The Zennist

The lineage is medicine for intellectuals

The Song creators of the so-called Chan lineage 禪宗, with its list of twenty-eights patriarchs appearing in the Jingde chuandeng lu (1004), had to contend with the older and shorter list of twenty-three patriarchs which are listed in the Fu fazang yinyuan zhuan translated in 472 which says the transmission of the dharma was cut off when Aryasimha was beheaded. There are other lists which also present problems.  But none of the patriarch lists, including the Fu fazang yinyuan zhuan mention a Chan lineage.

The Song Chan lineage uses various sources to create itself, including the Lanka lineage 楞伽宗 in which Gunabhadra, not Bodhidharma, is listed first.  I would not be off base to say that when you put the so-called golden age of Zen under careful scrutiny, there is no Chan lineage.  It is just Buddha dharma that is transmitted and even this doesn’t tally with the Pali Nikayas in which there is no transmission, not the sort accepted in various circles of Zen.  In the Gopaka Moggallâna Sutta (M. iii. 7) just after the death of the Buddha, a minister (brahman Vassakara) of King Ajâtusattu Vedehiputta asks Ananda if the Buddha designated a successor.  Ananda replies in the negative. About this particular sutta Thanissaro Bhikkhu notes:

This discourse presents a picture of life in the early Buddhist community shortly after the Buddha's passing away. On the one hand, it shows the relationship between the monastic community and the political powers that be: the monks are polite and courteous to political functionaries, but the existence of this discourse shows that they had no qualms about depicting those functionaries as a little dense. On the other hand, it shows that early Buddhist practice had no room for many practices that developed in later Buddhist traditions, such as appointed lineage holders, elected ecclesiastical heads, or the use of mental defilements as a basis for concentration practice.

Students of Zen should not hold works like the Jingde chuandeng lu to be sacrosanct. They are more like koan collections.  In fact many koans are drawn from the Jingde chuandeng lu and other sources.  The koan can be thought of as a literary tool for breaking down our nasty habit of looking for an intellectual solution to the Mind/dharma that is awakened to whereby one becomes Buddha.  If one should be so lucky as to awaken to this recondite dharma they will also realize that Zen is a Chinese Buddhist literary methodology for awakening.  It is the proper medicine for intellectuals.

Outside of the pale of the conditioned pyschophysical body

In Buddhism, suffering is the psychophysical body (the five skandhas).  Suffering and psychophysicality are the same, in other words.  This brings us to an important question, namely, why do we crave psychophysical embodiment which for us means the experience of suffering?  As we learn from the Buddha, there is no truth to be found in our engagement with the psychophysical organism and the world that presents itself through it, although we believe otherwise.  How can truth arise from conditionality which marks off the psychophysical?  Nevertheless we cling to the psychophysical body and with it, suffering.  This is understandable. 

Modern man is still under the influence of the Newtonian world view which is based on reductionism, determinism, materialism, and a reflection-correspondence view of knowledge which is to say that our language must correspond with observable facts otherwise it is meaningless.  Unfortunately, this 300 year old world view ignores consciousness (S., citta) because consciousness is non-physical and unobservable.  This consciousness is also the ‘observer’ which is incapable of being observed as something determinate.

In Buddhism the observer’s relationship to the psychophysical body is expressed in two ways.  Firstly, this psychophysical organism is mine. I am this psychophysical organism. This is who I am.  And secondly, this psychophysical organism is not mine.  I am not this psychophysical organism.  This psychophysical organism is not who I really am.

In the first relationship, the adept is in correspondence (i.e., similarity) with the psychophysical organism.  In the second relationship, the adept must have recognized or observed something that is outside of the sphere of psychophysicality.  It would have to be unconditioned since the psychophysical organism is conditioned.  Observation of the unconditioned only occurs with the complete transcendence of the conditioned which is also the transcendence of suffering. 

The truth of who we really are is outside of the pale of the conditioned pyschophysical body which also happens to be free of suffering.  Unfortunately, Buddhists today very seldom mention the unconditioned or that part of the Buddha’s teaching where the adept has observed, as the very self (paccatta), the unconditioned.

Getting to the first steps on the path

There is a relationship between our difficulty with understanding, personally, the purport of Zen, and the difficulty of finding an awakened teacher (one who has seen their Buddha-nature).  To elaborate a little further, insofar as beginners cannot see their Buddha-nature, we should expect that, outwardly, they have no way of knowing whether or not their teacher has also seen this nature.  Further still if, as beginners, we are deeply attached to various historical beliefs of what the life of Zen is about, then outwardly, we would be attached to the various outward aspects of Zen, such as monastic life, zazen, ceremonies, and certification.

From this we might conclude that the beginner is subject to making a lot of misjudgments.

The single most important thing in the education of a beginner is certainly not learning how to do zazen!  The most important thing is getting the beginner to wrap his or her mind around the importance of seeing one’s Buddha-nature which is what Zen is actually aiming at—and what, personally, they have to bring to this difficult endeavor.  The next most important thing is how do we get there?  In other words, what are the various means a beginner might use?  This might include the study of the Buddha’s discourses and the sermons of Zen masters, the practice of mindfulness during work, doing zazen, working with koans, and going into retreat.  All of this could be taught in a semester which would serve to eliminate a lot of rookie mistakes.

From here the beginner could then take their first real steps on the path towards the accomplishment of awakening to their Buddha-nature which could take a number of years.  This leads me to say that much of what is called Zen these days is not Zen at all but an interpretation of Zen based upon a misreading of Zen literature.  It is rather ironic that modern Zen teachers hardly discuss the importance of seeing the Buddha nature or kensho.  Some of these teachers teach the path of Dogen Zenji who taught “The essence of the Buddha-Dharma is never seeing the nature”!

A message for youth and immaturity

The counsel of youth and immaturity tells us that change begins on the outside, i.e., externally as an appearance.  I want the world to appear the way I want it to be.  There will be no appearance of racism, no hatred of any kind in my world.  My job should pay me the amount of money I require to live the life I want to live.  Everyone should love and respect me and my ideas—at least it should appear this way.  There should be world peace.  Of course this is unrealistic if not almost comical.  Those who are naive can certainly applaud the counsel of youth and immaturity but it tells them nothing of how to achieve these ends.  Nevertheless, many try only to stumble. 

This is where the rub and the tension enters into the picture.  Youth and immaturity have no idea how to make a beautiful world appear that meets with their expectations.  All of their enterprises turn out to be, more or less, flops over time.  From their relationships with others to making their beautiful world a reality.  This is how Tony Robbins, the American motivational speaker makes his money.  He works with all the failures.  He also knows that, in time, they will have to be motivated again and again.

The counsel of Buddhism has a message for youth and immaturity.  First you have to look within, past your mental formations, passions, and emotions.  As you looke deeper, in proportion, you will see the world the way it actually is—not the way you fantasize it to be or would like it to be.  This warns us that there are roughly two kinds of people in the world: those who possess some ability to look within, to some degree, and those who do not; who even fear to look within.  Eventually, of course, everyone must look within if they wish to get anywhere in life and overcome suffering.  To delay is the path of youth.

Youthful stupidity (let’s be honest, that is what we are dealing with) have their sight on what they believe to be the most noble of visions but then employ often the most dreadful or foolish of means such as Communism which like an insidious disease has been silently destroying Europe since at least the time of Karl Marx.  There are other insidious forms such as “political correctness” and “identity politics” including “multiculturalism” even down to the race-baiters like BLM which is built upon a pack of lies; which is only seeking a revenue stream.  In every example, the ignoble means destroys the sought for end.  Today’s youth will eventually turn into tomorrow’s vain hypocrite who ends up undermining his very own vision.  The worst become criminals.

Let me say that looking within is not easy.  Sitting in meditation is just that, sitting.  It has nothing to do with looking within anymore that doing yoga postures will effect the “stopping of mental modifications” (citta-vṛtti-nirodha) which is from the second verse in Yoga Sutra of Patañjali.

Surviving our death

We learn that in early Buddhism, consciousness (vijñāna) is regarded as the transmigrant which survives man’s death.  This means that during conception when the sperm yokes with the egg an alien consciousness resonates with the specific embryo.  Without the participation of consciousness, no conception can occur according to the Buddha. 

Or if consciousness, having entered the mother's womb, were to be deflected, would mind-and-body [embryo] come to birth in this life?' 'No, Lord.' 'And if the consciousness of such a tender young being, boy or girl, were thus cut off, would mind-and-body grow, develop and mature?' 'No, Lord.' 'Therefore, Ananda, just this, namely consciousness, is the root, the cause, the origin, the condition of mind-and-body (D. ii. 6).  (Brackets are mine.)

Very seldom if at all does modern day Buddhism go here.  Insofar as their prejudices are set on the narrative of there being no actual rebirth, passages like this have to be ignored.  Still, it is a fact that this is taught in the Mahānidāna Sutta.  Frankly, I am not concerned with what modern Buddhism thinks.  It is wrong on a number of issues.  They have proven to me time and time again to be off the path. 

That consciousness does survive man’s death, according to the Buddha, and can be reborn is hugely significant.  Right now each of us is in a consciousness loop: the subject and object sides of consciousness are reinforcing each other.  When the object side ceases (our physical body’s death), a new range of objects appear for us to lock onto.  The loop begins again.

Passing through the veil of nihilism

One of my interests is how much Western culture is descending more and more into the depths of nihilism.  Looking at this problem from the side of Buddhism has been helpful.  If one lives long enough practicing the dharma, they can’t help but see this world as a great deception or fraud.  I will go so far as to say that by desire we, as humans, always fall into the trap of nihilism with its attendant symptoms for the simple reason that humans, invariably, cling to forms which are vain and empty (even including emotions and mental constructs).  Only a few come to realize the real nature of all forms which are little more than insubstantial, mirror-like reflections.

Because of nihilism, the unfortunate bulk of mankind are like children who live trapped in a cage of objects, all of which are insubstantial.  The more they cling to these objects the greater the impact of nihilism which comes in various symptoms of mental illness which are not often recognized and much less attributed to nihilism.  Perhaps mankind's greatest foe is himself.  In the words of Carl Jung, “Instead of being at the mercy of wild beasts, earthquakes, landslides, and inundations, modern man is battered by the elemental forces of his own psyche.”  Such forces naturally arise as a result of nihilism.

The greatest danger of nihilism—when it goes far too far—is with absolute nihilism which rests on the conviction that, ultimately, there is no true reality; no way out except death.  In other words, there is no awakening; no Buddhahood. 

To correct this, of crucial importance, the Buddhist adept should be taught that sentient beings are intrinsically the absolute (they have the Buddha-nature) but mistakenly cling to its phenomenalizations, all of which are empty which if tenaciously clung to produce the symptoms of nihilism.  The task before the adept is to penetrate through this empty, phenomenal veil which, I must add, is determinate and has clearly defined limits.  Passing through this veil, which is what meditation is about, the adept suddenly enters the indeterminate and unlimited, namely, the absolute.  This is awakening or seeing my absoluteness or the same, seeing my Buddha-nature which is unconstructed and unconditioned.

Yes, there is life after death

Very much the discourses of the Buddha taught there is life after death.  For starters, nirvana is said to be immortal.  The Buddha said, “I will open the door towards immortality (if there are people) who greatly rejoice to hear the dharma and have true faith.”  If we attain nirvana we see, firsthand, the element of the undying; and that is where we go when this carnal body craps out.  Also, when the Buddha taught rebirth, he meant that when a person dies, they find themselves reborn into another form.  Isn’t that life after death?

After our death we might be reborn as gods or goddesses if our deeds have been good (that is, listening to dharma).  Subsequently, we would live in relative bliss in a divine mansion or vimāna which could move in the atmosphere at the will of the occupant.  Such lives after death are described in the Vimanavatthu of the Khuddaka-Nikaya consisting of eighty-three stories. 

Maybe not so lucky, others after their death because they committed unwholesome deeds, live as troubled spirits which is a kind of Buddhist purgatory—though not like the torments in the hells. There are some fifty-one poems describing the life of these troubled spirits or peta (S., preta) in the Petavatthu of the Khuddaka-Nikaya. 

Personally, I don’t think most Westerners who study Buddhism or Zen Buddhism take these Buddhist stories seriously; nor do they believe that there is any kind of life after death even though there are numerous accounts of NDEs, hauntings, contacts with departed spirits and poltergeists. Still, there are people who have had such experiences and contacts who were once skeptics but no longer.

What I try to explain to people I meet who seem halfway open to Buddhism, using the analogy of a radio, is that there is the radio signal which is invisible which, nevertheless, is the music, and the amplification system or the radio.  If the radio should break or be incapable of amplifying the radio signal, the signal is not diminished in the slightest.  In this regard, what we call life or spirit animates the 50,000,000,000 trillion cells of our body.  This life of ours or spirit is also our memory and our intentions or drive.  As long as we have not connected with what animates this temporal body of ours, which is unconditioned, being still attached to it as primary, we will always attach to compositions from gross to subtle throwing us always into the world of samsara.

From the narrative to seeing our true nature

Studying the history of Zen can become very complicated as we move from the Song dynasty myth of Zen to how it was actually put together.  We will learn, for example, that it was Zongmi 宗密 (780–841) who was the first to conceive and name the “Chan lineage” in China.  Before this there were Zen masters.  But they didn’t belong to a lineage or zong.  The accepted narrative of Zen is just a story.  The facts, in one respect, are inventions which help to make the narrative seem plausible—“as if” real.  Truth be told, there was no Zen narrative or the same, a golden age of Zen.

One must be careful about religious narratives.  When scholars begin to deconstruct them they often go down like a flimsy hobo shack.  This is shocking for the faithful.  But the true religious adept has something different in mind.  He or she believes that the experience the discourses of the Buddha or the Zen masters describe actually obtain.  This is what separates the men from the boys.  The true religious adept packs his gear then sets off to the woods, far from the madding crowd, to realize his true nature.

If we didn’t believe that kensho or seeing our true nature was attainable in this lifetime, Zen would be a charming, Chinese fantasy.  We might as well learn how to slay dragons!  To really believe that kensho is attainable moves Zen out of the sphere of narratives.  If Zen has a history, it is just a history of men and women who sought to realize what Siddhartha realized whereby he became a Buddha.

The source of koans

When we take up the study of koans, by doing so we are exposing our convictions: what we think a koan means or does not mean.  The same applies with the words of the Buddha which can often be difficult to understand.  None of us are in a state of mind in which we see the object of enlightenment which is meant.   Instead, we are inclined to suppose this is what this koan means or what a discourse means.  Wittgenstein wrote this odd parable about the nature of philosophizing which sheds some light on what I just wrote.

If I am inclined to suppose that a mouse has come into being by spontaneous generation out of grey rags and dust, I shall do well to examine those rags very closely to see how a mouse may have hidden in them, how it may have got there and so on. But if I am convinced that a mouse cannot come into being from these things, then this investigation will perhaps be superfluous. . . . But first we must learn to understand what it is that opposes such an examination of details in philosophy.

In trying to solve a koan, we are convinced that fully comprehending the mouse of meaning has to do with an analysis of the words and the structure of the koan, itself, just like the mouse is created from grey rags and dust.  It is difficult for us to believe that the actual answer to the critical phrase of the koan, for example, the word, “Mu,” or “Then go wash your bowl,” has nothing to do with the structure or how words are used.  Nevertheless, the we might believe this new translation of the Mumonkan 無門關 is better than this older one.  It seems to accord more with our convictions, in other words. 

At the same time, we really have no idea what opposes our breakthrough or satori.  We have a sense that something is not right.  We read the koan again.  In a few days we might believe that we have the koan figured out—at least partially figured out.  But how do we know?  We are missing something important.  Eventually doubt sets in.  We might conclude that koans cannot be answered by exercising our intellect.  But where does that leave us?  Swinging back to Wittgenstein, we should not tarry in grey rags and dust.  In other words, we should not tarry in dead words but ask ourselves, “What is the source of these critical phrases?”  Better still, a great Zen teacher would demand of us, “Show me the source of Then go wash your bowl.”

Perhaps the most important part of meditation

The psychophysical body has to adapt to the goal of meditation.  The body, itself, with all of its senses and sensitivities, is a natural obstruction to the goal of meditation which is to awaken to one’s true nature and become Buddha.  Such an obstruction would be any degree of physical or psychological pain, including fear, and the subsequent loss of comfort.  I would further add, that our mind is what awakens; not the physical body.

Overcoming the body’s pain is not, itself, the end goal of meditation; nor is maintaining our comfort and ease.  This should be clear.  Still, it is an important part of meditation—let’s think of it as the first part of meditation which helps concentration.  What I am getting at can be illustrated by writing this blog.  Everything around me is quiet and peaceful.  My concentration grows. There is only the low hum of the air conditioner.  It doesn’t bother me.  Suddenly, the guys who do the lawn show up.  Next the lawnmower is making a loud noise along with the leaf blowers.  I say to myself, “My concentration is broken.  I will wait until the guys are done then get back to the blog.”  Once again everything around me is quiet and peaceful.  Throughout the day I can go into and out of meditation depending upon the degree of disturbance affecting my concentration. 

Another example, would be to sit in a cave or an abandoned mine (which I did for a long time).  The first thing one notices is not just quietness, but dead silence.  The loudest thing heard is the buzzing of your ears.  With that, concentration naturally seems to grow.  The more one’s sits in this dead silence, the mind as a stream of differing and engaging thoughts, stands out more.  If the sitter suffers from what can be described as psychophobia, which is a general fear and disregard of one’s inner life, here in this dead silence there is no alternative but to face this fear head on.

Here we come to perhaps the most important part of meditation, at least for Westerners, which is overcoming psychophobia—an almost arrogant disdain towards introspection.  While seated meditation (zazen) is popular, that is, putting the body into a relaxed state of comfort and ease to help facilitate concentration, it never gets rid of the psychophobia which exists at a much deeper level.  It is true that this lite meditation approaches it, and a few may even enter it now and then, but the vast majority of those who meditate don’t go far enough insofar as their emotional life (social and physical agitation) dominates.  I should add that the late British psychiatrist R.D. Laing said somewhere that there are three things human beings are afraid of: death, other people, and their own minds.  Buddhism would say that of the three the liberation of mind is all important which comes by way of meditation.