My Spiritual Journey Read online

  One important aspect of my daily practice concerns the idea of death. In my opinion, there are only two things to do in life on the subject of death. Either you choose to ignore it—in which case you might be lucky enough to chase the idea away for a while—or you confront this prospect, you try to analyze it, and by doing so you try to diminish certain inevitable sufferings it causes. Neither method can fully achieve its goal.

  As a Buddhist, I accept death as a normal process of life. I accept it as a reality that will occur for as long as I remain in samsara. Knowing that I cannot escape it, I don’t see the point of worrying about it. I think that dying is a little like leaving behind used old clothing. It is not an end in itself.

  As a Buddhist, I also believe that the experience of death is essential. It is at that moment that the most profound and beneficial experiences can manifest. For this reason, there are many great spiritual masters who take leave of earthly existence during meditation. When that occurs, their bodies don’t decompose until long after clinical death.

  Living as a bodhisattva

  AS FOR MY PERSONAL RELIGIOUS PRACTICE, I try to live my life by following what I call the “bodhisattva ideal.” In Buddhist conception, a bodhisattva is a being who is engaged on the path toward Buddhahood and is completely devoted to helping sentient beings liberate themselves from suffering. The word bodhisattva is easier to understand if the two terms that make it up, bodhi and sattva, are translated separately. Bodhi stands for the wisdom that understands the ultimate nature of reality, and sattva is a person motivated by universal compassion. So the bodhisattva ideal amounts to an aspiration to practice infinite compassion with infinite wisdom.

  Spiritual practice in order to become better human beings

  DO NOT EXPECT extraordinary things of me, like omnipotent blessings that could transform your life miraculously and instantaneously. You would be wrong to entertain such thoughts—they have nothing to do with reality. I am a simple Buddhist monk who has been practicing since the age of ten and who tries to live according to the Buddha’s teachings.

  As a simple monk, I am an interpreter of that sublime master before whom I prostrate with humility. When the Buddha was alive, he looked like an ordinary monk; he traveled on foot, holding his beggar’s bowl. After him, many great practitioners have had that same outer appearance, which might seem contemptible if one didn’t look beyond appearances.

  We share in common with the Buddha the same potential for goodness and serenity. But we don’t always know this, and sometimes we manage to destroy both the happiness of others and our own inner peace. We all want to avoid suffering and be happy. We have an intimate experiential knowledge of both happiness and suffering that is common to all sentient beings.

  I am sharing with you my experience of life, based on Buddhist teaching and practice, without any desire to propagate Buddhism or make new followers. The great spiritual traditions, which are all very much alive on the five continents, reflect the various dispositions of the peoples of the world. They define the foundations and ethical principles that will allow us to become better by developing human qualities like love, patience, and tolerance and by fighting our excessive desires.

  It is preferable to keep to our original spiritual traditions. That is a much surer path. I am always a little doubtful when I teach Buddhism in a country like France, which is mostly Christian and Catholic, for I am convinced that it is always more satisfying to deepen and preserve the religion of one’s ancestors. It is not necessary to become Buddhist when you are a Westerner.

  If you examine the great religions of the world, you can discern philosophical and metaphysical views, on the one hand, and daily spiritual practice, on the other. Although the philosophical views differ and sometimes contradict each other, in spiritual practice all religions are connected. They all recommend inner transformation of our stream of consciousness, which will make us better, more devout people.

  It is good not to create any hierarchy among spiritual traditions but rather to understand that their teachings are adapted to the various dispositions of beings. What’s more, within Buddhism itself you can find many teachings of the Buddha, who taught a doctrine that is described as having “84,000 doors.” It is up to us to recognize the necessity of different philosophical views and to acknowledge that every spiritual tradition is good, since each one helps millions of people to progress and to suffer less by becoming better. For each person, there is one single way and one single truth to acquire, but one must still accept the truth of other traditions. Even if another tradition goes against our own convictions, it has its own reason for being, in the support it provides for others. So we should have our own convictions, on the one hand, but on the other hand, we should keep our minds open and tolerant toward those who don’t share them.

  Temples of Kindness in Our Hearts

  Toward brotherly exchanges between religions

  AS WE APPROACH the twenty-first century, religious traditions are as relevant as ever. Yet, as in the past, conflicts and crises arise in the name of different religious traditions. This is very, very unfortunate. We must make every effort to overcome this situation. In my own experience, I have found that the most effective method to overcome these conflicts is close contact and an exchange among those of various beliefs, not only on an intellectual level but in deeper spiritual experiences. This is a powerful method to develop mutual understanding and respect. Through this exchange, a strong foundation of genuine harmony can be established.

  In addition to encounters among scholars and experienced practitioners, it is also important, particularly in the eyes of the public, that leaders of the various religious traditions occasionally come together to meet and pray, as in the important meeting at Assisi in 1986. This is a simple yet effective way to promote tolerance and understanding.

  Politicians need religion more than hermits

  I HAVE HAD MANY FASCINATING CONVERSATIONS with the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Robert Runcie (whose admirable envoy, Terry Waite, I always keep in my prayers). We share the viewpoint that religion and politics can come together effectively, and we both agree that, obviously, the duty of religion is to serve humanity. Religion should not ignore reality. It is not enough for members of a religious order to devote themselves to prayer. They are morally obligated to contribute as much as possible to solving the world’s problems.

  I remember an Indian politician who invited me to discuss this point with him. He said to me, with sincere humility, “Oh, but we’re politicians, not monks!” To which I replied: “Politicians need religion even more than a hermit in retreat. If the hermit acts inspired by bad motivation, he’ll harm only himself. But if a politician, who can directly influence an entire society, acts with bad motivation, a large number of people will experience the negative consequences.”

  I don’t see any contradiction between politics and religion. For in fact, what is religion? Where I am concerned, I regard every action carried out with good motivation as religious. On the other hand, people who have gathered in a temple or a church without good motivation are not behaving religiously when they pray together.

  My pilgrimages, from Lourdes to Jerusalem

  I AM FIRMLY CONVINCED that we can further understanding and harmony among religions and thus promote world peace. To accomplish this, I encourage interfaith exchanges, especially pilgrimages. That is why I visited Lourdes, in southern France, not as a tourist but as a pilgrim. I drank the holy water, I stopped in front of the statue of Mary, and I realized that in this place millions of people receive a blessing or a feeling of calm. As I was looking at Mary, I felt rising up within me a sincere admiration and an authentic respect for Christianity, which benefits such a large number of people. The Christian religion does, of course, have a different philosophy from my own, but the aid and concrete benefits it brings are undeniable.

  It was in the same spirit that in 1993 I went to Jerusalem, the holy site of so many great religions in the world. I meditated a
t the Wailing Wall with Jewish friends, and then, in Christian places of worship, I prayed with Christian friends. Then I visited the holy site of our Muslim friends, and I prayed there with them.

  I have also gone to different Hindu, Jain, and Sikh temples, to Zoroastrian holy places in India, and elsewhere. I have prayed or shared in silent meditation with the followers of these traditions.

  More recently, I joined Christian and Buddhist leaders for a pilgrimage to Bodhgaya in India. Every morning we sat under the Bodhi Tree for a communal meditation session. Since the time of the Buddha over 2,500 years ago and the time of Jesus Christ 2,000 years ago, I think that was the first time such an encounter occurred.

  There is a place that I’ve wanted to visit for a long time, but this wish has not yet been fulfilled. It is the Wu Tai Shan, the mountain of Five Terraces, venerated in China and dedicated to Manjushri, the bodhisattva of Wisdom. My predecessor, the Thirteenth Dalai Lama, went there to pay homage, and during my first trip to China in 1954 I wished to follow in his footsteps. At that time the Chinese authorities refused my request, under the pretext that the roads were unfit for travel.

  A life of contemplation on love

  ON A VISIT TO THE GREAT MONASTERY at Montserrat in Spain, I met a Benedictine monk there. He came especially to see me—and his English was much poorer than mine, so I felt more courage to speak to him. After lunch we spent some time alone, face to face, and I was informed that this monk had spent a few years in the mountains just behind the monastery. I asked him what kind of contemplation he had practiced during those years of solitude. His answer was simple: “Love, love, love.” How wonderful! I suppose that sometimes he also slept. But during all those years he meditated simply on love. And he was not meditating on just the word. When I looked into his eyes, I saw evidence of profound spirituality and love—as I had during my meetings with Thomas Merton.

  Temples inside

  I BELIEVE THE PURPOSE of all the major religious traditions is not to construct big temples on the outside, but to create temples of goodness and compassion inside, in our hearts.

  Some people believe that the most reasonable way to attain harmony and solve problems relating to religious intolerance is to establish one universal religion for everyone. However, I have always felt that we should have different religious traditions because human beings possess so many different mental dispositions: one religion simply cannot satisfy the needs of such a variety of people. If we try to unify the faiths of the world into one religion, we will also lose many of the qualities and richnesses of each particular tradition. Therefore, I feel it is better, in spite of the many quarrels in the name of religion, to maintain a variety of religious traditions. Unfortunately, while a diversity of religious traditions is more suited to serve the needs of the diverse mental dispositions among humanity, this diversity naturally possesses the potential for conflict and disagreement as well. Consequently, people of every religious tradition must make an extra effort to transcend intolerance and misunderstanding and seek harmony.1

  Transforming Our Minds

  Analysis of the mind as a preliminary to spiritual practice

  TO FREE OURSELVES FROM SUFFERING, we must understand what happens before suffering. For nothing appears without causes or conditions. It’s up to us to recognize the causes that increase suffering or diminish it. That is part of the analysis of the mind, an indispensable preliminary to spiritual practice.

  The mind is subject to circumstantial pressures; it fluctuates with them and reacts to the impact of sensations. Material progress and a higher standard of living improve comfort and health but do not lead to a transformation of the mind, the only thing capable of providing lasting peace. Profound happiness, unlike fleeting pleasures, is spiritual by nature. It depends on the happiness of others, and it is based on love and tenderness. We would be wrong to think that being happy consists of grasping the best at others’ expense. The lack of altruism, which causes family discord and disturbance, causes solitude. We should take care not to be excessively concerned with the external world, realizing that grasping and owning material goods reinforce self-centeredness.

  The key to happiness lies in strength of mind, inner serenity, and a quality like steadfastness. We can approach this by developing tenderness and love, which correspond to the profound nature of every human being. The mother-child relationship is probably the best example of the non-ordinary love of loving someone else more than yourself. The first word each of us has uttered is “mama,” and in just about every language this word contains the syllable ma. Another monosyllabic word in most languages in the world, with the exception of Japanese, designates the self: “me” (or “mine”) indicates the extreme attachment we have for our own person. It is an attachment we must fight in order to spread altruistic qualities.

  Of course, one can cultivate human qualities without having a religion. But as a general rule, religion allows us to increase these qualities more effectively.

  Impermanence and interdependence, or seeing the world as it is

  BUDDHISM OFFERS A METHOD that will improve us while reflecting the true nature of things, without letting us be fooled by appearances. Phenomena, which manifest to our faculties of perception, have no ultimate reality. Let us take the example of a mountain. It seems to be the same today as it was yesterday. Formed thousands of years ago, it represents a continuity in the world of phenomena. Although we can note a relative stability in its appearance on a coarse level, we must still acknowledge that each of its particles, on a very subtle level, is changing from one instant to the next. Change, on the infinitesimal level, is accompanied in our mind by an appearance of continuity. Yet the continuity thus perceived is illusory. For nothing remains the same, and no two consecutive instants are alike.

  After the example of the mountain, let’s take that of the flower, whose fragility and ephemeral nature are obvious. The flower that is blooming today was first a seed, then a bud. These changes of state illustrate the subtle impermanence of every instant, which is the true nature of the flower: it is doomed to rapid destruction. Whether it is a question of a mountain or a flower, we must get used to understanding that the instant a phenomenon appears it carries within it the cause of its own end.

  The impermanence of phenomena depends on external causes and conditions. To say that all things are interdependent means that they have no inherent existence. The very potential for transformation at work in phenomena is a sign of the fundamental reciprocity of life.

  Can we determine that a “flower” entity as such exists in itself? The answer is no. The flower is only a collection of characteristics—form, color, smell—but no “flower” exists independent of its appearances.

  Our perception of time also rests on a mistaken apprehension of reality. What in fact is the past? The past is not a reality; it’s just a concept. The future corresponds to projections, anticipations that do not have any reality either. The past has already occurred; the future does not yet exist. These notions affect us as realities, although they have no substance. The present is the truth that we are experiencing here and now, but it is an elusive reality that does not last. We find ourselves in a paradoxical situation in which the present constitutes a border, a limit between a past and a future without any concrete reality. The present is that elusive moment between what no longer exists and what has not yet happened.

  These notions that we take as “reality” are pure intellectual fabrications that do not involve an independent reality, existent in itself. According to the Buddha, perceived phenomena exist only from the standpoint of their designation—that is, the names and concepts we attach to them. The functioning of phenomena does not reveal a palpable entity that is uniquely theirs. You could compare phenomena to a mirage: the closer you get to it, the farther away it gets, until it disappears. Similarly faced with the mind that analyzes them, phenomena vanish.

  So we should distinguish two truths: a relative truth, which concerns the appearance of phenome
na, their emergence, their manifestation, and their cessation; and an ultimate truth, which recognizes the absence of inherent reality in phenomena. By saying that phenomena are empty of intrinsic existence, we are declaring not their nonexistence but their interdependence, their absence of concrete reality. And the emptiness of phenomena, far from being a mental construct or a concept, corresponds to the reality itself of the phenomenal world.

  The Buddha does not deny that things appear, but posits the union of appearance and emptiness. Thus, the flower exists: its forms and characteristics are inscribed in our mind. But its nature is devoid of any intrinsic existence.

  Transforming our mind on the Buddha’s path

  MORE THAN JUST A PHILOSOPHICAL VIEW of the world, Buddhism represents a path of transforming the mind, with the aim of freeing ourselves from suffering and its causes. Transforming the mind involves first learning to know it, then identifying how it functions so as to eliminate the three main mental poisons, which are ignorance, desire, and hatred. So it is beneficial to analyze the stream of our consciousness and its variations. Understanding the ultimate nature of consciousness, without beginning or end, whose continuum is distinct from the physical support of the coarse body, is the foundation that allows us to realize the primordial purity of the mind.

  Buddhist analysis of reality concurs with the conclusions of quantum physics, according to which particles of matter are real while still being devoid of ultimate solidity. Similarly, in Buddhism the phenomena that exist in interdependence are empty of intrinsic, autonomous existence. Interdependence is a universal concept. Nothing can occur without causes or conditions. Causality, or karma, is the law that governs the world of phenomena. A dynamic flux of changing appearances occurs, responding to causes and effects. But that does not mean that we should think there is an original, unchanging, permanent cause, like an organizing principle. In a world that is constantly changing, mutations are due to qualities that are inherent in phenomena.