”KOR
WHAT?”
A
short introduction to understanding the long topic
of “dos and don’ts” for well intended practitioners taking up
monastic training at Wat Pah Nanacht:
What
we’re referring to when we speak of Korwat
is the monastic etiquette and protocol. Sometimes these details of
the monastic form are derived straight from the Vinaya texts;
sometimes they refer to how a particular rule is interpreted and
practiced; sometimes they concern the body of customs and traditions
that comprise the lifestyle of a forest monk in Thailand; and
sometimes they refer to the agreed ways of doing things in a
particular community. As all these play a central and practical role
in the daily life of Buddhist monastics, our relationship to the
korwat is a key factor in our Dhamma
practice.
The
Buddha himself created thousands of rules and regulations to guide
and train his monastic Sangha. Luang
Pu Mun could be
meticulously demanding in the level of korwat practice he expected
from his disciples. The most successful training monasteries in the
Thai Forest Tradition – for example those of Luang Por Maha Bua,
Luang Por Chah, Luang Por Ben, tended to have a very refined standard
of monastic etiquette. Why is it that these liberated beings are so
concerned with all these minute details? Surely the Buddha and his
foremost disciples, once having realized the ultimate mental freedom
of Nibbana,
could have chosen to behave however they liked, unrestricted by
mundane codes of conduct. And yet these great monks and nuns instead
preserved and followed these conventions of action and speech with
utmost dedication, both during the Buddha’s lifetime and after his
parinibbana. In
fact it was the comment from the old monk (though recently ordained)
Ven. Subhato that prompted Ven. Maha Kassapa to convene the First
Council. Subhato
seemed to be of the opinion that the Buddha was compulsively obsessed
with instituting an over abundance of picky little rules. Ven. Maha
Kassapa, recognizing the potential danger for the Sangha if such
attitudes grew more widespread, was moved to codify the Sutta
and Vinaya Pitika out
of compassion for future generations. Why is it then that korwat is
held in such high esteem by these eminent teachers?
Our actions, reactions and
interactions moment to moment in the usual unspectacular activities
of daily life are precisely the spots where Dhamma and Vinaya are
woven together into the tapestry of the Buddhist monastic life. In
the details of korwat the immaterial Dhamma manifests in behavior and
speech. Conventional and ultimate reality have a chance to blend in a
balanced way that is neither too theoretical nor too worldly.
As
in a typical old martial arts story an idealistic new arrival
approaches a great master and enthusiastically express his desire to
become a great fighter. The master grunts and gives him a broom to
sweep the refectory. “What! I came here to learn the secret
abilities of a warrior, not to sweep like a servant!” The Forest
Tradition is similar. Realizing the fruits of jhana,
suññata and
nirodha grow from
roots imbedded in the soil of knowing how to keep one’s kuti simple
and tidy.
If
you envision the realization of Nibbana as the blooming of a rose,
the korwat is the garden trellis that gives the vines and leaves of
Dhamma a framework to grasp, assisting the bush to grow tall and
lifting it off the ground. Without a trellis the flowers may still
bloom, but when it rains they easily get splashed with mud.
The
Krooba Ajahns
in the lineage of Luang Pu Mun regularly emphasized the importance of
korwat in their Dhamma talks to the Sangha. Without an understanding
of Thai one would understandably not realize the extent to which they
refer to and encourage it, because such instruction is often
considered too prosaic or mundane to be worthy of putting in print in
a foreign language. However for Luang Por Chah and his contemporaries
the high Dhamma and the banal were like the top and bobbin thread in
a treadle sewing machine. Consider the old saying of the Forest
Sangha, “If you want to know how the monks are practicing, look at
their toilets.” Luang Por’s Dhamma flows seamlessly from anatta
to the spittoons.
Generally
speaking, those teachers who placed an emphasis on refined korwat
tended to have a greater number of high quality disciples than those
that didn’t. Through observing his disciples’ korwat and acariya
vatta (the duties to
one’s teacher), the Krooba Ajahn will know their temperaments and
kilesas,
see who is eager to learn and easy to train and get an indication of
how entrenched their sense of self is.
How
then does korwat function to support the realization of Dhamma? One
of the main objectives is to develop sati,
a continuous, heightened and focused awareness. Through refining our
behavior we foster a refined attention to detail. Because of the huge
number of details governing nearly every act from pre-dawn to
post-dusk, a person undertaking the training – especially in the
beginning – has to pay attention to everything he is doing.
Mindfulness is generated through being aware at all times what is
happening, remembering what is appropriate for that situation and
then doing it. Korwat specially assists in developing a broad all
around circumspection that is sensitive to the entire situation we
find ourselves in, encompassing not only our own body and mind but
also the significant things happening around us. For highly educated
and intelligent people korwat offers an opportunity to get out of
one’s head and pay attention to how one’s body is moving and
relating to the things and living beings it comes in contact with.
Another purpose of korwat is to
develop diligence and energy. It counteracts the tendency to do
things half-heartedly or in a sloppy way. The defilement of laziness
is a great hindrance to mental cultivation and a clearly outlined
schedule or standard of training encourages us to rise up and raise
energy event after event. Through developing external habits of
diligence in action, we simultaneously develop corresponding habits
of bright, uplifting and energetic mind states. The monastic form
can, sometimes surprisingly, push us past our perceived limits of
energy, surpassing the efforts we would achieve on our own.
Korwat
is a stabilizer. We just do it, whether we feel like it or not. As
Luang Por Chah taught, “If you’re feeling diligent, then do it.
If you’re feeling lazy, then do it.” Whether feeling inspired or
depressed, bouncing with energy or lethargy like a full python, we
just keep following the routine, doing the appropriate things at the
appropriate times. If our heads are floating in the cirrus clouds of
Dhamma, korwat can bring us back to earth. And because even following
the korwat with minimal enthusiasm requires some
focused energy, it can
function as a safety net that prevents us from falling into the depth
of an immobilizing state of depressed apathy. Sometimes just cleaning
our kuti and sweeping around it can improve a bad mood. Even better
is sweeping public paths within the monastery.
In
an average day in the monastery there are innumerable ways of
creating puñña,
merit and developing paramis.
This puñña is a fuel that powers us on, and it is helpful to have a
continuous fresh influx. Take bowing for example. Luang Por Chah
taught his disciples to bow to the shrine every time we enter and
leave a dwelling. Each bow is a small act, but as the years go by the
cumulative wholesome kamma generated becomes a powerful and positive
force in our lives. Whether the motivation behind the bows is simply
to overcome the laziness of the “Oh, it doesn’t matter”
attitude or we are sincerely moved to lower our bodies with reverence
and gratitude toward the Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha, these tiny drops
of good kamma gradually fill up an ocean. Serving a senior monk with
the acariya vatta or serving the community in some way are also great
sources of puñña and parami. Always on the lookout, thinking “How
can I help others?” is an attitude which evokes much happiness and
energy. Doing even small acts of service motivated by kindness and
consideration for others is bound to open the heart and create self
respect. With hundreds of these tiny but significant intentional
actions we can nip kilesas in the bud by not giving in to the desire
to take short cuts, indulge or act out of aversion.
Another
aspect of the korwat intended to subdue kilesas is maintaining
consistency between behavior in public and in private. We may be
willing to follow through with a particular activity if we are aware
that others are watching but when alone easily let the standard slip.
Achieving this consistency develops a sense of self-reliance and
motivation that is independent of the eyes and opinions of others. A
helpful aid in this area is to develop the perception that we are
always in our teacher’s presence. Even when alone we can imagine a
Krooba Ajahn there with us and ask ourselves, “How would I behave
if he were
here watching me?” It is also a realistic possibility that at any
given time discerning devas
are observing our behavior. (Check Devata Samyutta SN 1, 2, for
examples)
The
korwat teaches us to respect our requisites. We develop a sense of
care. Those things that we rely on to maintain life and that offer a
moderate degree of comfort have all been offered by the lay
supporters, so we have a responsibility to look after those things.
In order not to be an excessive burden on the lay community we should
live frugally. Whether something belongs to the Sangha, (such as a
kuti, books, or tools) or it is a personal possession (such as one’s
bowl and robes) we try to care for these items in a way that will
make them last as long as possible. This may mean, for example, that
we wash our jiwon gently, not roughly; hang it in the sun only for as
long as necessary; fold it neatly and store it in a safe place; and
when it wears thin, patch it before requesting a new one. Even if
requisites are plentiful, a samana takes only what is necessary and
cares for it as if it was something precious. As the saying goes,
“Treat your almsbowl as if it were the Buddha’s head.” Korwat
helps us to be more aware and respectful of sacred spaces, for
example not going bare-chested in a meditation hall. Ven. Maha
Kassapa was praised by the Buddha as an example worthy of emulation
in regards to his relationship with the four requisites. (See Kassapa
– Samyutta, SN 17)
Meticulously
caring for our requisites takes mindfulness. It also trains us to be
considerate of others. If we know that other people will use our kuti
and blanket after we have finished with them, then we can make an
extra effort to make sure the candles don’t melt on the cloth or
burn the kuti floorboards. The responsibility to care for things is
even greater when we are looking after someone else’s requisites.
If we are assigned to take care of an ajahn’s
robes and bowl, we need to be sensitive.
Having a clear monastic form is a
way that a diverse collection of individuals can live together as a
harmonious community. There are many small rules in areas where it
doesn’t particularly matter if we do things one way or another. But
once a community makes a decision to proceed in a particular way, it
then carries the same weight as a minor regulation of the Vinaya, and
it is very helpful if everyone follows that decision. Fitting in with
the form is one part of learning how to blend in with and be in sync
with the people around us. We learn how to take responsibility for
how our behavior affects others, and become more aware of their
needs. If people see everyone in the community keeping the same
korwat, mutual trust is fostered.
Self-sacrifice
is at the heart of our practice. Ultimately we sacrifice
identification with the five khandhas, but in the beginning it may
simply entail the renunciation of the ego-centric idea of freedom:
the desire to do things the way “I”
want to do them, when
and where “I” want to do them, the desire to control my
surroundings in accordance with what “I” think is right. Monastic
form entails a great degree of conformity. No one is advocating blind
obedience. Opinions are welcome, but whenever the sense of self is
sacrificed, the result is an increase in humility, a beautiful
character trait. As Tan Ajahn Dtun advises:
“Try
to follow the korwat practices we’ve established. Korwat is
Dhamma-Vinaya for living in communal peace. When we all understand
practice in the same way, problems don’t arise in the community.
All of us have the kilesa of ditthi-mana,
self-importance expressed in views and opinions, but why are we
practicing?—in order to be victorious over kilesa, to destroy the
kilesa in our hearts. For this reason, when we live together as a
community, korwat and a regular routine arise. If everyone follows
the korwat and routine at the monastery they’re at, there’s not
much that needs to be said. That monastery will be peaceful. That
monastery will assist one in cultivating bhavana.
Twenty or thirty monks can live together in silence, peace and
impeccability. Bhavana will keep developing, and growth in Dhamma
will continually deepen. Because Dhamma-Vinaya and the various korwat
practices are the core of our way of life, when everyone follows the
same routine, there’s the peace of sila:
the body’s at peace; speech is at peace.
But
try going to a monastery that already has a routine and saying, ‘I’m
going to do things my way. I’m not going to follow the korwat. I’m
going to do things the way I want. The korwat here is wrong.’ We
stay at that monastery following the kilesas in our hearts. How can
we expect to derive any benefit?”
Practically
speaking life just becomes much simpler when everyone is following
the same monastic form. It actually frees us from the burden of
choice – having to continually wonder how we should do something.
It frees space in the mind to focus on citta-bhavana,
maintaining our object
or theme of meditation throughout daily activities. Knowing how to
proceed outwardly, more of our mind’s energy can focus inwardly.
There is a special atmosphere in communities where everyone is
diligent in following the korwat. It helps to create an unseen but
tangible focused group energy that is conducive to tranquility and
effort.
Our
surroundings inevitably condition our mental landscape to some
degree; so if externally everything is clean, tidy and well organized
our mind states will lean in the same direction. As in the Zen
aesthetic, a minimum of clutter and a refined attention to detail can
create a serene and beautiful atmosphere – inwardly as well as
outwardly. When a well trained Sangha comes together for the meal,
dana service
or a puja,
interaction flows as smoothly as well-oiled and precisely gauged
intermeshing gears. Or as Tan Ajahn Jayasaro envisioned, a tightly
coordinated crew of experienced sailors guiding a clipper ship
through the sea. Luang Por Chah used the simile of a millipede.
Rather than all those hundreds of legs tripping over each other, they
ripple gracefully to propel the critter along.
This is, of course, the ideal –
an admirable level of human cooperation that is sometimes achieved.
But even when it’s not achieved, the monastic form can offer unique
opportunities to learn and gain experience. This brings us to the
next benefit and function of korwat. It’s a means for getting to
know ourselves better. This clearly outlined framework tests our
reactions. It reveals attachments, strengths and weaknesses and
indicates where we are stuck. It’s a mirror for reflecting our
moods and character traits. What states of mind does korwat bring to
the surface? Exuberance? Resistance? Serenity? Obsessive fault
finding? Overwhelmed? Fearful clinging? Determination? Exasperation?
As with intensive meditation,
daily contact with the same people can bring up an entire host of
mental states. Rather than assuming that those states arise due to
some other person or the korwat, with sati we can simply know and
acknowledge whatever emotions have arisen. We accept them fully
without denying or pretending that they are not present and make an
effort to replace negative states of mind with positive ones.
Becoming familiar with our
kilesas is sometimes not a pleasant realization, not a pretty sight.
Though we may aspire to be mature, caring and wise, beyond our
control our minds may become lost in their opposites. Some people
discover that they are preoccupied with controlling and may become
harshly judgmental both towards themselves and others. Some people
find they are addicted to comfort. Some become wrought with fear,
worried about making the slightest mistake and what others will then
think. For some, korwat stimulates authority issues and rebellious
reactions against their perceived tyrannical oppressors. Others just
burn in the fire of their self-righteous anger. The important thing
is to recognize what is happening, not buying into or fully believing
what our thoughts are telling us. Keep it in perspective with a
centered awareness. Hating our kilesas only makes it worse.
Even
if the mind becomes swamped by vile emotions, this is not necessarily
a sign that we are practicing Dhamma incorrectly. It simply may be
part of the process of receiving the fruits of past kamma. It’s
essential not to compound negative mind states with self-critical
blame. “It’s hopeless. I’m a spiritual failure.” Anytime we
are practicing in the right way and going against an entrenched habit
of kilesa, it’s normal that some tension will arise. This is the
friction between the old, deluded perceptions and the new, wise ones.
We need to be patient with ourselves. We need to have a lot of
compassion for our suffering. If however, anxiety becomes chronic,
then we need to check how we are approaching the lifestyle in
general. Perfectionist tendencies easily lead to tension. Overly
idealistic expectations or projections easily lead to disappointment.
We take on this lifestyle and gradually discover what motivates us.
When filled with inspiration, ask “Why?” When resistance is felt,
ask “Why?” When experiencing dukkha,
ask “What am I clinging to?”
As korwat is designed to go
against the stream of desire, it’s natural that at times it may
feel uncomfortable. As Luang Por Chah taught:
If
we take a good look at our monastic training discipline, we’ll see
that the whole thing is about training the heart. And whenever we
train the heart, we feel hot and bothered. As soon as we’re hot and
bothered we start to complain, “Boy, this practice is incredibly
difficult! It’s impossible.” But the Buddha didn’t think like
that. He considered that when the training was causing us heat and
friction, that meant we were on the right track. We don’t think
that way. We think it’s a sign that something is wrong. This
misunderstanding is what makes the practice seem so arduous. In the
beginning we feel hot and bothered, so we think that we are off
track. Everyone wants to feel good, but they are less concerned about
whether it’s right or not. When we go against the grain of
defilements and challenge our cravings, of course we feel suffering.
We get hot, upset, and bothered and then quit. We think we’re on
the wrong path. The Buddha, however, would say we’re getting it
right. We’re confronting our defilements, and they
are what’s getting hot and bothered. But we think it’s us
who’re hot and bothered. The Buddha taught that it’s the
defilements that get stirred up and upset. It’s the same for
everyone.
The kilesas of clever people can
create convincingly intelligent reasons for not following the korwat.
Some common pitfalls of thought and attitude to watch out for are:
“It’s just conventional
reality. The goal is liberation, not regulation.”
“Maybe
young men from the Isaan countryside need such strict guidelines, but
we as educated individuals are mature enough to make our own
decisions on how we should behave.”
“The senior monks are fascist
dictators on a power trip.”
“Korwat
is silabataparamassa,
attachment to rites and rituals, and is an obstacle to Nibbana.”
“Get
real! This is the 21st
century.”
“You can practice how you want,
but please allow me to practice how I want. The Buddha gave us 84,000
ways to enlightenment.”
“I
follow most of the korwat, so I don’t see what’s wrong with doing
a few things differently.”
“Just be mindful and everything
is alright, you know. Don’t worry about all those details. Just
relax.”
The ways of the mind are tricky,
and korwat is a fertile ground for growing reactions. Again, if such
ideas arise, recognize them as thoughts subject to arising and
passing away. Challenge them, neither blindly believing, nor blindly
rejecting them. Hold them with a spacious mind and question their
validity with Luang Por Chah’s universal standard of verification:
“Mai nae” (It’s not sure. possibly it’s true and possibly
not).
Korwat is a tool, and like any
tool it can be used skillfully or unskillfully. If it is used with
skill and dexterity, it can be of great benefit. It’s like a
hammer. If we want to put a nail into a piece of wood, we have to
grasp the hammer. If we don’t grasp it firmly, it’s going to slip
out of our hands and hit someone – possibly our self. But to grasp
the handle so tightly that our knuckles become white and our hand
aches is also absurd. It needs to be grasped firmly but gently.
People untrained in carpentry swing a hammer with a lot of muscle
power: “whack! whack! whack!” They use a great deal of force and
exertion, and in a short time they’re exhausted and have to stop
and rest. Experienced carpenters however, let the hammer do the work.
Their muscles are more relaxed and their movements graceful. The
weight of the hammer, directed with gravitational force and momentum,
is what drives the nail. The muscles of the carpenter are more for
guidance and direction than for brute force. In order to focus his
energy into the head of the nail, he has to pay close attention. If
his mind wanders, he’ll hit his thumb. Each stroke necessitates
re-establishing mindfulness until the awareness is continuous and
sharp. An entire house can be built from thousands of small well
placed strokes. So a hammer is very useful and practical. We can also
hit our self on the head with it. Some people delight in hitting
other people on the head with it. So the korwat is there to be used
with wisdom.
There
are many opportunities for developing common sense, the most basic
level of wisdom. When attending to a senior monk for example, the
upatahk
should try to figure out what needs to be done and how to do it
successfully, anticipating the needs of the ajahn without having to
be told. It takes common sense to responsibly deal with requisites –
for example to realize that in Thailand if a blanket, robe or towel
is put away when still slightly damp, it will quickly go moldy.
It takes common sense and
mindfulness to know how to adapt to a variety of changing situations.
Each forest monastery – even within the Luang Por Chah lineage –
will have a distinct and slightly different way of doing things. This
necessitates flexibility. It doesn’t work to rigidly hold to
particular forms of behavior without being sensitive to a new
environment with different people. But it also takes wisdom to know
what to hang on to. A new situation may only require minor
adjustments, so we shouldn’t throw the baby out with the footbath
water. If we can maintain our dhutanga practices without offending
anyone, then it’s best to do so even if no one else is practicing
that way.
The need for wisdom around korwat
greatly increases once we step out of the monastic environment –
especially outside of Thailand. We try to strike a balance between
not inconveniencing people and not giving in to kilesas; between not
demanding that other people unfamiliar with our lifestyle cater to
our monastic form, and not indulging in the rationalized opportunity
to stop behaving like a monk.
Some
laypeople would lose faith if they saw a Luang Por Chah disciple
eating off of a plate while others would think he was crazy if he
didn’t. When we find our self as the lone monastic in a lay
environment, upholding the korwat can maintain a comforting
connection with the monastery. It’s one of the many things that are
designed to set us apart from the world, so that our status as
renunciants is regularly kept in mind. This very important way of
perceiving ourselves is called samana
sañña, the
perception of being renunciants who have gone forth from the lay
life, no longer dedicated to worldly aims and values.
Upholding
the korwat in unfamiliar situations is a challenge. If we can explain
our lifestyle in a way that is sensible, acceptable and even
humorous, then it’s not necessary to make drastic compromises. Say
you are visiting your family for the first time since ordaining. The
main point of the visit is to cultivate relationships of loving
kindness, not to force your mother to learn the Pali formula for
guppying
fruit. Some parents do find it interesting to gradually learn to be
part of our lifestyle, but if it looks like following the korwat
would lead to unnecessary tension in the family then it’s best to
adapt with a smile. There is room for flexibility within the minor
regulations, but even in extenuating circumstances, we should try to
uphold all of the rules in the patimokkha.
Another main reason of going home to visit is to give our family and
friends the opportunity to see a samana – someone dedicated to
enlightenment. Without attempting to verbally instruct anyone, simply
upholding the korwat and dhutanga practices can be a teaching which
makes a deep impression on people. It is worthy of respect.
Wherever we find ourselves, it
takes much wisdom to walk down the center of the path. Avoiding the
extremes of, on one hand, a lazy, lackadaisical, and complaining
attitude; and on the other hand, a tense, compulsive and critical
attitude which leads to chronic stress. A discerning use of korwat
clearly comprehends its purpose and goal as a skillful means. If we
only go through the motions, we are merely re-conditioning our
behavior with little or no spiritual benefit. We have to reflect,
“Why do I follow the korwat?” or “Why don’t I follow the
korwat?” There may be wholesome and unwholesome reasons for both.
We’ve got to investigate over and over the reciprocal cause and
effect relationships between our actions, speech and states of mind.
If we aspire to a mind of peace and freedom, what type of behavior
leads in that direction?
This
code of conduct that we teach at Wat Pah Nanachat is only one shade
of color in the entire spectrum of the Buddha’s training. In that
light it is helpful to keep the whole kaleidoscopic vision in
perspective, neither underplaying nor overpaying its significance.
This is foundation work for sure, but work that can directly confront
kilesas and that pays off in the long run. The body of regulations
that the tradition hands us is a skeleton. It’s up to us to flesh
it out with the muscles of samadhi,
a heart of metta and eyes of wisdom.
In the end we follow the korwat
out of faith. Faith that the Buddha was enlightened and that he did
in fact create the etiquette in the Vinaya. Faith that our Krooba
Ajahn’s know what they are talking about. Faith, love and reverence
for our mentors such that simply because they did things in a
particular way and recommended we do the same, we do it. We just do
it because our teachers did. This is more of a ‘heart’ quality
than a function of intellect. Sometimes a disciple feels so much
respect and affection for his teachers that something as simple as
following their korwat can make him feel closer to them –
especially if they are living far away or have already died. Each
little observance is transformed into a puja. It is a ritual that
connects us through time to the generation before generation of
monastics who have practiced in this way - right back to the Buddha
himself. It bonds us through space to all of our good friends and
mentors in the Sangha spread around the globe. Through upholding the
korwat, we inherit and carry on the tradition. With the right
motivation and persistent effort we become inspiring examples for
other monks, for the lay community and models of integrity,
impeccability and peace for the world at large.
As
the Cullavagga concludes:
Being imperfect in following the
korwat,
one does not perfect sila.
Impure in sila, of poor wisdom,
one never knows unification of
mind.
With a wavering mind, ununified,
the Dhamma is not seen correctly.
Not seeing the true Dhamma,
one is not liberated from dukkha.
Being
perfect in following the korwat,
one perfects sila.
Pure in sila, wise,
one knows unification of mind.
With an unwavering mind, unified,
the Dhamma is seen correctly.
Beholding the true Dhamma,
one is liberated from dukkha.
So the mindful sons of the
conqueror
should
perfect the protocol
-- the teachings of the best of
Buddhas --
and thereby attain Nibbana.
(Cv.VIII.14)
