The Zennist

A lack of faith

The modern mind is too fixated on phenomena including words and the concepts they elicit.  It is as if such a mind ruled out a transcendent element from which phenomena, words and concepts are composed.  The modern mind seems to reject, completely, any possibility that transcendence can be accomplished.  I think the reason for this is the modern mind sees nothing beyond phenomena, words and concepts.  In trying, it draws a blank.  This blank is like an impenetrable wall.

I find this problem to be speaking more to a lack of faith in the Buddha’s teaching and Zen.  If one doesn’t first have faith in transcendence how then is transcendence even possible?  We cannot just stop at our mental blank wall.  This wall is, in fact, penetrable from a Buddhist perspective.  But we have to have faith that it is penetrable.  This doesn’t mean of course that faith alone will suffice; that from faith is born absolute confidence.  We still have to get beyond this blank wall of doubt and actually see the true nature of reality which goes beyond even faith in the final analysis.  The Buddha speaking to Bhāradvāja has this to say about faith.

“If a person has faith, Bhāradvāja, he preserves truth when he says: ‘My faith is thus’; but he does not yet come to the definite conclusion: ‘Only this is true, anything else is wrong.’ In this way, Bhāradvāja, there is the preservation of truth; in this way he preserves truth; in this way we describe the preservation of truth. But as yet there is no discovery of truth” (M. ii. 171).

Until we get to discovering, personally, that from which phenomena, words and concepts are composed, in the meantime, we have to preserve the truth (saccānurakkhaṇa) that one day we hope to realize.  That requires faith.  If the  modern person who studies Buddhism can't find the faith, maybe they should reject Buddhism like any other religion because all religion for them is a lie.  Nor should this same person expect Buddhists to try and convince them to have faith.  It would be a waste of time.  Such people only contaminate Buddhism who have little or no faith.

Scraping off the dried mud

We can all be like spotless mirrors before the light of Mahayana which is most primordial.  This means that potentially we are spotless mirrors able to reflect and receive this most mysterious animative light.  But in reality, our mirror is caked with dried mud—this is not a thin layer of dust.  This is almost as bad as not having such a mirror.  We live more like rats coming into the world and exiting it without awakening or even learning that our goal as humans is to awaken becoming this spotless mirror, beholding the animative light of Mahayana.  These are bad times, spiritually.  The great Neoplatonist Thomas Taylor (1758–1835) said of this era long ago:

"Hence we may justly conclude, that this age of true philosophy is no more.  In consequence of very extended natural discoveries, trade and commerce have increased; while abstract investigations, have necessarily declined: so that modern enquires, never rise above sense; and every thing is despised, which does not in some respect or other, contribute to the accumulation of wealth; the gratification of childish admiration; or the refinements of corporeal delight" (The Mystical Initiations; or Hymns of Orpheus, v).

Granted, there are a few humans who have not turned into rats who might have to be fake rats.  Still they have to hide while toiling at some unrewarding job so they can earn enough to continue to follow the path.  In the meantime, the world continues to wallow in its subhuman ratness as if it had found nirvana; boldly proclaiming that this age is the greatest of all human ages!  All this reminds me of the film, The Matrix (1999) insofar has most everyone has been ‘blue-pilled’.  The people in the film don’t realize that they are enslaved by a super kind of artificial intelligence (AI) which has created a computer simulation program called “the matrix.”  Only a few manage to escape like the main character Neo who achieves enlightenment.  The rest are submerged in ignorance with a thirst for things of the matrix.  This is more like the Buddhist doom which all beings face, being forever trapped in a cycle of birth, death and rebirth.  Escape is only possible through enlightenment which transcends the matrix.

This is an intriguing film but it only goes as far as arousing curiosity in some of the rat multitude.  Like everything modern, what wisdom it presents has to yield in time to the desire to accumulate wealth and the yearning for corporeal delight.  Talk of a serious escape such as the practice of Buddhism, one can easily be pegged as being a little too un-rat like.  I have plenty of stories about people who say they practice Buddhism and Zen.  But they get kind of nervous when I try to scrape off some of the dried mud.  Every once in a while I meet people who respond to the light—most follow this blog!  Perhaps they looked within one night as I did when a small chunk of mud fell off their mirror. 

Observing the observer

In the West we wrongly assume that the observer and the observed are fundamentally of the same order which almost suggests that a primary observer is not necessary.  But this distinction is important in Indian dharma systems such as Buddhism and Vedanta.  Nor is it paradoxical as it is for a Westerner who reasons that if the observer, itself, cannot be observed in the way observed things are, it simply does not exist—why then be concerned with it?

In Buddhism there is an implicit autonomy between that ātman (P., attā) and the anātman (non-ātman), the latter consisting of material shape, feeling, perception, volitional formations and consciousness.  Our observer (for now the ātman) can observe these five constituents (skandhas).  In fact, the observer is not anyone of these five constituents.  The observer recognizes each constituent this way:  this is not mine, this I am not, this is not my ātman.  We can say at this point, the observer position is a break from the conditioned five constituents that make up our psychophysical organism which is suffering according to the Buddha. 

I should add we are closer to answering the question, “Who am I?” which means also, the observer in some yet mystical unseen way is actually not part of the observed world which appears through the five constituents such as material shape, feeling, etc.  This may explain why the Buddha said to his monks, “Bhikkhu, you should abandon desire for whatever is anātman” (S. iii. 77).  This abandoning process is really the via negativa: we abandon all to reach direct gnosis of the observer.  This further means that we must transcend the ever changing dependent originations (pratītyasamutpāda) in order to get there.

 

The difficulty of getting past the barrier

It is difficult to think about enlightenment (S.;J., sambodhi, sambodai) as just the idea of perfect knowledge or awakening (from the verbal root budh, to awake, from which bodhi, an abstract noun, is formed).  Perhaps somewhat better, enlightenment is closer to awakening to the essence of reality.  But now we need to ask, how do we get there? 

To awaken to such an essence is no easy task.  There is nothing in our Western education that will help us since awakening is more of an intuitive process—certainly not an intellectual act.  In Zen we get a little closer to what it means to awaken to the essence of reality.  It is done suddenly in the sense of what was thoroughly hidden from the adept now issues forth all at once.  Paradoxically, this revealed essence even when spoken of still remains ineffable.  When the intellect attempts to conceive of it, it still remains unknowable.  Language is not up to the task of getting us closer to enlightenment.  Going from the concept of enlightenment to its actualization requires a leap of sorts.

For the one who is enlightened—who has made the leap—it was accomplished by dhyāna which I prefer to translate with the English word, intuition.  Still, this doesn’t present us with the whole picture which explains the sudden awakening in which this essence issues forth from dark obscurity in the highest dhyāna.  An exact how-do-you-do-it is too complex for most people.  This may explain why Zen has turned into a religion of sitting.

Still, on almost every page of Zen sermons is an appeal to our intuitive abilities.  This is especially evident in the rise of koans during the Song period.  The structure of the koan is based upon essence 體 and function 用 (e.g., 外用 external manifestation).  The goal is to pass through the gateless barrier 無門関, this strange barrier being function (or phenomena 事).  Every koan has its gateless barrier (e.g., mu) that stops the intellect dead in its tracks.  The only way to get past this barrier is for us to directly intuit our Buddha-nature or essence which is a sudden intuition.

What 99% of students today lack

There is a story in Zen about Kyogen, who was a very gifted and clever monk, but who was unsuccessful in penetrating Zen master Isan’s question which asked of Kyogen of his state before he was born.  Yes, Kyogen was caught up in this mysterious question which no amount of intellectual skill could penetrate.  All the books he perused couldn’t help him to answer Isan’s strange question.  They were to him no more than painted cakes incapable of satisfying hunger.  He even pleaded with Isan to reveal the secret to him.  But Isan would only say, “What I speak of still belongs to me—it has nothing to do with you.”

Finally, at his wits’ end Kyogen decided to burn his books vowing never to study Buddha dharma again.  At that point he would become an itinerant monk always on the move going from one place to another.  Sadly, he took leave of Isan.  Eventually, his wanderings found him at an old neglected temple associated with Zen master Echu.  He made his temporary abode here.  Then one day something unexpected happened.  As he was sweeping the grounds of the temple part of a broken tile happened to hit some bamboo (bamboo can be quite large).  When he heard the sound of the broken tile made—at once he entered.  Suddenly, he intuited his true self: the state before he was born.  Yes, he had awakened.

Kyogen, obviously, had spent a lot of time studying the teachings of the Buddha before he decided to leave Isan.  When it came, finally, to seeing what Siddhartha, exactly, saw while sitting under the Bodhi-tree, Kyogen couldn’t intuit it.  His book learning would not reach that far—nor for that matter any practice such as zazen.  There is a time to drop such learning and practices because they will not help us to intuit, all at once, our true nature which is transcendent.  But just refusing to study the dharma or stop doing zazen won’t work either.  Most students lack what Kyogen had in spades: a driving enthusiasm to see, directly, the state before he was born.  While he could burn his books and never study Buddha dharma anymore, Kyogen was totally hooked on seeing the state before he was born.  He couldn’t stop or abandon his singleminded drive.  This kind of drive is what 99% of students today lack.

Zen is not that simple

Some Zennists want us to believe that just as you are right now, that is the way.  Don’t look any further than where you are right now.  But this is not real Zen.  Zen is not that simple although some would like it to be that way.  Growing in our mother’s womb then sliding out through her birth canal, this is baptism in ignorance.  The rest is a growth and development of this ignorance otherwise called everyday life with all of its thoughts, emotions, desires and beliefs.

Our everyday life of ignorance is the path of samsara which includes our daily activities such as going to work, having a family, etc.  By this path we will never realize nirvana.  This is because we indulge in our daily activities.  One Zen master said this is like taking a thief for you son.  We forget that seeing or rather, directly, intuiting our true nature is about transcending the veil of the mundane while living in the mundane.  Zen master Tan-hsia (739–824) said,

"The way is not within existence or nonexistence—what method would one then practice? This abundant light, wherever you are, in every situation, is itself the great way."

As much as some people who study Zen don’t wish to admit, Zen is Chinese mysticism.  There is none better and more straightforward.  While some can find quotations from Zen masters that seem to suggest that Zen’s way is quite mundane and not mystical, this is a careless misreading of Zen and its parent, Buddhism.  In ultimate terms, the Zen adept is really trying to awaken to that which animates their mortal body which is far from being, itself, mortal.  Why else would Bodhidharma say,

"If people weren't deluded, why would they ask about something right in front of them?  Not one of them understands the movement of his own hands and feet.  The Buddha wasn't mistaken. Deluded people don't know who they are” (transl. Red Pine). 

Dharma’s words are at once simple and mysteriously profound.  The best Zen masters who have awakened to what moves their hands and feet realize that the mundane life totally depends on the “abundant light” which Tan-hsia spoke about in the previous passage.  They arrived here by transcending the veil of the mundane, suddenly, which is beyond the pale of existence and non-existence.

The existential self

In modern terms, what the Buddha meant by not-the-atman (S., anātman) is the existential self which is taken to be localized to the corporeal body as in: “this is mine”, “I am this”, “this is my self”.  All theories and views of self relate to the existential self which is not the real atman.  The existential self is an aggregation of five aggregates (S., skandha) of experience: (1) shape or objectness, (2) feeling, (3) perceiving (also in the sense of ’thinking’), (4) volitional function, (5) sensory consciousness/awareness.

The existential self is a conceptual self—certainly, unreal.  These five aggregates or domains of experience are aspects of the existential self which is not to be confused with the atman, the latter being closer to an observer which cannot be observed or measured.  Nor should the atman or observer be confused with awareness which is the fifth domain of experience this being consciousness/awareness.

The atman in its observing role is outside of the five aggregates of experience which is why it is transcendent since it cannot, itself, be observed by any of the aggregates such as awareness.  The atman’s fundamental nature becomes evident for us only when we have thoroughly abandoned desire for the existential self.  In this regard, it is also unconditioned which is why the Buddha says the very atman attains highest nirvana, nirvana being unconditioned (the unconditioned comes together with the unconditioned).  Only in perfect negation or the same, the absolute setting aside of the existential self is nirvana realized.

In the midst of the finite, the existential self and its world have limits and boundaries.  Try as we might to go beyond these limits and boundaries in every case we fail.  As long as we ignore the transcendent atman, which I hasten to add is not a self or an individual, we ever remain bound down to a kind of biological vicious circle which Buddhists call samsara.

There is nothing to understand?

When U.G. Krishnamurti said to his questioner, “So freedom exists not in finding answers, but in the dissolution of all questions,” he was really speaking about the dissolution of the ontological question, for example, who am I?, or is there an extra-physical factor to my biological life?  By the “dissolution of all questions” Krishnamurti obviously didn’t mean such questions as, where did I put my car keys? or, where is your brother (a toddler)?  Practical questions are okay—ontological questions are bad since Krishnamurti believes there is nothing to understand, fundamentally.

We can put questions into various categories.  There are psychological questions such as, why am I always so angry? or why do I envy this person so much?  There are ethical questions too, for example, is the drive for profits by pharmaceutical companies actually hurting the health of people? There are other questions such as, do particles actual exist since they are field dependent?  And of course there are the practical questions, should we use a condom? or, what time is it?

Let’s face it, the ontological question is not a popular question.  Academia hates it.  In biology, for example, the place of an ontological “mind” (noun) is not included in biological questioning.  Mind is too abstract and too mystical to be biologically useful.  On the other hand, mind seems to have thrust itself into what can be termed as the mystical side of physics otherwise called quantum measurement.  Bohr, Schrödinger, Eddington, Bohm, Wheeler, Winger, Stapp and others are interested in the noun, mind.  Perhaps they realized that measurement while being physical, necessitates a non-physical observer which is to say, the observer mind/measurer is not observable in any physical sense.  The mathematician and physicist John von Neumann put it this way:

[W]e must always divide the world into two parts, the one being the observed system, the other the observer. In the former we can follow up all physical processes (in principle at least) arbitrarily precisely. In the latter this is meaningless.

The boundary between the two is not a spatial boundary either but, instead, a spiritual boundary that distinguishes the unbounded observer from the finite observed (water-element and waves is a good analogy).  From this we can jump to the truth that the observing self is ontological and all ontology really concerns the observer which is more fundamental than even the psychological self comprising the subjective domain related to our biological body.

Krishnamurti fails to see why ontological questioning can be so frustrating so that he feels compelled to dump it altogether.  Let’s be honest.  We are always trying to measure the observing self as if it were something determinate, hence, measurable.  The question, who am I? really asks if the observing self is observable.  The answer to this question is, rightly, a big no!  It is not observable.  The ontological question, in order to be answered, must take a different route by which to meet with the observing self.  The accepted way we go about answering questions is utterly meaningless if we wish gnosis of the observer. (I have laid this out in previous blogs when I explain the importance of antithesis in self-realization.)

Love of the transcendent

Gunabhadra and Bodhidharma, both Tripitaka masters, transmitted the unchanging essence of Buddhism that Siddhartha Gautama realized which over time became the Zen tradition 禪宗 around the beginning of the Song dynasty. This essence goes beyond the ken of human sensory perception and certainly beyond reasoning or inferring.  It is an intuitive, sudden awakening that lies within each of us should we decide to awaken like Siddhartha.

If Zen does not teach us to awaken to this essence, it goes without saying, it is not authentic Zen.  It is an ersatz Zen; something inferior that seems like Zen but is not genuine.  Such a Zen arises because those who import it from its place of origin have brought Zen’s outer shell, not its essence.  The outer shell is most likely the ‘institution of Zen’ which is for the most part corrupt.  In this sense it is also political, its creative light hidden under a bushel because the huge majority of people are unable to understand authentic Zen.  After all, Zen is the creation of gifted spiritual minds which came from great cultures—not our present day culture which is still too hedonistic and too materialistic; which these days thinks with its feelings and emotions. 

The early 1960s was a better time for Zen (sorry folks but it’s true). When I was introduced to Zen it was still very new and exciting.  No one really knew what it was about; certainly not the academics—they were stumped.  D.T. Suzuki was about all there was.  I read his Essays in Zen Buddhism and other works by him.  Alan Watts was just borrowing from Suzuki and was not all that helpful.  Watts wasn’t true to the context of Zen but rather his own opinions about Zen whereas Suzuki struggled to be true to the context.  For me the exciting moment came when I realized that Zen was about having a special intuitive awakening called, satori.  All the Zen stories and dialogues revolved around getting this satori.  If you didn’t have it, Zen was impossible to understand.  So the logical conclusion for me was attain satori!  But what I had to go through was an adventure of going from the dregs of my culture to a night in which I had a solid glimpse of the other shore.

When I compare what I went through with today’s youth they lack one central element, a love of the transcendent.  That was my star, and Zen was my starship and what a starship it was.  My great awakening proved one thing for this present day culture.  You are granted one wish and that is the wish to awaken to the great essence Siddhartha Gautama realized. But when you wish to awaken you can never go back on it.  It is foremost, not our families, our nation, or anyone.  All has to be superseded—there are no exceptions.  You will come to the same awakening as I did if you do that. Oh, this is not a dreary path, it is the most exciting adventure you will ever have.

Sitting and Zen are not related

It seems that in Japanese Zen, in particular Soto, the sitting posture is very important.  Certainly, by strict and prolonged adherence to posture, one expects that something more than just sitting might well happen as when Dogen Zenji, supposedly during zazen, cast off mind and body (shinjin-datsuraku) or more likely, cast off dust from the mind.  But now, why the importance of ‘sitting Zen’ which zazen is about?  Does one really have to sit in a special posture to become enlightened which then makes Zen more of a school or tradition of sitting?

The answer is, no.  And why?  Because Zen, which in an earlier blog I explained meant “intuition” has nothing whatsoever to do with posture.  Posture is secondary—never primary.  Moreover, I would argue that sitting and intuition are not related.  One can do zazen and never achieve satori or one can achieve satori without doing zazen.  The intuition of one’s true nature can happen anyplace and anytime to a dedicated Zen student who understands that seeing one’s true nature, or the same, observing pure Mind, directly, is what Zen is all about.

Rather than put so much emphasis on zazen and the proper posture—which can be a waste of time—the better teaching is learning intuition which comes in a number of different levels from the simple to the most sublime.  I would start out a beginner with this problem which will require an intuitive moment.  How do you make a mountain move three feet?  This would be followed by: Two hands make a clapping sound; what is the sound of one hand?  As the reader can see, these questions require intuition.  They can’t be answered analytically. 

Today, intuition is underrated if not almost totally ignored.  Somewhat strange, Zen enters the West and it becomes equated with zazen or seated meditation.  Well, it shouldn’t be all that odd.  The West is not all that interested in intuition.  But here is the kicker.  There is no enlightenment without intuition.  It is like sudden, vertical knowledge that transcends everything worldly.