97 Sexism

But a short time later there occurred another provocative discussion in the master's absence. On this occasion several women present expressed their discomfort with the long list of exclusively male names in the lineage and with the full prostrations which accompanied its recitation at every morning service.

"It's so blatantly sexist," one woman complained.

"I agree," said another.

So did I.

There was mention of the garudharmas, "the eight heavy rules and duties," a relic of systemic discrimination in ancient Buddhist sanghas that in some parts of the modern world—Sri Lanka, Burma, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia—apparently still obtained. I had never heard of them. According to the legend of the Buddha's teaching, though a monk might reprimand either monk or nun, a nun could not reprimand a monk; a nun even if she had been ordained for a hundred years must bow in reverence at the feet of a monk even if he had been ordained just that day.

"A monk may teach a nun," the Buddha said, "but no nun may ever teach a monk."

The early life of the Buddha was also discussed. In order to be free to seek the truth of life, suffering, and death wherever his investigation led him, Siddhartha had left his wife and child.

"His son," Daly said, "he named Fetter."

I hadn't known.

This problem of the lineage never went away. The master explained and defended the tradition as best he could; and in his own language he demonstrated a constant and careful effort to employ words gender equal or gender neutral. But for a few women new to the temple and for me and for two or three others who attended regularly the daily recitation of the male lineage continued to raise doubts and evoke questions. My wife and I were feminists and in general I shared her opinion.

"It's absurd."

The inescapable inference seemed to be that even full realization and enlightenment did not necessarily transcend the ethnocentric prejudice and bigotry of the specific cultural milieu. Sexism, racism, classism, and nationalism, it seemed, at one time or another had infected Buddhist sanghas all over the world despite the presence of supposedly enlightened masters and fully realized teachers.

In the master himself, however, I saw none of this prejudice.

I let it go.

But as we tidied the kitchen after coffee and tea and doughnuts one morning several weeks later I listened as Edward and Mark talked about their relationship with the master. Both had been yelled at, they said. I had witnessed dozens of corrections and stern reprimands but nothing I would call yelling.

I said so.

Both Edward and Mark looked askance.

I waited.

"Hasn't he ever yelled at you?" Mark asked.

"No."

"Really?" Edward asked.

"Never."

"Maybe he sees that I need it and you don't," Mark concluded.

I wondered.

In January I attended the annual meeting of the sangha.

I was curious.

At evening zazen and even at Sunday service I saw only the same ten or twelve people. At the annual meeting of the entire membership I thought perhaps I might see fifty.

No.

In attendance were the same ten or twelve men and women I saw at every other temple event.

Hmm.

We were obviously a small group.