Anti-Buddhism

Buddhism isn’t for everybody. If it isn’t for you, there’s always anti-Buddhism

Most Westerners are familiar with the basic tenets of Buddhism. Few understand that there’s a popular religious movement that seeks to achieve the exact opposite of those tenets, and this movement is sweeping the Western World. It’s called anti-Buddhism, and most practitioners of it don’t even know it’s their religion.

The tenets of anti-Buddhism are essentially the mirror opposite of regular Buddhism. Where a Buddhist will try and make himself satisfied with his lot, thereby decreasing his desires for material pleasure, an anti-Buddhist will try and make himself less satisfied.

The anti-Buddhist will search through every part of his mind, conscious or unconscious, looking for misery. He will ruminate for hours on the most trivial of insults, grinding his teeth at the effrontery, and entertain the most ludicrous revenge fantasies. The tiniest of unfulfilled desires is justification enough to rage at the injustice of the world.

Where the Buddhist cultivates an aura of peace, the anti-Buddhist cultivates one of hatred. The entire world of phenomena is seen through this blood-red lens. As a consequence, everything in the whole world is worthy of contempt. The anti-Buddhist can have no real friends, just temporary alliances founded upon mutual hatred of an other.

And so, nothing is ever good enough for him. The most fortuitous event is not considered a blessing but rather him getting restitution for prior injustices, meaning that no gratitude is necessary. He simply moves straight on to fulfilling the next desire.

Like the Taoist, the Buddhist strives to live a simple life. He recognises that material possessions are just objects that ultimately end up possessing him, because they demand that time and energy be sacrificed to their maintenance and protection. The result of this simple life is the sense of peace and freedom that comes from not having to stress out about defending your wealth.

The anti-Buddhist rejects this line of reasoning as that of a weakling. The value of his life is a direct function of the resources and territory that he controls, and only through the maximum amount of stress and misery can the true value of his life be reached. Indeed, it’s vital that everyone around the anti-Buddhist sees and knows about his suffering, so that they can feel the awe that is the natural response to being around someone so great.

So where the Buddhist greets his fellows with a gentle smile and a reassuring word, the anti-Buddhist scowls and immediately starts going on about his health problems, or the need to exterminate some group of people he hates, because his capacity to cause fear in other people gives him a sense of power that he mistakes for being a worthwhile person.

If there’s one thing that really distinguishes the Buddhist from the followers of other practices, it’s meditation. Through meditation a person can get to genuinely know themselves and the ebbing and flowing of desires within their own mind. Paying attention to how their own mind works, they learn to distinguish genuine desires from conditioned ones and so learn to direct their energy to things that make them happy.

Correspondingly, meditation is the one thing that the anti-Buddhist avoids at any cost. Every millisecond of every day has to be crammed full of as much stimulation as possible, lest one inadvertently catch a few moments of meditation and accidentally become happier. There can be no such thing as rest, no such thing as peace. All efforts have to be devoted to the ceaseless acquisition of capital, because to pause for a moment is to risk slipping back down the dominance hierarchy.

Anti-Buddhism is widespread in our society, but it appears to be falling into decline. We have been so wealthy and yet so miserable for so long, that it’s no longer deniable that anti-Buddhism has failed to bring us any improvement to the quality of lives. Perhaps it’s time to return to the original spiritual practices?

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Tall Poppy Syndrome Is A Slave Morality

Artistic representations of nationhood in a country with healthy self-confidence (left) are very different to what we get in New Zealand (right)

The Scandinavians call it Jantelagen, Nietzsche called it slave morality, we call it the Tall Poppy Syndrome, but it all amounts to the same thing – a horizontalisation of social attitude that bitterly refuses to give credit where it’s due; a sneering, snivelling resentment that seeks to rip down anyone who distinguishes themselves for any reason.

Unlike us, the Scandinavians and the Continental Europeans are sophisticated enough to appreciate that this is a phenomenon of their culture and are able to consciously work against it. So too do the British recognise that their tolerance of eccentricity has enabled them to produce the geniuses necessary to remain a world power.

The gormless peasants that make up the bulk of the New Zealand populace are yet to comprehend such a thing, however, and so the lawnmower mows on.

So neglected are we down here in the world’s arsehole, so starved of genuine regard from those of other nations that we have gone blind in the darkness and turned on each other.

We should be ashamed for our Tall Poppy Syndrome. It really makes us look like a nation of cucks.

After all, it’s a classic expression of slave morality. Tall Poppy logic is even more resentful than Christianity.

Resentful Christians tell themselves that “the meek shall inherit the Earth” to make themselves feel better about how easily their massively egotistical selves can be made to feel fear and consequently how easily they can be intimidated away from conflict.

The modern Kiwi tells himself something very similar. His byword is “the mediocre shall inherit the Earth.”

In this environment, the worst insult of all is to be a “try-hard”. This is to commit the sin of putting an effort into something, as opposed to the socially approved method of doing a half-arsed job that soon has to be fixed.

The logic appears to be that if anyone did anything properly, then overall standards would soon rise and soon people would be demanding that we did everything properly. And that’s just a hassle.

Therefore it’s better to half-arse everything so that no-one has to feel bad for being incompetent.

This is how we arrived at the Orange Man animation that the television shows us to try and entice us into giving our consent to be ruled by the political class.

Whichever creative agency that invented the Orange Abortion no doubt would have paid due caution to ensuring that the image intended to represent the New Zealand voter didn’t exclude anyone.

Because if it did, they would have resented the shit out of it. We know this because that’s our culture.

Therefore, the New Zealand voter ends up being represented by an amorphous orange blob – one that stirs precisely zero national sentiment in the viewer.

This feeble absence of passion is the inevitable result of a national morality based on resentment. Nobody gets to have anything interesting or do anything interesting.

We have created a culture so boring that our young people would rather cheat death by smoking random chemicals sprayed on dried plant matter purchased from known criminal gangs than partake in society.

A nation so petty that the Government pissing $400,000,000 up the wall every year on the War on Cannabis goes without censure, but a future Green MP defrauding the same Government out of a few hundred dollars to feed a dependent child twenty years ago sparks a national outrage.

It’s time for a radical revaluation of values in New Zealand.

Is New Zealand The Worst Country On Earth?

New Zealand – paradise if you’re wealthy, but if you’re not (and especially if you’re also young), living here is a curious psychological torture. We have the highest teen suicide rates in the developed world, and this essay looks at some reasons why.

Like every other country on Earth, our mainstream media likes to paint a picture of everything being excellent and the country having never done better – this being the well-known strategy for putting the receivers of such media in the optimal mindset for buying the products advertised in it.

Our mainstream media has a unique level of shamelessness in doing so, however, because in no other country in the developed world are teenagers as likely to decide that they’d rather be dead than living here.

New Zealand is close to the worst country on Earth to be young. There’s nothing to do here, we’re all psychologically damaged and our authority figures lie to us all the time.

This is especially true for the current generation of youth, who grew up in the wake of Ruthanasia, the sadistic welfare policies of the Fourth National Government. These policies taught our youth that the country couldn’t give two shits about them and that empathy is for the weak – once you’re born, you’re on your fucken own.

The consequence of this lack of empathy is a generation of youth without much empathy, and a consequence of that is that they kill themselves at world-record rates. There’s nothing surprising about it – they’ve simply internalised the lack of worth with which they were treated.

Understanding how we got like this requires that we understand how isolated New Zealand is. Australia is itself an isolated country at the arse-end of the world, but they’re practically Greece compared to us.

In almost any other country on Earth, it’s possible to get into a car, drive a short distance across a border and have an entirely different cultural experience, with new people, new thoughts and new ideas.

We don’t have any of that in New Zealand. We’re stuck here. For all of the generations before the one that grew up with the Internet, all we had was the television, and that taught us to consume, not to think.

And as we stagnated, we turned our rages on each other.

Perhaps the worst thing about New Zealand is the petty, vicious, cowardly streak in the national character that has us always lashing out at the person at the bottom of society rather than daring to criticise the people at the top.

This is reflected in our obscene school bullying culture. Unfortunately for New Zealand teenagers, our culture of abuse is so deeply entrenched that many teachers will argue that bullying is a good thing because it forces kids to develop social skills or “toughens them up for the real world” (or some other 19th-century logic).

It’s also reflected in our third-world mental health system, which regularly throws sick people out onto the street with no help or funding. Many teenagers have committed suicide after trying to get help from the New Zealand mental health system only to find that no-one working in it could care less about them.

Unfortunately for this country’s mentally ill, especially if they are also young and poor, being mentally ill is still seen as a personal failure in New Zealand – depression is a failure to harden the fuck up, bipolar disorder is a failure to calm down, schizophrenia is a failure to sort your shit out.

In this way, New Zealand has failed to move on from the 1950s, in contrast to almost everywhere else.

A natural consequence of this brutal, brain-dead attitude is a national unwillingness to talk about mental illness. Doing so engenders so little natural sympathy that our youth would rather kill themselves than try and broach the subject with an adult New Zealander.

Not only do we have less of an influence from without, but we actively stomp down any new thought that might arise from within – and not only through the Tall Poppy Syndrome.

New Zealand managed to produce an intellect great enough to win a Booker Prize recently in Eleanor Catton, and Prime Minister John Key bullied her out of the country by publicly stating that her opinion on intellectual matters wasn’t worth more than that of a rugby player.

No other country is shit enough to do that. Almost anywhere else, it would be recognised that intellects like Catton’s are necessary to prevent a culture from rotting from the inside, and especially so in New Zealand where new ideas do not flow in from across the border.

We weren’t always like this: studies have shown that our teen suicide rate actually used to be lower than that of other countries.

But in the mid-80s we got sucked into the con job that was neoliberalism, and none of our current politicians have the guts to suggest any change of track.

The country that once led the world on social issues like women’s suffrage and old-age pensions is now more backwards than South Africa on social issues like gay marriage and cannabis law reform.

Without a fundamental change of attitude that brings us into 21st-century modes of thinking, the standard of living here will only continue to deteriorate, and our teen suicide rates will only increase.

Poetry K-Hole 2: Oi, God

Big old poof, sittin’ in the sky

Bossin’ us ’round,

Dunno why.

I guess He doesn’t have enough to do,

Can’t sort His own shit out

So He has to give us arseholes

About feeding skinny kids

In Africa.

Why doesn’t He feel bad?

He’s the one who made them,

Racist, too, since he made all the poor ones black.

Or did he make all the black ones poor?

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Simon P. Murphy is the author of His Master’s Wretched Organ.

Poetry K-Hole 1: Down And Out in Nelson and Stoke

Down And Out in Nelson and Stoke

Hermes Trismestigus,

On the fuckin’ benefit.

His case manager Te Aroha gives him arseholes.

A right fuckin’ rark up.

Doesn’t want to thin apples,

Doesn’t want to fillet Hoki.

Just wants to write about the psychic elements

And the topography of impinging dimensions

Not much good being a smart cunt if he’s sitting at home on the dole

Not working for his money.

Te Aroha’s had a bloody gutsful

And so has Raelene

No more going to the drags,

No more car shows at Rangoon,

No more midget stock car racing

Til he gets his fuckin’ act together.

He thinks he a smart cunt,

Says he can invert mental polarities

And formulate a geometric model for translating

The operations of higher dimensions into the lower,

But he can’t even remember his 9-digit client number

Or where he last saw his community services card.

Te Aroha has just about lost all hope,

Raelene is sick of Hell’s Angels knocking on the door

Looking for Hermes after selling them a bad batch.

Maybe what he needs is to sort his shit out,

Go on an Outward Bound course,

Might get his foot in the door with the army,

Maybe even an apprenticeship.

Maybe he could do his fork-lift licence,

Or maybe go back and finish his School Certificate,

Instead of poring through the Necronomicon

Or scrying alien constellations.

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Simon P. Murphy is the author of His Master’s Wretched Organ.