Blind Reverence

The viral video of the Dalai Lama telling a boy to suck his tongue is food for discussion. I appreciate many of the tenets of Buddhism and find that they have been helpful on my journey away from Christianity and self-discovery. Given that America is predominantly Christian, it seems, however, that this situation is useful to analyze and demonstrate what it means to hold somebody too highly in reverence.

Throughout Christendom, there has been scandal on top of scandal, from Catholicism to the SBC. Notice how the deep followers’ cognitive dissonance causes them to explain things away or suggest that God forgives such and such. Their reverence is just way too attached. And, here, we have a situation wherein people come to believe that a high religious leader is the reincarnation of the Buddha of Compassion. 

The path to self-fulfillment and self-realization is a precarious one comparing say a pastor to the Dalai Lama. The Dalai Lama was sought out when he was still a boy. A Protestant pastor, however, is said to hear, “The call”. But in order to heed “the call” or fulfill a highly revered role, one needs adherents. If you have no adherents, will you actually continue to believe you are whatever the people think you are? In my own journey, a fall from “grace” is just what one needs to truly touch the ground and see the world as it is.

Putting myself in the shoes of the Dalai Lama, I can only imagine the pressure of sustaining such a role for one’s whole life: putting on this face of compassion is much like a priest donning his vestments or a shaman dressing up to perform a ritual. Without the proper regalia, one is just a human being like everybody else; however, when you wear those special garments, you are playing a part that can only be revealed to the masses. The other part is hidden from public view. How many people know the real Tenzin Gyatso? Is it any different with celebrities? You become what the people want you to be - or think they need you to be. You may have a very important message that you would like to send out into the world but if it takes you down a peg in the public eye, you are at risk of being truly “seen”. It’s such a paradox that you can go your whole life trying - à la John Mayer - to say what you need to say but somehow never feel like it came out quite right. 

Let’s look at the situation that has everybody speaking. Watch the video that I hyperlinked up top and see if you can see what I see. Now that I’ve set up an attempt at the point of view of the Dalai Lama, I’d like to look at it from the child’s vantage point and then the audience. Once I have done so, I’ll briefly analyze the Dalai Lama’s apology. I will try to be as objective as possible in this task.

Be a child, again, for just a moment.  Notice, how, when the Dalai Lama sought after a kiss after the boy’s hug, the child hesitates. Solipsistically, I can’t be sure what was going on in his mind. Yet, imagine having been raised to believe a thing or individual is safe by those you trust (viz. the parents/guardians). You question it, instinctively, but given your ontology, you think it might not be so bad. Notice, then, that awkward moment where the boy is still - nearly stiff - and the Dalai Lama chuckles. How many times have you stood up on stage, a little uncertain of what you are supposed to be doing? Perhaps you’ve been called upon to receive an award or participate in a performance. Dress rehearsals are designed to help the participants know exactly what to do and keep “form”. If something occurs out of form and you are no performer, it’s easy to lock up - what now (?), you may think. The Dali Lama then proceeds to tell the boy to suck his tongue. Upon hearing this, you see the boy back away but the Dalai Lama leans in as if he is serious rather than telling the boy he is playing. The audience laughs which seems to signal that the situation is harmless and so the boy appears to do as instructed. 

As a child is developing, they are going off of cues and learning about morality from their guardians, parents, and role models. They learn what’s harmless and what’s not. They learn who the enemy is and who is not. They learn what is evil and what is not. A child doesn’t come out of the womb philosophizing. And while they may ask a lot of “why” questions as toddlers, they put more trust and possibly undue merit in the people around them they presume to have all the answers. Their ontology is that which they grow into - that which has meaning to them based on experience. While rebelling against discipline is natural will to power, shaking off a well constructed ontology is something rather different. And, thus if the audience - those who believe what you are taught to believe - makes it appear that something is okay, well, it must be okay.

Now, the audience, themselves. Can one hear any hesitation in the audio? If there is any to be heard, it is drowned out by chuckles and outright laughter. Put yourself in the audience. Maybe you’ve been at church sitting in the pews and the pastor says something you don’t agree with. The custom, as often is the case, is to sit silently and “receive the message”. Thus, it would be uncouth to stand up, in the moment, and speak one’s rebuttal. Why stay in one’s seat except to save face? Standing out in the crowd can easily cause one to become the enemy - the potential ostracized.

What do both Buddhism and Christianity display as important? Kindness. In a world bent on being nice and cooperative, anger or other negative emotions can appear as sinful, demonic, or just something caused by the attachment to self. The Buddhist construct encourages one to acknowledge what one is feeling but to say “I am the one feeling such and such” and “it will pass”. When one is constantly trying to distance themselves from any negative emotions, the last thing they want to do, in the face of the crowd, is to appear “unenlightened” or “unholy”. So, then, in the midst of the crowd, how easy is it, psychologically, to stand up and say, “No, child, you don’t have to do that”? From the outside looking in, it’s easy to say one would. But, in the moment? 

When someone in a position of authority does or says something shocking, the mind - which wants to be civil as it has been conditioned to be - has to convince itself that everything is okay. One has to convince themselves that they agree  with the authority in order to suppress any reservation they may have. A chuckle is the easiest way to slough off something shocking or disturbing. One has to tell themselves that the person of authority is just trying to be funny and that they have no ill will. 

So, now, we have a complicit audience, an individual who carries within himself this ostensible embodiment of divinity, and a boy who is supposed to trust them all. I wonder what any of them thought, at the moment. Did they think anything of it until somebody saw it from the outside looking in? What did the boy’s parents tell him about the disturbing implications of an old man encouraging someone (especially an innocent child) to suck his tongue? Would they have let any other old man encourage this? I doubt it. And this is the problem with hyperbolic faith or trust in an individual. The whole philosophy of Buddhism revolves around mindfulness. Clearly, the Dalai Lama’s actions were far from mindful. And thus, we see that, at the end of the day, all figures of authority are human just like anybody else. We choose - often subconsciously - how we want to perceive somebody. And, we are an amalgamation of what we see of ourselves and how others view us.

Now, let’s continue on with the apology. The first thing I notice right off of the bat is that the Dalai Lama speaks of himself in the third person. So, either this is his PR person managing the court of public opinion or the Dalai Lama really wrote this. If a PR person wrote it, it diminishes authenticity. If the Dalai Lama wrote it, then writing in the third person is a method of distancing oneself from a situation. This method of writing helps one try to view the situation more objectively but when such a thing is received by the viewer, it can also seem a little less heartfelt.

Here’s the apology thus tweeted: 

“A video clip has been circulating that shows a recent meeting when a young boy asked His Holiness the Dalai Lama if he could give him a hug. His Holiness wishes to apologize to the boy and his family, as well as his many friends across the world, for the hurt his words may have caused. His Holiness often teases people he meets in an innocent and playful way, even in public and before cameras. He regrets the incident.”

Notice, now, how the Dalai Lama apologizes for words, completely ignoring the actions he took. There’s much there that opens up for further speculation and inquiry. Is he sorry about the situation or is he sorry for the negative publicity? “His Holiness often teases people he meets in an innocent and playful way, even in public and before cameras.” What does this mean? “Even in public and before cameras”? It leaves one asking the following question: “Okay, so what do you do in private when there are no cameras?” Who doesn’t know the gas-lighting that goes into the words, “I was just teasing”? Anybody familiar with this rhetoric knows how bad “teasing” can actually be. But, what the Dalai Lama does behind closed doors, one may never know. 

We have here the humanity revealed of one who is supposed to be the face of compassion. Some people will try to brush it off. Others will find some way to explain it away. Others may say very vile, unhelpful and unmindful things about it. But, I really wonder how many people will speak of the humanity of it all - the humanity of the audience and the humanity of the Dalai Lama.

No matter how divine one thinks you are, your humanity will reveal itself in one way or another. How many people suppress anger or doubt in order to appear holier? Or, just to go along?  And if they speak of anger, how often do they sound out of touch? As if they are uncomfortable with their own emotions. I’ve searched far and wide for depth in this world and the one place I’ve found it was when I turned toward myself and acknowledged my anger and other very animalistic inclinations. When a great portion of your brain is the older “reptilian” portion, you can’t simply ignore what is natural. We were all conditioned; and part of the journey of mindfulness is to overcome this conditioning, truly examine the meaning of nothingness, and rebuild our ontology on what we know rather than what we believe. We are all human. Question your authorities.