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Just like birds that leave no tracks in the air,
there are those whose minds do not cling to temptations that are offered
to them.
Their focus is the signless state of liberation, which to others is
indiscernible.
Dhammapada, verse 92
I’ve been asked to comment on the place of renunciation in our practice.
Renunciation – nekkhamma in Pali – is one of what are known as the ten
paramitas, ‘perfections’ or ‘forces of goodness’. Personally, I feel
convinced that renunciation is one of the most important, and at the
same time least appreciated, aspects of spiritual life. I am not saying
this to justify my life as a monk. You might expect me to say that
renunciation is good, given that I’ve been doing it for twenty-five
years! Rather, I, along with many others, choose to live this life
because of the understanding that there is tremendous benefit in being
able to give up that which is extra – to be able to let go of that which
is not necessary and to live a simple life.
Now, I am not merely talking about giving up outer physical things like,
for instance, eating in the evening. There is nothing moral or immoral
about not eating in the evening – you go without a glass of milk in the
evening, big deal! I don’t even mean the more difficult areas like music
and sex. These things that monks and nuns may give up are not in
themselves the real point of renunciation. These outer gestures of
renunciation are forms for encouraging an inner letting go. The gestures
in themselves are functional, aiding the cultivation of a strength of
heart that sustains us on an inner journey. And surely all of us, not
just monks and nuns, need this ability. It is true that the monastic
community chooses to emphasise this aspect of the Buddha’s teaching,
even make a lifestyle out of it, but the training is relevant for
everyone who is interested in inner freedom.
Up until a few decades ago, the Roman Catholic Church used to require
that her followers refrain from eating meat on Fridays. When the Pope
lifted the prohibition I thought it was rather a pity. Although the
relevance of that particular form of abstinence was perhaps
questionable, at least it encouraged to some degree a formal practice of
giving up. I’m even old-fashioned enough to think that Lent is still a
good idea. It is a time of year that provides the opportunity to say,
‘Okay, for this period of time I’m going to put some energy into seeing
how able I am to give things up.’
The reality is that if we don’t know how to say ‘no’ to our conditioned
desires we are easily conned – by the outer world and by our inner
drives. If you can’t say ‘no’ to yourself when you go into one of these
supermarkets that have everything, you are likely to purchase more than
you intend. Leafing through exciting catalogues or shopping on the web,
you can be turning over your credit card details, acting out according
to the drama of the market place, and only afterwards start thinking,
‘What did I do that for?’ We’re all familiar with something like this –
the inability to say ‘no’ to things that are extra.
We can recognise this on the external level: we buy new clothes that we
don’t need, food we don’t need or CDs that we might never listen to. But
what is more difficult to see is how this pattern pertains to our inner
world, to see the mental compulsion of perpetually adding onto
experience: good, bad; right, wrong; should, shouldn’t. This tendency to
react, judge and add on to our experience prevents us from being able to
receive reality in a pure, undiluted form. The point of living a life
where one renounces certain options is that by cultivating a conscious
willingness to say ‘no’ to things that we might otherwise want to have
or do – things that are not really necessary to our well-being – we use
outer conventions to learn how to let go at a deeper level. We learn the
art of letting go. We call this process of learning a ‘training’ because
it takes some skill in applying effort. Unskilled effort in this area
readily leads to blind and potentially damaging repression.
Picking up the training
If we want to understand renunciation then we have to try it out. No
amount of talking about this practice takes us there. We only see what
it really achieves when we make an effort and observe the result.
Sometimes we are surprised at how good it feels to know we can say ‘no’
to ourselves; it can even be intoxicatingly good. I recall translating
for a newly-ordained young monk who was full of the inspiration that can
come from having been recently been received into the renunciate Sangha.
He was asking Ajahn Chah for advice on how to apply the various methods
for cultivating renunciation and determination. This bright-eyed and
energetic fellow was telling Ajahn Chah how he wanted to make a
determination to spend the following three months of the rains retreat
observing the practices of not lying down to sleep, not accepting food
other than that gathered on almsround, eating only one meal a day,
wearing only the bare minimum of clothes, and so on. He listed lots of
the dhutanga (ascetic) practices that the Buddha encouraged. Ajahn Chah
listened and then commented that the best thing would be if he simply
determined to keep practising for the three months, whatever happened,
and take on nothing particularly special. Ajahn Chah was well aware of
how inspiring the renunciation practice can be when we first get a feel
for the power it generates.
Sometimes we might even become a little evangelical about it – preaching
to everyone and anyone who will listen to us about the virtues of
renunciation, even enforcing it on others. This tends to be the aspect
that gives the whole subject a bad reputation. Some years ago Ajahn
Sumedho had to intervene to tone down the enthusiasm of a newly
appointed senior incumbent at a small branch monastery. This particular
monk had set up a system whereby all the food that had been prepared and
offered at the midday meal was poured into a big plastic bucket – rice,
curry, cakes, the lot. He would give it a stir, then take a few ladles
for himself before passing the bucket down the line. No doubt this
gesture of renunciation served to challenge preferences around food in a
worthy manner, but there was evidence that not everyone in the community
found it equally helpful. Ajahn Sumedho in his wisdom sent up a large
box of beautifully wrapped, delicious-looking biscuits with a note
saying, ‘Not for the bucket.’
Even without making any specific outer gesture of renunciation we can
learn from seeing how difficult it can be to let go of all that is extra
in our minds. An example is when we sit down to meditate for a period of
time. We know how the practice of concentration can steady the mind,
open the heart, and bring greater clarity and understanding – we know
how suitable and agreeable that state of mind is; and yet when we
decide, ‘Okay, I’ll put thirty minutes aside and sit in meditation,’ and
try to focus, the mind starts off every which way. We think, ‘Why is
that? Why is the mind going off? It’s not necessary, I have finished
with that stuff, I want to be quiet.’ This is what I mean by extra. So
can we let go of the extra? Do we have that ability, that strength that
enables simply saying ‘no’ to the force of compulsion?
Different from morality
It has to be understood that we’re not talking about moral issues here.
Sometimes these two aspects of practice – morality and renunciation –
become mixed up, and that is not helpful. We’re not talking about the
five precepts that we all know about: no killing, no stealing, no
irresponsible sexuality, no false speech, and no intoxicants. These are
moral matters that, if we neglect them, cause harm to ourselves and harm
to others. When we take up eight precepts, the three more that are
adopted are precepts of renunciation. The sixth precept is refraining
from eating in the evening and the seventh and eighth precepts are about
giving up entertainment, distraction, music, jewellery, and sleeping
heedlessly. In addition, the third precept becomes a renunciant one,
changing abstention from irresponsible sexuality into celibacy (no
intentional sexual activity whatsoever). These are not issues of
morality. Traditionally lay Buddhists are encouraged to take up the
eight precepts for certain periods in order to cultivate this faculty of
renunciation, to release out of habits of holding to that which does not
pertain to the goal. This is addressing matters of skilfulness, not
morality.
If you’re inspired by this possibility and want to try it out I would
encourage it but would suggest that you don’t tell anybody else that you
are doing it. Let it be a force for lessening the load rather than for
boosting a false sense of ego. You could decide for example that once a
week or once a month you’re going to exercise saying ‘no’ to something.
You might say ‘no’ to your wish to watch a particular program on
television – not for any moral reason but simply for the cultivation of
the ability to renounce without falling into inner argument or blind
repression. As a result of your experiment in renunciation you will
discover something interesting - you will get your energy back. You
will, guaranteed. If it doesn’t come the first time, say ‘no’ a few more
times. Initially this energy may manifest as anger or restlessness. When
you experience this agitation, you may decide that such practice is not
suitable for you. Or you may feel that you are beyond it, in which case
you won’t have any doubts whatsoever around energy and equanimity – you
will already be perfectly balanced. But if you are not quite there yet,
I would recommend persisting with it, sensitively and consistently,
learning from these initial reactions.
Sometimes this practice can lead us to discover resources we didn’t
think we had. We might be surprised to find that we are able to hold
true to something, when in the past we might have caved in under
pressure. To take an example: I have a general mistrust of the mass
media and yet at the same time I can find their journalists and
programme producers extremely persuasive. The editors for television and
newspapers clearly send out their most charming interviewers in order to
secure the material, but what they eventually broadcast can be something
completely different to what was anticipated at the time the material
was gathered.
Some years ago when I had been left in charge of the monastery at
Chithurst, some television people from Brighton were pressing for
permission to film a group of school children who were coming on a
Religious Education visit to the monastery. It wasn’t difficult to come
up with a justification for saying ‘yes’ to the programme producer, yet
my gut feeling was to mistrust their motivation, and to doubt whether
they would be sensitive enough to avoid distracting the children from
the purpose of their visit. So I said ‘no’. They called back many times
in an attempt to get me to change my mind but to my surprise I found it
quite easy to remain with my original answer. I confess I was somewhat
worried that the school might have been disappointed but still it felt
true to say ‘no’. As things turned out the head teacher got in touch to
say how delighted the school staff were because they hadn’t wanted the
television crew along on the trip either but nobody had ever said ‘no’
to them before.
Strategic frustration
If we feel unable in this area we can easily be distracted, inwardly and
outwardly. It is my observation that this not only makes us excessively
vulnerable but leads to dullness. If we let ourselves get what we want
all the time, we go flat, we lose the edge. In our present day culture
of affluence and comfort we are often disinclined to consider this
dynamic. The reality is that I like to get what I want and yet there is
a part of me that knows that complying with this arrangement fails to
give me the deeper contentment for which I long.
I refer to this area of our practice as ‘strategic frustration’ – we set
out to engage frustration in a constructive way. The Rinzai school of
Zen Buddhism has formalised frustration into a meditation technique
called koan practice. The meditator is instructed to ponder on an
ultimately frustrating predicament or is given an apparently impossible
question that is specifically designed to ‘undo’ the thinking mind. In
this process tremendous energy is built up prior to the release that
comes with the ‘resolution’ of the koan. It is totally frustrating, and
is supposed to be that way. We can observe this process for ourselves.
Without attending a Zen retreat or becoming a celibate renunciate,
simply observe your energy level as you choose to either follow or
restrain your desires. Compulsively following desire dissipates so much
of our energy.
What is the condition of the mind before wanting arises? It is actually
quite okay, isn’t it? The mind that is not disturbed by wanting anything
at all is peaceful. It is when wanting arises that we feel the itch, but
if we scratch the itch straightaway – gratifying the desire immediately
without stopping to investigate – we won’t notice how irritating desire
can be. When we are ruled by desire, we fail to see what it really is.
Desire is, in reality, simply a movement in consciousness – a wave upon
an ocean. However, that is not generally our experience; when desire
arises we are usually unsettled by it.
After wanting has arisen three options are available to us. We can
gratify the wanting, which momentarily gets rid of it, such that the
relief from the irritation of desire may be perceived as pleasure. The
more often we follow this option, however, the more we increase the
momentum of wanting and gratifying. In the long run we tend to become
less peaceful. The next option available is to repress the desire and
pretend we do not want anything – which is to impose a blind judgement
on it. The third option is that we choose to hold this wanting in our
awareness. We can hold it. As a result of doing this, something
wonderful happens. The energy that is experienced as desire returns to
being raw energy. That energy can truly motivate practice and lead us to
a much greater happiness than that associated with the gratification of
sensual desires. So frustrating desire is not something for a few
weirdos or perverts who live in monasteries because they don’t know how
to enjoy life. Renunciation is a way of actually learning how to tap
into our deep inner well of energy.
When people ask me about renunciation, I encourage them to investigate
for themselves and not merely accept unexamined opinions from others –
including me and my opinions. Try it out and see. If you’re struggling
inwardly with something that is difficult – like sadness, for example –
and you find it hard to let go, notice the characteristic of the
struggle. You feel that you want to let go but you can’t. You ask
yourself, ‘What is this holding on that I am doing? What is all this
extra baggage that I am carrying?’ A lot of it is just habit, just habit
that comes through not really taking the time to get to know desire as
it really is, as a movement in our minds. We too readily assume that we
must take sides for or against our desires without first inquiring into
their reality. Desire is not the way it appears to be. We can ask
ourselves, ‘Do I want to live according to the patterns of desire with
which I have become conditioned and limited? Or do I want to live in a
state of freedom by maintaining here-and-now judgment-free awareness?’ I
never cease to find this an inspiring contemplation. Renunciation, like
desire, is not what it might first seem. Skilfully going against our
desires is not going to make us less happy!
Please don’t think that this practice is especially difficult or only
for a few individuals. We all need to know how to live consciously with
the authority to follow that which our heart tells us is true. We are
all potentially able to direct our attention towards what we personally
feel really matters. We do not, as it might appear, have to be
intimidated by other people’s persuasion. If in our own experience we
recognise something as worthy then let’s give ourselves to it
wholeheartedly and single-mindedly. Renunciation, developed with right
understanding, becomes the guiding principle that sustains us on our own
true path when we might otherwise have fallen into distraction.
So thank you for your question this evening.
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