04 April 2015 tricycle Thanissaro Bhikku
Judgmental is bad, judicious is
good.
When the Buddha told Ananda that the entirety of the
practice lay in having an admirable friend, he wasn’t saying
something warm and reassuring about the compassion of others. He
was pointing out three uncomfortable truths—about delusion and
trust—that call for clear powers of judgment.
The first truth is that you can’t really trust
yourself to see through your delusion on your own. When you’re
deluded, you don’t know you’re deluded. You need some
trustworthy outside help to point it out to you. This is why, when
the Buddha advised the Kalamas to know for themselves, one of the
things he told them to know for themselves was how wise people
would judge their behavior. When he advised his son, Rahula, to
examine his own actions as he would his face in a mirror, he said
that if Rahula saw that his actions had caused any harm, he should
talk it over with a knowledgeable friend on the path. That way he
could learn how to be open with others—and himself—about his
mistakes and at the same time tap into the knowledge that his
friend had gained. He wouldn’t have to keep reinventing the dharma
wheel on his own.
So if you really want to become skillful in your
thoughts, words, and deeds, you need a trustworthy friend to point
out your blind spots. And because those spots are blindest around
your unskillful habits, the primary duty of a trustworthy friend is
to point out your faults—for only when you see your faults can you
correct them; only when you correct them are you benefiting from
your friend’s compassion in pointing them out.
Regard him as one who
points out
treasure,
the wise one who
seeing your faults
rebukes you.
Stay with this sort of sage.
For the one who stays
with a sage of this sort,
things get better,
not worse.
—Dhammapada 76
In passing judgment on your faults, an admirable
friend is like a trainer. Once, when a horse trainer came to see
the Buddha, the Buddha asked him how he trained his horses. The
trainer said that some horses responded to gentle training, others
to harsh training, others required both harsh and gentle training;
but if a horse didn’t respond to either type of training, he’d kill
the horse to maintain the reputation of his teachers’ lineage. Then
the trainer asked the Buddha how he trained his students, and the
Buddha replied, “In the same way.” Some students responded to
gentle criticism, others to harsh criticism, others to a mixture of
the two, but if a student didn’t respond to either type of
criticism, he’d kill the student. This shocked the horse trainer,
until the Buddha explained what he meant by “killing”: He wouldn’t
train the student any further, which essentially killed the
student’s opportunity to grow in the practice.
So the first prerequisite in maintaining an
admirable friend is being willing to take criticism, both gentle
and harsh. This is why the Buddha told his disciples not to teach
for money, for the person paying is the one who determines what’s
taught, and people rarely pay for the criticism they need to hear.
But even if the teacher is teaching for free, you run into the
Buddha’s second uncomfortable truth: You can’t open your heart
to just anyone. Our powers of judgment really do have power,
and because that power can cause long-term help or harm, you have
to take care in choosing your friend. Don’t fall into the easy trap
of being judgmental or nonjudgmental—judgmental in trusting your
knee-jerk likes or dislikes, nonjudgmental in trusting that every
dharma teacher would be equally beneficial as a guide. Instead, be
judicious in choosing the person whose judgments you’re going to
take on as your own.
This, of course, sounds like a catch-22: You need a
good teacher to help develop your powers of judgment, but
welldeveloped powers of judgment to recognize who a good teacher
might be. And even though there’s no foolproof way out of the
catch—after all, you can master a foolproof way and still be a
fool—there is a way if you’re willing to learn from
experience. And fortunately the Buddha gave advice about how to
develop your powers of judgment, so that you know what to look for
along the way. In fact, his recommendations for how to choose an
admirable friend are a preliminary exercise in discernment:
learning how to develop judicious powers of judgment so that you,
too, can become an admirable friend, first to yourself and then to
the people around you.
The first step in being judicious is understanding
what it means to judge in a helpful way. Think not of a justice
sitting on her bench, passing a verdict of guilt or innocence, but
of a piano teacher listening to you play. She’s not passing a final
verdict on your potential as a pianist. Instead, she’s judging a
work in progress: listening to your intention for the performance,
listening to your execution of that intention, and then deciding
whether it works. If it doesn’t, she has to figure out if the
problem is with the intention or the execution, make helpful
suggestions, and then let you try again. She keeps this up until
she’s satisfied with your performance. The important principle is
that she never directs her judgments at you as a person. Instead
she has to stay focused on your actions, to keep looking for better
ways to raise them to higher and higher standards.
At the same time, you’re learning from her how to
judge your own playing: thinking more carefully about your
intention, listening more carefully to your execution, developing
higher standards for what works, and learning to think outside the
box for ways to improve. Most important of all, you’re learning to
focus your judgment on your performance, and not on yourself. This
way—when there’s less you invested in your habits—you’re
more willing to recognize unskillful habits and to drop them in
favor of more skillful ones.
Of course, when you and your teacher are judging
your improvement on a particular piece, it’s part of a longer
process of judging how well the relationship is working. She has to
judge, over time, if you’re benefiting from her guidance, and so do
you. But again, neither of you is judging the worth of the other
person. She’s simply deciding—based on your progress—whether it’s
worth her while to continue taking you on as a student. You’re
judging the extent to which her recommendations are actually
helping you perform more effectively. If either of you decides to
terminate the relationship, it shouldn’t be because she’s a bad
teacher or you’re a bad student, but simply that she’s not the
teacher for you, or you’re not the student for her.
In the same
way, when you’re evaluating a potential dharma teacher, remember
that there’s no Final Judgment in Buddhism. When looking for a
teacher, you want someone who will evaluate your actions as a work
in progress, and you have to apply the same standard to him or her.
And you’re not trying to take on the superhuman role of evaluating
that person’s essential worth. You’re simply judging whether his or
her actions embody the kinds of skills you’d like to develop and
the types of mental qualities—which are also a kind of action—that
you’d trust in a trainer or guide. After all, the only way we know
anything about other people is through their actions, so that’s as
far as our judgments can fairly extend. At the same time, though,
because we’re judging whether we want to internalize another
person’s standards, it’s not unfair to pass judgment on what
they’re doing. It’s for our own protection. And it’s for the sake
of our protection that the Buddha recommended looking for two
qualities in a teacher: wisdom and integrity. To gauge these
qualities, though, takes time and sensitivity, which is why the
Buddha also advised that you be willing to spend time with the
person and try to be really observant of how that person
acts.
Once, when King Pasenadi came to see the Buddha, a
group of naked ascetics passed nearby. The king went over, got down
on one knee, and offered them homage. Then he returned to the
Buddha and asked, “Are those ascetics worthy of homage?” The Buddha
replied that you could fairly answer that question only after
having spent time with them, and only if you were really observant.
The king praised the Buddha’s caution, and added, “Those men are
actually my spies. They’re on the way back from having scouted out
the enemy, and soon—after bathing and clothing themselves—they’ll
be back enjoying themselves with their wives.” So you can’t judge
people just by first impressions. The appearance of wisdom is easy
to fake. In the past, people were impressed by extreme austerities;
at present, the ads for dharma books and retreats show that we’re
attracted to other surface criteria, but the principle is the
same.
To save time and needless pain in the search,
however, the Buddha noted four early warning signs indicating that
potential teachers don’t have the wisdom or integrity to merit your
trust. The warning signs for untrustworthy wisdom are two. The
first is when people show no gratitude for the help they’ve
received—and this applies especially to help from their parents and
teachers. People with no gratitude don’t appreciate goodness, don’t
value the effort that goes into being helpful, and so will probably
not put out that effort themselves. The second warning sign is that
they don’t hold to the principle of karma. They either deny that we
have freedom of choice, or else teach that one person can clear
away another person’s bad karma from the past. People of this sort
are unlikely to put forth the effort to be genuinely skillful, and
so are untrustworthy guides.
As for lack of integrity, there are also two warning
signs. The first is when people feel no shame in telling a
deliberate lie. As the Buddha once said, “There’s no evil that such
a person might not do.” The second warning sign is when they don’t
conduct arguments in a fair and aboveboard manner: misrepresenting
their opponents, pouncing on the other side’s minor lapses, not
acknowledging the valid points the other side has made. People of
this sort, the Buddha said, aren’t even worth talking to, much less
taking on as teachers. As for people who don’t display these early
warning signs, the Buddha gave advice on how to gauge wisdom and
integrity in their actions over time. One question he’d have you
ask yourself is whether a teacher’s actions betray any of the
greed, anger, or delusion that would inspire him to claim knowledge
of something he didn’t know, or to tell another person to do
something that was not in that person’s best interests. To test for
a teacher’s wisdom, the Buddha advised noticing how a potential
teacher responds to questions about what’s skillful and not, and
how well he or she handles adversity. To test for integrity, you
look for virtue in day-to-day activities, and purity in the
teacher’s dealings with others. Does this person make excuses for
breaking the precepts, bringing them down to his level of behavior
rather than lifting his behavior to theirs? Does he take unfair
advantage of other people? If so, you’d better find another
teacher.
This, however, is where the Buddha’s third
uncomfortable truth comes in: You can’t be a fair judge of
another person’s integrity until you’ve developed some of your
own. This is probably the most uncomfortable truth of all, for
it requires that you accept responsibility for your judgments. If
you want to test other people’s potential for good guidance, you
have to pass a few tests yourself. Again, it’s like listening to a
pianist. The better you are as a pianist, the better your ability
to judge the other person’s playing.
Fortunately, the Buddha also gave guidance on how to
develop integrity, and it doesn’t require that you start out
innately good. All it requires is a measure of truthfulness and
maturity: the realization that your actions make all the difference
in your life, so you have to take care in how you act; the
willingness to admit your mistakes, both to yourself and to others;
and the willingness to learn from your mistakes so you don’t keep
repeating them. As the Buddha taught Rahula, before you act in
thought, word, or deed, look at the results you expect from your
action. If it’s going to harm you or anyone else, don’t do it. If
you don’t foresee any harm, go ahead and act. While you’re acting,
check to see if you’re causing any unforeseen harm. If you are,
stop. If not, continue until you’re done. After you’re done, look
at the long-term results of your action. If it caused any harm,
talk it over with someone else on the path, develop a sense of
shame around the mistake, and resolve not to repeat it. If it
caused no harm, take joy in the fact and keep on
training.
As you train yourself in this way, you learn four
important principles about exercising judgment in a healthy way.
First, you’re judging your actions, not yourself. If you can learn
to separate your sense of self from your actions, you tend to be
more willing to admit your mistakes to yourself, and less defensive
when other people point them out to you. This principle also
applies to the sense of shame the Buddha recommends you feel toward
your mistakes. It’s directed not at you, but at the action—the sort
of shame felt by a person of high self-esteem who’s realized she’s
done something beneath her and doesn’t want to do it again. Shame
of this sort is not debilitating. It simply helps you remember the
lesson you’ve learned.
This relates to the second important principle about
healthy judgment, that it requires mindfulness in the original
meaning of the term: keeping something in mind. Mindfulness of this
sort is essential in developing your judgment, for it helps you
remember the lessons you’ve learned over time as to what works and
what doesn’t. Because we often try our best to forget our mistakes,
we have to train our mindfulness repeatedly to remember the lessons
we learned from those mistakes so that we don’t have to keep
learning them over and over again.
Sometimes you hear mindfulness defined as a
nonjudging state of mind, but that’s not how the Buddha understood
it. He often compared mindfulness to a gatekeeper in the way it
helps you judge what should and shouldn’t be done:
Just as the royal frontier fortress has a
gatekeeper—wise, experienced, intelligent—to keep out those he
doesn’t know and to let in those he does, for the protection of
those within and to ward off those without; in the same way a
disciple of the noble ones is mindful, highly meticulous,
remembering and able to call to mind even things that were done and
said long ago. With mindfulness as his gatekeeper, the disciple of
the noble ones abandons what is unskillful, develops what is
skillful, abandons what is blameworthy, develops what is blameless,
and looks after himself with purity.
—Anguttara Nikaya 7.63
So mindfulness actually plays an essential role in
developing your powers of judgment.
As you keep trying to apply the lessons you’ve
learned, you discover the third principle about healthy judgment:
that the lessons you learn from your mistakes, if you act on them,
really do make a difference. The present moment is not so
arbitrarily new that lessons from yesterday are useless today. You
may keep finding new subtleties in how to apply past lessons, but
the general outlines of how suffering is caused and how it can be
ended always remain the same.
The fourth principle is that you learn how to
benefit from the judgments of others. When you’ve chosen a person
to confide in, you want to be open to that person’s criticisms, but
you also want to put his or her suggestions for improvement to the
test. As the Buddha told his aunt, Gotami, you can test genuine
dharma by seeing the results it gives when put it into action. If
it leads to such admirable qualities as being dispassionate,
modest, content, energetic, and unburdensome, it’s the genuine
thing. The person who teaches you this dharma has passed at least
that test for being a genuine friend. And you’re learning more and
more how to judge for yourself.
Some people might object that it’s selfish to focus
on finding friends you can benefit from, and inhumane to keep
testing people to see if they fit the bill. But that’s missing the
point. The benefits that come from this sort of friendship don’t
end with you; and in testing your friend, you’re also testing
yourself. As you assimilate the qualities of an admirable friend,
you become the sort of person who can offer admirable friendship to
others. Again, it’s like practicing under a good piano teacher. As
you improve as a pianist, you’re not the only one who can enjoy
your playing. The better you get, the more joy you bring to others.
The better you understand the process of playing, the more
effectively you can teach anyone who sincerely wants to learn from
you. This is how teaching lineages of high caliber get established
for the benefit of the world.
So when you
look for an admirable friend, you’re tapping into a long lineage of
admirable friends, stretching back to the Buddha, and helping it to
extend into the future. Joining this lineage may require accepting
some uncomfortable truths, such as the need to learn from criticism
and to take responsibility for your actions. But if you’re up for
the challenge, you learn to take this human power of
judgment—which, when untrained, can so easily cause harm—and train
it for the greater good.
