while preserving and celebrating the diversity of life, particularly people's different worldviews?

Rich Brother Rich Sister

I recently finished Rich Brother Rich Sister: Two Different Paths to God, Money and Happiness (New York: Vanguard, 2009), by Robert Kiyosaki and Emi Kiyosaki. I have to take it back to the library tomorrow, so I'd might as well write my review right now!

Robert and Emi are siblings. Robert is a big-time financial guru who wrote the bestseller Rich Dad Poor Dad, and Emi is a Buddhist nun who was ordained by the Dalai Lama.

The book was not entirely what I expected. From the back cover, I anticipated an account about how two different people helped one another to see the world in a new light. Robert would teach Emi the value of money, while Emi would teach Robert about spiritual values. Because I am drawn to religion rather than get-rich-quick schemes, I thought I'd enjoy Emi's sections more than Robert's.

But things didn't turn out as I expected, at least not entirely. For one, Robert says that the book was written so that Emi would have enough money for her cancer treatment. That's a noble goal, but I'd prefer for a book to be written as a result of a profound experience in which lessons are learned, and there's a felt need to communicate them to the outside world.

Second, Emi seemed to learn more from Robert than the other way around. Emi learned the value of money. She wanted to be a Buddhist nun living a simple life, but she realized that she needed money to cope in the United States, especially with our expensive health care system. Robert gave her tips on how to achieve financial independence.

And what did Robert learn from Emi? I'm not sure exactly. Robert and Emi became estranged from each other in their young adulthood because Robert served in Vietnam, whereas Emi marched in the peace movement. Robert eventually concluded that our involvement in the war had corrupt motivations, but he reached that conclusion through his own experience, not Emi's influence.

The same went for a lot of his spiritual insights. He didn't really get them from Emi, but from walking his own path of success and failure.

Third, I found myself enjoying Robert's sections more than Emi's. Robert writes in a light-hearted, conversational manner about the lessons he's learned along life's way. When he said that the religious people he knew were fine as wives or mothers, but became scary once they talked about religion, he pretty much had me hooked.

I also liked his story about how he became involved in self-help seminars. A girl he pursued invited him to them, and he reluctantly went, hoping she'd go out with him. When he failed to show a lot of interest, the girl told him that he needed that seminar more than anyone, since he was so needy. From that moment on, he tried to become a growing, spiritual, and successful person. He valued learning for learning's sake, not out of competition or stress to earn a degree, to the chagrin of his academically successful father. Robert is open about his past mistakes and failures, yet he affirms that they were necessary to help him learn and grow as a human being. That reminds me of something I heard today from AA's Daily Reflection: Nothing is wasted in God's economy.

Regarding Emi, I got to learn about the Dalai Lama, meditation, and the Buddhist system of karma, but I wasn't entirely clear about why she became a Buddhist. My impression is that it was something she kind of fell into. She talks about learning from her mistakes, since she admits that she wasn't exactly the best mother. But I wasn't entirely clear about how Buddhism shaped her life. That contrasts with a book I read a while back, Gabriel Cohen's Storms Can't Hurt the Sky: A Buddhist Path Through Divorce (see here), in which Cohen discusses how Buddhist insights helped him to cope with his hard divorce.

There were things that I liked about Emi's story, but they didn't have much to do with her Buddhism. She said that she'd always been a shy, socially-awkward person who was trying to escape from life, and I can understand where she's coming from there. She also related that she worked as a Buddhist chaplain in Colorado Springs, a predominantly evangelical city (not to mention the headquarters of Dr. James Dobson's Focus on the Family). She remarked that the area is quite friendly, as people greeted her when she passed them on the sidewalk, presumably in her Buddhist nun garb. Are friendly areas even real? Maybe!

Rich Brother Rich Sister has its flaws, since it sometimes reads as an infomercial, plus Robert comes across as a hero trying to rescue his sister. But it's still enjoyable because it's about people's experiences, insights, and growth.

Stoic Serenity Prayer

Source: John Sellars, Stoicism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006) 3.

"Nevertheless the result is a powerful summary of Stoic practical philosophy, and the opening chapter perfectly captures the essence of Epictetus' philosophy as we know it: 'Of things, some are up to us, and some are not up to us. Up to us are opinion, impulse, desire, aversion, and, in a word, all our actions. Not up to us are body, possessions, reputations, offices and, in a word, all that are not our actions' (Ench. 1.1)...Almost all human misery, [Epictetus] argues, is the product of people not understanding the nature and significance of this division, of assuming that they have control of things that in fact they do not, of grounding their happiness in external things 'not up to us' and so making it highly vulnerable to the vicissitudes of fortune. Instead, we should ground our happiness on those things that are 'up to us', on those things that can never be taken away from us. If we do that, our happiness will be literally invulnerable."

Epictetus was a first century C.E. Stoic philosopher. His philosophy reminds me of the Serenity Prayer and Buddhism. The Serenity Prayer says, "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." And Buddhism seeks to free people from desiring the unstable things of life, telling them that they can control their reactions to events rather than allowing the events to eat on them.

My problem is that I can't really distinguish between the things I can change and the things I can't. If someone is rude to me, is that my fault, or is it because he has issues? Or could it be a little of both? Do I have to feel responsible if not everyone on the face of the earth likes me, even if they may dislike the way that I am--something I'm partially responsible for?

Emulate

On my Christian dating site, someone posted an article that critiqued atheists, particularly Christopher Hitchens and Bill Maher. It cited surveys that showed religious people are healthier and happier than those who are non-religious.

In the course of the discussion, the person who posted the article made the following comment:

"I know God loves these atheists and desires them to repent and come to Him. But when I hear them talk, I always come away thinking: I have never met, known, or heard an atheist whose attitude or character was anything I would ever want to emulate. And it makes me wonder, why would anyone be attracted to them?"

I like this person, so I didn't want to challenge him on the dating site. And there's a part of me that actually likes his comment. Atheists always like to point out the bad apples of Christianity. A decent response is, "Well, what makes you so special, oh self-righteous atheist?"

But I thought that my friend's comment was rather smug. Indeed, there really aren't too many atheists I want to emulate. Sure, I can understand where they're coming from, but I don't exactly say to myself, "Man, I want to be like this atheist." But, to be honest, there aren't a lot of Christians I want to be like, either. So many Christians are smug, self-righteous, and judgmental. Even if their way has something to it, I don't desire to be like them.

And let me say this: I don't expect people to want to be like me. That's what I hate about Christianity: it says I have to act perfectly so people will see in me something that they want, which will open the door for me to share the evangelical Jesus-spiel. But I don't want people to be like me. I'm scared of my own shadow! I have so much resentment inside of me. I'm not perfect. I have issues to work through. I'm a burden enough to myself. Don't ask me to be burdened with other people's souls and lives!

After I read my friend's comment, I asked myself, "Is there anyone I want to emulate?" Personally, I think there are things to admire and hate in all sorts of people: Christians and atheists. But so many people are regular: they just try to make it through the day.

There is one person whose character I admire: a Buddhist monk I knew at Harvard. He was a friendly, open person--to everyone with whom he came into contact. He didn't seem to have any resentments or cliques or hidden agendas: he manifested what C.S. Lewis said about humility in Mere Christianity--he was genuinely interested in what I had to say. And we had a lot of good talks on religion, as I shared with him my Christianity.

One time, he shared with me some of his Zen Buddhist beliefs. He told me about a monk who was on the mountaintop meditating, and he decided to go down the mountain into the marketplace. After days of meditation, he thought he had enough inner peace to handle anything! Then, someone in the market insulted him, and the monk got mad. He then realized that he had to go back up the mountain to meditate again!

I liked this story because it was so unpretentious: it recognized that life and humanity presents their share of challenges. I've heard Christians beat up on themselves for their imperfections, but I detect a lot of pride in that: Christianity says it's good to be humble, so Christians try to show how much better they are than everyone else by playing their "humility" to the max. But my Buddhist friend was not like that: he saw that living a good life is a process.

I want to close this post by citing a Desperate Housewives episode, from the second season. Carlos Solis was in jail because he assaulted his wife's teenage lover. His wife is named Gabrielle. A pretty nun helps Carlos get out of prison, and he decides to turn his life around: for years, he was a selfish, materialistic, rich guy, and now he seeks to follow God and give to the world. Gabrielle doesn't like the nun because she's attractive, and the nun (for whatever reason) wants Carlos to leave Gabrielle.

There's a funny scene that takes place in a church. Gabrielle pays for the nun to go to Africa, since she wants to keep the lady away from her husband. The nun then arranges for Carlos to come to Africa with her. In the church, as the three of them discuss their plans, Carlos says, "What you don't realize, Gabby, is that there are dying people in the world." Gabrielle responds, "And there are going to be dying people in this church if you don't wipe that patronizing look off your face!"

The nun disappointed me, since she seems like such a nice person: as someone who should love Gabrielle rather than seeking to undermine her. But people don't always live up to their faith. Why does religion lead so often to pride and being patronizing, rather than love and humility?

Luke 4: Jesus' Temptation

In Luke 4, we read Luke's story of Jesus' temptation. It is similar to the temptation story in Matthew 4, only it presents the events in a different order.

In Luke 4, Satan first tells Jesus to turn the stones into bread, to which Jesus replies, "It is written, 'One does not live by bread alone'" (NRSV). Then, Satan offers Jesus all the kingdoms of the world if he will fall down and worship him, and Jesus responds, "It is written, 'Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.'" Finally, Satan takes Jesus to the pinnacle of the Jerusalem temple and encourages him to jump off. Satan actually appeals to Scripture: "It is written, 'He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,' and 'On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.'" And Jesus retorts, "It is said, 'Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'"

But why did Jesus have to undergo temptation? What's the point of this scene in Luke's overall story?

Christians have offered a variety of explanations. Many say that Jesus was doing right what his predecessors had done wrong. Adam and Eve succumbed to the temptation of Satan the devil when they ate the forbidden fruit, plunging the entire human race into sin, misery, and condemnation. But Jesus reversed that curse as the Savior of the world and the second Adam, for he represented humanity and resisted the devil. As Romans 5:18-19 says: "Therefore just as one man's trespass led to condemnation for all, so one man's act of righteousness leads to justification and life for all. For just as by the one man's disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man's obedience the many will be made righteous."

Others believe that Jesus was correcting Israel's past mistakes. In the wilderness, Israel valued food over God's word, worshipped other deities than the true God, and put God to the test (see Deuteronomy 8:3; 6:16; 10:20; Psalm 78:18-20). But Jesus did the opposite in his wilderness experience, and he quoted Deuteronomy as he thwarted the devil's schemes. In this scenario, Jesus was giving Israel a fresh start when he embodied her, as he did right what she had done wrong.

Some argue that a temptation scene is typical of most stories. According to Joseph Campbell, most hero-myths present the protagonist encountering trials and challenges as he undergoes his journey (see here). Shamans (the spiritual leaders of tribal communities) often have to suffer as part of their initiation (see here). And, in Buddhist legend, the devil Mara tries to hinder the Buddha from attaining Enlightenment, as he sends his daughters Desire, Hatred, and Lust to keep him attached to the world (see here). But the Buddha remains unmoved, and he's consequently able to help other people.

I think that all of these explanations are correct, in some way, shape, or form. But here's something else that entered my mind: maybe Jesus needed to make a clear stand for God in order to prepare for his ministry. And what better opportunity is there for this than a temptation scene right before his career?

I don't entirely understand all of Satan's temptations, to tell you the truth. Granted, Jesus not worshipping Satan is obviously a no-brainer, but why couldn't he turn the stones into bread? He was hungry, after all! And what would be wrong with putting God to the test to see if he's truly there? Gideon did that with the fleece (Judges 6:36-40), Isaiah told Ahaz to ask God for a sign (Isaiah 7:11), and God tells the Jews to tithe and see if God will bless them (Malachi 3:10). Would Jesus have been wrong to jump?

But I do believe that Jesus was practicing skills that would be essential for him later on in his ministry. The first temptation (turn the stones into bread) taught him that he needed to live by every word that proceeded out of the mouth of God, even when he wasn't particularly comfortable. He wouldn't always have a place to sleep (Luke 9:58), and there'd be times when he and his disciples would be hungry (Luke 6:3). Ultimately, he'd have to undergo a great deal of pain at the crucifixion. But continuing to fast in obedience to God's word was a way for him to prepare for those kinds of hardships.

For the second temptation (bow down to Satan and get all these kingdoms), Jesus obviously couldn't worship Satan and glorify God at the same time. But he also couldn't be succumb to the temptations of money, power, sex, and prestige, for he needed to be a pure vessel--one who was more concerned about God and his neighbors than he was about his own personal ego. How many ministries has Satan brought down through those kinds of temptations?

Regarding the third temptation (jump off the cliff), there may be a lot of things going on here. For one, Jesus couldn't be frivolous with God, for he had to be serious-minded. His task was important, since he was overthrowing the dominion of Satan and bringing in the kingdom of God. He had no time for games, which jumping off a cliff was.

Jesus also needed to trust God implicitly. In this particular temptation, Jesus quoted Deuteronomy 6:16, which says, "Do not put the LORD your God to the test, as you tested him at Massah." The story of Massah is in Exodus 17. In that chapter, we see that the Israelites did not trust God. They were thirsty, so they complained to Moses, saying things like: "Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?" (v 3); "Is the LORD among us or not?" (v 7); or, in the account of Psalm 78:19-20, "Can God spread a table in the wilderness? Even though he struck the rock so that water gushed out and torrents overflowed, can he also give bread, or provide meat for his people?" The Israelites tested God in that they questioned God's love for them, his presence among them, and his power to help them.

But Jesus could not continually entertain such doubts. He was about to experience opposition, after all! Even his own home-town and family would think he was weird (Luke 5; 8:19-21). His disciples wouldn't always get what he was saying (Luke 9:45). He was about to embark on a lonely life, and he needed to be sure in his own mind that God loved him, was with him, and had the power to help him. His faith would be the only thing keeping him going, on a number of occasions!

In my opinion, it's no accident that the temptation story is where it is in Luke's Gospel. Prior to the temptation scene, Jesus is coming off of a spiritual high. He's just received the baptism of John, the Spirit has come upon him, and God has assured him, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased" (Luke 3:22). And what happens after God has told Jesus he is his son? Satan tries to make Jesus question that he is God's son! "If you are the son of God," Satan says over and over. Jesus needed to hold on to who God said that he was, regardless of what Satan or anyone else may carp. That would serve him well in his ministry. Again, the temptation was giving Jesus a chance to practice skills that would be useful as he served God later on. It was an initiation, if you will!

After Jesus' temptation, he experienced rejection in his own home-town (Luke 5). The people of Nazareth somewhat trivialized what he was saying, since they knew him and his family. Plus, they tried to throw him off a cliff after he offended them. That would hurt my feelings if it happened to me! But Jesus had learned to place God's will ahead of his personal comfort and ego, and to trust God implicitly regardless of his surroundings. His temptation by Satan had prepared him for what was to come.

Perhaps that's how it is with many of us. God has a desire to use us, but he wants to see if we can pass certain necessary tests, with the help of his Spirit and word, of course. When we do so, then we can go on to the next level. Sure, God can use crooked sticks (e.g., Samson), since he is God and can use anybody for anything. But he may seek a pure vessel, someone who is committed to him rather than self.

Storms Can't Hurt the Sky

I finished Gabriel Cohen's Storms Can't Hurt the Sky: A Buddhist Path Through Divorce. Gabriel Cohen is a freelance journalist whose wife, "Claire" (not her real name), left him. He found solace in Buddhist lectures, which gave him the tools to recover from his bad experience and start a new life.

I'll open this "book review" with a personal anecdote. When I was at Harvard, I was taking a class on religion and public education, and I sat next to a conservative Baptist minister. I told him that I didn't know how to determine which religion is the right one, and he responded with some irritation. "Well, which one matches the way the world is?," he said.

He didn't exactly explain what he meant, but I think he was referring to original sin. There are many passages in the Bible that portray human beings as morally bad, particularly Romans 1-3. And, when we look at all of the greed and murder and adultery and suffering in the world, we can easily concur with the Bible that something is wrong with the human race. For the minister, that demonstrates that Christianity offers the accurate description of reality.

My problem with this argument is that other religions also try to account for human immorality. I mean, how can they not? For a religion to be relevant, it needs to explain features of the surrounding world.

So how does Buddhism account for human immorality? Basically, it says that human beings look to people and things to make them happy, and they also seek to avoid suffering. The problem with our approach is that life cannot always satisfy us, since things do not always turn out the way that we like. And so how should we approach life? According to Buddhism, we should view all of it as an opportunity to develop character (e.g., patience). We should deliberately choose not to get mad (the implication being that we can control our emotions). We should get our minds off ourselves and serve others, which makes us happy. We should be compassionate towards people, even those who have hurt us, since we are all in the same boat: we seek happiness and the avoidance of pain. And, unlike Christianity, Buddhism does not view humans as inherently bad--they simply see life the wrong way. That's why we need enlightenment.

A lot of this overlaps with evangelicalism. "We should not look to people and things to satisfy us," I've heard evangelicals say. "They'll always disappoint you. Look to the Lord Jesus. He will never disappoint!" "Stop being selfish! Give to others, for that is the key to happiness." "Suffering builds character." "Forgive others, for you are a sinner too!" And I once heard Gordon Hugenberger, the pastor of Park Street Church in Boston, preach that we can control our emotions.

Joel Osteen says a lot of the same things, but he differs from Buddhism in one respect: Joel affirms that we should expect good things from God, for that is his definition of hope! Buddhism, by contrast, advises us to go through life with low expectations. How else can we cope with the fact that life stinks? We become less disappointed when our expectations are low in the first place.

Where do I stand on all of this? I'm rather mixed. I like Buddhism's claim that I can choose not to be angry. There are times when I say to myself, "Look, I'm upset right now, but life is not perfect, and I'm only making things worse by getting all agitated about it!" Such an approach actually alleviates my anger.

I'll admit that my problem is selfishness: I look to people and things to make me happy. I expect the entire world to serve me, when it's usually not all too eager to do so. Is giving the panacea? Maybe. Maybe not. There have been times when I've received a lot of satisfaction from service work. But there are also plenty of people who give and give and give, and the result is burn out rather than happiness. Moreover, what if I give to others and they don't appreciate me? I also have problems with Cohen's view that we should always let others have their way as we attempt to avoid conflict. That can allow them to walk all over us! Although we shouldn't be inflexible and insensitive to the desires of others, there is a place for self-assertion, every now and then. As Steven Covey says in The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, think "win, win." That means we should try to come up with solutions that satisfy both parties (whenever possible).

I'm mixed on the question of whether my expectations should be high or low. I admit that I no longer do what Joel Osteen tells me to do: look in the mirror and speak God's favor over myself and my day. Maybe I should get back to doing that. Instead of complaining to God about not having a job right now, for example, perhaps I should thank God for the job he's about to give me. There are plenty of passages in the Bible about trusting God to give us good things.

And, yet, bad experiences are an opportunity. But they're not just an opportunity to become better people, as important as that is. They are also a chance to wait on God, who is able to make our situation better, in this life and the life to come.

I kind of like the Buddhist conception of humanity. Which is better? To say, "We're all thoroughly evil, but now I'm regenerate, and so I must forgive you" (Christianity)? Or to say, "Most of us mean well, and we're combinations of good and bad. But we go through life misinformed, as we look to people and things to make us happy" (Buddhism)? I don't know. The Buddhist one gives me a kinder view of my fellow human beings. And, yet, I'm reluctant to say that everyone means well, since there are plenty of jerks out there!

I also like the way that Buddhism is non-dogmatic. Buddha did not say, "Believe my way, or you'll go to hell for all eternity!" It's more like, "Here is what I've concluded about life. See if it works for you" (or perhaps that's Gabriel Cohen's postmodern rendition of Buddhism). Buddhism also believes in reincarnation, which gives people numerous chances to get things right.

And, yet, I can tell that Cohen believes there's a lot at stake. He talks about a murder that occurred in his apartment, which was a sobering reminder to him of where anger can lead. That goes beyond saying, "Do this, if it works for you." It's pretty crucial that we learn the right way!

Another thought that occurred to me: In certain strains of Buddhism, a bodhisattva is someone who reaches enlightenment yet "compassionately refrains from entering nirvana in order to save others" (wikipedia). Is Christ like a bodhisattva? Yes and no. Like a bodhisattva, Christ put himself in second place to save us, for he left the comforts of heaven in order to show us the path to glory. As the song goes, "You came from heaven to earth to show us the way."

On the "no" side, there are plenty of biblical passages that present Christ as God, or at least as someone who always had his act together. That means he never needed to become enlightened, since he already saw things in the right way. And, yet, we read in Hebrews 5:8-9: "Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered; and having been made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him" (NRSV). His experience as a man enables him to be a compassionate high priest for us (Hebrews 4:15). I don't think that Christ learned the path to salvation on earth and is now trying to enlighten us, which is what characterizes a bodhisattva. Rather, he came to be our salvation, not to achieve it himself. At the same time, he did get something from his experience on earth that he did not have before, and that allowed him to become a compassionate Savior. In that sense, he is somewhat like a bodhisattva.

So will I become a Buddhist? No, but it does have insights that can help me every now and then. And, as Gabriel Cohen notes, one does not have to become a Buddhist to practice its suggestions.

From the Library 2

I'm still working my way through John Marks' Reasons to Believe: One Man's Journey among the Evangelicals and the Faith He Left Behind, and Bruce Bartlett's Wrong on Race: The Democratic Party's Buried Past. These books have lots of jewels, let me tell you, and I will be sharing them with my readers in days to come.

If I follow my reading schedule, I'll have these books finished this week. That's why I checked out some more books in my trip today to downtown Cincinnati. There were many books that appeared somewhat interesting, but they didn't exactly grab me. One was a biography of Condi Rice. Another was a psychological profile of Clarence Thomas. And then there's that biography of Ariel Sharon that I keep passing, but never check out. Maybe some other time!

There were three books that grabbed me, in the sense that they looked enjoyable and worthwhile to read. Here they are, along with an explanation of why they intrigued me:

1. Gabriel Cohen, A Buddhist Path through Divorce (Philadelphia: De Capo Press, 2008).

This is about a man whose marriage fell apart, and he found comfort in Buddhism. Buddhism is a popular religion among many who are burned out by conservative Christianity. I've met lots of people from Bible belt Protestantism and Roman Catholicism who say, "I consider myself a Buddhist."

They usually strike me as people who have inner peace. Their religion seems very serene. I feel a sense of relaxation when I hear them talk about going out into nature on retreats for meditation. And I can somewhat understand Buddhism's appeal, for the religion has a certain mysterious quality, being from the east and all. Still, I don't comprehend how anyone can find comfort in a religion that lacks a personal God. Granted, I may sometimes view God as intrusive, inflexible, and authoritarian, but, on the whole, I want him around as a personal presence--one who loves, nurtures, and comforts.

I once watched a documentary about the popular TV series, Dallas. The guy who played Bobby Ewing, Patrick Duffy, is a Buddhist, and his religion helped him after his parents got killed in a robbery. My problem was that he passively accepted their death as a natural part of life. There was no sorrow, none that I could see. His religion seemed to suck his emotions right out of him, making him somewhat of a vulcan.

And, from my undergraduate study of Buddhism, that's my impression of what it's all about: it wants us to get rid of all desire and attachments. And that should take care of all our greed, lust, envy, and disappointment. It reminds me of what Yoda tells Anakin in Revenge of the Sith, when Anakin expresses fear that someone close to him may die: "Mourn them not, miss them not!" But that kind of life strikes me as so GRAY. No desires? No attachments? At least Christianity allows us to find happiness in a personal relationship with Jesus. It offers rewards, both in this life and also the life to come. In essence, Christianity compensates us for our lost greed and lust by emphasizing something positive. It does not just suppress the negative.

But my image of Buddhism may not be completely accurate. I know a man who is a Zen Buddhist monk, and he has a beautiful wife and an adorable child. (He told me with a wink that he's becoming more conservative now that he's a parent!) He apparently has happiness!

This book appeals to me because I love spiritual autobiographies, and I think this is an opportunity for me to enjoy a good story while learning about Buddhism. And, in the process, maybe I can understand why more Americans are becoming drawn to it!

2. David Klinghoffer, How Would God Vote? Why the Bible Commands You to Be a Conservative (New York: Doubleday, 2008). David Klinghoffer is a religious Jew who is also a political conservative. If memory serves me correctly, he even defended Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ. One of my Jewish professors cannot stand him, even though he does admire another Jewish conservative, Michael Medved.

This book piqued my interest because it not only covers gay marriage and the death penalty, which have some pretty clear proof-texts backing up the conservative side. Rather, it also discusses immigration, the environment, poverty, and health care. And I'm interested in why he thinks the Bible favors the conservative side on those issues. Regarding poverty and (indirectly) health care, the Torah presents something like a welfare system, in that the ancient Israelites were to collect a tithe for the poor every three years, as well as leave the corners of their fields for the poor. And that wasn't voluntary charity! It was mandated, like taxes! For the environment, the Hebrew Bible celebrates God's creation and exhorts human beings to be good stewards. On immigration, the Torah told ancient Israel to love the stranger. And so I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting to see what Klinghoffer does with these motifs!

3. Victor Kuligin, Ten Things I Wish Jesus Never Said (Wheaton: Crossway, 2006). This sounds like a book that I would write, but, as I looked through it, I saw that it's not. The author, a Christian professor in Namibia, doesn't seem to complain about Jesus' apparently problematic statements, but he attempts to justify them after thoughtful reflection. Maybe he'll offer some new thoughts that I've never encountered.

I'll keep you posted!