Learning to Stop: Aspiration for Earth Day 2020

Once when the Blessed One was living at Savatthi a bandit had appeared in the real of King Pasenadi of Kosala.  He was called Angulimala, that is to say, “Finger-necklace,” and he was murderous, bloody-handed, given to blows and violence, and merciless to all living beings.  Villages, towns, and districts were laid waste by him.  He went on murdering people, and he wore their fingers as a necklace.

One morning the Blessed One took his bowl and outer robe, and he went into Savatthi for alms.  When he had wandered for alms in Savatthi, and had returned from his alms round after the meal, he set his resting place in order, and then, carrying his bowl and outer robe, he took the road to where Angulimala then was.

Cowherds, shepherds, farmers and travellers saw the Blessed One and they said: “Do not take that road, monk.  On that road there is the bandit Angulimala.  Men have come by that road in bands of ten, twenty, thirty, and even forty from time to time, but they have all fallen into the hands of Angulimala.”      

When this was said, the Blessed One went on in silence.  Seeing him coming in the distance, the robber Angulimala thought: “It is wonderful, it is marvelous indeed!  Men have come along this road in bands of even forty from time to time.  And now this monk comes alone unaccompanied.  One would think he had been fated to come.  Why should I not take this monk’s life?”

Seizing his sword and shield and buckling on his bow and quiver, he went in pursuit of the Blessed One. Then the Blessed One performed a feat of supernormal power such that Angulimala, going as fast as he could, was unable to catch up with the Blessed One who was walking at his normal pace.  Then Angulimala thought: “It is wonderful, it is marvelous!  I used to catch up with a galloping elephant and seize it, or a galloping horse or a galloping chariot or a galloping deer.  But although I am going as fast as I can, I am unable to catch up with this monk who is walking at his normal pace.”

He paused and called out: “Stop, monk!  Stop, monk!”

“I have stopped, Angulimala; do you stop also?” the Buddha replied.

“O monk, what is the meaning of this?” Angulimala asked.

“Angulimala, I have stopped for ever, Forswearing violence to every living thing. But you have no restraint towards anything.  So that is why I have stopped and you have not.”

Upon hearing these words, Angulimala laid down his arms, renounced violence, and became a follower of the Buddha.

 The story of a man inured to violence calls to our own present situation, with our collective destruction of lands and ecosystems.  Like Angulimala, we have grown accustomed to extinction, and deaf to suffering; and like Angulimala, we have also forgotten any alternative to this exploitative norm.  The defining challenge in the Anthropocene lies not in greater technological innovation to curb the climate crisis, nor another scientific revolution to reinvigorate agriculture, colonize far away planets, or evolve an artificial intelligence to perform vital tasks.  The primary challenge is for the human species to learn how to stop its relentless assault on the planet.

This is not a feat that can be easily met by a political-economic establishment predicated on growth. Rather, it is a course that requires the transformation of culture and consciousness, both personal and collective.  Tough questions lie in wait:  Should incomes continue to grow indefinitely?  Do I expect to be richer in ten years compared to what I have now? Should there be an expanding population to fuel economic growth?  Should I have children knowing that they will participate in this unsustainable system?  None of these answers are easy to ponder, and they are even more difficult to contemplate if we are honest with ourselves.

Here’s a bitter pill: if we do not voluntarily stop, something will stop us on our behalf. The pandemic is already proving itself a major disruption to life as we know it. As natural systems are disturbed, the force of disruption ramifies through the intricate web of planetary ecology and returns to haunt us in unpredictable ways. As we have seen through the COVID-19 pandemic, many nations are woefully unprepared for the crisis.  What more nasty surprises lie in store?

To stop is not to lapse into aimlessness, to a life without vigor or purpose.  The Buddha’s pronouncement, “I have stopped, do you stop also?” points to a personal freedom that Angulimala has lost.  A slave to impulse, Angulimala is captive to bloodthirsty desire, beyond which he finds no agency. As those with substance abuse issues can attest, at some point, addiction is no longer the pursuit of pleasure, but the struggle to make life bearable.  The choice to stop, in ecological terms, is a turn toward a measure of autonomy, sanity, wholeness and basic freedom.

 On this Earth Day, I am thinking about ways that I can stop lending strength to aspects of modern society that are inimical to life on the planet.  I need to diminish my obsession with production (ideas, papers, achievements), and unfetter myself from the tyranny of the screen.  I shall turn toward the protean sky and listen to its cosmic silence.  I shall sit quietly under the budding Maple and watch the course of the afternoon.  I shall stop and remember the words of Thomas Berry, who calls me to see “life and consciousness as an unmerited gift from the universe, as having exuberant delight and unending gratitude as [my] first obligation”[2].  This is the joy that lies in wait for those who learn to stop.

[1] Bikkhu Nanamoli, ed., The Life of the Buddha (Onalaska, WA: Pariyatti Publishing, 1992).

[2] Thomas Berry, Evening Thoughts: Reflecting on Earth as Sacred Community, ed. Mary Evelyn Tucker, 1st ed. (Sierra Club Books, 2006), 118.