Freedoms and Dhamma: Where are the Lines?

        

In addition to diplomatic and consular sections, foreign embassies often play cultural roles in their host country, offering everything from film festivals to featured speakers to art exhibits. This month, the U.S. Embassy in Yangon, Myanmar had an event of the latter kind planned. This “Insight Out” virtual art installation featured young local voices commenting on the issues of the day. In the curator’s words, “each painting tells a story about the young artist’s view of the world around them.” Prior to the exhibition, they posted one drawing online entitled “Air Pollution by Factories” which depicted just this. In it, the historical Buddha sits in a meditative pose with a gas mask over his face, as noxious air ominously fills the sky behind him. The artist, who was thankfully anonymous as his life and safety are now endangered, described his drawing this way: “Factories cause air pollution and worsen the ongoing deforestation that is threatening the health of the people and the environment. We must take responsibility for the causes of environmental pollution.”

The reaction was swift and brutal. An immediate outpouring of anger flooded the US Embassy’s social media account and phone lines, prompting them to immediately remove the image and even go so far as to apologize for having posted it. Not leaving well enough alone, Sayadaw U Parmaukha initiated a lawsuit against U.S. Ambassador Scott Marciel and the anonymous artist. What is one to make of this?

While referencing anything related to the Buddha in Myanmar risks touching a third rail, this current incident must be seen in a different category from past ones. Let us review some of these. In 2014, a New Zealander and two Burmese partners promoted their new nightclub with a decal of the Buddha wearing headphones—a degrading art choice for which it is difficult to give the benefit of the doubt, although few meditators would have supported the two and a half years jail sentence that was handed out as a result. Then there are the annual forced deportations of foreign backpackers who are found to have Buddha tattoos on their skin. While some (though admittedly not all) may acquire the body art through a genuine inspiration of the Buddha, it is considered highly offensive to affix the Buddha’s image to your person in Myanmar, and so those who have already done so are recommended to cover those parts of their body when in country (although ironically enough, many foreign meditators often take issue with those strings of cheap blinking lights ubiquitously placed around pagoda Buddha images in Myanmar, reminding the extent to which the conventional reality dictates preferences). It is unclear which deportations occurred as a result of foreigners refusing to cover these tattoos, and which occurred in spite of that attempt. Then in 2016, a Dutch tourist unplugged the speakers to an all-night Buddhist chanting occurring near his Mandalay hotel, which brought arrest despite the fact that it was the monastery who was violating noise ordinance laws.

Which brings us to the present day, and there are two ways to examine this case. First involves the content of the artwork and the subsequent reaction it engendered. Unlike previous incidents, even the most nationalistic, nativist, ethnocentric Bamar Buddhist cannot make a case that this drawing was in the slightest of ways a criticism or mockery of the Buddha and his teachings. Rather, it shocks us with the scene that were the Buddha to return to the Golden Land today, the wanton environmental neglect and industrial expansion that has taken place in the last ten years has so poisoned the air that even the Enlightened One could not sit peacefully in meditation. To be fair, for many Burmese the subtle meaning implied by the artist was not the point, rather they found it distasteful that the Buddha image was used in any manner whatsoever than purely devotional or religious (interestingly enough, actual depictions of the Buddha as a human figure was itself seen as inappropriate in an earlier era, showing just how much tastes and conventions change over the years). In any case, viewers of any art piece are just as entitled to their opinions and beliefs as the artist who created it. In a world of increasing freedoms, it is not only artists who have a right to express their vision, but also observers who have a right to criticize that vision and even ignore or boycott it altogether.

This brings us to the second way to examine what just happened. The overwhelming reaction taking place today is not limited to a statement of “I don’t like this artwork, I don’t think it is good, and I don’t want to see it.” Rather, what is being expressed is akin to “This kind of artwork should not be produced.” From such a statement arises a multitude of questions which are not readily answered. If the opinion is that this art should simply not exist in this world, then we are approaching a legalistic view governing the rights of artists in expressing their vision, the rights of publishers in releasing them, and even the rights of an audience in consuming it. So let’s follow this argument to its conclusion. If this art should not exist in the world, which is the view being expressed by this outrage, that infers that freedom of expression and consumption needs to be severely limited. Who is it that would determine those limits? Just years after Myanmar’s official state censor resigned his position, an angry mob is enraged over the free speech they have been allowed and agitating that it again become restricted. Then, after the limits of what is and is not permissible is specified, what becomes the penalty for breaking this new law? For example, if this sort of depiction of the Buddha was made to be illegal, what punishment does the artist deserve were he to press forward and produce his art anyway? Because a rule is not a rule if there is no consequence for disregarding it. And what punishment shall be meted out to the supporters and consumers of the art?

It is not uncommon in human history that the most enthusiastic (and with it, aggressive and violent) enforcers of religion also happen to be inadequate followers of their prophet’s central tenants. While this certainly doesn’t characterize everyone here, one cannot fail to notice that when perusing the personal Facebook profiles of those most enraged by the recent offenses, one finds the usual mixture of nightclub fun, drunken interludes, bikini posturing, recreational drug use, and other such relatively innocuous activities that most youth engage in (and these days, post online) everywhere in the world. Nothing wrong about this at all, however it does cause for some confusion when many of those promoting the outrage are openly breaking many of the five basic precepts that all lay Buddhists are instructed to follow.

Yet it would be incorrect to claim this is a complete picture of contemporary Buddhism in Myanmar. For although seemingly unknown to much of the foreign media, who prefer to focus on this violent breakaway of Burmese Buddhism, modern Myanmar is indeed filled with a large sector of highly-disciplined monastics who are lovingly cared for by lay supporters, and who train their mind daily to seek the path of full liberation from suffering as promised by the Buddha. These spiritual aspirants don’t have the time (or ignorance) to unleash such anger, and their quiet wisdom and reflection rarely makes waves beyond their small forest huts. That these are the real protectors of the faith gets lost in the cacophony of religious zealots and the Western media that then reacts to them.

I am lucky to have taken human form in this life and luckier still to have found a way to have heard the teachings of the Buddha. I want to live in a world where I can practice towards this path of liberation from suffering. But I also want to live in a world where we can have an artistic vanguard that challenges the blind spots of society and pushes me into uncomfortable places where I must confront unpleasant truths—is this not the very role of Buddhist meditation itself, which pushes me towards a realization that the most fundamental concept I believe, that the “I” exists, is actually a fallacy? And yet I also want to live in a world where any segment of the population is able to say, “I don't like this art and it is unskillful for all the following ways. I will boycott the exhibition and use my influence to encourage others to also do so.”

Monastery accommodations available in Yangon for vipassana meditators and pilgrms

For any serious meditators coming to Burma/Myanmar, we have furnished four rooms at a local monastery in Yangon, two for female and two for male (two doubles and two singles). The residing Sayadaw gave permission for this, as he is happy to welcome foreign yogis who have come to the country in order to follow the Buddha's teachings through vipassana or other practices. If you are here strictly for meditation, these rooms are available to help you for short-term stays. There is no charge for use of these rooms, although dana (donation) to the monastery is always welcome.

Renovations at Webu Monastery: Update

The following is sent by one of the volunteers organizing the dana collection and renovation:

"Hi, to those who gave Dana for the refurbishment of the Dhamma Hall at Webu Sayadaw monastery which was built for him which is different from the monastery he was ordained in which is next door. The annual 10day course for local Burmese meditators in March was very successful and the meditators were very grateful for the big effort all the foreign mediators made to raise the money and organise to get the hall ready for the course, future projects like fixing up accommodations and kitchen may be going ahead in the future, the reason outside Dana was needed for the upkeep of facilities at Ingynbin is because the monastery was built by rich local meditators from all over Burma at the time of Webu Sayadaw and currently its a very isolated area dominated by farmland and very poor farmers. The Annual 10day course is held in March April every year for locals and it’s in the hottest time of the year"

'Virtual Orientalism', a book review

Carl Stimson, a vipassana meditator who has been in and out of Myanmar for the last ten years, offers this review of Jane Naomi Iwamura's book "Virtual Orientalism".

For meditators and Buddhist converts who come from Western, Judeo-Christian backgrounds, encountering the Buddha’s teachings can seem like a thrilling voyage into a foreign land filled with mind-expanding concepts and magical aesthetics. We give ourselves up to practices—both mental and physical—that seem utterly strange to the communities we came from. We often use words like “transformative” or “life-changing” to describe the impact Buddhism has had on our lives.

However, we less frequently consider the changes being wrought in the opposite direction. How do the values and perceptions we bring to the table shape how we understand, describe, and practice the Buddha’s teachings? Even more rarely do we admit to distorting the Buddha’s teachings to fit our ingrained values and cultural preferences to create narratives that reinforce our self-image and further our interests.

“Virtual Orientalism” (2011) by Jane Naomi Iwamura shines a light on how Westerners have been doing precisely this in the mass media for nearly a century, if not longer. The term “Orientalism,” coined by Edward Said in his eponymous 1978 book, is used to refer to Western depictions of Asian/Eastern life, culture and thought, usually in a patronizing manner, even if it does not superficially appear so. While Orientalism takes many forms—“the inscrutable Oriental, evil Fu Manchus…Dragon Ladies”—Iwamura focuses on a distinctly religious form, what she calls the “Oriental Monk.” Her definition is as follows:

“The term Oriental Monk is…meant to cover a wide range of religious figures (gurus, bhikkhus, sages, swamis, sifus, healers, masters) from a variety of ethnic backgrounds (Japanese, Chinese, Indian, Tibetan). Although the range of individual figures points to a heterogeneous field of encounter, all of them are subjected to a homogeneous representational effect [that blunts] the distinctiveness of particular pers

ons and figures. Indeed, the recognition of any Eastern spiri­tual guide, real or fictional, is predicated on his conformity to general features…: his spiritual commitment, his calm demeanor, his Asian face, his manner of dress, and—most obviously—his peculiar gendered character.” 

The three figures Iwamura focuses on are the legendary Zen teacher and author D.T. Suzuki, the famed Indian guru Maharishi Mahesh, and the hero Kwai Chang Caine from the TV series “Kung Fu.” In great detail, she guides the reader through depictions of the first two in the contemporary popular press, and describes how the third fits into her conceptual framework. She skillfully shows how writers and photographers tended to fit these men into stereotypical slots, no matter if the depiction was positive or negative. The Oriental Monk is either offering a ground-breaking spiritual paradigm that fills a gaping void in society, or is selling a bill of goods that is at best leading young people astray and at worst bilking them out of their (or their parents’) hard-earned cash. The Oriental Monk is always calm and enigmatic, but this is either a sign of great peace and inner strength, or evidence of an effeminate culture that lacks the dynamism of the West.

Because I was only glancingly familiar with them, the chapters on Maharishi and Caine felt more like academic case studies, interesting but distant. The section on Suzuki, on the other hand, cut closer to the bone. For those who grew up with little exposure to Asian cultures or religions, myself included, indulging in Orientalist tropes is almost unavoidable, particularly in the early stages of the encounter. Iwamura describes the intense focus Suzuki’s external appearance received in the American press. Authors used words such as “ferocious,” “angry demons,” “exotic butterflies” to describe, of all things, his eyebrows. His “eye slits” (is he wearing a mask?) get compared to tadpoles. His clothing also receives unusual treatment. While many photographs of Suzuki had him in traditional Japanese robes, in fact he apparently appeared in public mostly in a sports jacket and slacks. In photos of Suzuki online he does not appear terribly distinctive, or only in the way that all faces are distinctive. It is easy to see that the authors of the day used his face as a canvas upon which to paint their own image of Zen and Asia which he represented. Still I must admit, his eyebrows were quite bushy.

The treatment of a regular Japanese face as an object of extreme exoticism and profound insight reminded me of a realization I had long ago about how many Westerners approach Asian religions. I was raised Protestant. Nothing too religious, nothing too exciting, just a plain, pillar-of-the-community kind of neighborhood church that was long a staple of American life. Though I had a hard time seeing it, I was surrounded by the strange and magical: astounding Biblical tales, bloody Christ on his cross, odd ceremonies involving quasi-cannibalism, decorated evergreens, and painted eggs. Yet to me these were humdrum: that boring book with stories I had heard a thousand times, just another statue of Jesus, and the cozy rituals of Communion, Christmas, and Easter.

When I arrived in Asia, I was understandably awed by its religions: towering gold pagodas in Myanmar, gods of wind and thunder guarding temple gates in Japan, hypnotizing chanting by Tibetan monks. One day, however, I realized I had been seeing everything through the eyes of a foreigner. If I had been born in these societies, I might look at these objects with the familiarity and indifference with which I had seen the trappings of Christianity. To a local, golden pagodas and fire god statues might not receive any more notice than I had given my church’s steeple and stained glass windows. Would the chanting of monks cease to be transcendent and instead sound like a pastor’s droning sermon? And when I had this realization, the whole project—the exploration of Eastern spirituality—seemed absurd, ironic. Here were all these Westerners who were fed up with the superficiality and rigidity of the organized religions of their homeland, running headlong into the arms of organized religions in other lands. It would be one thing if we were all running away from superficiality and rigidity toward depth and tolerance, yet the reality was that Asian organized religions played a very similar role in their home societies: that of conservative bastions of tradition and authority.

Of course, this insight was only a partial truth. Depth and tolerance can be found in Buddhism and other Asian religions (as it can in Western religions), but the more interesting journey comes when one decides to evaluate and compare spiritual traditions on their own terms, not as merely the stale traditions one grew up with versus the shiny new objects one encountered in the exotic East. There are important philosophical and other differences between Buddhism and Christianity, ones that have a profound impact on how one exists in and approaches the world. Deciding to pursue one path and not the other (or neither) is one of the most important forks one will come to in life.

In some ways, I feel this is the journey out of Orientalism. One initially sees the East only heavily overlaid by the conditioning of culture and background, yet with long exposure and sincere exploration, the scales will gradually fall from one’s eyes to reveal, if not ultimate truth, then at least a less biased perception. But similar to what happens in Buddhist practice, there is a danger of mistaking an early insight for the final one. The roots of Orientalism can be deep and insidious, remaining even after the worst of it is removed. 

One of my biggest disappointments with Iwamura’s book was that it focused almost exclusively on Orientalist depictions by people with only a superficial understanding of Asian cultures and religions, such as reporters for popular magazines and Hollywood screenwriters. This is not a fault of the book, since these are the author’s stated subjects. Still, she does mention a few Westerners who are serious students, including Gary Snyder and Alan Watts in the section on Zen, and she makes a number of brief statements of dazzling perceptivity that are unfortunately not followed up on. One such quote is, “[T]he particular way in which Americans write themselves into [Oriental Monk narratives] is not a benign, nonideological act; rather, it con­structs a modernized cultural patriarchy in which Anglo-Americans reimagine themselves as the protectors, innovators, and guardians of Asian religions and culture and wrest the authority to define these traditions from others.” This sentence landed in my gut like a heavy book hitting a table. I have never intentionally supported a “cultural patriarchy” or consciously done anything to “wrest the authority” away from anyone. Still, I felt these words applied in some sense to attitudes I have harbored and maybe still do. Indeed, my praise of “The Broken Buddha” in a previous post could easily be interpreted as cheerleading for yet another Anglo-American reimagining himself as a protector, innovator, and guardian, this time of Theravada Buddhism.

Another quote describes David Carradine’s attitude toward playing a Shaolin monk on TV. Even though the actor admits he “couldn’t get interested in Eastern mysticism or any of those things,” he expresses a desire to portray the character in a “pure” way. Iwamura notes, “The ideal of which Carradine speaks seemed to rely on conveying an authen­ticity based on his own beliefs and values. Kwai Chang Caine and his Shaolin background became a convenient vehicle through which this ideal could be achieved.” This very concisely describes a dilemma Westerners walk right into when getting involved in Buddhism. Many of us are dissatisfied with the values and practices of the societies we grew up in, and have vague notions of finding replacements that are somehow more fulfilling and meaningful. Buddhism provides an avenue that checks many of the boxes we seek: instead of empty materialism it offers satisfaction with simplicity, instead of mindless efficiency and frenetic activity it values contemplation and stillness, instead of slavish adherence to tradition it encourages you to know yourself. These are important concerns, and the Buddha’s teachings provide a path for resolving them. However, there is much more to Buddhism, some of which challenges the values that many Westerners bring to the table. If one simply keeps to the values one arrived with and dismisses everything that does not align as backward superstition or archaic tradition, what was the meaning in adopting a foreign religion in the first place? One might as well have just remained a counterculture Westerner. At very least, Carradine can be praised for not engaging in this type of disingenuousness. 

The combination of the above two attitudes—an inflated sense that one knows Buddhism’s “true essence” and the facile dressing of one’s own values in a Buddhist costume—is particularly pernicious. This tends to manifest as an archetype the West had been exporting since Columbus: the arrogant foreigner who thinks he or she knows better than the benighted natives. And I certainly do not want to be that guy. Yet, and this is another area Iwamura does not address, there also needs to be space for legitimate critiques of how Buddhism is actually being practiced and for honest exploration of which values should be kept and which should be jettisoned. Dismissing the critiques of Theravada in “The Broken Buddha” as mere Orientalism would be foolish, though making or discussing these critiques without an understanding of the sordid history of Orientalism is just looking for trouble.

Overall Iwamura is a good writer and the book moves along at a good pace, helped by its brevity at less than 170 pages. The biggest drawbacks in my view were a tendency to lapse into stultifying and sometimes virtually meaningless academia-speak and a habit of stating what felt like subjective opinions as objective fact. Thankfully both of these occur infrequently enough so as not to ruin the book. A text about how Orientalism manifests among serious students of Buddhism would have been more pertinent to my own journey, but even with her focus on pop culture depictions and non-Buddhist figures, Iwamura’s book helped tear another rent in the veil.