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?

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!