Last Monday night, during our discussion about arguments, it was stated that although it is possible to sometimes practice at least a modicum of self-restraint when disagreements arise about the dharma, or about work, or among friends, it is much more difficult to exercise that same level of self-restraint when disagreements arise with our spouse or significant other. It's one thing to just walk away or say, "Maybe that's so," without clinging to our own views when talking about, say, reincarnation, but it's another thing altogether when your wife or husband says, "I want a divorce."

Of course, the Buddha found a neat away around this problem and merely required his followers to leave home and live in celibacy. Throughout most of its history, Buddhism has been practiced in monastic settings by celibates or near-celibates, away from the distracting presence of family and lovers. Zen Master Dogen once instructed his monks to "give up the world, give up your family, and give up your body and mind. Consider this well."

"Even among those who retreat from the world and live secluded in the mountains or forests," he said, "there are some who fear that their family, which has continued for many generations, will cease to exist, and will become anxious for their family members or their relatives (Shobogenzo Zuimonki, 1-21)."

It's really a modern, and largely Western, development that Buddhism is practiced largely by laypersons still engaged in society and with their families. This is not a bad thing, in fact, the buddha-dharma probably would not be widely propagated today if celibacy and seclusion were the requirements for entry.

In fact, the attachments and distractions presented by family and relationships and family can provide teachings in themselves, by showing us the limits of our patience, or our willingness to let go of attachments, or of the depth of our renunciation. They can also engender intimacy and loving kindness, and help us develop a compassionate heart and mind.

However, many people feel isolated and removed from the rest of the world, and grasp on to their loved ones and families for reassurance that they're not alone. But this is fundamentally a deluded view, as it presupposes a separation between the self and the rest of the world. Worse, as soon as something appears to threaten these imagined ties to the external world, they become anxious and panicky, and fight back. The ensuing quarrels can often endanger the very relationships we're fighting to protect.

Once we externalize the world and feel separate from it, we feel isolated and threatened, and so instinctively we try to grasp it. This grasping creates anxiety or pain. Reb Anderson encourages us to first recognize that "Most people are anxious, but they think they're not supposed to be, so they pretend that they're not. They walk around thinking, I'm fine, but little things show you that they don't feel so fine. If you scratch their car, they fly into a rage. Or if you tell them that they're going to get fired, they break down in tears. Things like that show you that they're not so unafraid (Being Upright, p. 22). "

You can tell a lot about a person from their attachments, and you can tell a lot about their attachments from their fears. I certainly have my attachments and my fears, but in the context of this discussion I suddenly don't feel so comfortable revealing them here (of course, attachment to privacy in itself reveals fears).

So when our wives or husbands suddenly announce, "I want a divorce," it immediately feels that we're on the frightening verge of becoming completely isolated from everything else, even though our dharma teachings tell us otherwise. Also, when we don't get what we want, namely that happily-ever-after marriage, that's a form of dukkha (suffering).

In the context of our conversation about arguments, someone wisely noted that one of the problems is that we cling to an idealization of a perfect relationship, one without arguments, like the nice, tidy relationships we see on tv. When discord and disagreement does occur, it reveals the fallacy of our fantasy, and we suffer for our clinging to unsubstantiality, to an impermanent, lovey-dovey state of affairs. We should, instead, be patient with the state of disagreement, even with fighting, and recognize it as the yin of passion's yang. We shouldn't cling to a false ideal of eternal bliss and harmony. There is practical wisdom in this, but it still misses the larger point of the delusion of separation of self and others.

The Buddha's solution to avoiding this delusion was to leave home and practice in the exclusive context of the sangha. Zen continued this monastic tradition, but eventually opened the practice to allow marriage and/or committed relationships. Western, layperson practice has to establish a way to keep us from falling to pieces when everything else does.