In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Christians Talk About Buddhist Meditation; Buddhists Talk About Christian PrayerSarah K. PinnockChristians Talk About Buddhist Meditation; Buddhists Talk About Christian Prayer. Edited by Rita M. Gross and Terry C. Muck. London: Continuum, 2003. 157 pp.It is popularly assumed that meditation enhances well-being and relieves stress. In the West, Asian practices are taught to persons from mainly Christian and Jewish backgrounds as new forms of spirituality, often presented as (...) dramatically different from monotheistic traditions. Yet some practitioners consider meditation and other forms of Asian spirituality as enhancing rather than replacing worship of God.This book presents essays by twelve authors that explore similarities and differences between Buddhist meditation and Christian prayer. The book reprints pieces that originally appeared in the journal Buddhist-Christian Studies in 2001 and 2002. It is thoroughly dialogical in format. Part 1 contains five Christian reflections on Buddhist spiritual practice followed by two Buddhist responses, while part 2 consists of five Buddhist reflections on Christian spiritual practice with two Christian responses. Many of the contributors are connected with the Society for Buddhist-Christian Studies. Importantly, they combine academic and experiential knowledge of the two religions. The collection is framed by an introduction by Terry Muck and a conclusion by Rita Gross, the book's editors, who are Christian and Buddhist practitioners, respectively. The symmetry of the chapter layout is pleasing and apt.Sociologically, the major impetus for this dialogue is the fact that a growing number of Christians have found Buddhist meditation fruitful. However, these Christians have not left behind their original religious identification. As they interact with Buddhists, dialogue has emerged comparing the two traditions. Clearly for Christians practicing some Buddhism, the emphasis is on mutual appreciation and commonality. To examine the motivation for interreligious dialogue, it is fitting to ask, whose interests does the dialogue serve? First and foremost, the interests are Christian. While Christian authors have gained from Buddhist spiritual practice, Buddhists have not adapted Christian prayer techniques in return. But although the genealogy of dialogue has Christian origins, the editors intend to take a neutral approach. They frame the topic broadly and invite [End Page 204] contributors to remark on any facet of the other tradition, including critical points.In part 1, Frances Adeney, Mary Frohlich, Paul Ingram, Terry Muck, and Bardwell Smith express how aspects of Buddhist meditation have enriched their Christian spirituality. Adeney learned techniques of Buddhist silent meditation from a Jesuit priest in Indonesia that enable heightened awareness of God's presence. Frohlich belongs to a Catholic religious order for women and finds Buddhism helpful for developing discipline in prayer. For Ingram, Buddhist meditation is one ingredient in a spiritual journey focused on social liberation and discovering God's presence. Muck has found reflection on Theravada teaching about morality (sila) to be an impetus to overcome the theological dichotomy between faith and works and to develop the importance of spiritual readiness that cuts across religious traditions. Smith's participation in interfaith pilgrimage and meditation illustrates the spiritual discipline that Buddhism offers.There are many overlapping insights among these chapters that Grace Burford helpfully summarizes in her response essay: first, Buddhist practice can confirm aspects of Christian practice, such as silent prayer; second, the encounter with Buddhism can lead Christians to uncover untapped streams within Christianity, especially monastic and mystical traditions; third, Buddhism can offer unique new techniques to Christians, such as zazen, which provide rigor in developing mental concentration. Christian appreciation of Buddhism blurs religious boundaries but never requires abandonment of church or creed. Robert Thurman's response concludes with a comment on the postmodern insecurity about boundaries, and praises these Christian authors for resisting the hardening of religious identities. He reminds readers of the Dalai Lama's exhortation that conversion to Buddhism is not generally the best option for non-Buddhists drawn to his Tibetan tradition. Rather, he advises taking what seems good in Buddhism to enrich one's original religion, thus remaining integrated with family members, communities, and local customs.In part 2, the contributions of Buddhist authors display more academic distance because of the fact that the authors are not engaged in Christian practices in their Buddhist lives. But the essays... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Overcoming Violence in Practice1Sarah K. PinnockIn Christian thought, the classic theological response to evil and suffering, known as "theodicy," operates on a metaphysical level. It aims to elucidate questions about God: God's power to prevent evil, God's goodness and justice, and God's purposes in allowing evil. It also examines questions about humanity: Are humans chronically prone to sin and violence? Does suffering serve good purposes? Does God redeem suffering? (...) In recent Christian attempts at theodicy, attention has focused on divine omnipotence and human freedom in attempts to exculpate God for cruelty in allowing the magnitude of suffering visible in such events as the Holocaust, where six million Jews and five million Poles, gypsies, homosexuals, and other noncombatants were killed under Nazi orders. Symmetrical with exploration of the "front end" explanatory questions of why bad things happen in a supposedly good world, theodicies also explore the "back end" justificatory questions of how God can heal the damage, unevenly and unfairly distributed, in this life or the afterlife. Key exemplars of modern theodicy are Leibniz and Hegel, thinkers who have greatly influenced twentieth-century analytic and continental philosophy of religion, respectively. Despite the urgency of responding to evil, theodicy has been criticized for its abstract, global approach to suffering and its programmatic focus on justifying God in the face of violence. My own critique of theodicy has epistemic and moral components. Theodicy rests on epistemological hubris, building precarious intellectual systems in pursuing knowledge of God. Additionally, theodicy is guilty of moral turpitude on account of its single-minded focus on explanation, which smooths over the scandal of suffering and overlooks the prevention and alleviation of violence.2Fortunately, there are more promising alternatives than theodicy in Christian thought. Particularly in the twentieth century, existentialist and Marxian philosophical movements have contributed to practical rather than theoretical emphases in response to theodicy questions. Reflection on the situatedness of the subject has prompted this shift as theology becomes more self-conscious of its cultural assumptions. Especially since the 1960s, contextual varieties of theology have emerged that recognize its socially embedded character. Theology is never purely dislocated conceptual reflection, innocent of ethical consequences, but a discourse with practical origins and effects. To use Marxian vocabulary, all theology is an "ideology" expressing the conscious and unconscious interests of a social group or class. This insight [End Page 73] does not dismiss the truth and power of theology, but forces closer examination of its production and implications. As Marx wrote in his "Theses on Feuerbach," "philosophers [and theologians] have only interpreted the world in various ways; the point, however, is to change it."3 Theology as a discourse must attend to how it functions within society to motivate opposition or acceptance of violence. Also, it must attend to how reliably it exposes and articulates violence within its vocabulary, and what social cases of violence it addresses.I propose that the shift toward practical or contextual Christian anti-theodicy responses to violence resonates with Buddhist attention to practice, rather than speculation, in answer to suffering. To use a well-known image from the Buddha's teaching, all human beings are like persons pierced with poisoned arrows. All suffer grievously because of craving and desire, and desperately long for relief. In such a condition of life, sliding toward death while suffering, what is the most urgent need: to find out how to remove the poisoned arrow and heal the wound, or to find out where the arrow came from and why it was shot?4 Of course, the moral of the story is that the alleviation of suffering is primary and urgent. It would be foolish to searchfor an explanation instead of a cure for the poison. Understanding the cosmic origins of suffering is a distraction, irrelevant to alleviating suffering and detrimental to practice. Preoccupation with metaphysical speculation does not produce wisdom. Such wisdom is the fruit of awareness resulting from meditation training.In presenting my ideas to a forum for Buddhist-Christian dialogue, I am very much aware of the perils of comparative thinking. My understanding of Buddhism reflects the Westernized transmission of Mahayana Zen Buddhist traditions, based on writings intended for an... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Buddhist-Christian Studies 23 (2003) 155-157 [Access article in PDF] Religious Feminism and the Future of the Planet: A Buddhist-Christian Conversation. By Rita M.Gross and Rosemary Radford Ruether. New York: Continuum, 2001. 229 pp. Is feminism indigenous to Buddhism and Christianity? Or must feminists reinvent their religious traditions? The probing autobiographical reflections by Rita Gross and Rosemary Ruether expose the tensions of feminist reform. Like many religious feminists, they claim (...) to preserve continuity with tradition despite their innovations. But upon reading Religious Feminism and the Future of the Planet, the similarities between feminist Buddhism and feminist Christianity lead me to wonder whether feminism plays a more formative role than tradition in shaping their visions of the future.The ingenious structure of the book allows the opportunity for maximum dialogue. [End Page 155] Authors write chapters paired on the same topic, and each chapter has a short response attached. This organization mirrors the real-life dialogue between Gross and Ruether that occurred at a workshop in Grailville, Ohio, in 1999. The back-and-forth movement allows for meta-reflection on feminist interpretation, on the self-understandings of scholars who practice the traditions that they study.The first two chapters are autobiographical. There is an especially detailed account of Gross's journey toward Tibetan Buddhism and a shorter chapter on the evolution of Ruether's Catholic identity. The second pair of chapters responds to patriarchal religious origins. Ruether's critique of Christian sexism is theological, dealing with Christology, anthropology, and ecclesiology. In contrast, Gross asserts that the Buddhist "view" or theology is nonsexist and even feminist, thus she considers male leadership as the main obstacle to women. The difficulty of defending such large claims in a short space is compensated by the fact that their conclusions have already been developed in previous publications.Striking parallels emerge when the authors identify what is most liberating in their tradition and most inspiring in the other tradition. In both cases, mindfulness practice in Buddhism and the prophetic voice in Christianity are singled out. The overarching message is that Christians can learn about prayer from Buddhists, and Buddhists can learn about social critique from Christians. Another crucial parallel occurs when the authors choose one key social problem to address religiously—they both focus on environmental ethics. They agree that loving care for the earth is the key to both ecological and human flourishing.One asymmetry, however, concerns sensitivity to departure from tradition. In particular, Gross questions whether by utilizing "prophetic" critique she is applying an extrinsic Hebrew and Christian viewpoint to Tibetan Buddhist reflection. I greatly admire how she faces up to the problem of discontinuity between feminist critique and Buddhist institutions rather than insist that the tradition is inchoately feminist. Ruether, on the other hand, does not take the discontinuity between traditional and feminist Christian viewpoints as seriously, although she undoubtedly reshapes Christianity, particularly theological doctrines, into new forms.From a Christian perspective, I notice striking omissions in Ruether's presentation concerning the subject of prayer and the theme of suffering. When Ruether experimented with lay monastic practice early on in her career, she became impatient with silence and intensive prayer as isolating and unproductive. In her autobiographical chapter, she speaks of turning away from prayer toward social engagement. Yet she also mentions admiration for certain contemporary monks and nuns who are on the vanguard of creative worship and ethical engagement. Although she admires Buddhist mindfulness, she does not take seriously analogous Christian meditative practices and their capacity to sustain social activism. She leaves the impression that prayer and action are separate paths, whereas Christian prayer and resistance may be closely associated.The nature of suffering and its overcoming are topics central to Christianity and Buddhism, as well as to feminist thought. For feminists, reflection on suffering tends [End Page 156] to concentrate on exposing and removing its causes, such as abuse, oppression, or violence. Buddhists also focus on cessation of suffering, but "suffering" is centrally an individual barrier to overcome before social issues can be corrected. In contrast, Christians think about... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Transcendence and Violence: The Encounter of Buddhist, Christian, and Primal TraditionsSarah K. PinnockTranscendence and Violence: The Encounter of Buddhist, Christian, and Primal Traditions. By John D'Arcy May. New York: Continuum, 2003. 225 + xi pp.In popular media, religion appears as a dangerous social phenomenon with explosive potential. The investigation of transcendence as a source of violence is particularly timely in light of America's war on terrorism targeting extremist (...) Islam. However, this negative dimension of religion is nothing new. Over the course of history, hostility [End Page 231] and killing are intimately connected with religious divisions. The irony of religious violence as a betrayal of religious ethical ideals is both obvious and inescapable.Approaching this hot topic from the perspective of religious imperialism, John D'Arcy May examines violence perpetrated by the Christian and Buddhist traditions against indigenous religions. His investigation covers damaging evidence against these two universalizing traditions using geographically specific case studies in Asia and the Pacific Rim. Situating Christianity and Buddhism in parallel as religions of transcendence, he compares how indigenous localized religions were overpowered by expansionist universalizing religions, although not eradicated. Into his historical narrative, he weaves his personal encounters with otherness growing up in Australia while virtually oblivious to the oppression of Aboriginals by white settlers, and as a Roman Catholic doing ecumenical work in Papua New Guinea for four years.May opens the book with bold admission of the failures of European Christianity, evidenced in anti-Judaism and Holocaust genocide, and Theravada Buddhism's violent involvement in Sri Lanka's civil conflict between Singhalese nationalists and Hindu Tamils. The reader is led to expect elaboration on the moral failings of Christianity, and this proves true; however, May's examination of the Buddhism's expansion and endorsement of violence tempers the tendency to single out Christianity as uniquely imperialist. He suggests that transcendence itself can cause hierarchy and oppression.Part I of the book focuses on Christianity and violence. Chapter 1 studies how European Protestant and Catholic settlers to Australia treated the Aboriginal peoples. The story is grim. Using a psychoanalytic framework, May interprets the European vilification of Aboriginals as stemming from the repression of the primal other, and the repression of bio-cosmic religion in favor of transcendence. Constructively, he proposes that Aboriginal peoples can offer theological insights about the ontology of sacred space. Christians should not only seek reconciliation in society, but also consider new perspectives on the sacred in nature drawn from the dreaming of Aboriginal religious lore.In chapter 2, May deals with colonization in the Melanesian Islands of the Pacific Ocean, concentrating on Papua New Guinea. In the indigenous religions of Melanesia, the prosperous community is the measure of religious rectitude, while misfortune is explained by the breaking of taboos and the revenge of enemies or evil spirits. After European colonization, "cargo cults" arose among the islands that promised abundant material goods possessed by European settlers by means of religious rituals and magic. Surprisingly, May points out the positive impulses at the root of these cargo cults that are typically viewed as detrimental and even outlawed outright by local governments for their harmful social impact. At bottom, he argues, cargo cults reflect a positive religious aspiration for wholeness and healing in this life that is a counterpoint to the spiritualization of salvation by European Christianity.May tries to avoid idealizing these primal cultures and their religious insights; nevertheless, he finds them instructive for Christian theology. Native religions in both Australia and Papua New Guinea offer models of immanence that emphasize the religious value of nature and just relationships. It should be mentioned that [End Page 232] there is some nuance to this conclusion. For instance, Melanesian religion is portrayed as less exemplary than Australian aboriginal religion. But May's main point is that violence on a global scale is validated by Christian notions of transcendence that deny the material aspirations of the indigenous community, and promote a superiority that wreaks violence among indigenous peoples. Hopefully, intercultural theology will allow Christians to appreciate the Aboriginal respect for sacred geography and the Melanesian quest for the flourishing of one's local community.Christianity and Buddhism are treated... (shrink)