White Lotus Explores “Eastern Religion” in Season Three--and Gets it Wrong, Mostly

Another Long-Term Buddhist Practitioner (and Author) Weighs In on the controversial series

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White Lotus Explores “Eastern Religion” in Season Three--and Gets it Wrong, Mostly

I always feel icky after watching any White Lotus episode—especially the latter two seasons.  After viewing, I always feel energetically drained and slimed.  Then I have to remind myself that I generally do not like Mike White productions, because Mike White does not seem to have any love for women. Or men. Or humans in general.  Or for life itself. And yes, this series is meant to be satire, and satire is meant to poke fun at people, but there really is no fun in these stories—ever—and there is just no love.  And by that I mean love of or for the characters that White and his team have created. Yes, they are fictional, but without any base level of love or joy—or even a sense of redemption or hope—coming from the creator or writers themselves—viewers have nothing to sustain them. Because love is a forward-moving energetic flow that sustains everything. Even fiction.

Unless, of course, one is the kind of person who truly enjoys (or thinks they truly enjoy) the backward-flowing energy of hate, and enjoys hating everyone and everything.  And, as we know, the United States country has produced a lot of people like that, and these days they’re much more vocal and visible.  Let’s not go there. Even though we will....

 So why did I even watch Season 3 after swearing never to waste my time on White Lotus again after Season 2? Well, I am human after all, and flawed, and sometimes crave the distraction of seeing beautiful clothes and beautiful locations and allowing my eyes to take in some color after a long and dreary winter in the Northeast. And I especially love to witnessing great artists (the actors) in the midst of their craft.  I can feel an energetic expansion within my own energy body when I witness a great artist in the midst of her/his own expansion.  That’s what art is about.

 Plus, I had heard—or read somewhere—that Mike White planned to “explore Eastern spirituality” in Season 3, and Eastern spirituality is my thing. Our thing. (I actually think it’s the thing, but that’s what not this post is about.).  

 So I decided to watch Season 3, and I even felt a sense of hope. Maybe Mike White would offer his huge audience some real and true and beneficial Buddhist philosophy or pith teachings.  Maybe people could finally start to understand that our capitalist approach to life on planet earth is ultimately destructive, and that destruction does not lead to happiness. (Only creation does, and what lies beyond creation stage). I thought: Maybe—at this critical juncture in time, when the greed and destruction and ecocide and injustices are increasing due to a certain mob of billionaires—Mike White and his team could help turn the tide back toward wisdom and compassion. But I overlooked one main point, which is that Mike White never seems to offer hope. That’s not his niche. His niche seems to be: people suck. People suck so much they only want to watch programs that reconfirm their conviction that people suck.  I don’t share that view, and neither my mind nor my energy body enjoys riding that particular kind of train. 

 Yet there I was, nestling onto my sofa and clicking my way onto HBO. I watched Season 3 right after leading my own retreat at a Tibetan/Buddhist retreat center in the Catskills. My mind and heart were full of dharma, of the medicine of Dharma, of devotion for my teachers and the teachings, of gratitude for the beauty of this earth and all Her flowers that were starting to poke forth in the Northeast, and I was excited for some of these poor deluded White Lotus characters—the entitled guests, the earnest staff-- to have their minds and hearts blown open by this medicine, by these truths.    

But. I must say it: this series was not so much an exploration of Eastern religion as it was a presentation of Mike White’s (and/or the writers’ and/or their characters’) perceptions--and misperceptions--of Eastern religion.  I am speaking of Buddhism here, as that (Thai Theravadin Buddhism) seemed to be the primary  “source” of inspiration for the views presented in the show, even though we get a brief introduction to the Hindu deity Brahma at the forest shrine.

I should also point here that I am a long-term practitioner of Tibetan Buddhism and am ordained as a householder yogini.  I have not studied much Theravadin Buddhism; nor have I taught from that tradition, so I am not an expert in Theravadin teachings.  But from a broader Buddhist perspective, I can say that the picture of Buddhism that White and his team painted here is not 100% accurate. Maybe not even 50%.

 And I would love to know whether this ignorance was--if these misperceptions were--deliberate or not.  This is an HBO series, remember, so who is to say whether show’s writers and creators are truly ignorant of the true principles of Buddhism? Or if are they merely (and subtly) trying to show the Western characters’ deep ignorance?  (And please note that when I use the term “ignorance” I am not taking a derogatory stance; ignorance—viewed as a mental poising, is simply “mis-knowing,” as the wonderful American teacher and scholar Bob Thurman points out. It’s not knowing what we don’t yet know. It's misperceiving something untrue as an absolute truth. ) We obviously saw the latter—the deeply ingrained ignorance--displayed clearly and blithely and brilliantly through Parker Posey’s character, who remained pleasantly numb with privilege throughout the series.  Parker’s portrayal was genius—both stupefying and riveting--but also obviously satirical. She was the season’s Grande Ignoramus. (And she did so much with her eyes!)

But even the characters who are supposed to be Thai Buddhist (and therefore, we would assume, impart Buddhist wisdom)--most notably the main teacher (or even Ajahn?) at the monastery–-offer teachings that aren’t exactly Buddhist.  He tells Jason Isaac’s character that “When you’re born, you’re like a single drop of water... separated from the one giant consciousness.” He adds that when you die, you descend back into the water and become one with the ocean again. “No more separated, no more suffering. One consciousness . . . death is a happy return, like coming home.” 

This is a beautiful concept, and beautiful poetry. (Indeed, it sounds a lot like Rumi’s famous line: "You are not a drop in the ocean; you are the entire ocean in a drop,"  and it also sounds a tiny bit like Thích Nhất Hạnh.)  Too many Westerners, raised on this concept of “one life to live, followed by eternal hell or damnation” can fear death—the kind of fear that paralyzes--so this idea of returning painlessly to the source, of merging with the All, of the Mother and Child reunion, is a beautiful one to consider.  It opens us up to a flow of possibility, of solace. It releases the energetic constrictions of fear and terror.  So I understand how/that a realized master could compassionately offer this view of death as a way to bring solace to a visiting Westerner who is caught in the grips of fear and confusion and pondering death.  But this teacher would also have the option—dare I say the responsibility?—of bringing up the concept of karma.  Of cause and effect.  Of the cycle of samsara.  That we, based on our own mental afflictions—our kleshas--and actions in this life, will continue to reborn in realms or states of mind that reflect those past unpurified actions.  Until, of course, we attain liberation, and then we are free from the cycle.  As a Buddhist myself, I do not fear death, because my tradition offers many daily practices we can do to prepare our minds for the transference of consciousness. Death is not the same “unknown” for me as it is for many Westerners. 

Also, any teacher at this level would likely have a heightened level of perception and therefore know  that Jason’s character was contemplating suicide, and would therefore compassionately point out that suicide is never a solution; never an escape. To seek release from suffering through that method only brings on more suffering. Sorry to say, but that’s the View.  

 And please note I am not going to attempt to explain karma here, by the way. I am not a realized master and it’s a huge topic.  Maybe that is why Mike White chose to stay away from it altogether.  But, in doing so, he missed, well, a huge point and, in my humble opinion, did a great disservice to his audience and lost an opportunity to bend a lot of minds toward compassion.  Toward the power of compassion.  Toward the liberation of wisdom. (Again, no recrimination here...just observation). But then again, Jason Isaacs’ character did eventually choice not to pull a murder-suicide on his whole family, which is about as much moral compass as we can expect from a White Lotus, I guess.  So all of Mike White’s poor, suffering audience members, starved for hope and redemption in this degenerate times, are forced accept that this is all our misguided, deluded characters are capable of.  And remember: to choose not to harm is still one step up from choosing to cause harm. So good on ya, Timothy.  And Jason Isaacs was superb, by the way.  Both he and Parker Posey were brilliant with what was not said. 

Another concept of Buddhism that the show doesn’t seem to grasp is the concept—and practice of—renunciation. Our token white male incel proud-boy character—played by Patrick Schwarzenegger —tells his hapless younger brother that “Buddhism is for people that want to suppress in life. They’re afraid. Don’t get attached. Don’t have desires. Don’t even try. Just sit there in a lotus position with a thumb up your ass.”  This is the audience’s first spoken introduction to Buddhism, by the way. To give that role--that responsibility--to such a man as this is an interesting choice. Especially in these times, when another such a man is also propagandizing certain views.  And from a writing perspective, Saxon’s inaccurate point of view is never truly counter-balanced by an authentic householding character.  

Anyway: so renunciation is perhaps another misconception that many Western Christians commonly hold about Buddhism.  But renunciation is not so much pushing away or suppressing pr denying oneself; it’s not a form of Christian self-punishment or self- flagellation or giving up coffee for Lent.  Renunciation is more about recognizing at an ultimate level that destructive desire, insatiable need, addiction, attachment and aversions are mental poisons, are unskillful habituations, that lead to no ultimate satisfactions. Many of us live in a culture—capitalism—that has led us to believe that satisfying all of our desires, and “getting what we want,” and being more, and having more, is going to lead to happiness and inner peace.  Our proud-boy even says: “It’s good to want things…getting what you want in life, that’s happiness, bro.” Capitalism wants us to spend money, energy, and currency, and to keep spending, because Capitalism serves itself.  We are so accustomed to feeding our own insatiable desires that to even consider renouncing any of it feels like deprivation. Denial.  But hey, we’re Number One! We’re the Best We Can Be. We Deserve it All! We worked hard for this pleasure! We deserve our reward. Reward/punishment, reward/punishment. That’s a different system; a different cycle.  Renunciation is more like stepping out of that cycle.  I call it “stepping off the conveyer belt.”   We recognize that feeling our insatiable desires does not bring happiness.  We seek to let go of the clinging, the grasping, the tendency to define ourselves by our stuff, our looks, our status.  

 I know that I am giving a rather simplistic and crude description here, but I am just trying to explain what the misconception about renunciation typically is and to try to explain what it is not.  Renunciation is not an attitude of denying yourself something that will give you pleasure.  It’s not: see how virtuous I am? I am denying myself sex and cigarettes. Yay, me.  It’s about recognizing that pleasure—and pain—are temporary and learning how to stay in, well, a non-clinging state.  It’s best if you ask a master to explain, bro. :)  

So by having Piper—one of the few characters who is not wholly caught in the delusion of capitalism--decide not to spend a year at the monastery (because the food is bad?!?) Mike White gives the impression that he still seems to believe—or wants to continue to spread the message—that money can by lasting and enduring happiness. But according to “Eastern spirituality” it cannot.  Do you think the billionaires who are currently working together to destroy the planet do that because they are happy? Do you think the character Gaitok--who shot and killed a man despite his own Buddhist mindset--will now live happily ever after because he has a better job?  Do you think that the character of Belinda will now have happiness and success because she sacrificed her integrity and chose to allow herself to be blackmailed?  Sure, they can still engage in practices and meritorious actions that will help purify the negative karma they just accumulated, but their actions as they stand do not guarantee eternal glory. 

Some of you may be familiar with the well-known Four Immeasurables prayer, which start with “May all beings have happiness and the causes of happiness.  From a Buddhist perspective, the “causes of happiness” are—simply put—helping others.  The causes of unhappiness are—simply put—harming others. And unskillful behavior—lying, stealing, killing (to name a few), sexual misconduct, clouding the mind--harms others AND ourselves.  Our friend the Ajahn even says this in one of the episodes: “Violence does spiritual harm to the victim and the perpetrator. Buddhists believe: always nonviolence.”

But anyway, back to Piper’s choice (which honestly feels disingenuous—not a true-to-character choice but rather a true-to-director’s insincere plot-driven choice):  I’ve stayed in plenty of monasteries with unpalatable food, and I have stayed in monasteries with excellent food. I have stayed in ashrams in South India with two-inch mattresses and no AC and swarms of ants in my room (and I was able to chant them away, no harm done);  I have stayed in ashrams that served French crepes dusted with cacao powder and paired with fresh papaya juice. I have stayed in super-fancy Ayurvedic resorts where neighbors blare mantras and prayers from loudspeakers all night long, and ended up sleeping outside in a hammock to try in a quieter area of the resort. In all cases, what mattered was being near my Gurus. Or receiving the teachings. Or doing the practices.  Or volunteering to support the community. Capitalism wants us to place utmost important on not only physical comfort but on luxury.  Trust me, you can be happy in a hammock.  You can reach states of bliss in a hammock. You can become one with an ant, even, if that’s your thing.

 What we learn in these monastic settings, in these spiritual communities, is that we can find, within us, an innate bliss that has nothing to do with physical comfort.  We learn how to tap into states of wisdom and compassion. We don’t have to keep reacting to external circumstances—oh, ho it’s too hot:, oh, it’s too cold; oh, this food is not spicy; oh this food is too spicy; oh, no, he has sixpack abs and I don’t; oh no, her shoes are better than my shoes; oh no, that evil man whom the audience knows from the get-go is my father is acting like an evil man again; oh no, I better shoot him.....whatever it is.  In spiritual communities/meditation practice, we find the inner peace—yes, the inner peace you keep reading about in Pema Chodron books--that has nothing to do with how many likes you get on Instagram.  We find it within.

 Another big misconception about Buddhism tends to be this whole “life is suffering” thing. (The first of the Four Noble Truths).  People often think that Buddhists are downers, pessimists, nihilists, too serious no fun.  I remember years and years ago one of my Hindu teachers proclaiming that “Buddhists never laugh.”  (Not true. I’ll show you pictures...). When I first became Buddhist a few decades ago, I was definitely freaked out by this “life is suffering thing” because I felt that I was already overwhelmed by suffering. I was maxed out with suffering.  Can’t we just cut straight to the happiness, please? I wasn’t ready—or so I thought—to take that on as a Truth.  But then one of my teachers—I think it was Bob Thurman again—pointed out that an alternate translation was: In life, there is suffering.  That I could take in. That I could agree with.  Not happily, at times, but it’s certainly true. And the good news is that the Buddhist teachings offer us ways to liberate ourselves (and all beings) from that suffering.  (The Fourth Noble Truth).  This is slightly different from how this teaching was portrayed in White Lotus. 

 Our friend the Ajahn says something to the effect of that there is no real resolution to life’s questions/issues/problems. He says we should just be patient and accept that.  And the acceptance statement is correct—my main Tibetan teacher is always encouraging us to acknowledge and accept our circumstances exactly as they are. No attraction, no aversion, no story, no denial: just accept.  (Easier said than done, for most Westerners) But The Third Noble Truths state that the cessation of suffering is possible and that the way is the Noble Eightfold Path.  So even if, according to White Lotus, there is no resolution, according to the Buddha, there is.  Just something to think about.    

 A lot of us were charmed by—and rooting for—the sweet character of Gaitok—a native Thai householder who truly lived, practiced, and understood the Buddhist teachings.  How refreshing it was to see such non-toxic versions of masculinity on screen! (Gaitok and Pornchai). But of course, in the hands of destroying-creator Mike White (and his toxic world view), Gaitok’s purity was corrupted.  To me, as a Buddhist who has taken Buddhist vows—and understands the karmic repercussions of violating those vows—this seemed implausible. Even impossible.  As in: no way could he or would he shoot to kill. But not every Buddhist is a perfect Buddhist, and it’s very hard to hold all the vows in such a world as the one were in.  (Just look at that character Frank, who totally went off the cushion, as we say, and then hopped back on.)  In desperate times, we can make desparate choices.

I also have to remind myself that Mike White is not a Buddhist. Again, this is not a criticism: this is just to say that Buddhism is a very different mindset from the Western mindsight in which most Americans have been indoctrinated.  So it would be challenging for a non-Buddhist writer to truly capture a Buddhist character.  From what I understand, Mike White has not practiced Buddhism but has “read some books” about it.  And the Buddha himself stressed that one should practice the methods--not just believe them. It’s best to experience the Buddhist teachings; ie: the Noble Eightfold Path.  Once a practitioner has experienced the true benefit of Right Motivation or Right Action, for example, it would be (to me at least) impossible to revert to unskillful behaviors, such as shooting someone just to win a girl or get a better job.

What I found most disturbing—and misogynistic—is that White tried to essentially “place the blame” for Gaitok’s corruption on a woman, the “ambitious” Mook—who might as well have been named Mara--and who, uncharacteristically for Thai culture, believes that “violence is a part of life.” Her character was also confusing and disappointing, but Mike White’s team has not been successful in accurate portrayals of women, IMHO.

 And while we’re on the topic of misogyny—I’ll just briefly say that it’s gotten worse in the past two seasons.  What’s with all the closeups on butts, Mike? And what’s with the female-in-orgasm soundtrack? Yes, HBO is famous for its misogynist gaze, but weren’t you wanting to explore Eastern spirituality?  

 But back to violence.  Yes, it’s a theme of this season. Several characters are fairly stewing in the impulse for much of the show.  Did any character in this series truly practice non-violence (of body, speech, or mind)?  A few of the therapists did, as far as we witnessed.  But I realize—as I write this essay at the request of a student—Mike White did not write this series to be of benefit to all sentient beings; or to offer any true Buddhist wisdom as a way to help lead viewers out of their own suffering.  Mike White writes for himself, and for HBO perhaps.  I’m not criticizing; just saying. Right now a lot of Buddhist teachers are offering commentary online on this season, but we should perhaps bear in mind that Mike White’s motivation was not to liberate others. It was, perhaps, to entertain. Or to....drumroll please...make money. Which is the dominant game which most of us are trapped in. 

 I also question the motivations and actions of the character Belinda.  When we met her in Season One, she was presented as a sensitive, grounded and open-hearted healer, who chants the Gayatri mantra in decent Sanskrit. In Season Three, she is still technically a healer, hoping to pick up some “tips” for the Hawaii spa, but from a Buddhist perspective she willingly and readily destroys any merit she may have accumulated as a healer by agreeing to allow a crook and a murderer to buy her silence.  Both she and her son are presented as Christians, and maybe Mike White is trying to show that from the Christian view one can engage in destructive acts, trusting that all will be forgiven by Jesus and the afterlife will be eternal heaven, no matter how you behave on earth.  (Many Fascists, for example, call themselves Christian.) Or maybe Mike White is just extra flexible when it comes to tossing aside his characters’ commitments to morality, and twisting their authentic character arcs to serve a show’s implausible plot points. All I can say is that—as a Sowa Rigpa therapist—I have been taught that any time a healer or doctor lies or steals or behaves unskillfully, s/he is actually reducing her/his efficacy—and potency—as a healer.  And if Belinda’s character were truly a tapped-in energy healer, she would already have understood this. I also want to ask: if she does end up opening a spa with her blood money, who is to say it would succeed?  Would you want to go to a spa knowing that its origins are connected to the hush up of a murder? Would that be a truly healing environment?  Buddhists--and other followers of traditions that hold an understanding of karma and reincarnation—hold their own selves accountable for their own actions; their own happiness; their own quality of life. All these decisions that these characters make for the sake of money—they’re worshipping a false god. It’s not a path to true liberation. 

 The series does have a few nice moments here and there. I appreciate that Mike White is giving a plug to the books of the great Buddhist teacher Ani Pema Chodron, whose classics WHEN THINGS FALL APARTand START WHERE YOU ARE have transformed many a life, including my own.  

And sure, maybe Maybe Mike’s motivation here was not bodhicitta, but simple director-ly cleverness. It’s possible that White only included those titles because it’s a clever way to foreshadow plot. (For example, we see the Saxon character holding a copy of WHEN THINGS FALL APART shortly before the family crisis to come. Perfect product placement.) But whatever the motivation, I am sure that many, many viewers can benefit from reading her works. 

 I also appreciate the Ajahn’s teachings to the Western students, even though he’s offering a sort of watered-down spirituality that’s not strictly Theravadin. Still, what is says could be beneficial for people to hear.  The time to wake up is now, after all.    

 I also like it when Lochlan asks, “But what if this life is just a test to see if we can become better people?” (Even though he seems to be lusting after his sister; never mind his encounters with his brother. Go, Tar Heels!).  

 To me, the most spiritual moment in the whole series is when the Quinn character--in season one—points out, in agony, that one billion animals died in the Australian wildfires and asks: “Where does all that pain go?” This one line of dialogue struck me as a true statement—a genuine question of angst--which came from a writer’s heart, from her or his pain. It was one second of truth in a series full of snark and falsehood and ickiness.  I wish there were more such moments in this series, even if the series is meant to be satire. 

 And as an aside: isn’t it interesting that, in Mike White’s series, it’s always the awkward young white men who get to have the most sincere lines and the most open hearts, whereas the females just get to pant and moan on the soundtrack. Except the Chelsea character, of course. She was sweet.

 Anyway, in terms of where all that pain goes: it’s a great question.  And Buddhism has an answer. But White Lotus decides not to go there. So I’d go so far to say that this series, at an ultimate level, just creates more pain.  As does much television. So, to recover from having watched yet another energy-draining season of White Lotus, I am going to rewatch one of my favorite dharma films, the 2003 South Korean masterpiece: SPRING, SUMMER, FALL, WINTER...AND SPRING.

If you’d like to learn more about how the Buddhist path translates into daily life--how it’s more than just sitting in lotus with a thumb up your ass (yo, Duke!), I highly recommend this meditative gem.