The Zennist

For the mystic God is dead

Mysticism cannot and should not be restricted to Christian mysticism in which case it would follow that the truths contained in the Upanishads and Buddhism would be excluded since for both there is no communion with the Judeo-Christian God.  Along this trail, for the mystic of the Upanishads and the Buddhist direct contact with the absolute is prior to the descriptive process which falls squarely into the inherent inadequacies of language.  Said differently, in direct mystical intuition there can be no God, a word which is already stained by language and superstition, cutting against true mysticism.

Mysticism should strike us as a leap into the absolute stuff that is hidden by its pluralization into sensory phenomena—its sundering, in other words.  No God need apply for this original, dynamic stuff.  The belief and worship of God would only alter the true mystical path.  

Past claims of mystical union with God are arguably false claims insofar as such mystical union begs the question of God thus elevating the signifier above direct and final gnosis.  This exposes a confusing rift in mysticism itself, a "difference between mysticism as doctrine (however refined and philosophically analytical) and mysticism as experience (expressible only in approximation by the use of contradictory terms)," according to  Karel Werner (The Yogi and the Mystic, p. 13).

Yet on a note of irony, we can say the Christian Meister Eckhart's breakthrough to the nothingness of the godhead and Zen master Tung-shan's, "Beyond delusion and enlightenment" both fall into the category of "mysticism as experience" when everything is transcended.

"Like Zen Buddhism the Christian via negativa mysticism of Eckhart requires complete detachment from all things—not only from the internal ego and external objects but also from all holy images, symbols, and archetypes, even the representations of Jesus, the Cross, the Virgin Mary, the saints, or God himself, and all the feeling of love, reverence, and joy they inspire, for all must be emptied into the godhead of nothingness beyond God" (Odin, Artistic Detachment in Japan and the West, p. 127).

To reiterate, when all determinate being is emptied out, the 'no-thingness' of the absolute stuff or substance is what alone remains.  Yet, strictly speaking it is not just nothing like abstract absence—far from it.  It's no wonder then that Meister Eckhart was excommunicated in 1329 by the Church, a year after his death!  

True mysticism always points to what is beyond and transcends religious doctrine for obvious reasons.  Mysticism that makes gnosis subordinate to religious doctrine will always be incomplete.  To chain mysticism to religious dogma, as if to validate the latter, is the evil of religion.

The alluring coils of desire

 Desire in Buddhism is a strong, over attraction towards what lacks any vestige of true or ultimate reality.  Using Hua-yen monk Fa-tsang’s golden lion to illustrate what I mean, those who have fallen under the spell of desire see only the lion-shape together with its intricate details.   The more they look at this wondrous lion’s details, the more they become bound to it.  But a Buddha sees this lion much differently.  There is no lion present for a Buddha.  There is only the substance of pure gold which the one under the spell of desire is unable to see or even imagine.  

We could say that the very presence of the phenomenal world which appears devoid of substance is the potency of desire.  Using Fa-tsang's golden lion again, the lion-shape is the phenomenal world which hides the pure substance of gold by means of desire.  On the same score, non-desire is seeing some or all of the gold.  More exactly, non-desire is an inner illumination of the absolute substance by which the bewitching power of phenomena is reduced.  During the first illumination (bodhicitta) phenomenality is realized to fall within the power of the luminous substance just as the golden lion is dependent on the substance of gold.

Ordinary beings (prithagjana) are always suffering from desire.  For them the universe of desire is infinite and unending—a thing of wonder.  It is like a powerful addiction which can only end if the true substance of reality is made contact with in some measure.  But making contact with such a reality is not so easy.  Any attempt to do so is more than often rejected by established religion if the history of religion is to be trusted which doesn’t paint a very good picture of mysticism insofar as it leads away from the senses and imagination to the absolute substance.  In the case of Buddhism the mystical path leads away from the Five Aggregates of form, feeling, perception, volitions, and consciousness.  

Another reason for the unpopularity of mysticism in established religion, is the path of mysticism doesn’t require the mediation of priests who can only minister to those deeply absorbed in desire’s alluring coils.  The job of this priesthood is really to repackage true religion, which is based on mysticism, making out of it a ladder of desire that will climb to the most desirous and complete of all desires, namely, God—he who listens to our prayers born of desire.

War addicts: par deux

During the Buddha’s time, killing was often done at close range.  One had to kill one’s own species in a kind of death dance while fearing to be either pierced or cut.  The soldier’s mind had to be turned towards overcoming his natural resistance to killing a fellow human when the opportunity came to strike him.  The soldier’s mind also had to be turned to the elaborate dance of death with his sword or spear in which a wrong move could be fatal.  Such a mind could either be indifferent, if not altogether detached or, in the Buddha’s words it could be filled by the thought, “May these men be slaughtered, annihilated, destroyed.”  If the latter dominated the soldier’s mind, upon his own death in battle, according to the Buddha, he would go either to one of two destinations:  hell or the womb of an animal.

Placing the heavy burden of killing on the minds of soldiers is a terrible thing to do.  It cannot be adequately justified when the wars they are ordered to fight in are not defensive; waged, instead, far away from their homeland.  Surely the burden of killing does not fall upon anyone except the soldier-executioner who may kill a non-combatant, accidently.  To be sure, the burden of killing does not fall upon the government that ordered the soldiers to war or the citizens who often could not care less.  

All of the horror of combat and killing is borne solely by the soldier who will never recover from the remorse that daily haunts him.  This is aptly illustrated by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman in his book, On Killing (p. 87).

William Manchester, author and U.S. Marine Corps veteran of World War II, felt remorse and shame after his close-range personal killing of a Japanese soldier.  “I can remember,” he wrote, “whispering foolishly, ‘I’m sorry’ and then just throwing up...I threw up all over myself.  It was a betrayal of what I’d been taught since a child.”  Other combat veterans tell of the emotional responses associated with a close-range kill that echo Manchester’s horror.

Betrayal is a fitting term.  All soldier’s are being asked by their government to betray every ounce of their humanity; to be open to having a horrible burden placed on their souls for the rest of their lives in which they might even face the likelihood of a bad rebirth.  No priest or psychologist can remove the horrible remorse of having killed another being.  The degree of such remorse becomes apparent in the following conversation from On Killing (p. 88).

The magnitude of the trauma associated with killing became particularly apparent to me in an interview with Paul, a VFW post commander and sergeant of the 101st Airborne at Bastogne in World War II.  He talked freely about his experiences and about comrades who had been killed, but when I asked him about his own kills he stated that usually you couldn’t be sure who it was that did the killing.  Then tears welled up in Paul's eyes, and after a long pause he said, “But the one time I was sure...” and then his sentence was stopped by a little sob, and pain racked the face of this old gentleman.  “It still hurts, after all these years?”  I asked in wonder.  “Yes,” he said, “after all these years.”....You know, the question you’re asking, you must be very careful not to hurt anyone with these questions.  Not me, you know, I can take it, but some of these young guys are still hurting very badly.  These guys don’t need to be hurt anymore.”  These memories were the scabs of terrible, hidden wounds in the minds of these kind and gentle men.

In light of the above, understanding the damage a justified war is capable of inflicting on the souls of combatants, citizens addicted to the excitement of war who permit their government to capriciously use soldiers in questionable non-defensive wars, to colonize, essentially, other countries, are really saying they don’t care about the spiritual well being of their soldiers.  Such an attitude is morally reprehensible but it is understandable insofar people have not been educated sufficiently about the real costs of war; how horribly it burns and disfigures the soul.

Meaningless religion

 If we lived in a cartoon or anime world true religion would teach us how to access our real, flesh and blood, human world, that is, how to wake up from the enchantment of the cartoon world.  Short of not waking up, what would be the point of a cartoon religion for us?  It would only keep us glued to the cartoon world.

Turning now to the human world, if the true path of religion is supposed to show us what actually transcends this all-too-human world of birth and death, with a lot of suffering thrown in for good measure, what would be the ultimate benefit of a religion that didn’t teach a proper path to the transcendent or sold us on the idea of some rescuer God who, if we obey his many weird rules, might save us after we drop dead? 

There wouldn’t be any benefit as I see it.  Any religion that didn’t lay out a path to the transcendent would be meaningless.  Such a religion could only sell fear to increase its membership as in, “If you don’t believe in God, after you die you are going to go to hell to be tormented by God’s unmerciful counterpart, the Devil.”

Presently, looking at the evidence, we have a number of meaningless religions that don’t teach a path involving initial illumination (bodhicitta), the removal of defilements which obstruct the fullness of illumination (prajñaparamita), and complete perfection (samyaksambodhi), that is, actually seeing the world from the standpoint of ultimate reality.

Regrettably, the evidence also includes some practices of Buddhism when, for example, seated meditation is believed to be synonymous with the attainment of Buddhahood if we just sit still on a cushion.  Other such forms include chanting the title of a particular Sutra.  In truth, seated meditation or chanting the title of a Sutra amount to exercises in meaninglessness.  They don’t help us to see for ourselves what exactly transcends this corporeal body of birth and death. 

War addicts

The United States has been engaged in four major wars since the end of World War II.  The rationalizations for the first two wars, Korea and Vietnam, were situated in the context of the spread of Communism and how to stop it.  The reasons for the last two wars, Afghanistan and Iraq, were based on terrorism.  At least this is what the public was lead to believe.

The overall reasons for going to war are often unclear, being interwoven with unsupported claims and false histories, except in the case of a direct, unprovoked attack on one’s homeland which makes war in this case, both necessary and defensive.  In this same vein, a disharmonious and unprosperous peace certainly makes a fertile ground for sowing the seeds of future wars by those who are drawn to war.

On a more down to earth human level there is perhaps another reason for war, one not heard of by the public ear.  It comes by way of what is termed “combat addiction” which for now we shall call “war addiction. ”  It occurs when those in the top levels of the military become addicted to the exhilaration of preparing for and going to war; who want to be at its epicenter so they can feel the combat high.  Here, those in the military who suffer from war addiction take great pleasure and enjoyment in the thrill of so-called ‘shock and awe’ when bombs find their targets and many die.

War addiction has a way of spreading to civilians, too, especially among men who have inadequate personalities; who suffer from the fantasy that violence, combat, and war are in someway manly and heroic.  They, too, are suffering from war addiction; perhaps at an unconscious level.  They collect and use guns, watch war movies, and even engage in graphic fantasy games rife with violence and killing.  But as with any addiction which is an over-dependence on a drug, war addiction, which is purely psychological, is an over-dependence on war to such a extreme that everything else must take a back-seat.

Let it be granted that the United States is suffering from war addiction considering the number of wars it has engaged in since the end of World War II.  Following this out nothing, therefore, seems as important as meeting the war addict’s needs who is part of the so-called military-industrial complex.  While opinions may differ as to the degree of such an addiction, our attention should rest on what harm this addiction is doing to our society.  The evidence seems overwhelming that it is undermining society if we look at the economic picture since the early 1970s in addition to the deterioration of the infrastructure (some estimate the U.S. infrastructure needs over 2 trillion dollars of upgrade).  This should lead us to the conclusion that war is costly and of no intrinsic social value except in the case of defense which excludes the ideas of preventive and preemptive war which can hide war addiction.

Looking at war addiction under the microscope of Buddhism it is perhaps one of the greatest evils.  The Buddha has certainly said that soldiers go, when they are killed in combat, to a special hell; not to a special heaven.  

“When a professional warrior exerts himself in battle, his mind is already debased and misdirected by the thought: 'May these men be slaughtered, annihilated, destroyed.' If others slay him while he is exerting himself in battle, after death, he will be reborn in the hell called the realm of those slain in battle” (Samyutta Nikaya XLII, 3).

Also in this same passage, the Buddha seems to be attacking the mentality of the professional soldier who is certainly suffering from war addiction; who doubtlessly enjoys the thrill of combat and slaughter—up close or far away (this is explained in Lt. Col. Dave Grossman's book, On Killing).  Yet, there still exists the possibility for a soldier to set aside the war mentality so that his mind is not debased and misdirected by the desire to harm others.  This means giving up war addiction; cleansing the mind of such a harmful attitude.  It also means as a nation people have to stop enabling the war addicts saying, “No” to their demands.

Humans ain't shit

Even for those who go deeper into Buddhism, some have a difficult time understanding that the Buddha did not see man as little more than a mere collection of impermanent aggregates.  Such people seem to be under the spell of modernity and all that comes with it including the belief that man is the sum of his biological parts; moreover, there is not much that separates man from a common fruit fly, a mere 13,000 genes!

Whatever religion means for such people, I find it difficult to understand.  I wonder, too, why they are so uncomfortable with mysticism, especially when it comes to admitting that the Buddha did not deny the idea of a transcendent self or atman (at least not in the Mahayana Sutras such as the Mahayana -Mahaparinirvana Sutra a very popular Sutra in Asia). 

Certainly one of the most beloved Buddhist works, the Dhammapada has not ignored the transcendent self which is very dear.

"Make of the self (attano) an island, strive quickly, be wise!

Without impurities and clear (anangano) not again will you enter into birth and old age" (238).

This passage doesn’t have the ring about it that man is no more than the sum of his biological parts.  Man is more than his biological body.  He has a self or atman that is a light (dîpa) and an island (dîpa) which is eternally safe from the ravages of samsaric existence (i.e., cycles of birth and death).  But first he must purify the self.  However, the current belief among some well meaning Buddhists that this particular passage in the Dhammapada refers to an insular temporal self is almost laughable.  What would be the point of the difficult struggle of trying to win undying nirvana if we, the self, were ultimately finite?

The next passage unambiguously tells the reader that the self is impure but can, over time, become thoroughly purified, which would be necessary to win nirvana.

“Gradually would the wise one cleanse the self of impurities

Little by little, moment by moment just as a smith does with silver” (239).

The self is not an abstraction, at least not in the Dhammapada.  It is both capable of evil and good; impurity and purity.

“By the self evil (pâpam) is done; by the self one becomes impure.

By the self evil is undone; by the self is one purified.

Purity (suddhi) and impurity belong to the very self (paccattam)

No one purifies another” (165).

The self is also capable of commanding or inciting itself in addition to controlling itself these being positive attributes.

“Commanded by the self is the self—controlled [is] the self by the self.

Thus self guarded and mindful, the monk will dwell happily” (379). 

In this respect then, 

“The self is lord of the self; the self is the destiny (gati) of the self;

Therefore control the self just as a merchant controls a good horse” (380).

When Buddhism taught in modern Dharma centers goes to the extreme of representing man as solely a collection of impermanent aggregates, it is no longer authentic Buddhism but, instead, counterfeit Buddhism (pratirûpakadharma). 

What's the BFD about Self?

When I first read about Buddhism in the 1960s I learned that it denied the Self whereas other religions of India did not, for example, Brahmanism.  The Self or Atman was believed to outside of the the entrapping cycle samsara in which rebirth and suffering ruled.  From what I could gather the Self was the very substance of all phenomena though it was not, itself, a phenomenon.  It was what I really am when you take away all the phenomena. 

The Buddhist books and magazines I read generally taught that our world was far from being stable.  It was subject to change and decay including me!  If I just looked within I would see that my moods and feelings, for example, were always changing.  There was nothing constant in the psychological person I was holding on to.  I was just an ensemble of changing things.  If there was such a thing as a Self inside of me then where is it?  Is in in my feelings or my will?  I couldn't find this Self—that's for sure!

According to the Buddhism I learned about, life is a constant flux.  When I die my old pattern will be disturbed then immediately replaced by a new flux and of course more suffering and no Self.  In other words, I can't escape although there is no real I who is suffering.

Years, later I began to study the Buddha's teachings not just glancing at them as I had done earlier.  What really got my attention and began to undermine my former views of Buddhism were the Buddha's discourses about the five aggregates or in Pali pañcakkhandhâ.  Supposedly my psychophysical being is made of form, feeling, perception, volitions, and consciousness.  This is what I am—the total me package.  This five aggregate package, in addition, is what is actually suffering according to the Buddha.  In fact, I learned that the first Noble Truth of suffering is the five aggregates or the pañcakkhandhâ (S. v. 425).  Put perhaps more concisely, my corporeal body and mentations are suffering.

But what really got to me was when I read, in these same discourses, that the Buddha said of each of these aggregates, “This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self.”  This could only mean one thing in this context, viz., the Buddha did teach the Self.  Only he said that this Self is not a, b, c, d and e.  If he said anything positive like the Self is "x" some idiot would, undoubtedly, have construed it to be either a, b, c, d or e. 

So here was the Buddha really saying, "This suffering, aggregated body that you believe is yourself is not your true Self."  What immediately struck me was how clinging and craving fit into the picture.  The Buddha was trying to teach us that if we cling to and crave the suffering, aggregated body, by doing so, we hurl ourselves into a world of deep shit!  This left me with a profound insight.  

This insight changed all my previous opinions about Buddhism.  The Buddha didn't deny the Self at all.  He only said you aren't going to find the Self in the pañcakkhandhâ; it is elsewhere.  Coming to realize that we are not the five aggregates which are not the self or in Pali, anattâ, is a major part of Buddhism.  What, for me, made all this even more illuminating is discovering I am—but not as the five aggregates.  I am, but not as shape or form.  I am, but not as feelings.  I am, but not as perception.  I am, but not as volitions .  I am, but not as consciousness.  

While all this sounds like heresy to a hardcore Buddhist Self denier it is actually what the Buddha taught and might explain why Buddhism became so popular in ancient India.  Those who cannot see this are either stuck on denying a true Self, completely, or believing one of the pañcakkhandhâ is the true Self such as consciousness.

As I looked more deeply into the Buddha's discourses, I realized that of all the great Indian sages, the Buddha was the most clear.  He didn't mince words.  The main thrust of his teaching was to help us distinguish between our true Self and the false self (i.e., anattâ = pañcakkhandhâ).  Moreover, when it dawns on us that this corporeal organism we're presently engaged with, at a very deep level, is not who we really are, the Buddha's path begins to open up.  We soon discover, too, that our craving or powerful desire for corporeality (i.e., the pañcakkhandhâ) caused us, in the past, to cling to the fertilized embryo prepared by our parents thus, over time, building up a corporeal house, so to speak.  Looking now at this corporeal body, it is the result of numberless clingings and desires.

In this regard the Self is a BFD since only what is not the Self suffers according to the Buddha (yam dukkham tad anatta).  Indeed, to discover our true Self, which is free of suffering, is most important. 

We want to be deceived

Pop culture, including pop Buddhism, is supported by the pop media or MSM (mainstream media) which is generally made up of information gatherers and publishers who don't often dig deep enough for the facts and probably couldn't care less if what they write or publish is almost all wrong opinion or a damn lie.  As long as the hoi polloi buys their bullshit in huge amounts—well, that's all that matters. 

Take the recent example of those little Toyotas (in the South we call 'em "Ricers") that would all of a sudden just accelerate out of the blue for no reason.  Toyota was blamed by the MSM.  It was classical shoot first, check the facts later.  Well, it was later found out by the National Highway Traffic Safety Association that all those crashes were mainly caused by what is termed 'pedal misapplication' which is just a nice way of saying somebody pressed down on the accelerator who thought they were pressing down on the brake. 

When it comes to pop Buddhism which is part of pop culture, lots of pop Buddhists have certain odd ideas about Buddhism that often amount to wrong opinion.  But in addition, they have a Buddhist mainstream media—for now let's call it BMSM—that supports and even feeds and nurtures their wrong opinions.  If you are looking for an example of the power of BMSM, visit a major book store.  Occasionally I visit one of the major books stores just to look at all the pop Buddhist junk that sits on the bookshelves or finds its way into some slick quarterly Buddhist magazine.  I admit it is cheap amusement, but it's also a nice way to get all fired up to do these blogs.  I think to myself, "Who the fuck ordered these books? They're terrible!"

Both the MSM and the BMSM are here for a reason I guess.  I just don't know exactly what the reason is.  However, I am operating under the premise that the movers and shakers of the MSM and the BMSM are not interested in the truth.  Nor do they have any compunction when it comes to twisting the facts or lying.  If the lie sells more, go with the lie.  In the case of the BMSM, if pushing Buddhism in the direction of agnosticism or secularism sells and mysticism doesn't, go with the former even though mysticism is the real category in which Buddhism belongs.

It could be that the ancient Roman politicians knew better than we who were familiar with the adage, mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur which in Latin means, "The world wants to be deceived, so let it be deceived."  So maybe the job of the MSM and the BMSM is to deceive us, therefore, to skirt the truth to make sure we don't discover that we are actually living in hell or if you prefer, Samsara City.  In particular, what pop Buddhists are told, in order to deceive them, is there is no self or no absolute such as the luminous Mind.  All is just suffering until you die.  After that, suffering finally ends.  This, by the way, is a lie.

Dearer than the self

Sometimes when I read the principle Upanishads of the early period such as the Brihadaranyaka, which supposedly predates Buddhism, I can’t help being struck by similarities between certain passages found in the Upanishads and in the Buddhist canon.  Take for example the following from the Brihandaranyaka.

“This [Self] is dearer than a son, dearer than wealth, dearer than everything else, [because] It is innermost.  If one [holding the Self dear] were to say to a person who speaks of anything other than the Self as dear, that he, the latter, will lose what he holds dear—and the former is certainly competent to do so—it will indeed come true.

One should meditate upon the Self alone as dear.  He who meditates upon the Self alone as dear—what he holds dear will not perish." (I. iv. 8)

This is all pretty simple.  The Self is the hypostasis or substance, everything else isn't.  In this respect, the Self should be regarded as most dear.  So what does the Pali Buddhist canon have which is similar to the Brihandaranyaka?  This is what I found.

“At this time King Pasenadi of Kosala was on the upper terrace of the palace with Queen Mallikâ.  And the king asked her: "Mallikâ, is there anyone dearer to you than the self?

"Your Majesty, there is no one dearer to me than the self. (Natthi kho me, maharaja, kocañño attanâ piyataro). 

And you, sire, is anyone dearer to you than the self?"

"Nor is there anyone dearer to me, Mallikâ, than the self."

Then the king went down from the palace and visited the Blessed One [and told him the whole story.] And the Blessed One, understanding, thereupon uttered this verse:

Going around all quarters with the mind,

Not a thing was found dearer than the self (nevajjhaga piyataramattanâ kvaci).

In this way the self of everyone is dear to others,

There one who loves the self (attakâmo) should never hurt another” (S. i. 75).

Let it be granted for now that both passages are quite similar and the Brihandaranyaka passage is older so what do our modern Buddhist self deniers have to say about this?  I am guessing, not much except to bring up one of their pet arguments that self should be translated with ‘yourself’.  In other words, we are to think this way:  There is not a transitory finite thing to be found dearer than yourself which is also transitory and finite.  But this is not what we are to gather from both passages.

Down to the level of history

Perhaps the most egregious aspect of what can be called modern religion is its unrelenting drive to bring everything down to the level of history.  This may suit a few who look at religion through an academic prism.  It may suit fundamentalists who cannot tear themselves away from literalism.  But all this says to me, trying to cut to the chase, there is a dangerous divide in virtually all religions between the materialists and those who see religion spiritually.

History, I have to say, is for the religious materialists inasmuch as it speaks to their common sense in addition to seeming almost infallible.  One is supposed to believe that the Exodus actually took place as an historical fact, or the historical Jesus will return in 2012 and save his flock by rapturing them!  But for those not so enthralled with history; who are possessed with uncommon intuition, religion cannot be altogether historically treated without hiding its light under a bushel, so to speak.

Religious texts, themselves, can speak differently to different types of people.  And if it is determined that some religious texts embody deep and profound spiritual intuitions, for example, the Gospel of Thomas, should we treat them only historically—maybe as historical oddities which so-called Gnostic texts have become?  Obviously, not.  What is at issue here are texts, such as the Lankavatara Sutra and other Buddhist works which contain spiritual intuitions, which rise above common sense and materialism.  Shouldn’t they be, instead, treated in such a way that their spiritual content is brought out?

Maybe this boils down to the West’s great fear of looking within, this fear prompting it to try and carpet the world in its own benighted image rather than wear shoes.  Whenever the spiritual is brought up, say even the word ‘mystical’ the West responds with a knee-jerk reaction.  The Western individual then turns on all of their defense mechanisms lest they should have to look to their inner life which for them is like the abyss.  But little does the West know that real human progress and evolution is only made by looking within.