The Critics of Buddhism

Recently Brit Hume, the news commentator, ignited a small firestorm when he suggested that golfer Tiger Woods would do well to leave behind his interest in Buddhist philosophy and return to his Christian roots, since, he maintained, Christianity offers real "redemption". Understandably, many who admire and respect Buddhism were insulted and saddened by Mr. Hume's lack of insight. His remarks were unfortunate and indefensible.



However, if Hume had simply prefaced his remarks by offering the caveat "In my opinion...", then his critics would simply have to acknowledge that Hume was exercising his rights of free speech, and therefore they could only disagree with his conclusions. However, Hume seemed to speak with an air of absolutism that has characterized Christian apologetics too much across the centuries. If he were to study Christianity and Buddhism in greater depth, he might discover that they are not as far apart as he might think. But the purpose of this article is not to defend one way of life against another; it is up to each individual to make his or her own choices.



Perhaps my goal here is, ironically, to defend--a bit--Brit Hume, and I write these words as someone who deeply loves the Buddhist philosophy and has drawn much comfort (and even redemption) from its teachings. As far as we know, Hume has never killed a Buddhist and has never denied basic human rights to a Buddhist. On the other hand, in many countries Buddhism is not given official status and freedom of expression. Priceless Buddhist shrines and relics, all a part of our shared heritage as human beings, have been mercilessly destroyed, and some Buddhists have had to face discrimination and outright persecution. If Mr. Hume has been guilty of any of these things, then he surely needs to be exposed and censured--but I doubt that he has ever done so, and I even suspect that he would fight to defend the rights of Buddhists everywhere.



It is our duty always to speak out against prejudice and discrimination wherever we find it. Differences of opinion and disagreements do not fall into that category. Those who would defend Buddhism must speak out against the overt acts of political and religious repression that have attacked their way of life, wherever they are found.



Thanks,

Gary

Achieving Renunciation

In my last post I wrote about the elements of Richard Wagner's opera Tristan und Isolde that embody a major tenet of Buddhism, namely, the lovers' realization that, paradoxically, they can find no peace until they renounce their desires and flee into the next world. Another opera, Werther, by Jules Massenet, based upon the novel by Wolfgang von Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther, demonstrates a similar theme. Werther, the protagonist, finds himself hopelessly in love with Charlotte, a married woman. Although he strives to rid himself of his desire for her, he finds that he is unable to do so (as she likewise fails to do for him), and ultimately seeks to rid himself of desire through death.

It is interesting to note that both Tristan, Isolde and Werther all see death as almost a sort of refuge--a place where unwanted desires will cease to torment them and where they will find a deep peace born of void and oblivion. In each story, the sufferers seem to view death as a comfort and perhaps even a friend. Sadly, it was noted that in the aftermath of Goethe's publication of Werther in 1774 (written at the ripe age of twenty-four!), there was a rash of suicides in Europe, committed primarily by young men, as readers saw too much of themselves and their personal realities reflected in the novel.

Buddhism, a philosophy that increasing numbers of us have come to respect as a source of inner peace, personal fulfillment and a means of learning to respect and value others, in no way would condone the choice made by these fictional characters (whose depth of pathos have imbued them with a certain reality, like all memorable characters in great fictional works). Rather, I think, Buddhism would encourage each of us to go within and seek renunciation and release from desire through meditation and self analysis. Anyone who has studied Buddhism in more than a purely superficial examination, understands that it is perhaps the most life-affirming philosophy and way of life on our planet. Increasingly, many Christian theologians are beginning to wonder if Jesus may have had some contact with the teachings of Buddhism.

Buddhism does teach that the renunciation of desires is the means to the ending of suffering, but renunciation is not achieved simply through denial, but through the gradual process of coming to realize that, just maybe, what we think we want is sometimes not what we really want. Renunciation must be voluntary and joyfully accepted to be real.

By the way, did anyone notice that the title of this post is something of an oxymoron?

Thanks,
Gary

Buddhism, Wagner and Love

I have a friend who says sometimes a particular piece of music will capture him to the point where he will simply listen to it over and over--and over--again. I know how he feels, and many times I have found myself fixated on a particular piece, or maybe even just a small segment of the piece.

Recently while scouring YouTube videos for musical examples to send to the choir I direct, I came across a video of the American soprano Jessye Norman singing the "Liebestod" (Love Death) from the opera Tristan und Isolde by Richard Wagner, performing with the Berlin Philharmonic at the last concert directed by Herbert von Karajan, the legendary conductor of the orchestra. The aria is sung at the close of the opera, and takes somewhere around eight minutes to perform. It is one of the great masterpieces of Western music. I found myself obsessed with the work and its significance.

In the opera, set during the Middle Ages, the Irish princess Isolde, betrothed to a king, unknowingly shares a love potion with Tristan, who in the past had killed her former lover and brought her much grief. The two are now captives of their own desires and can find no rest on earth. Tristan sings about the burden of living during daylight hours, when he must conform to the ways of the world, but at night the two can meet secretly and live out their desires for each other. Eventually the two come to realize that the eternal night of death will be their only release. Near the conclusion of the opera Tristan is mortally wounded by his enemies. Isolde, as she beholds his body, knows that she must join him in the next world. She sings the closing aria, which has come to be known as the "Love Death" and dies allegedly of grief, but in so doing realizes that she has entered into a spiritual transformation and release.

It is important to realize that Wagner preferred to call this final aria Verklarung, "Transfiguration", rather than associating it only with death. If you listen to the music, your realize that the music, far from expressing despair and grief, actually embodies hope and conviction. Isolde sings about submerging herself into the "rapturous wave" of an ocean that will usher her into a new world. The opera closes with soft, peaceful chords. My own feeling is that Isolde dies not of grief, and in fact she and Tristan die not at all. By renouncing this world they enter into a higher and purer realm. The music of the opera is known for its unending tension, filled with harmonies that never resolve. (Wagner created the famous "Tristan chord", a dissonant chord that moves not to a consonance, but only to another dissonance, just for this purpose.)

Tristan und Isolde was first performed in 1865, at a time when Westerners were just beginning to question traditional Christianity and explore Eastern mysticism. Wagner, ironically a man of strong desires and opinions (but with a tender side that is often overlooked), was much influenced by the writings of the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, who believed that happiness can only be obtained by the elimination of our desires. Hence, in the opera the lovers can only find peace and release from their earthly torments by giving up their earthly desires.

Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, enunciated the idea of abandonment of desires 2400 years earlier than Schopenhauer. Thus, Tristan can be said to be a Buddhist opera. Interestingly, the British composer and mystic Cyril Scott (no relation to me that I am aware of!) remarked that Wagner's music is an auditory representation of Buddhist principles. Wagner is known for his extremist views on a variety of subjects, particularly Jews (although he seemed to often seek out the companionship of Jews), and yet Scott insists that Wagner's mind simply snapped under the pressure of spiritual forces that were working too strongly inside him.

In any case, we know that Buddhism is perhaps the gentlest and most tolerant faith active in our world today, and we are blessed to enjoy Wagner's music regardless of our personal beliefs or orientations.

If you are not familiar with the "Liebestod"--well, you should be. If you take the time to get to know it, you'll find it mesmerising and haunting. Even if you don't listen to it over and over as I did, you may find that you still want to make it a part of your life and reflect on its meaning. You can scour YouTube for links, or look for your own. You will be the richer for having done so.

Thanks,
Gary

Back to Prodigies

Lately I've been finding myself turning into a bit of a YouTube junkie, constantly searching for video clips of my favorite musical pieces, and sometimes discovering new favorites. In my ramblings I've come across several clips of child prodigies. Once again I am astounded not only by their inexplicable talent, but by the fact there are several of them. Each one of these children is a living miracle, and yet you can see, hear and bear witness to such miracles simply by surfing YouTube.

Of course, each of us a miracle, since we are all embodiments of the miracle of life itself, replete with our own individual talents and intelligence. If you stop to think about it, even the insects that annoy us are miracles of life (I sometimes think about that particularly in the summer when fireflies abound). But to behold the beauty of a young child expressing a phenomenal talent somehow forces us to become aware of the miraculousness in our midst, at the same time reminding us that our lives are fundamentally much more than the mundane existence we sometimes allow ourselves to lead.

One prodigy whose performance I found particularly moving was that of young Jordan Adams, who can be viewed performing the "Ocean" Etude of Chopin and the Fantaisie-Impromptu, at the ages of 10 and 8, respectively. He possesses a modesty and innocence that belie his stupendous technique. There is also a YouTube clip of the legendary Chinese pianist Lang Lang performing as a young child in a home video taken at his parents' home. I would strongly encourage you in your spare moments, or whenever you need a psychological lift, to simply connect to YouTube, or perhaps some other video search engine you're familiar with, and search out videos of young Jordan, Lang Lang, or any music or performer that might engage your thinking.

One reason why I enjoy watching music performed as well as listening to it is because the visual quality adds another layer to the performance. When we can watch the performer moving, touching the instrument, breathing, flowing into the music, then our understanding and appreciation of the music is heightened all the more. (Think about it: Why do we attend concerts instead of just listening to recordings? And even listeners who are blind or visually impaired still find that there is much for them to experience in a concert hall.)

Happy hunting!

Thanks,
Gary

Dvorak in the Heartland

Recently while traveling in Iowa I stopped in the town of Spillville, a historic Czech settlement located in the northeastern portion of the state. Visiting there on a Sunday afternoon brought a beautiful fall weekend to a close, part of which I had spent visiting a Zen monastery near the Mississippi--but more about that later.

Spillville is quiet and ethereally serene, creating a worthy conclusion to a Zen experience! The town is remarkable as a monument to the Czech immigrant experience in America, and for those citizens, permanent and temporary, who brought greatness to the town. The Bily brothers ("white" in Czech), who never traveled more than thirty-five miles from the town, who never married, and whose father never permitted them to practice their wood carving skills except during the winter when there were no farm duties, created exceptional hand carved wooden clocks that testify to all the powers of human ingenuity. Henry Ford once offered the men $1,000,000.00 for a single clock--and they refused. The clocks tell a history of the world, and form a tribute to the philosophies and belief systems that have shaped us--all this from two simple men who never ventured far from their home area. To pay homage to these two is worth a trip in itself.

For me as a musician, the significance of the town lies in the fact that the great Czech composer Antonin Dvorak spent the summer of 1893 in the town as a means of vacationing from his teaching and administrative duties in New York, and to reconnect with the spirit of his country. We know that Dvorak--along with his wife and six children--loved the town and its tranquillity. He loved listening to the local birds, and it is even said that their songs sometimes were incarnated within his melodies.

The region has designated a stretch of road as the "Dvorak Highway", and it is a solemn spiritual pilgrimage to explore it. I almost trembled as I entered the St. Wenceslas Catholic Church where the Dvoraks attended services, and where the very organ he sometimes played for the town still exists and is still used for regular services and special concerts. America is still too young to have produced many classical composers, but Dvorak is one to whose life we made at least a contribution--and who gave so much back to us and to the world.

If you don't know the music of Dvorak, you owe it to yourself to become acquainted. His music is warm and healing, and majestic. His humanity sweats forth from the music, evidenced by his admiration for American folk music and his insistence that no one be denied admission based on race or creed to the National Conservatory in New York which he directed. My personal favorite is the Cello Concerto, but the Symphony "From the New World" (you'll hear melodies inspired by the pioneers, Native Americans, Black spirituals, and even a bit of Three Blind Mice!), is probably the best known of his works. Other people are drawn to his chamber music, the Slavonic Dances, the Gypsy Songs, or other works. It's worth getting to kn ow all of them.

Thanks for reading.
Gary

More Thoughts on Language

In my most recent post I wrote about the joy of seeing (hearing?) a play about the life and work of Emily Dickinson. The basic tool of a poet is language, and language gives us much to think about.

Language is often abused and misused. Too often we go through life not realizing what a powerful gift words are. We use language to express practically all of our thoughts and ideas. Indeed, the gospel of John opens with the phrase "In the beginning was the Word....". Today many spiritual teachers of all stripes are striving to teach us the incredible power of words and their declaration.

Alice Bailey, the controversial British/American theosophical writer who claimed to channel a Tibetan spiritual master, once wrote that language is ultimately inadequate to express the deepest truths. Of course that is true; language is simply a tool, and we should always strive to hone and deepen it. Most of us sense that language hints at ideas and feelings that remain inexpressible to us. But the greatness of language is its ability to inspire us to search for the deeper meanings. When we meditate or pray, we sometimes proceed beyond words, but it is often "words" that guide us into "the Word". This is part of why language is so important to us. Words can both unite and divide us, but ultimately they guide us.

Thanks,
Gary

Emily Dickinson in the Heartland

Recently the Insight Theatre Company in St. Louis presented William Luce's play chronicling the life of Emily Dickinson, The Belle of Amherst, directed by Maggie Ryan and starring Susie Wall in the title role. The one-woman play premiered on Broadway in 1977 with Julie Harris in the title role and has received acclaim ever since. It was gratifying to hear once again lines from one of our greatest poets and catch glimpses into her personal life. At her death in 1886, at the age of 56, Emily's sister found 1,775 poems in Emily's room. Seven poems were published in her lifetime, but, like so many geniuses, Emily's work went largely unnoticed until after her death.

With a cast only one person, this play must rely on the sheer power of words to capture the attention of the audience. It was refreshing to be reminded once again that the English language has been blessed with an abundance of writers who respect its greatness and extreme powers of expression. Emily Dickinson takes her place in a pantheon of great writers, from the creator of Beowulf through Shakespeare to our present day, who have bequeathed a cultural legacy to us all.

Emily Dickinson respected the English language, and we should all realize that we only cheat ourselves if we ignore our native tongue. It is a tragedy to see how language is disrespected and ignored in so many of our institutions today. (Do you realize how little grammar is taught today in many schools?) And whether we speak English or any other language, we should realize that it is our duty and right to explore the language and be intelligent co-creators of its usage. Emily Dickinson, like every great writer, was one of us, and sprang from our midst.

Thanks,
Gary