On a frigid February afternoon, six students sat cross-legged on jade-colored cushions atop creaky wooden floorboards inside a Manhattan brownstone. They had come for a Buddhist scripture study group, advertised plainly as “Book Club,” at the Korean Jo-Gei Temple of America.
“I consider myself quite shy,” said Bosung, the monk who leads the weekly gathering. “I find myself much more comfortable talking to trees and growing plants than teaching a class,” he added with a soft chuckle. He wore a bell-sleeve mauvish robe, a white muslin scarf, clear cubic glasses and chestnut prayer beads. Behind him, a gentle glow emanated from an oversized Himalayan salt lamp, creating a roseate halo around his shaved head.
Pipes crackled. A finicky heater whirred. Each student clutched a canary-yellow piece of paper displaying words in English and Hangul (the Korean alphabet), which they scrutinized in silence. Some scrawled notes in the margins, perhaps preparing themselves for the monk’s cold-calling practice. The printed work in question: The Heart Sutra, a text dedicated to Avalokiteshvara — the Bodhisattva of Compassion — and considered by many the foremost piece of Buddhist scripture.
“The Heart Sutra speaks to a quality of knowledge which you already have,” Bosung said. “It speaks to something we can do without understanding.” According to Bosung, the Sutra asks and answers one simple question: “How do we do compassion?” Compassion, he clarified, is not a feeling, but a function — an action to be demonstrated rather than simply discussed.
A student raised her hand to inquire about the meaning of emptiness, a recurring concept throughout the text. At this, Bosung clicked his tongue, released a heavy breath and cautioned against the urge to understand.
“If a child were to run in here crying, what would you do?” Bosung asked the group. Silence. “Would you ask them about emptiness?” he added. Blank stares. A few stifled laughs. “No!” Bosung exclaimed, shaking the room with his bellow. “You would ask what’s wrong and try to comfort them.” Nods and hums of agreement. “It’s our capacity to not know that allows us to comfort the child,” he said.
The lesson might seem counterintuitive: Ignorance enhances the capacity for compassion. One student voiced confusion: Isn’t knowledge required for deeper understanding and empathy?
“There can be real wisdom in ignorance,” Bosung said. Ignorance, he explained, gives way to curiosity, a necessary ingredient for compassion. The sacred act of asking true questions requires first gaining comfort in a state of unknowing.
Before the class adjourned, Bosung emphasized the importance of experiential learning in Buddhist practice. “Don’t take my word for it. Experience it for yourself. And let that experience ripen into your own courage.”