ON SUBSTACK: These Flames Are Cool And Refreshing (Cont'd)

Reflections on the self-immolation of climate activist Wynn Bruce

Wynn Bruce (1972-2022)

A few years ago, I wrote something for Lion's Roar Magazine that described the 15th century Japanese Zen monk Kwaisen, who perished in a fire along with several of his students. The fire was set by a feudal warlord named Nobunaga after Kwaisen's temple gave safe harbor to enemy soldiers. 

Historical accounts say that, as the fire consumed the tower in which Kwaisen and his students had been imprisoned, Kwaisen reflected on how far his students had come. Recognizing their deep understanding and equanimity in the face of imminent death, he said, "When thoughts are quieted down, even flames are cool and refreshing."

And then they all died in the fire without a single scream.

You might have heard by now that, this past Sunday—Earth Day—a 50-year-old climate activist from Boulder, Colorado named Wynn Bruce set himself on fire on the steps of the US Supreme Court. According to an article in The Washington Post, Bruce also didn't scream while being engulfed by flames (though he did make his agony known later, after the flames had been doused by emergency personnel, potentially prolonging his pain). 

I give a lot of credit to The Post for the nuance in its coverage, acknowledging that most people have dismissed Bruce as mentally disturbed and classified his death as a suicide. But The Post also quotes family and friends describing Bruce's act as potentially many things simultaneously—an expression of his own deep suffering and an act of selflessness and courage at the same time. 

Like much of the news coverage of Bruce's death, The Post points to his training in Tibetan Buddhism as indelibly linked to his choice to end his life by fire and how he proceeded through it in silence. Indeed, it was a tweet by a Buddhist teacher at a meditation center where Bruce did regular group meditation and retreats, that first identified his death as an act of political protest informed by Buddhism's history of self-immolation.

Many people have seen the striking photograph of Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc, who set himself on fire while sitting full lotus—burning but unmoving, without a sound, surrounded by onlooking monks and passersby—to protest discrimination against Buddhists under Vietnam's Christian President Diem. Many of us have heard about the Tibetan monks setting themselves on fire to protest China's occupation of Tibet, as well. His Holiness The Dalai Lama and Vietnamese Zen Teacher Thich Nhat Hanh have both been quoted extensively defining self-immolation as a non-violent political act because it does not direct physical harm towards others.

But it has also behooved some Buddhist teachers and figures at this time to clarify that self-immolation is not a religious practice in Buddhism or the exclusive domain of Buddhists. It has long been a universal expression of the deepest moral outrage and personal suffering with documented cases happening all over the world among Christians, Hindus, Muslims, and Buddhists.

Regardless of religious affiliation, it takes an immense amount of courage to put oneself in harm's way for the sake of others—whether it's in their immediate defense or for the longer term goal of saving people, animals, and the planet from something slow and all-consuming like climate change. I use the word courage here in the sense that we know it these days, synonymous with bravery. But I also use courage because of the word's etymological roots in qualities of the heart, spirit, and mind. Coming from the French coeur, for heart, courage once described the temperament of one's mind and emotions. Over time, it came to be understood as "valor, the quality of mind which enables one to meet danger and trouble without fear". For an added dimension, in Sun Tzu's Art of War, courage is defined as the ability to seize opportunity without hesitation.

Importantly, none of these definitions say that a courageous person is unaware of risk or reckless. She may, in fact, feel fear. She is simply not immobilized by it and can act without delay, doing what is necessary even if it carries real risk, personal or otherwise.

I do not doubt that Wynn Bruce had courage and a heart that felt the suffering of the world deeply. I am unsure, however, about whether his actions will have their desired effect. Will a new generation of climate activists change their lifestyles and demand political change in his memory? The story of his death was on the front page of The Post but only so briefly.

I do believe strongly and try to live in such a way that demonstrates the importance of staking one's life on something. But that's not the same as gambling everything on one dramatic moment, confident that one's life (or death) will spark the concern and action that the realities of climate change have not already, including the innumerable deaths and unspeakable suffering experienced among disenfranchised communities of color. 

Was this the right tactic for achieving Bruce's goals? Was he the right person to carry it out? Were the US Supreme Court steps the right place to lay blame for climate change? Were the prevailing winds in the world such that people would hear about Bruce's action and be moved to change? 

All of these are important questions to ask about the strategic consideration of how we can be of the most use to the world.

I wish to say in no uncertain terms that I respect Bruce's courage, particularly his commitment and the fact that while he burned, he did not scream out for succor. He didn't beg for the relief for his own tremendous pain and loss. Wynn Bruce faced down those flames and his own death with the kind of unfathomable acceptance and compassion that should at least give us pause. Perhaps we can even be encouraged to reevaluate where our own thresholds for commitment and sacrifice lie.

One important caution, though, is that however grave the future may look, we should not be immobilized, either by fear or grief. We will have fallen far short of our full potential if we allow ourselves to become mired in depression and helplessness. Both Bruce's and Kwaisen’s example is that there is another way to respond to the magnificent and terrifying scale of beauty and suffering that this existence holds, which is with equanimity and determination. The kind of training required to get to that point is tremendous. And, in these calamitous times, more important than ever.