As a lifelong Buddhist, I have often imagined the possibility of a robust, effective practice of Buddhist politics. I think there are some politicians who are Buddhist or who are sympathetic to a Buddhist worldview, but if so, for the most part, they are quiet about it. Even though Buddhism has been establishing itself in the Western world for more than seventy-five years, it would still be considered exotic by much of the ordinary voting public. To that point, I once went to a conference of encephalitis survivors, where a kindly, elderly woman from Ohio approached me after a talk I gave and said, “Is Buddhist like Muslim?” I replied no, it wasn’t, but that comment stuck with me.
Back in the sixties, Buddhists came into our society mostly through the counterculture, and the part of Buddhism we were mostly interested in was meditation and the promise of spiritual transformation. Probably a lot of that had to do with the widespread use of psychedelics and other mind-altering substances. In the Buddhist community that gathered around my first Buddhist teacher, almost everyone in the group had tried LSD, and that influenced their understanding of “enlightenment,” which many of us imagined was something like a permanent LSD trip.
By now meditation is widely disseminated and accepted in society. Buddhist practice has also had a major influence in at least three main societal spheres: hospice, psychotherapy, and prison work. Politics as yet is not one of them. That is regrettable, I think. I used to imagine that well-trained Buddhist practitioners could, for example, be included in negotiations of all kinds as a way of helping with conflict resolution, whether domestic or international. One early example was U Thant, who was Secretary-General of the United Nations in the 1960s. A Burmese national and a devout Buddhist, I was impressed when I read that he had a daily meditation practice. He helped President Kennedy and Nikita Krushchev negotiate the Cuban missile crisis. But U Thant is an exception.
Yes, meditation is an important part of Buddhism, but the reality is that throughout history, only a small minority of Buddhists—mostly monastic professionals—ever meditated. Buddhism is first and foremost a worldview and philosophy of living based on ahimsa, which means non-harm or non-injury. Once when the world-famous Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh was asked to summarize Buddhism in one word, he simply said, “Ahimsa.” If I could imagine a possible description of Buddhist politics, I would see it based on three principles. First is compassion for all living things, which includes ahimsa. The second would be interconnection, the sense that everything in the world, especially all living things, are dependent on each other; nothing stands alone. The third principle would be radical impermanence, the understanding that everything is changing all the time; there is no fixed or permanent aspect of human affairs.
These three principles—compassion, interconnection, and change—to me could form the basis of a well-grounded approach to political life and action. These principles in our society would represent a radical shift for many because many aspects of our society are based on their opposites—competition and aggression, separateness and rugged individuality, and resistance to change—qualities which at their worst represent a kind of toxic masculinity. Just to take one example: when Covid was raging, wearing a mask was clearly an act of compassion protecting others as well as yourself, but that’s not the way angry mask-deniers saw it. They saw it as an unjust infringement on their personal freedom; their rallying cry was, “Nobody can tell me what to do.” Some store employees got shot or killed for asking a customer to put on a mask. That’s a worldview that is infinitely far removed from a Buddhist sensibility.
Nevertheless, in an arena of bitter conflict, or even war, I believe it is still possible to uphold the Buddhist way. Thich Nhat Hanh was a stellar example. In the midst of the Vietnam war, he travelled on foot from village to village, helping the injured, comforting the children, and acting with kindness to everyone regardless of whose side they were on. At times there were attempts on his life. Actors from every side of that war thought that he must be somehow working for the other side; his kindness was viewed with fear and suspicion.
I don’t know if there is a place in our current maelstrom of political strife for a committed Buddhist like Thich Nhat Hanh. I would hope so. Only a world based on the Buddhist values of compassion, interconnection, and acceptance of change can help us find a way through our most compelling planet-wide challenges, such as climate change. For example, the most compelling fact about climate change is change. Yes, we all want things to stay the way they are, but change is happening all too rapidly, and no amount of digging our heels in with disinformation and out-and-out falsehood will stop it.
I knew Thich Nhat Hanh personally. When he visited our Buddhist center, for a couple of days I was his personal attendant. The two most striking things to know about him were that he talked very softly and walked very slowly. Later I marched with him and a million other people down Fifth Avenue demonstrating for nuclear disarmament. Thich Nhat Hanh had a spine of steel; he was ready to die for what he believed. When he did die a few years ago hundreds of thousands of people in Vietnam lined the streets as his funeral procession went by. In his home country, he was considered a saint.
I think we need people like that in our political sphere now, people who know what is real and true and what needs to be done. Our country and indeed the whole world depends on it. Will such people emerge? I am watching and waiting.
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