Miss Buddha

by Ulf Wolf

  Sunyata Bodhi was born Warren Holliston in 1987, the only child of a Nebraska farming couple. His parents were severely Christian, and the young Warren—a precocious and inquisitive boy—soon came to detest having to go to church at least once a week, often more frequently, to listen to those fairy tales over and over. He did, however, know better than to complain to his parents, one early encounter with the cane had taught him the value of silence.

  It would be fair to say that he discovered Mahayana Buddhism—Zen in particular—more by accident than anything else. It was through a book left (forgotten) by the previous occupant of his College dorm room. It was the only thing left on the nightstand (which did not even hold a lamp): a white-covered book clearly contrasted against the black stand. It spoke to him, he was to relate later (and often).

  This book, The Myth of the Historical Buddha, was more an invective against Theravada Buddhism than an exposition of Mahayana, holding firmly to the line that there was indeed no single source for Buddhism, that there had never been a person called Gautama Siddhartha, that Buddhism was a natural development from the Veda and Upanishads, and that its source was a string of excellent Brahman meditators, developing the four noble truths and the eightfold path somewhere around 500 BCE.

  Those selfish, misguided souls, the book went on to say, who have fallen for the historical Buddha myth and today subscribe to the inferior Theravada branch (which the book constantly refers to as Hinayana, or the “deficient vehicle”) and its Pali Canon are to be pitied, and if possible stirred to coming to their senses.

  Although he did not swallow the book and its theme hook, line, and sinker, he liked, and was totally absorbed by, the tone of the treatise. A tone that said that there are superior people and inferior people. He recognized himself as superior people. And as superior people of superior intelligence he found the book’s logic a little too pat, a little too hasty in its conclusions. Still, he had found his vehicle, that was his realization, and this vehicle, in short order lead to other books and then to Zen.

  At the age of twenty-six Warren Holliston legally changed his name to Sunyata Bodhi, at which time he also, although not then or ever ordained as one, began to wear the saffron robe of the Buddhist Monk.

  Sunyata means “emptiness” and Bodhi means “awakened.” A little pretentious perhaps of a Nebraska farm boy who had not really mastered the art of Zen meditation yet, but never mind.

  His breakthrough as a Buddhist scholar (rather than practitioner) came with his Doctoral Thesis on The Dangers of Theravada Buddhism, a much quoted work in Mahayana circles. He later re-wrote (dumbed down) his Thesis for mass consumption and published it as The Buddha Myth. This book went on to sell millions since it served the purpose of not only Mahayana Buddhism in staking its claim to legitimacy, but also the purposes of any other religion that needed ammunition against the heathen teachings of this Indian.

  As Ruth Marten was openly teaching Theravada Buddhism and meditation, Sunyata Bodhi was possibly the perfect last witness for the prosecution.

  :

  He walks up to the witness stand in the saffron robe this witness. I have heard of him, of course, who hasn’t?

  Sunyata Bodhi, he calls himself.

  To my knowledge he is not ordained, so why the audacity to wear the robes of the monk. That is, then, the kind of man he is. I had assumed as much.

  He walks, strides, slowly, clearly making a show of it for the cameras, for the judge, for himself. He believes himself, that is the tragedy of this man.

  He swears to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, hand on the Christian Bible, which he disdains, then sits down and arranges his robe just so. I pity this man.

  Otto Jones approaches his witness with a smile, a smile that to me confirms an understanding between them. Then says:

  “Mister Bodhi. You are a Buddhist, are you not?”

  “I am,” says Sunyata Bodhi.

  I know I should not, but he so rubs me the wrong way, this Mister Bodhi that I cannot help but whisper within him, and loudly enough for him to hear: “I can see you.”

  :

  Sunyata Bodhi’s eyes flew wide open, as if his worst, private fear had just appeared in the flesh. Otto Jones noticed and wondered whether it was something he had said, then realized that it could not have been, he had only asked him about his religion. Ignoring the stare, he pressed on:

  “All Buddhists are not the same, are they?” he asked of this, his final witness.

  Who was still staring into empty space, seemingly unable to hear, or speak.

  “Mister Bodhi,” said Jones. “Are you okay?”

  Still no response.

  “Mister Bodhi,” said the Judge, a little concerned. “Is everything all right?”

  This finally seemed to reach the man, who looked up at Judge Moore and then at Otto Jones, re-orienting himself. “Yes,” he said. “I’m fine. Fine.”

  “Let me ask that again,” said Jones. “All Buddhist are not the same, are they?”

  “No,” said Sunyata Bodhi. “There are Buddhists and there are Buddhists.”

  “Could you elaborate, please.”

  “There are two main vehicles, the greater and the lesser.”

  “How many people subscribe to either?”

  “That’s a moving target, of course, for it changes daily, but about 350 million people follow Mahayana Buddhism, the greater vehicle. About 200 million subscribe to Theravada Buddhism, mainly in Sri Lanka, Burma, and Thailand. You find Mahayana Buddhism mainly in India, China, and Japan, where it is mostly known as Zen.”

  “What are the differences? I mean, why do you refer to Theravada as the ‘lesser’ vehicle?”

  “Another name for Theravada is Hinayana, which literally means the ‘lesser’ or the ‘deficient’ vehicle.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Do you have an hour or two?”

  “Yes we do. We have all day.”

  “Well then,” said Sunyata Bodhi, apparently regaining some of his composure—in fact, he had just managed to convince himself that he had heard no whisper in his head, that no one was “seeing” him, for how could that have been? “Theravada Buddhism, which I, as I said, see as the deficient vehicle, is sometimes also called ‘the way of the elders.’ It is an orthodox, inflexible form of Buddhism that looks down upon the plight of the many.

  “The path of Theravada requires many years, some say many lifetimes, of personal struggle based on a fundamentalist interpretation of the teachings of the Buddha, which, so they claim, is reflected in their Pali Canon.

  “To follow Theravada Buddhism, so they say, you are required to ‘leave home’ and enter monastic life. You must live your life as it was lived by the Buddha during his lifetime. Nothing, they say, can change. And so, they keep out any person unwilling to follow their draconian rules.

  “Draconian?” said Jones. “Really?”

  “That’s the only word for it,” said Sunyata Bodhi. “There are two hundred twenty-seven rules for the monks and three hundred eleven rules for nuns. All of which have to be strictly followed, or you risk excommunication.”

  “Why are there different rules for men and women?”

  “There are many separate rules for nuns to avoid any behavior that may be viewed as sexually suggestive. There are no such rules for monks.”

  “I see.”

  “But whether monk or nun, the rules are draconian. It is the correct word.”

  “I see,” repeated Jones.

  “Some of the rules are so strict,” continued Sunyata Bodhi, “that there are huge debates about whether Theravada monks in colder climates should be allowed to wear warmer clothes than those prescribed by the Buddha, and whether it is permissible to take cough syrup (because it may have a mildly intoxicating effect).

  “I see,” said Jones, who seemed to have forgotten the rest of the English language.

  “Mahayana Buddhism,” on the other hand, said his witness, “which is also known as the
‘great vehicle,’ is the Buddhism of openness and accessibility to all. Nirvana, for the Mahayana Buddhist, is within reach of all, whether monk, nun, or lay. As long as you are devoted and depend upon and have faith in the work and merit of the Bodhisattvas.

  “Mahayana Buddhism is called the ‘great vehicle’ because it gladly invites and will make room for any pilgrim who seeks enlightenment.

  “The Theravada rules may have some merit, but we Mahayana Buddhists believe that they should not be used to keep people out.”

  “Are they used in such a way? To keep people out, I mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “Seems a bit snobbish,” suggested Jones.

  “That would be one way of putting it.”

  “Still,” said Jones. “You said that there are two hundred million Theravada Buddhists. That is a lot of people.”

  “There are twice as many Mahayana Buddhists,” said Sunyata Bodhi, a little defensively.

  “So you think Theravada Buddhists are misguided?”

  “Excuse me,” interrupted Judge Moore. “I don’t see where this is leading, or that it has anything to do with the issues at hand.”

  “I want to demonstrate the witness’ credentials as a Buddhist scholar, your honor. And I also want to lay the groundwork for the specific questions about the defendant’s practices.”

  Judge Moore frowned. “All right, but do get to the point.”

  “So,” said Jones, turning to his witness again. “Do you consider that Theravada Buddhists are misguided?”

  “No so much misguided as shortsighted,” said Sunyata Bodhi. “Followers of Theravada Buddhism are more conservative, while followers of Mahayana Buddhism are more liberal.

  “Also, Theravada Buddhism is more of a professional guild, and according to them, the main religious duty and involvement of lay people is to support the monks.

  “Mahayana Buddhists give lay people a lot more credit and respect, and the laity has a much more important role in Mahayana Buddhism, where they share responsibility with the monks and nuns.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For example, the laity, as well as monks and nuns, take part in the many beautiful rituals of Mahayana Buddhism. Nothing like that would take place in a Theravada monastery, where lay people are barely allowed.

  “Theravada Buddhism is limited to the starkness of what the Buddha purportedly taught, while Mahayana Buddhism is all about how the Buddha lived, how he related to people, how he communicated those teachings.

  “Theravada is for the fenced in, narrow-focused practitioner, whereas Mahayana is for the people.”

  “That said,” said Jones. “The defendant has on several occasions claimed to be a Theravada Buddhist.”

  “I’ve seen those lectures,” said Sunyata Bodhi. “And I’ve read a few interviews and transcripts as well, where she does maintain that she subscribes to the Theravada tradition.”

  “Do you agree?” said Jones. “Does she subscribe to the Theravada tradition?”

  “No. I cannot say that I do. I don’t think she does. While she claims to follow Theravada, she acts, by addressing and including nothing but lay people, much more like a Mahayana Buddhist. And based on that, I must conclude that she has no real idea about the differences between the two branches.”

  “Is she in fact a Buddhist at all?” suggested Jones.

  “That is a very good question,” said Sunyata Bodhi. “While she obviously has studied the Pali Canon—she quotes from it at will, and all day long—she has little or no understanding of what Buddhism actually is, whether Theravada or Mahayana.

  “In fact,” he added. “I would go so far as to say that she’s faking it.”

  At that point Sunyata Bodhi froze, and his eyes flew open again. His apparition seemed to have reappeared.

  Not noticing, Jones said, “So you are saying that perhaps she is not a Buddhist at all?”

  To no answer.

  “Mister Bodhi?” said Jones after a brief, casual, then concerned glance at his witness.

  To no answer.

  “Sir,” said Judge Moore. “Are you all right?”

  To no answer.

  “Sir,” said Judge Moore, louder this time.

  This Sunyata Bodhi finally registered. He looked up at the judge, then at Otto Jones, as if trying to place them, exactly.

  “Are you okay, Mister Bodhi?” said Jones.

  Sunyata Bodhi did not answer. Instead he slowly turned toward Ruth Marten and with a stare that held fear and bewilderment in equal measure, seemed to freeze in that position.

  “Mister Bodhi,” Jones repeated, loudly this time.

  Finally, without taking his eyes off of Ruth Marten, Sunyata Bodhi answered. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  But it was with an unconvincing, vacant voice.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he said. Still without true presence.

  “So,” said Jones. “Is it your expert opinion that Miss Marten, the defendant, may not even be a Buddhist, which she claims to be?”

  Sunyata Bodhi tore himself away from Ruth Marten and looked at Jones as if seeing him for the first time. “I’m sorry?”

  “Perhaps Miss Marten is not a Buddhist, is that what you’re saying?”

  “I guess, yes, that is what I’m saying.”

  “Guess?”

  “No, not guess. That is what I am saying.”

  “Why on earth would she do that? Any ideas?”

  Sunyata Bodhi shook his head. “No, no idea. Not really.”

  “All right,” said Jones with a sigh that held a touch of disappointment. “No further questions, your honor.”

  “Miss Marten?” said Judge Moore, without any hope.

  “Yes, your honor. I do have a question.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “By all means,” said the judge. “Please ask away.”

  Ruth rose, but did not leave her desk. “Sunyata Bodhi,” she said, both verbally and, even more clearly, inside his head. “Who, in this life, do you love the most?”

  Again, Sunyata Bodhi’s eyes widened and showed fear.

  Jones flew up onto his feet: “Objection. Relevance.”

  “Mister Jones,” said Judge Moore, loudly. “Throughout the trial so far, the defense has asked two questions. This is the third. And you have the temerity to object. Sit down, Mister Jones. Overruled.”

  If Sunyata Bodhi was aware of this exchange, he did not show it. All he seemed capable of was staring at Ruth Marten.

  “Well,” said the judge, after waiting a while. “What is your answer, Mister Bodhi?”

  But Mister Bodhi, knowing well that he loved no one but himself, and only for uncomplimentary and self-aggrandizing reasons, was incapable of answering. Was, in fact, by now, incapable of speech. And so, after prodding him two more times for a reply, the judge looked over at Ruth who said, “That’s fine. The poor man does not have to answer.”

  Judge Moore then excused the witness—who had to be helped out of the stand and back to his seat—and asked of Jones if that was it.

  “Yes, your honor. That’s it. The prosecution rests.”

  On a less than impressive note.

  :

  Which some of the media were quick to point out, while others limited their opinions and guesses to what sentence Judge Moore would pass on Ruth Marten—the guilty verdict now a foregone conclusion.

  :: 135 :: (Los Angeles Federal Court)

  If anybody had expected Ruth Marten to call any witnesses in her defense, they were disappointed. After the prosecution’s case, however, not many did.

  Ruth Marten only made one request of the court: that she might take the stand herself and tell her side of the story.

  “Unheard of,” objected Otto Jones.

  “Not really,” said Judge Moore. “Overruled.”

  “Can I cross-examine once she’s done?” wondered Jones, as much to himself as to the judge.

  “I don’
t see why not,” said Moore. Ruth Marten nodded her agreement, sure.

  “Well, then. Please take the stand,” said Judge Moore, and Ruth Marten, dressed in a simple, white dress, made her way to the witness stand.

  “Please hold up your right hand,” said the clerk. Ruth did.

  “Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” said the clerk.

  “I promise,” said Ruth.

  Since Ruth remained standing, Judge Moore said, “Do sit down, please.”

  Ruth did.

  “Please,” said the judge. “Let’s hear your side of this story.”

  Ruth took a long look at the room. At Otto Jones and Lara Matthews, who had a quiet exchange, at the jurors, all twelve seeing nothing but her, at the attendants, then, finally, at the cameras, first one, then the other. She then looked over at Melissa and Ananda, drew a deep breath and said:

  “The world economy has only one purpose: the comfort of the body.”

  “Objection, your honor. Relevance.” Jones was on his feet.

  “How on earth can you tell?” said the judge.

  To which Jones had no answer.

  “Mister Jones,” said Judge Moore, and not amused. “You are going to listen to what Miss Marten has to say, and you will not interrupt her again. Ever. Or I will hold you in contempt.”

  “But,” said Jones.

  “Tut-tut,” said Judge Moore and waved her index finger.

  Jones, resigned, sat down.

  “Please continue,” said the judge. Ruth did:

  “We have no other reason for anything we do in our secular world. There is only the comfort of the body. The body is all.

  “Too hot, and we feel bad. Too cold, and we feel bad. Hungry, and we feel bad, uncomfortable. Thirsty, and we feel bad.

  “Warmed by the fire when it’s cold outside, and we feel good. An air-conditioned room during a heat wave and we feel good. A nice meal, and we feel good. A cold juice, and we feel good. We do and forever will seek to feel good.

  “Every advertisement, every television commercial, once you scrape or peel away the noisy or colorful exterior is nothing but an invitation to feel good. Whether it’s a new car, or a great house, or some new fast food, or liquor, or wine, or beer, or lipstick, or clothes, it is all about feeling good.