THE BUDDHA IN
DAILY LIFE
AN INTRODUCTION
TO THE BUDDHISM OF
NICHIREN DAISHONIN
Richard Causton
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This edition published in 1995 by Rider, an imprint of Ebury Publishing First published as Nichiren Shoshu Buddhism by Rider in 1988
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Contents
Cover
About the Book
About the Author
Epigraph
Title Page
Preface
Introduction
Part One – The Buddhist View of Life
1 The Ten Worlds
Hell
Hunger
Animality
Anger
Tranquillity
Rapture
Learning and Realization
Bodhisattva
Buddhahood
Mutual Possession
Three Experiences
2 The Meaning of Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo
Myoho
Renge
Kyo
Nam
Part Two – Buddhism in Daily Life
3 The Gohonzon
4 The Essentials of Practice
Faith
Practice
Study
5 Soka Gakkai International
6 A Lasting Peace
Appendix
References
Index
Acknowledgements
Copyright
About the Author
Aged twenty-five, and after three years of active service in Burma, Richard Causton returned to England in 1945 with the realization that the world of his early youth had gone forever. The principles and beliefs on which he had been brought up, even the very existence of a loving and all-merciful God – all were in doubt.
In 1958 he seized the chance of early retirement from the army, where, in his last post in the War Office, he was compelled to face for the first time the use of nuclear weapons and their appalling potential. At thirty-eight he began a fresh career in business.
In the 1960s, his business travels took him back to the Far East, where he encountered the Buddhism of Nichiren Daishonin in Japan. He describes it as an electrifying experience. All that he heard and read seemed exactly to match the beliefs and conclusions towards which he had already been moving. He began to practise and in 1971, aged fifty-one, he made his final commitment to the Buddhism of Nichiren Daishonin.
In 1974 he returned to England to join the 200 or so pioneer members practising here at that time. Three years later he gave up business to become the first permanent staff member of what was then called Nichiren Shoshu of the United Kingdom (NSUK) and is now known by the name Soka Gakkai International of the United Kingdom (SGI-UK). He was head of SGI-UK between 1975 and 1995 and a vice chairman of both the worldwide lay society, Soka Gakkai International, and its European arm, SGI-Europe until his death on 13 January 1995.
About the Book
Perhaps because it does not involve conforming to a specific lifestyle, the Buddhism of Nichiren Daishonin has attracted millions of adherents around the world during recent years. Its message is simply that those who commit themselves in faith, study and practice will achieve their goals and be moved to dedicate themselves to the wider cause of human happiness, world peace and environmental harmony.
In this comprehensive and helpful book, the late Richard Causton, chairman of the lay society of those who practice the Buddhism of Nichiren Daishonin in the UK, explains the teachings and practice of the movement. He sets it into its international and historical perspective and gives many examples of how individuals and their families can overcome their problems and begin to reveal their full potential.
‘the Buddha is life itself …’
Daisaku Ikeda
Acknowledgements
Due to my rather hectic schedule and frequent travels, I asked one of my fellow Buddhists, Edward Canfor-Dumas, if he would be willing to undertake writing the first draft manuscript of this book. As a professional writer, this might have been difficult for him, but he readily accepted, carrying out his task whole-heartedly, although it must sometimes have been irksome for him to have to accept the corrections and changes which I made. I thank him with all my heart for his patience, for without him this book could never have been completed in the time available.
I also wish to record my thanks to Pat Allwright and to Barbara Cahill, for their invaluable comments on the manuscript, as well as to the late Oliver Caldecott of Century Hutchinson for his unfailing enthusiasm and warm encouragement.
Most important of all, I express deepest gratitude to Daisaku Ikeda, president of our worldwide lay society, Soka Gakkai International, who is my master/teacher in life and from whom I have learned everything.
Richard Causton
References
The author gratefully acknowledges permission to quote from the following works:
Major Writings of Nichiren Daishonin, Vols. 1–4, Nichiren Shoshu International Center (NSIC), Tokyo, 1979/81/85/86.
By Daisaku Ikeda:
A Lasting Peace, Wetherhill, New York, 1981.
Before It Is Too Late (with Aurelio Peccei), Macdonald, London, 1984.
Buddhism and the Cosmos (with Masayoshi Kiguchi & Eiichi Shimura), Macdonald, London, 1985.
Buddhism in Action, Vols. 1–2, NSIC, Tokyo, 1984/85.
Human Values in a Changing World (with Bryan Wilson), Lyle Stuart, Seacaucus, 1984.
Life, An Enigma, a Precious Jewel, Kodansha, Tokyo, 1982.
Man Himself Must Choose (with Arnold Toynbee), Kodansha, Tokyo, 1976.
Selected Lectures on the Gosho, Vol. 1, NSIC, Tokyo, 1979.
Alexander Borbély (trans. Deborah Schneider), The Secrets of Sleep, Longman Scientific and Technical, London, 1987.
Jacob Bronowski, The Ascent of Man, BBC Enterprises, London, 1973.
Ronald W. Clark, The Life of Bertrand Russell, Jonathan Cape and Weidenfeld & Nicholson, London, 1975.
Paul Davies, God and the New Physics, Pelican, London, 1984.
Satoru Izumi, Guidelines of Faith, Tokyo, 1980.
By Yasuji Kirimura:
Buddhism and the Nichiren Shoshu Tradition, NSIC, Tokyo, 1986.
Fundamentals of Buddhism, NSIC, Tokyo, 1977.
Outline of Buddhism (ed.), NSIC, Tokyo, 1981.
‘The Three Calamities and Seven Disasters’, Seikyo Times Special Issue, World Tribune Press, Santa Monica, 1986.
Primo Levi, If This Is A Man/The Truce, Abacus, London, 1987.
By Bertrand Russell:
A History of Western Philosophy, George Allen & Unwin, London, 1946.
Why I Am Not A Christian (ed. Paul Edwards), George Allen & Unwin, London, 1957.
Tom Wolfe, The Right Stuff, Jonathan Cape, London, 1979.
Preface
Despite all the advances made by science and technology during the past hundred years, we live in a world where human suffering has never been greater. It is estimated that, every day, some 40,000 children die of hunger or hunger-related diseases; that more than 750 million people in the world lack the nourishment to sustain a healthy life; that over 72 million people have been killed in armed conflicts this century, more than in all previous centuries put together; and that, since the end of the Second World War, there have been more than 200 armed conflicts, internal and international, many of which are still being fought. Even in the wealthiest, most advanced countries, millions are unemployed, poverty and crime are increasing, and though more people are materially better off than ever before, the symptoms of inner suffering – divorce, drug and alcohol abuse, depression and suicide – are all escalating at an alarming rate.
Not only is there no clear solution in sight to this suffering but, in most areas, it seems destined to get worse. To take just one example, it has been calculated that, at the present rate of destruction, the world’s tropical rain forests will have all but disappeared in, at most, fifty years’ time, with all that that means for the delicate balance of the global climate and ecosystem.
One result of the increase in the scale of human suffering has been the increasing feeling of helplessness experienced by those who are at all concerned about the problems facing mankind. ‘It’s terrible, but what can I do?’ is the reaction of many as news of yet another disaster reaches them. And, in truth, other than giving money to a variety of causes and appeals there does not seem much that ordinary people can do in the face of such enormous and complex problems as world starvation, environmental pollution or the threat of nuclear war. As a consequence they pin their hopes on politicians or special-interest groups to work for change on their behalf for, no matter how strongly people may feel about these issues, realistically only a very small minority can afford to devote themselves wholly to working for their solution. The vast majority have families to look after, jobs to do and bills to pay. Not only are these the immediate necessities, but they also take up most of the attention of most people, most of the time. The time, energy or money available for larger issues is, therefore, usually minimal. Add to this the fact that many of the world’s problems seem to be somewhat remote, either in terms of distance or time, and one has a recipe for a downward spiral of decay. All in all, it is hard to disagree with Aurelio Peccei, late president of the Club of Rome, when he says:
In spite of being miserable and afraid because of the non-peace we experience within ourselves and in our connections with almost everything around us, we seem unable to cease acting in ways that constantly aggravate our situation. Indeed, at no time in history has our globe been so gravely riven with endemic warfare, military and civil violence, widespread torture and terrorism, overt or incipient destruction and scientific preparation for still further havoc.
Strange as it may seem, the world’s current predicament was foreseen some 3,000 years ago by the Buddha, Shakyamuni. In contrast to the apocalyptic prophecies of some other religions, however, Shakyamuni also predicted that, out of the very confusion of this time, which he termed ‘the beginning of the Latter Day of the Law’, a great teaching would appear, based upon his own highest teaching, the Lotus Sutra. This teaching would enable ordinary people to develop the qualities necessary to combat the enormous problems that they would encounter. The essence of this teaching was later defined as Nam-myoho-renge-kyo by a thirteenth-century Japanese priest called Nichiren Daishonin (‘Daishonin’ meaning ‘Great Sage’). Probably because Nichiren recorded his teachings in his own hand in the form of theses or letters to his followers, they have been carried down unaltered for more than 700 years by priests of the orthodox school of Nichiren Daishonin’s Buddhism, and are now being safeguarded and propagated by the international lay society of Nichiren Daishonin’s Buddhism, the Soka Gakkai International (‘Soka Gakkai’ means ‘value creating society’), through a worldwide movement of peace, education and culture.
Now, it may seem esoteric in the extreme to look to Buddhism as the answer to pressing and practical human difficulties, especially to a Western mind brought up against a background of science and materialism. This would, however, be to misunderstand the true nature of Buddhist teachings for, as more and more people around the world are discovering, and as the experiences related in this book testify, the practice of Nichiren Daishonin’s Buddhism has a profound and revolutionary impact on ordinary, daily life; an impact which enables one to fully realize one’s own unique potential and to develop the ability to create the greatest possible value in any situation. It is probably the down-to-earth nature of these teachings and their practical value in overcoming human problems in daily life that has caused this Buddhism to grow so steadily and strongly in more than a hundred countries in recent times.
For it is a basic premise of Nichiren Daishonin’s Buddhism that, just as human beings have tied the knot which is their current predicament, so they can untie it through developing the ‘qualities of the Buddha’: wisdom, courage, compassion and life-force. Buddhism teaches that these great qualities are latent in everyone and that the more ordinary people are able to develop them amid the, at times, harsh realities of their everyday lives, the greater the problems that they will be able to tackle – and eventually overcome.
It all begins with individuals deciding to take responsibility for their own individual lives, reforming first themselves and their immediate surroundings and relations, and then gradually extending their own wisdom, courage, compassion and life-force into a wider sphere.
Daisaku Ikeda, the president of Soka Gakkai International, and to whose writings it is hoped this work will serve, in part, as an introduction, makes the following statement in the foreword to his book, The Human Revolution:
A great revolution of character in just a single man will help achieve a change in the destiny of a nation and, further, will cause a change in the destiny of all mankind.
The practice of Nichiren Daishonin’s Buddhism involves the determination to undertake this transformation of your own character and to see it through to the very end, not only for your sake, but for the sake of your family, your society and, ultimately, your world. Just how you can begin on this great journey is the subject of this book.
Introduction
The basic practice of the Buddhism of Nichiren Daishonin consists of chanting the phrase Nam-myoho-renge-kyo to the Gohonzon, a scroll inscribed with many Chinese and two Sanskrit characters. This is supported by the daily practice of morning and evening gongyo, the recitation of two key chapters of the Lotus Sutra, followed by chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo ‘to your heart’s content’. If you do this, study and teach others the Buddhist view of life to the best of your ability, you will develop a state of life in which your desires are completely fulfilled, which creates the maximum value and good fortune for yourself and your society, and which is powered by unshakeable happiness and confidence, no matter what problems you may be facing. Nichiren Daishonin, the founder of this Buddhism, states: ‘A law this easy to embrace and this easy to practise was taught for the sake of all mankind in this evil Latter Day of the Law.’
This may sound incredible – not only in the sense of being too good to be true but, literally, unbelievable. How can chanting a phrase one does not even understand, over and over again to a piece of paper, possibly have such an effect? What does Nam-myoho-renge-kyo mean, anyway, and what is so special about this scroll, the Gohonzon? These are good questions, just a few of the many that will doubtless arise, and hopefully be answered, in the course of reading this book. For now, suffice it to say that perhaps the most challenging aspect of Nichiren Daishonin’s Buddhism is the way that it forces one to re-examine fundamental assumptions about the nature of life in general, and our own lives in particular. These assumptions are probably so deeply rooted that you may not even be aware you hold them. For example, consider the problem of suffering.
No one wants to suffer. But much as we would all like to live a totally happy life, suffering is an inescapable fact of our human existence. The observation that ‘Man is born unto trouble, as sparks fly upward’ may not have been much consolation to Job but, nevertheless, remains an uncomfortable truth. Generally speaking, suffering arises through our encounters with problems and difficulties; this is why much of our time is spent trying to avoid them, even though they are inherent in life. In trying to avoid problems, however, we are often simply putting off the inevitable to a future date, by which time the trouble has usually grown much more difficult to resolve. Personal relationships are a good example of this. The failure to tackle a problem between two people — a clash of desires, for instance – usually for fear of not knowing what the consequences will be, or perhaps simply because of a dislike of conflict, can very easily lead to a build-up of resentments which, when finally expressed, can be immensely destructive. The story of the ‘mild-mannered’ civil servant who, in 1987, was jailed for strangling his wife after twenty-six years of marriage, ostensibly because she simply moved his favourite mustard from its usual place at the dinner table, is an extreme, but true, example of this.
One of the natural consequences of the close link between problems and suffering is that people tend to confuse the one with the other. For example, if you are unemployed, it is very probable that you are also unhappy; you will probably think you are unhappy because you are unemployed. While it might very well be true that you would probably be happier in work than out of it (though this is debatable, in view of the number of people who complain about their jobs), strictly speaking your unhappiness is not because you are unemployed but, rather, because you feel helpless in being unable to find a job. In other words, it is not so much our problems which cause us to suffer as our inability to overcome them.
This may seem like splitting hairs but, in reality, the difference is fundamental. Problems that we feel confident we can solve, even if only after a great deal of time and effort, we label very differently as ‘challenges’. In short, whether our problems are sources of suffering or sources of growth depends entirely on our attitude, both to the problem and to ourselves.
This point was one made in a graphic way to a member of Soka Gakkai International of the United Kingdom (SGI-UK)1 who, soon after starting to practise this Buddhism, found himself in Japan. He decided to ask for guidance from a vice-president of the Soka Gakkai (Japan’s equivalent of SGI-UK). As he walked into the vice-president’s office, he was immediately ordered to lift a large table standing near the door. Somewhat surprised at this greeting he nevertheless tried to oblige. As the table was made of solid brass with thick marble legs, after two or three attempts he shook his head apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ he said. ‘It’s too heavy.’ ‘No,’ the vice-president corrected him. ‘It’s not too heavy – you’re too weak. The table’s weight is the table’s problem. The fact that you can’t lift it is yours.’ In other words, the vice-president wanted to make the point, straightaway, that, whatever the member had come to see him about, it is important to remember that our natural tendency as human beings is always to find reasons outside ourselves, in our environment, to excuse what are really our own shortcomings.
Nichiren Daishonin’s Buddhism teaches that it is our fundamental attitude to problems and the suffering which usually accompanies them that determines the extent to which we win or lose in creating a happy life. The Chinese, for example, write the word ‘crisis’ using two characters, one of which means ‘danger’, the other ‘opportunity’. The crucial issue, then, is whether or not we can recognize the opportunity amidst the danger. Daisaku Ikeda writes:
Society is complex and harsh, demanding that you struggle hard to survive. No one can make you happy. Everything depends on you as to whether or not you attain happiness … A human being is destined to a life of great suffering if he is weak and vulnerable to his external surroundings.
Or course, this is not to deny the gravity and scale of some of the problems facing humankind today. Starvation in the Third World, wars within and between states, the escalating pace of the destruction of the natural environment – these are not going to disappear overnight simply because people start to think about them in a different way. Neither is it possible to deny the real physical suffering of someone with a painful illness. Even so, the nature of any problem relates directly to our own strength: when we are weak, our problems seem large, even insuperable; when we are strong, they appear to be small.
The real question, then, is how to make ourselves stronger. The answer that Nichiren Daishonin’s Buddhism gives is that, when we chant about our problems, we can use the very sufferings we are trying to overcome to help us grow. This may sound strange but, from the viewpoint of this Buddhism, sufferings – whether personal, social or those facing humankind as a whole – are not just inevitable: they are essential. In other words, problems are the very means by which people can develop their full potential as human beings. As Nichiren Daishonin says, ‘Only by defeating a powerful enemy can one prove his real strength.’
This idea will be explained more fully in the following chapters but, to put it simply, the highest teachings of Buddhism show how the desire to overcome suffering can be one of the greatest incentives for progress. The development of medical science is perhaps the most obvious example of this, but one can also point to the principle at work in the development of whole countries: the suffering caused by periodic famines of India, for example, forced the nation’s agronomists to tackle the basic problems of food production; they have solved this to the extent that India is now not only self-sufficient in food but also a net exporter.
When it comes to personal suffering the principle works in a more particularized way, one which responds to the individual’s unique circumstances. Stewart Anderson, for instance, first encountered Nichiren Daishonin’s Buddhism in 1980 in a pub: ‘I was intrigued by this man’s attitude to life and his insight and wisdom about situations. His life was such a mess but there was a calmness. He seemed to be in control of it and that was what inspired me about the practice. I chanted for about six months before I decided to receive the Gohonzon.’
It was two years later, during an SGI-UK summer study course, that Stewart first developed symptoms of AIDS. ‘On that course I began to see my tendencies to escape, to be irresponsible, and on the third day I couldn’t get out of bed. The course doctor said I should return to London. That was when I got the first insight into how cared for and protected we are in this organization. I felt everything would be all right because I had the organization of which I was proud to be part.’
At first no one could discover what was wrong with him. In the early Eighties AIDS was known simply as the ‘gay syndrome’ and, apart from SGI-UK and his Buddhist practice, Stewart had nowhere and nothing to turn to for support as his energy began to fade, his glands became swollen and spots broke out all over his body. One thing he discovered, though, was that the progress of the then mystery disease seemed to be directly related to the strength of his practice – the less he did, the worse it became. About a year after his sickness became manifest, a senior SGI-UK leader wrote to give him some strict but necessary guidance about his lack of constancy:
I feel concerned about your tendency to slip every so often so far as your practice is concerned. There is no room for this if you are to have a happy life in the future. Day in and day out you must never give in or allow the negative forces [in your life] to take over. If you attack your sickness in this unrelenting way you will win a victory … Attack! Attack! Attack! That should be your motto until your life is totally transformed … Then you are a true disciple of Nichiren Daishonin.
The significance of this letter was not clear to Stewart in those early days of his illness: ‘I didn’t realize this guidance was going to save my life. I still wasn’t aware of the fragility of life. I was still trying to avoid my karma, the destiny I had created for myself, and was still trying to defy the law of cause and effect. This was my escapist nature.’
The Buddhist concept of karma will be discussed in more detail later but, put simply, it teaches that the effects we experience in the present are the inevitable results of causes we have made in the past, either in this lifetime or over many previous lifetimes. Similarly, the causes we make now will determine the nature of the future we will either enjoy or suffer. In Stewart’s case it was not until AIDS was finally diagnosed in 1985, after the appearance of the first spots of Kaposi’s sarcoma, a rare form of skin cancer, that he finally began to change his attitude to his own karma and, with it, his life. Surprising as it may seem, what could have been taken as very bad news had the opposite effect, as he explains: ‘This official diagnosis was the biggest benefit I have had from this practice. It wasn’t enough to be told that I had AIDS through a blood test – I had to see the physical manifestations. I felt I could identify the karma. I needed something like that to take my life seriously. It made me aware of the spiritual aspect and power of my life. At times I was disillusioned but I always felt gratitude to be alive. I just had to keep going. I had never felt gratitude before. Now I say thank you every morning for being able to change my karma. It was a distinct turning-point because before I was just trying to get away from life.’
But having finally taken the decision to join battle with his disease Stewart then had to take the necessary action – which was far from easy: ‘I had to get in tune with myself – and the truth hurts. I never thought of death as a problem but I was scared to demand the cancer out of my life now. In 1986 it got to the point where living with cancer was settling with second-best. It was eating my life-force and I felt sometimes that I would rather be dead. I was not interacting with society. I had a self-centred practice and I didn’t feel that I was living. I was going wrong somewhere. I set myself a challenge: to chant for seven hours for seven days. I needed to prove that if I set my mind on something I could do it. I had read great experiences about other members in SGI-UK magazine, the UK Express, but I didn’t believe that I, personally, had Buddha nature, the supreme state of life.
‘Until this chanting session I had been following a macrobiotic diet and swimming, trying to get a balanced life. But more cancer was appearing. Then I realized I had been looking outside myself for my happiness and security. Now I felt sure that the way forward lay in the spiritual side of my life. I distributed a hundred notices of this chanting session, inviting people to support me, and during it I chanted for good health and happiness so that I could work for a peaceful world based on this Buddhism, rather than just to cure myself of AIDS, which had become the focus of my life. And I treated this chanting session as life and death: if I couldn’t complete it, I thought, I might as well be dead.’
Throughout the seven days of chanting Stewart was ill and exhausted. ‘But spiritually I was so alive! I couldn’t go to hospital because people were coming over to chant with me. On the last day I led gongyo with forty people. It was so dynamic, and during the last half-hour of chanting I knew I had the universe behind me. Since that activity I have never looked back. I had complete conviction that I was drawing on everything in the universe. The real question was whether I dared ask for it.’
His biggest battle was with the pneumonia he contracted over the Christmas of 1986. Pneumonia is the largest single killer of AIDS suffers and, when it struck, Stewart spent three days entirely alone, too weak to move, until his father found him and rushed him to hospital. ‘It was there that I had to let go. I didn’t know what was happening. I just had to trust. When I was in hospital another senior member of SGI-UK came to see me. He brought a big bunch of flowers and was beaming. Everyone else seemed scared, as if I was going to die. I was physically sick, but spiritually I was very much alive and well. I felt I had to get out of that bed: I had articles to do for the Observer and the UK Express. And I had to go to Japan to apologize for my past causes and express my gratitude in front of the Dai-Gohonzon [the original Gohonzon inscribed by Nichiren Daishonin]. I had a mission and a purpose and that was why I survived. There was simply no time to die. I had always felt tremendous pressure to cure AIDS, to change my karma and the karma of AIDS sufferers everywhere. I feel proud to have such a purpose. The doctors at the hospital notice this and ask me what I do. I tell them I chant. The Buddhist attitude is noticed because I am taking control of my life.
‘It’s easy to give up with AIDS because your body is failing you. I do understand why people give up. You can easily develop your own sense of isolation, a sense of being a victim. I want to cure this disease so I can go on to my next life. I want to break my bad karma and die with peace and dignity, with all this behind me.’
Sadly, after a courageous battle with his illness, Stewart did die, in October 1987. One might be forgiven for thinking that, because he did not overcome his disease, he was ultimately defeated, but, as we shall see later in the section on the Buddhist view of life and death, this is to regard death from too narrow a perspective. Even if one does not believe in the eternity of life, it is an undeniable fact that, through his practice of this Buddhism, Stewart was able to both prolong and improve the quality of his life. A passage from a letter Nichiren Daishonin wrote in 1279 on this very subject inspired Stewart through much of his struggle. It reads:
A single life is worth more than the universe. You still have many years ahead of you and, moreover, you have found the Lotus Sutra. If you live even one day longer, you can accumulate that much more good fortune. How precious life is!
Stewart’s comment on the passage is revealing: ‘This letter is about living one day at a time, with gratitude. By chanting today I am making the causes to chant tomorrow: therefore, what great joy to be chanting! When I came out of hospital on New Year’s Eve I was very, very weak. I couldn’t stand up for three minutes at a time. This changes your attitude to life. Each breath is precious.’
Moreover, as one of the UK’s then longest-surviving AIDS patients, Stewart felt a special responsibility to try to instil hope into the millions of people who doctors predict will die before a cure to this disease is found. Through being featured in a single article in the Observer, he had many offers to transmit this hope through books, documentaries and the radio. These words, culled from the article he wrote for the UK Express not long before he died, serve as a fitting testimony to his fighting spirit:
You see people suffering and they don’t have to. Suffering is not the real issue. People forget that we have this choice, that life really is in our hands. When you struggle it’s important to remember that you’ve chosen your karma, that you’ve created it. Through challenging AIDS I have been able to take responsibility for my life. When I die it will be a celebration of how precious my life is.
Stewart Anderson’s experience is an example of the principle known in Buddhism as ‘turning poison into elixir’: in other words, taking what to all appearances is a terrible situation and making the best of it — literally; not just in the sense of cheerful and stoic endurance but, through the practice of this Buddhism, using the situation to progress far beyond our original starting-point, so that we end up much happier and more fulfilled – in every way – than when we began. It is also an example which strikingly illustrates the Chinese concept of ‘crisis’ mentioned earlier: that opportunity exists even in the midst of danger.
To many it may seem startling that there exists a form of Buddhism which, though based on a teaching thousands of years old, nevertheless has a direct and practical application to such a modern problem as AIDS. The fact that such a form of Buddhism does exist probably means that a number of ideas about this religion held in the West will have to be revised. It is not difficult, however, to see how these ideas have grown up, so it is worthwhile pausing for a moment to examine them.
Buddhism has not been clearly understood in the West for three main reasons: the history of the spread of Buddhist teachings to the West; the inherent difficulty posed by many of those teachings; and the difficulties posed by their sheer number.
To start with history, the Buddhism first encountered by travellers from Europe was the type called Hinayana.2 This form of Buddhism, once dominant in India and still the main religion of Sri Lanka and south-east Asia, follows the earlier teachings of Shakyamuni, Buddhism’s historical founder, and places great emphasis on a strict and highly detailed code of personal conduct. So strict is Hinayana in its pure form that it is impossible to follow while living in the everyday world. For example, some Hinayana priests rigorously observe 250 commandments for each of the four acts of walking, standing, sitting and lying, totalling 1,000 commandments in all. As one might expect, therefore, Hinayana Buddhism has a marked tendency towards monasticism, as monks are the only people who can afford the time and effort to wholly devote themselves to it.
As many statues of the Buddha and countless bodhisattvas originally found in Hinayana temples now fill our museums, Hinayana is probably the form of Buddhism best known in the West; for some people it has even created the impression that Buddhism involves the worship of idols. Moreover, since the application of Hinayana Buddhism to daily life is limited, its appeal to date has been mainly as a subject for academic study. This has naturally tended to reinforce the idea, already inherent in the Hinayana form, that Buddhism is primarily concerned with intellectual abstraction, a means of escaping from the material side of life into ‘a higher reality’ through various forms of physical and mental discipline.
The other main stream of Buddhist thought, called Mahayana,3 flowed northwards from India through Tibet and China to Korea and Japan. This stresses the need for Buddhism to be a religion of the common people, capable of helping them tackle the day-to-day realities of living; it is much less well known and understood in the West. The little that is known relates to what has been termed ‘provisional’ Mahayana Buddhism which, in some sutras, resembles certain aspects of Christianity, teaching as it does of mythical ‘pure lands’ in the eastern or western parts of the universe and salvation through the offices of legendary buddhas and bodhisattvas. Of true Mahayana Buddhism (so called because Shakyamuni told his disciples to discard all his previous teachings, the essence of which are contained in the one supreme teaching of the Lotus Sutra), very little is known at all. In addition, the attention that yoga, transcendental meditation, the Hare Krishna and Japanese Zen sects have all attracted in Europe and America in recent times has further confused the picture, to the extent that many people now have vague notions that these disciplines are virtually interchangeable and, since they are all originally from the Orient, are all ‘something to do with Buddhism’.
This confusion as to the true nature of Buddhism has been further compounded by the fact that, theoretically, its doctrines are often very difficult to understand. It would probably be fair to say that the overriding popular image of Buddhism is that of an abstruse, complex and mystical teaching of ‘the meaning of life’, one which is studied in monkish isolation, practised in silent meditation and whose goal is ‘inner peace’ as an end in itself. In short, most people believe that Buddhism, being ineffably profound, can be understood fully only by highly dedicated intellectuals.
Even leaving aside the emphasis laid for historical reasons on the Hinayana form of Buddhism, it is easy to see why this image of Buddhism should have arisen in the West. In simple terms, Buddhism is a philosophy which explains how life works and how one can live it happily and creatively. Since life itself is anything but simple, and as the teachings of Buddhism have evolved gradually over the past 3,000 years or so, they naturally mirror this complexity, at times even saying things which seem to be completely contradictory. Especially challenging is the teaching of the Lotus Sutra in which Shakyamuni describes what it means to be enlightened. Before he does so, though, he warns that what he is about to explain will not be easy. ‘Among all the sutras I have preached, now preach, and will preach, this Lotus Sutra is the most difficult to believe and the most difficult to understand.’ In fact, it would be fair to say that the difficulties posed by many Buddhist teachings have meant either that they have been largely ignored, as in the case of the Lotus Sutra, or that gradually the focus of attention has tended to move further and further from the true intention of the teaching to a wholly intellectual examination of doctrinal theory.
Indeed, there is a story about Shakyamuni which, although apocryphal, aptly highlights the awareness within Buddhism itself of the pitfalls of mere intellectualizing. While walking one day in the Deer Park at Benares, Shakyamuni comes across a deer lying on the ground, a hunter’s arrow in its side. Clearly dying, the deer is being watched by two Brahmans who are discussing the exact moment at which life leaves the body and speculating on the nature of life after death. Seeing Shakyamuni, and knowing him to be a man of wisdom, they ask his opinion. Shakyamuni immediately crosses to the deer and pulls the arrow out.
In other words, the true spirit of Buddhism has always been more concerned with providing fundamental and practical solutions to the problems of suffering than with debating points of philosophy. In this sense, the whole theoretical framework of Buddhist doctrine is simply a by-product of the basic desire to relieve human misery, despair and confusion. This is not to say that the philosophical framework in superfluous – far from it – but simply to emphasize that compassionate action is the prime point of all Buddhist teachings. In the study of Buddhism, then, it is vital to remember that theory is important only as the basis for action – action taken for the sake of oneself and for the sake of others.
The story of Shakyamuni’s own enlightenment underlines this point. According to the traditional version of the beginnings of Buddhism, Shakyamuni lived roughly 3,000 years ago in northern India. Born a prince of the Shakya caste and originally called Siddhartha Gautama, Shakyamuni grew up in regal luxury. It had been prophesied before his birth, however, that he would never inherit the throne but, rather, was destined to become a man of great wisdom. His father, Shuddhodana, therefore saw to it that the young prince would never be tempted to leave by coming into contact with the world outside the palace walls. One day, however, Shakyamuni found himself at one of the four gates to the palace and happened to see a man bent by old age. He said nothing but next day, at another gate, came across a cripple; the next day, at the third gate, he saw a corpse; and on the fourth day, at the last gate, he met a religious ascetic. Greatly disturbed by these four encounters Shakyamuni determined to leave the palace to search for the solution to what he had come to realize were the four inescapable sufferings of life: birth (into this troubled world), old age, sickness and death.
At first he sought out the foremost spiritual teachers of his day and practised the extreme forms of asceticism they advocated as the means to realize the ultimate reality of life. After following their teachings for a number of years, and on the point of death from fasting, Shakyamuni realized that their path to enlightenment was useless. Instead, after regaining his health and strength, he sat down under a pipal tree, entered a state of profound meditation and finally attained enlightenment. Thereafter, he began at once to teach to anyone who would listen.
As the depth of his understanding far surpassed that of even the most learned men of his day, however, he had to prepare his listeners by first teaching them more easily understandable doctrines, often using parables and everyday analogies in the process. In this way Shakyamuni was gradually able to elevate the life-condition of those he taught, while always holding to his ultimate aim (achieved towards the end of his life when he preached the Lotus Sutra) of showing to all people that they themselves – without exception – inherently possessed Buddhahood, the highest state of life, and so could develop the qualities needed to conquer their sufferings. As he says in the Lotus Sutra:
This is my constant thought:
how I can cause all living beings
to gain entry to the highest way
and quickly attain Buddhahood.
In Buddhism, this spirit of universal and impartial compassion is called jihi, comparable in some ways to the function of love in Christianity. Literally, ji means to remove suffering and hi means to give fundamental happiness. Implicit in the concept of jihi, then, is an emphasis upon action.
Shakyamuni wanted to discover the solution to the problem of birth, old age, sickness and death, and so took the necessary action to reach the understanding of life he sought. Once he had attained enlightenment he spent the rest of his life among the people, actively passing on what he had learnt and ensuring that his teachings would be transmitted to posterity. In this light, the idea that Buddhism is something that is the special preserve of wise men meditating on mountain tops begins to look a little misplaced.
In view of the enormous number and diversity of Buddhist teachings currently extant, it is perhaps scarcely surprising that such erroneous ideas have developed. Indeed, confusion as to the true nature of Buddhism has even reigned at various times in the Orient itself. In some ways, the situation in which the West finds itself today is similar to that of the Chinese in the second and third centuries AD, when first faced with a vast body of different Buddhist sutras and treatises. To solve the problem, the leading minds of the time set to work comparing and systematizing the various teachings; eventually, a priest called Chih-i (later named the Great Teacher T’ien-t’ai) developed a definitive standard, known as the Five Periods and Eight Teachings, by which to judge them.
This standard classified Shakyamuni’s teachings according to the chronological order in which he expounded them, the nature of the particular doctrine taught in each sutra and the method of its exposition. By comparing the various sutras in this way T’ien-t’ai came to realize that not only did Shakyamuni’s teachings expound doctrines of different levels of profundity according to the nature, intellectual capacity and circumstances of his audience, but that all the sutras were a means of preparing his followers for what Shakyamuni himself declared was his highest teaching, the Lotus Sutra. This sutra, which he taught for the final eight years of his life, is the only one which teaches that all people – be they good or evil, men or women, intellectuals or simple peasants – have the inherent potential for enlightenment and can become Buddhas in their present lifetimes. As Nichiren Daishonin says, ‘In Buddhism, that teaching is judged supreme which enables all people, good or evil, to become Buddhas. So reasonable a standard can surely be grasped by anyone.’ Needless to say, the principles and theories discussed in this book have all been developed on the basis of the Lotus Sutra by great masters of Buddhist thought, most particularly by T’ien-t’ai (538–97) and Nichiren Daishonin (1222–82).
Indeed, it was Nichiren Daishonin who took the final all-important step to transform profound theory into practical action and, thereby, enable ordinary people, within their own lifetime, to reveal their highest state of life in the midst of day-to-day reality. His realization of the nature of the Buddhist practice which would achieve this is the reason why he is known as the ‘true’ or ‘original’ Buddha, whose mission it was to reveal this ultimate truth to the people when the right time had come. According to the Lotus Sutra, that time is now and will last for ‘ten thousand years and more’, on into eternity. In other words, this means that Nichiren Daishonin is the Buddha for our present age, for whom Shakyamuni and T’ien-t’ai prepared the way.
Bearing these points in mind, and before we go on to discuss in more detail the Buddhist view of life, it is important to mention a central feature of Buddhism which sets it apart from a religion such as Christianity (with which most people in the West have at least a passing familiarity), namely, its atheism.
At heart, the difference between the two religions lies in their respective explanations of the nature of the primary force of the universe and how we, as human beings, relate to it. Christianity teaches the existence of an all-powerful and all-seeing God. In contrast, Buddhism asserts the existence of a universal Law of life, expressed as Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. Of course, it must be admitted that the Christian idea of God has evolved considerably from the Yahweh of the ancient tribes of Israel and that to some Christians today, God is not a being in any real sense but, rather, an abstract force with certain similarities to the Buddhist concept of the universal Law. Even so, the implications of this basic difference between the two religions are far-reaching.
Fundamentally, Christianity teaches that there is an unbridgeable gulf between humanity and God for, even if one is taken into his grace, a human being can never actually become God or his equal. In contrast, Buddhism teaches that all people have the inherent potential to attain the supreme life-condition of Buddhahood in this lifetime and, indeed, that the prime purpose of a Buddha is to awaken ordinary people to, and then teach them how to bring forth, their Buddha nature. In the Lotus Sutra, for example, Shakyamuni states, ‘At the start I pledged to make all people perfectly equal to me, without any distinction between us’, and, throughout his writings, Nichiren Daishonin is at pains to convince his followers that Buddhahood is not the exclusive possession of the Shakyamuni who died over 2,000 years before, but that they all have it too. He says, ‘We common mortals can see neither our own eyebrows, which are so close, nor heaven in the distance. Likewise, we do not see that the Buddha exists in our own hearts.’
Buddhism explicitly denies the existence of a force external to human life. As Nichiren Daishonin states in On Attaining Buddhahood, one of his most famous writings:
You must never seek any of Shakyamuni’s teachings or the Buddhas and bodhisattvas of the universe outside yourself. Your mastery of the Buddhist teachings will not relieve you of mortal sufferings in the least unless you perceive the nature of your own life. If you seek enlightenment outside yourself, any discipline or good deed will be meaningless. For example, a poor man cannot earn a penny just by counting his neighbour’s wealth, even if he does so night and day.
The implication of this denial is that, ultimately, human beings are totally responsible for their own destinies. The ramifications of this throw into sharp relief the differences between the teachings of Christianity, centred on God, and those of Buddhism, centred on the human being.
For example, while both doctrines stress the importance of prayer as a means of relating to either God or the universal Law, the attitude behind the prayer differs markedly. In Christianity, prayer is essentially an act of humility: one tries to discover and carry out God’s will here on earth and asks for His help, inspiration or forgiveness in the face of the problems and sufferings one might encounter.
Nam-myoho-renge-kyoNam-myoho-renge-kyoNam-myoho-renge-kyo