Looking at Power Through a Cultural Lens

 

My previous couple of posts focused on the unequivocally abusive behavior of one particular teacher and the subtle and not-so-subtle actions of some of his students to shield him from accountability or otherwise burnish his reputation as if his abusive behavior had never occurred. Sexual gratification and a thirst for power seem to have been what motivated that teacher. But what was/is in it for those students that ignored or minimized his abuse and who continue to speak of him with the highest regard?

It's easy to conclude that the reason must be their enjoyment of the power that comes with being in the circle of one who wields power. However, some will no doubt maintain that the “apparently abusive” behavior of an enlightened individual cannot be judged by those of us who are not enlightened! Hmmm. What does your bullshit detector tell you? And yet, there are indeed some apparently abusive or discriminatory power dynamics that are not so black and white.

Tibetan monks preparing ceremonial tormas

Some years ago, I was present at the ushering in of the Tibetan New Year (Losar) at a Tibetan Buddhist practice center. It was a well-attended, fascinating, and elaborate ceremony, with lots of chanting and bell ringing. At one point incense was lit and placed in four tormas which were then to be carried to the four corners of the practice center property by volunteers selected from amongst the practitioners present. Lama Gempa (not his real name) named three men to perform this task. When a woman was suggested as a fourth, however, he replied: “no, no women.” I watched as the once eager woman sat back down with a strangely good-natured expression on her face—equal parts acceptance and dejection.

Now, having accepted the bodhisattva vow to save all beings, and having been trained in counseling psychology from a feminist orientation, I felt doubly responsible for speaking up regarding what I’d witnessed. The next day I wrote a letter to Lama Gempa (quite earnestly, I might add!) thanking him for the beautiful ceremony and stating, amongst other things:

I can't help but wonder how witnessing this subtle act of discrimination affected others in attendance—especially women and impressionable young girls. Was it viewed as quaint, archaic, or oppressive? Did it inspire them to want to practice Buddhism, or did it turn them away? I personally view this act of exclusivity as harmful on several levels. First, it harms women who feel shut out of full religious and spiritual participation. Second, it harms Buddhism by indicating that it may not be as enlightened a spiritual practice as it supposes itself to be. Third, I believe it hurts the cause of the Tibetan people. The Tibetan diaspora is regularly portrayed as a brutally destructive dismantling of one of the most enlightened cultures that humankind has ever known. However, the perpetuation of sexist ideas regarding who can and cannot be spiritual and in what ways belies such a characterization. 

Was I a bit heavy handed? In retrospect, perhaps I was. Anyway, sometime later I received a phone call from Lama Gempa’s Western wife. She seemed eager to clear up my “misunderstanding” of what had transpired. Unfortunately, though, as our conversation progressed, she became increasingly frustrated with my inability to become educated on the matter.

“You just don’t understand,” she finally declared. “This practice involves very powerful spiritual energy. Not everyone has the strength to work with it.”

“And women in particular aren’t strong enough?” I replied.

“No!” 

Hmmm. As stated in a previous post. We all have spiritual power. However, some purport to have spiritual powers of (for the want of a better word) an “otherworldly” nature. What sort of otherworldly powers were embodied in those tormas such that any average man could work with them, but not a woman?

Lama Gempa, having emigrated from Tibet, may have felt that the spiritual truth he was privy to trumped whatever social norms might be foisted upon him by meddling outsiders—well-meaning though they may be. On the other hand, he may have simply been performing the ritual ceremony in precisely the way he was taught. A Buddhist teacher from Tibet surely can’t be expected to instantly and perfectly conform what they’ve been taught to a new set of cultural standards. Historically speaking, though, as Buddhism moved from region to region and country to country, it both shaped and was shaped by the culture of the people living therein.

Buddhism in America will be no different. It will continue to adapt and evolve as its truth continues to be conveyed to a technological, scientific-minded, skeptical, egalitarian, and (until very recently it seems) anti-authoritarian people. Doing so will not mean the death of Buddhism. Rather, it will mean ushering in a new period of maturity—one devoid of devotion for the sake of devotion, one devoid of superstitiously motivated injustice, one devoid of abuse perpetrated by those who would delude themselves into believing that they act in this world with the wisdom of the Buddha, one devoid of the harm caused by those who would wield unchecked authority within the organizations that they lead.

In the meantime, however, we will have clashes such as the one that occurred between Lama Gempa and his wife and myself. He had the power of religious tradition behind him, one that many Westerners are eager to learn. Behind me was the power of insider knowledge into the workings of the country and culture into which he’d immigrated. I don’t regret bringing this issue to Lama Gempa’s attention. In retrospect, though, my delivery could have been softer. What do you think? How could or should such cultural power clashes be addressed?

 

Parts of this post were previously published in Buddhism and the Suspension of Critical Thinking on this blog on February 19, 2013.

 

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This post is in the Power, Practice, and Peace series.

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Images

Tibetan monks making tormas by Evan Osherow via: 

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Torma_making.jpg 

  

Copyright 2013 and 2025 by Mark Robert Frank