Shrine room at Vajraloka Retreat Centre. Corwen Wales, UK. 1980s © The Urgyen Sangharakshita Trust
In one of the many endings of Peter Jackson’s film The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, we attend the lavish coronation of Aragorn. Here, the denizens of Middle-Earth bow with deference and respect to the new king. As the four tiny hobbits prepare to bow, Aragorn says, ‘My friends, you bow to no one’.
Do you? Bow, that is. Do you bow physically when you enter a shrine room? Do you bow to Buddhas? If not physically, do you bow internally with a sense of reverence? I do. Whenever I can. But I’m aware that others don’t share my enthusiasm for the practice.
For some, bowing speaks of outdated idolatry. The statue is merely inert wood or metal. Sure, its hands are arranged in certain gestures that must have some symbolic meaning, but the statue is just a piece of exotic set dressing. A Buddha statue is a mnemonic device to encourage quiet, meditation, and working with the mind. Isn’t it?
People with this view of shrines and bowing fascinate me. I want to understand it, not to correct their view, but because I do not share it and want to comprehend how such a perspective could arise. Bowing is a profoundly radical act, but I’ll move on to that presently.
Bowing or saluting a shrine is one of the first elements of devotional practice that I like to explore in my courses on Buddhist ritual. These sessions start with an invitation for participants to bow to a shrine, to feel the experience, and then articulate their response. This allows us all to witness each other and enables the person bowing to express their discomfort (or curiosity) in a safe and non-judgmental space.
These classes are incredibly rewarding. It’s powerful to hear about people’s distrust in religion, their fear of losing individuality, their concerns about participating in cult-like behaviour, or their sense of being subservient. Sometimes, I am almost moved to tears by these stories.
Bowing has the potential to engage the mind, body, speech, and heart. When exploring the role of faith and devotion, Sangharakshita asks us to consider whether we bring all of ourselves to Buddhist practice or only those parts that are safe, comfortable, and intellectual. One way we might do this is by deciding that meditation is solely a path of self-discovery, personal development, or stress management. We may remain closed and alienated from aspects of ourselves if we hold this view.
He states, ‘Unless there is an understanding within, which must include an element of feeling, there is no transforming influence’ (Milarepa and the Art of Discipleship II, p. 179). Bowing, even with discomfort, is a connection and an opportunity to explore. For me, bowing is about exploring appreciation, gratitude, thankfulness, and joy for the path I, and so many others, are on.
Watching others bow to the Buddha and being fully present with my own body, mind, heart, and words as I bow is not an act of denigration or subservience but one of celebration. There is goodness in the world made manifest by those around me who are inspired by the example of the man represented on that shrine. I bow to him, to those who practice, and to the impact they have all had.
But even more than this, when I bow, I challenge the world. There is more to human life than personal growth and fulfilment. There is more to living than status and success. There is more to this world than me, my trauma, my success, and my failings. When I bow, I champion service to others.
And that is why I bow. I bow to the efforts of others to bring peace and healing to the world. Perhaps this is why, in Tolkien’s epic, Aragorn and the hosts of elves and men bow low to the four tiny hobbits who lead to the downfall of the evil Sauron. The great and mighty can acknowledge the nobility of even the smallest of people.
