The Zennist

What counts

The term unconditioned awareness is a misnomer.  It is better to say awareness of the unconditioned in sharp contrast to to awareness of conditions or the same, conditioned reality.  

Awareness can only become what it beholds.  If, on the other hand, we can shift our awareness to gaze upon the unconditioned, seeing it to be empty of phenomena, then we are no longer embodied in the way of clinging to the sensory body of our birth.  This is the cause of liberation.

More fundamental, awareness, because it is beholding conditioned reality such as our temporal body, is bound up with the body and the next one and so on (i.e. rebirth).  No part of it is free or liberated.  

Neither awareness nor mindfulness are floating out there free and unconditioned of what they perceive.  Since our birth, if our awareness has been turned towards the sensory world—that is all it can perceive.  Accordingly, being aware means nothing in this regard.  Only being aware or mindful of what transcends the sensory world counts in Buddhism.

Moving to religious nihilism

Is modern Buddhism being overrun by nihilists who, although not calling themselves ‘nihilists’, appear to embrace the tenets of nihilism?  While I admit that the general notion of nihilism is troublesome in as much as it is hard to nail down so that it rings clear, nevertheless, it has a few distinguishing marks that come to the fore.

To define nihilism succinctly one could say that concerning absolute truth, the nihilist understands that there is none—and even it there were some kind of true reality, there is no means by which to apperceive it.  For example, truth, if it is actual, cannot be reached by faith or through epistemology (i.e., knowledge as a means to truth).  We humans, in other words, lack the capacity to realize truth which if put into the context of Buddhism means it is impossible to awaken as the Buddha did.  

In a general sense, the nihilist accepts that we lack any ability to overcome contingency and suffering which awakening (sambodhi) would naturally overcome by realizing the transcendent Buddha-nature.  Accordingly, by rejecting that awakening is even possible, a Buddhist who embraces nihilism might conclude that we humans have only the ability to recognize and accept contingency and suffering—moreover, that only in death is finality reached which he takes to be nirvana.

As paradoxical as this might sound, nihilism holds out hope in the utter finality of death as against rebirth (a Buddhist nihilist would never accept the idea of rebirth).  And this is the main attraction of nihilism, that it should treat death as a kind of bio-psychical free fall which attains annihilation without remainder even erasing all previous karma.  What is striking, is that with a selective and careless reading of Buddhism, one can find support for this position such that Buddhism can be thought of as religious nihilism—although it is not, by any stretch of the imagination. 

The standard spiel

Students who attend a university course on comparative religion, at some point, usually get the standard spiel that the Buddha denied the Hindu self or Atman.  Unfortunately for the student, the way the topic of self or atman is framed in these kinds of academic courses is reprehensible—which is also misleading.  But perhaps more importantly, the topic of self in Buddhism is a sectarian matter and should be treated as such.  There is no concrete evidence in the canons of Buddhism that the Buddha categorically denied the self.  Self deniers arrive on the scene of Buddhism after the Buddha’s passing.

Clearing this up, what the Buddha addressed in his many discourses was the problem of identifying self with what was not the self (an-atta/an-atma).  The Buddhist scholar Erich Frauwallner describes it this way:

“He [the Buddha] does not say that we should know the true self, but that we must not regard as the self (âtmâ, P. attâ) that which is not the self.  For otherwise craving clings to this false self, and thus brings about an entanglement in the cycle of beings.  And salvation takes place not through our becoming conscious of the true self, but through our recognizing as not-self (anatmâ, P. anattâ) all that is falsely regarded as the self, and so detaching desire therefrom” (Geschichte der indischen Philosophie, vol. I, 1953).

More fundamental to the problem of identifying with what is not the self is the problem with our everyday sensory awareness which constantly identifies with false reality as if it were true.  In this regard, I would go so far as to say the practice of Buddhism is a strategy for breaking our awareness of its habit of identifying with the domain of what is not the self.  

This domain comprises gross phenomena, called rupa, and continues to the grade of rarefied phenomena which is sensory consciousness (vijnana), that is, fluctuating consciousness.  This domain or field the Buddha refers to as the Five Aggregates (Skt., skandha).  And all of it is a kind of grand magical creation that has us psychically entranced so that we are constantly living under its a spell.

Let me stop here and mention that the Buddha made it clear that we should not identify with the false self in the form of the Five Aggregates beginning with form or shape (rupa) and ending with consciousness (vijnana) for truly the self is not these.  Citing an example, not once, in the following, does the Buddha say there is no self—only that I am not any of the Five Aggregates.

“But monks, an instructed disciple of the pure ones...regards material shape as: ‘This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self;’ he regards feeling as:  'This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my  self; he regards perception as: 'This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my  self;’ he regards the habitual tendencies as: 'This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my  self;’ he regards consciousness as: This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my  self.’  And also he regards whatever is see, heard, sensed, cognised, reached, looked for, pondered by the mind as: This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my  self.” (M. i. 136).

Here, we can see that while I am aware of material shape (rupa), I don’t regard it as my self (atma).  I don’t identify with it, in other words.  As sensory awareness, I am breaking my habit of getting seduced by the grand magical creation I perceive all around me which has me entranced.  And while I am aware of things, including the sensations of my body, I understand that they are not me.  For what is the self must be unchanging and free of suffering.  The body, i.e., the Five Aggregates, on the other hand, don't qualify in this regard!

I need to conclude here by saying that with the wrong understanding of self in Buddhism a wrong teaching can emerge which the Buddha never taught.  This wrong teaching seems to have found its way partially in academe.

The extraordinary tail

The psychophyscial entity we like to think of as “me” is neither real nor unreal which makes it an appearance.  It it were real it would be unchanging ultimate reality (tathata); if unreal, it would just be like a sky-flower which doesn’t actually exist.  

Considering the foregoing, how might we comprehend ultimate reality, directly?  If we think about this a little, what would we comprehend it with—our temporal body which is neither real nor unreal?  This won’t work since it is an appearance.  There has to be another way.

Nothing which comes before our sensory awareness is anything except appearance.  Even this awareness is, itself, an appearance.  Yet, it is not impossible to fully comprehend ultimate reality.  In some respects, this situation resembles the 38th koan from the Wu-men kuan (trans., Steven Hein).

“Suppose that you dreamed a water buffalo walked through the frame of a window. Although the water buffalo's head, horns, and four legs all pass through, why does only the tail not?”

If we accept that the water buffalo represents ultimate reality (tathata) or the same, pure Mind, it has already transcended finite reality. That’s no problem—we accept it.  The problem, instead, lies with us and our conception of the buffalo’s extraordinary tail.  In a nutshell, the tail represents our awareness of our sensory awareness—or just sensory awareness.  The tail remains untransformed.  Because the tail is an appearance, the tail of the buffalo will not pass through the frame of a window.

By working through this koan we might eventually come to shift our awareness off of sensory awareness.  This, of course, is not easy.  To be honest, it is extraordinarily difficult.  Our sensory awareness is deeply habituated to observing appearance.  It knows no other way of looking.  It is as if we were living in a trance, programmed to always attend appearance—never the true ground of appearance, that is, ultimate reality. 

America's real religion?

Hedonism is more than likely America's real religion.  Hedonism asks, “How might I find a sufficient amount of pleasure to counter my suffering?  Alcohol, drugs, gluttony, sexual extremism, consumerism, and wealth accumulation, to name a few, all count as hedonic antidotes to suffering.  But this is somewhat like a physician giving someone who is morbidly obese, a box of chocolates or a cake.  

Only by attending to the antecedents of suffering such as to remove them or add what is lacking (e.g., adding certain vitamins to one's diet), can we hope to quench it.  Palliatives won’t work in the long run—nor will a box of chocolates and a cake (or their combination).  

Palliation, which is the hedonist’s cure-all for what what ails you, only manages to cover up suffering.  It doesn’t remove it.  If fact, palliation may actually increase suffering. 

Beyond the three marks

 

In meditation, as we look within at our temporal body we observe that there is nothing other than impermanence (anitya), disturbance (duhkha), and the absence of a perdurable self (anatman).   

 

Try as we might, continually observing this field, we are unable to see anything close to being permanent, non-suffering (duhkha), and the self.  In other words, we keep coming back to the three marks of finite, conditioned existence which is rendered in Sanskrit as, tri-laksana.

 

So, is this all there is, namely, the three marks?  Some Buddhists believe this is all there is (for example, the Abhidhammattha-sangaha, according to C. Rhys Davids).  Since birth such people have witnessed nothing else.  Unwilling to keep an open mind, they are convinced that there is no other shore beyond this miserable one constituted by trilaksana.  However, this is a rather a strange position to take given that the Buddha speaks of “The further shore, which is safe and free from danger...a designation for nirvana” (S. iv. 175).

 

Let’s turn back to meditation.  For one who is awakened, who looks upon their temporal body, they observe the three marks of finite existence (trilaksana) but they also see, in a matter of speaking, a perfectly empty field devoid of everything but nevertheless substantial.  And when an awakened one views this empty field, they know they are this—not the temporal body falling under the category of trilaksana.  

 

For one who is awakened it is axiomatic that what we perceive we become.  If all that we perceive is the three marks of conditioned existence this becomes our burden—there is nothing else.  To be sure, there is no escape.  If, on the other hand, we’ve landed on the other shore, which is nirvana, we become this, i.e., nirvana.  This comes as a result of seeing more in meditation than the three marks of existence; having passed beyond their pale into a pure medium that is so empty it has to be directly experienced since words are inadequate to describe it.  

 

It is fair to say that those who wish to remain steadfastly attached to the three marks of conditioned existence—seeing only impermanence, suffering and the absence of self—fear to make the crossing to the other shore.  Moreover, they bring great harm to the Buddha’s teaching if, as Buddhists, they claim there is no other shore or beyond.  Hasn’t the Buddha said in the Dhammapada (176), “One who has turned their back on the world beyond (paraloka)—there is no evil they will not do”?  

 

 

Physicians of the mind

Unfortunately, what Westerners have in their toolbox for handling mental suffering of various degrees is limited.  Indeed, Western psychology has not managed to be very effective since it deals with symptoms and not probable causes, causes which may, in fact, have more to do with an ethos that promotes harm instead of compassion.  

Buddhism in these last decades has made some inroads into Western psychology adding to its toolbox such tools as meditation.  But Buddhism has other effective tools.  And we should keep in mind that Buddhist monks and nuns, in their own right, are psychologists.

Historically speaking, Buddhist monks and nuns have always been considered to be “manaso bhishak” (physicians of the mind).  But it is from the side of spirit, that is, the numinous that they are considered to be such.  In other words, they are not like Western psychologists.  On this same note, Buddhist therapeutics remains more extensive as compared with what the West has to offer.  Such therapy include forms of meditative introspection and other such exercises.

Buddhist physicians of the mind also understand that excessive desire for the sensual is a cause of one’s downfall.  To put this more precisely, the goal of Buddhism is to liberate beings from their attraction to suffering causing conditions by showing them nirvana.  This, of course, puts Buddhism at odds with Western capitalism which is premised on the production of excessive desire which one could argue is evil since it causes, in the long run, harm.  

As mental physicians, Buddhist monks and nuns first learn to heal themselves seeing firsthand what is more important from the aspect of ultimate reality than from the side of materialism.  I hasten to add that modern day monks and nuns like Thich Nhat Hanh and Pema Chodron fall into the general category of “physicians of the mind”, including other monks and nuns who have first followed the Buddhist path extensively; who also have looked within having found in this depth, a recipe for mental health.

As far as it dares to go

The changes in Buddhism the West seems inclined to make, which indicates that some of Buddhism is alien to its value system, are the following:

1.  Eliminate the doctrine of karma including the idea of rebirth.

2.  Eliminate all traces of mysticism in Buddhism since it is unscientific.

3.  Buddhism should be embraced as a form of agnosticism.

4.  Fundamentally, Buddhism is a psychological self-help teaching.

I could add a few more changes but this should suffice for now.  At any rate, Buddhism is still trying to find its place in Western culture behaving more like a humble immigrant learning the ways of the West.  The West, naturally, wants Buddhism to be a good immigrant and value its Western values.  But if Buddhism did that, it wouldn’t be Buddhism.

Thus far, Buddhism has found a niche in self-help psychology.  And this is about as far as it dares to go.  Still, there is much more to Buddhism which is entirely mystical. According to the Zen Buddhist scholar, Heinrich Dumoulin, “The mystical element is an essential part of Buddhism.”  

In light of the above, I can understand why Buddhism can’t show its mystical side which if you took it out of the Buddhist canon, the latter would be the size of a comic book.  Westerners, by and large, are uncomfortable with introspection, to say nothing of noetic introspection, that is, looking within for the pure Mind as the numinous, universal substance.  Their inner being is more than often a riot of emotions, fears, and desires such that they can’t imagine any other state of being.  And no amount of coaxing will work either unless it is external involving some form of physical exercise such as doing prostrations or sitting meditation (J., zazen).  

In time this may all change.  But right now the typical Westerner who thinks they are practicing Buddhism is really practicing a Westernized form of Buddhism that hardly fits the measure of the Buddhism contained in its canons.  In such a situation, when teaching Westerners, the only thing a good Buddhist teacher can do is smile, remembering the Lotus Sutra, saying to himself, “They think this is the Isle of the Jewels—such is not.”

In the meantime, one has to guard against the those who want to reform Buddhism, essentially tossing most of the Buddhist canon into the trash bin as if it were the utterances of a madman that no longer serves any purpose in this fast, efficient modern world of uncompromising scientific materialism.

Zen twittering

Twitter, according to Wikipedia "is a social networking and micro-blogging service created by then Cornell student Jack Dorsey that enables its users to send and read other users' updates known as tweets.”

A more honest overview of Twitter is that as a “micro-blogging service” it fits the needs of those who don’t know much about anything and wish to prove it.  

While Twitter has great potential, it generally does not tweet sweet songs but mainly unreflective chirps and churrs.  Don’t get me wrong—there is nothing wrong with nature’s chirping and churring.  They are a byproduct of Buddha-nature.  In this respect, they are potential awakeners (remember that Hakuin, the Zen master, heard the churr of a cricket and was profoundly awakened).  In fact, they are right up there with the Japanese Haiku poet Matsu Basho’s splash.  

Ancient pond unstirred
Into which a frog has plunged,
A splash was heard.

Yes—splashes, too, can be awakeners.  But back to Twitter and tweets.

The most exciting part of Twitter is #Buddhism.  And talk about fulfilling the needs of those who don’t know much about Buddhism and want to prove it with a tweet—here is the ideal spot.

My favorite Buddhist tweet up to this point is this one: “Are you tired of reading beautiful words on Buddhism that don't speak to you about your life?”  It comes from a Zennist who apparently follows the teachings of Dogen Zenji of whom I am not particularly fond for a number of reasons.  But that is another subject.

What caught my eye about this tweet is how subtly it turns Buddhism (in particular Zen) on its head in as much as Zen is really about dumping the me and my life—not about preserving it or demanding that Buddhism serve its needs.  To illustrate this in a down home way, when I was a young whippersnapper, I enjoyed reading the beautiful words of Buddhism.  More importantly, my life—the ME—wasn’t having such a good time as promised by pop culture.  In fact, I was willing to junk the me for a higher me that was in tune with the universe.  This is why I got into Zen.  I wanted to trade in my consumer me for a spiritual model.  

Never once did I think that Buddhism is not speaking to me or my life.  At 20, I understood that my brain was not my own but was actually programmed to be a consumer brain of which I wanted no part.  I also realized that I was under the spell of Mr. Hormone who has a charming way of making hormone induced madness seem like love.  But this fellow is another subject.

Back to the tweet under discussion.  If you honestly believe that Buddhism is not speaking to you about your life, don’t get involved with it.  You are not yet ready for the challenge of Buddhism which will strip away all that is not you leaving you, instead, with the heart of a Bodhisattva (which of course can’t be stripped away).  To be sure, it is a painful process in proportion to our strong desire to cling to what is not really who we are—but one will worth it in the end. 

From an incorporeal perspective

For anyone who wishes to practice mindfulness of breathing as described in the Anapanasati Sutta (M. iii. 78–79) it is almost impossible to make any sense of the underpinnings of the practice especially with regard to the preliminary instruction of "placing mindfulness in front of him" (P., parimukham satim upatthahanto).  Indeed, this one passage can be taken in so many ways it boggles the mind.  

The source of the problem points to the word, "mukha" which has a number of definitions/synonyms such as the following: mouth, opening aperture, entrance into or egress out, the fore part, front, head, chief, principle, best, beginning, source, cause, occasion of, a means, the original cause or source of the action, etc.  

Next, when we marry the prefix pari to mukha (in Sanskrit it would probably be prati-mukha) the meaning becomes even more troublesome to untangle as it applies specifically to meditation.

The old Pali commentaries which try to explain the recondite term, “mukha” including “pari” by giving us a number of choices fares no better.  To be sure, the proper notion seems altogether lacking.  And some renderings of parimukha such as "around the mouth" are perhaps too literal.  For example, being around-the-mouth-mindful (parimukhasati) doesn't seem to work within the framework of the Satipatthana Sutta when applied to overcoming mental disturbances (nivârana) or accessing the divine abodes.

My own reading of the term parimukham satim leans strongly to the notion that attending to the body by way of being aware or mindful (sati/smriti) means being antecedent or anterior to the body’s workings both physical and mental.  In short, this is the development of detachment.  A fair rendering of parimukham satim upatthahanto  might read, setting up mindfulness antecedently or in terms of the entire body itself, to be prior to it, including its respiration.

It seems logical that mentally following the breath ties one to the finite body.  This makes little or no sense since our attention is being given to a temporal condition not a transcendent one such as nirvana.  The Buddha, in fact, calls in-breathing and out-breathing an activity of the body (M. i. 301) and speaks of stopping (nirodha) the activity of the body—not following it.  If we are potentially not subject to birth and death since we possess the Buddha-nature or Tathagata potentiality, why must we follow the breath by focusing on the mouth, lip, or the nose?  The right direction to take is one that makes us look at the body from an incorporeal perspective.

Instead of following the breath, we should set up our meditation so as to place our attention (sati/smriti) before or around (pari) the entire body in which respiration is but a part of it.  Regarding this, it is noteworthy that the Pali Text Society’s Pali-English Dictionary translates “parimukham satim upatthapetum” with “to surround oneself with watchfulness of mind” (672).

Incidentally, I have meditated this way for years the result being that eventually there is established a clear distinction between my awareness (sati/smriti) and the mortal body.  And I agree with the Buddha who said of this particular meditation that one “develops the link in awakening that is mindfulness and is dependent on aloofness, dependent on detachment, dependent on cessation and abandoning...the link in awakening that is energy...is rapture...”(M. iii. 88).