Longing for a Spiritual Life
Reviewed by Diana Winston
In the early 1990’s, Susan Murcott did for Buddhism and feminism what the radical feminist theologians did for Christianity in the 1970’s: she expanded our notion of women’s sacred texts and brought to life a missing, hidden portion of the female religious experience.
She did this through her book, The First Buddhist Women. In this extraordinary work, she retranslated the Therigatha, a compilation of seventy-three poems by nuns from the time of the Buddha. She illuminated the historical, cultural, and social context in which their stories arose―2500 years ago, in ancient India. She retold their lives with beauty, simplicity, and depth, and gave us modern translations of their awakening songs.
I have no doubt that when this book came out it had a huge impact on women Buddhist practitioners. It certainly did on me.
In the early years of my practice I was enamored with the dharma, but a little shocked by the sexism in the history, monasteries, and teachings. I wasn’t too happy to read about the Buddha abandoning his wife and son Rahula (the Pali word for “fetter”) in order to reach enlightenment; the order of nuns coming about only after Ananda, the Buddha’s attendant, basically twisted the Buddha’s arm; the nearly one-third more rules for women monastics; and the stipulation that even the most of esteemed of nuns had to bow down to a ten-year-old male novice. Meanwhile, the texts I knew of were filled with stories about monks succumbing to temptresses.
Women were clearly bad news in Buddhism. The first monastery I practiced at in Thailand displayed a life-sized painting of a sexy woman. Fish hooks dangled all over her body, most tellingly located at her nipples and genitals. “What are you getting into?” I’d ask myself. “Couldn’t you have gone for a nice goddess religion instead?”
Then one day, somewhere, somebody passed me a copy of The First Buddhist Women. At last, an intelligent feminist scholar was tackling the subject with sincerity and insight. Murcott had the answers to the questions I had been asking. She put into words a woman’s longing for spiritual life, for true awakening, and explained why a woman might choose to give up her family life in order to ordain. She explored the tremendous pain and disruption her departure may have caused―as well as the profound benefits from her liberation. She gave a context for the sexism of the time.
Best of all, Murcott brought the nuns to life. She retold the stories of their lives in detail and retranslated their poems and songs of awakening. Her translations were simultaneously down-to-earth and mystical.
One of my favorite stories was about the brilliant Bhadda Kundalakesa, who narrowly escaped a terrible marriage and joined the order of Jains. She chose to practice the strictest of ascetic practices and is said to have torn out her hair from the roots. But having mastered the Jain teachings, Bhadda went in search of wiser teachers. She debated one teacher after the next, sticking a rose apple branch in the sand to signify her readiness to debate philosophical doctrine. In debate, Murcott said, “Bhadda could find no equal.” Only Sariputta, the Buddha’s chief disciple, could stump her. He led her to the Buddha, who gave her instruction, and she attained enlightenment on the spot. She was ordained by the Buddha, in a rare gesture of respect, with two words, “Come, Bhadda.”
The First Buddhist Women became my secret retreat book for a number of years. I squirreled it away into silent retreats, and when inspiration flagged, I’d whip out my dog-eared copy and read a former courtesan’s song of enlightenment.
The book broadened my vision of the female religious experience. And it had an unintended consequence: I started to want to be like them. Every time I read of Khema giving up her gowns and status, I would imagine that it could be me. I began to think about cutting off my long red hair. What would it be like to practice just like they did? What would happen to my meditation practice if I ordained as a nun? Could I have a purity of heart just like these women? If they could do it, couldn’t I?
You know how you have a desire and then put it aside, because your life is busy with other things, but somehow it’s cooking there all along, even if you’re not conscious of it? Well, about five years later I flew to a Burmese monastery and took robes as a Buddhist nun.
Meditating as a nun really was different. I felt tied to the long line of women who had ordained and lived this life before me. It was as though I carried their protection, that they were rooting for me. I could sense them. Maybe it was in my head, but I had brought them to life so vividly that they became my companions.
I’d like to say that at the end of the story I stayed a nun forever and might have my own mystical song recorded for history. But that’s not true. I lasted a year, which is pretty good, considering how badly I missed my friends and how much I hated the snakes and spiders. Yet the nun experience was the most extraordinary year of my life, in all its difficulties and complications. The book led me there. And it transformed me.
DIANA WINSTON is the author of Wide Awake: A Buddhist Guide for Teens and the founder of the Buddhist Alliance for Social Engagement. She is also a member of the Teachers Council at Spirit Rock Meditation Center.
Home | About | Submissions | Privacy Policy | Contact