The Most Hated Ideology

In 2015 I uploaded a post entitled Forgiveness. It's about forgiveness.

Last year, after almost a decade of being roundly ignored by the Internet, the article was flagged as "sensitive content", fenced behind a warning to visitors, and then a second fence that requires a Google sign-in to pass.

Evidently to shield children from my dangerous advocacy of compassion.

There are times when the irony on this rock gets so thick that one is literally at a loss for words.

Which is why I've haven’t said anything about this until now.

In the article, I point out that I've consistently attracted more mob-borne hatred when advocating for forgiveness than any other topic. By way of example, I cite reactions to a comment I made about Frank Meeink, one-time neo-Nazi who atoned for his hateful conduct and actively defected to the side of kindness and reason. And I wound the thing up with a reference to Angulimala, a figure from the sutras who renounced his career as a serial killer and became a disciple of the Buddha.

I've now re-read Forgiveness half a dozen times, with long periods of reflection between, and still can't find a single line any rational person would call offensive. (It's true I can get, shall we say, "passionate", about certain subjects, nay judgemental in some cases. But unless I'm blind to something, Forgiveness contains no such cases.)

Instead, it appears that someone – or several someones – reported this little-read post from my back-catalogue simply because I advocated mindful compassion toward a repentant Nazi.

More perplexing still, Google also agrees that this is too shocking a contemplation for unsuspecting surfers to stumble across unawares. And much too shocking for kids, under any circumstances.

So, hey. I've been wrong before. If any readers game enough to breech the safety fences could read the text behind them and explain to me where you find offence, I would be sincerely grateful.

Please post your thoughts in the comment section below, if you don't mind. My word that I'll be equanimous toward all, pro- or anti-Ring, that are on-topic and not personally abusive to anyone.

Because I think the Great Sangha needs to start talking about this forgiveness thing.


(Photo courtesy of Damian Gadal and Wikimedia Commons.)

Higher Ground

I'd been a hermit monk for 5 years when I heard on my truck radio that after the news the host would speak with a US Army chaplain just back from Iraq.

I have a tetchy relationship with military chaplaincy. At best it enables sin. At worst it weaponises it. None of the planet's mainstream religions endorse collective destruction, no matter how vociferously their institutions argue otherwise.

On the other hand, the war industry mass-produces humans badly in need of refuge, which makes military chaplains a very good thing. It's just that I doubt that's the reason they were commissioned. But some do it anyway – help the exploited survive hell – even though it contradicts the larger mission, which is to exploit those people

Still, when the radio presenter announced her upcoming guest, I instinctively moved to change stations.

Then I thought, hold on. Don't I sell myself as a Zen monk? Haven't I taken a precept to strive after an ideal that rejects otherness and recognises that we're all the product of forces beyond our control?

Haven't I myself committed acts of great hypocrisy? And aren't I now poised, finger on trigger, to commit another one?

Bodhisattvas test your sincerity before they offer their gifts.

So I stood down. If this guy started selling partisan pap, I could always press the scan button later.

And that's how I received one of the central tenets of my monastic practice.

In the interview, the officer was asked for an example of the sort of ministry he provided. He related the story of a young soldier who came to him after smashing into a private Iraqi home and spraying the entire weeping family with automatic weapons fire

As they huddled on the floor of their own living room.

It's to the young man's enduring credit, and that of those who raised him, that this atrocity took him to the brink of suicide. Decent people aren't able to do this sort of thing. No matter what kind of clothes they're wearing or what they've pledged to whom.

This one couldn't stop putting himself in the place of that Iraqi father. Seeing himself through his target's eyes. The complete absence of justice or justification. Who he was in that scenario

Ha!, thought I. Get yourself out of this one, warrior preacher.

The chaplain's response was notable first for what he didn't say. He didn't talk about orders, patriotism, or service. He didn't present excuses or greater-good defences, or displace blame onto the soldier's government or superiors. There were no references to geopolitics or God's will.

He simply asked the broken man what his victim's duty was.

I can imagine the man was taken aback. I certainly was.

"If matters had been reversed," said the Army chaplain, "and he'd killed your family, what would your duty to him be?"

"I… I guess, to forgive him," the soldier stammered.

"Then that's his duty to you as well."

I've been meditating on this koan ever since.

We're taught early on that forgiveness is next to godliness, that we must do it. And that's certainly correct.

But what we're not told is that we also have a right to demand it. Because it's also everybody else's unshirkable responsibility. This was the Buddha's teaching to Aṅgulimāla: when you're no longer the person who committed the crime, atonement, not condemnation, is your burden.

I'll warrant readers who were offended by my criticisms of military chaplains are little mollified by my chastened gratitude to this one for his insight.

But I suspect the man himself will forgive me.

Deep bow to all who labour honestly for higher ground.


(Photo of US Army Buddhist Chaplain insignia courtesy of Ingrid Barrentine, the Northwest Guardian newspaper, and Wikimedia Commons.)

Forgiveness

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The Capital Punishment Koan

But the good news is I did change my heart. It just took a while to generate the will. And that's my right. I also get better at this stuff. And that's all God asks. Live this moment right; the past is his property. I am no different from everything else: I'm not what I was. And I'm not even what I've done. That was the koan Gautama gave to Angulimala, the serial killer who became his disciple. All you have to do to please God is strive. He accepts all progress, even that which is invisible to others, even that which is invisible to you, as full payment. That's why we live so many lives. In point of fact, we live as many lives as it takes. All of us. No Heart Left Behind. Fudo closes the door on an empty room. That's his vow.

And by this truth, capital punishment is not just technically murder, it's the random, joyful murder of serial killers. You never kill the man who killed; every criminal executed is innocent, and that would be the case even if you crucified him the very night. Admittedly, that point is academic. But when you kill a man who has lived twenty more years, suffering in the man-made Hell of prison, you are not only killing a complete stranger, you're often killing a soul seared generous and kind in a fire you set. So don't come snivelling around here with your "eye for an eye;" you've taken a soul for an eye.

Hence the koan of capital punishment: Whose soul have you taken?

Wu Ya's commentary: "Not mine. Anybody missing a soul?"


(Adapted from "100 Days on the Mountain," copyright RK Henderson. Photo courtesy of WikiMedia and Rafael Pi Belda [photographer].)