The Zennist

We are confused and troubled spiritual agents

According to evolutionary theory, from what I can see, a human being (or beings) who sees reality as it really is, for instance, a Buddha, is not any better adapted than a human being who has no interest in seeing reality as it is who, instead, is successful at the process of natural selection.

Our biological history says that we are shaped not to see true reality but, instead, to have perceptions that keep us alive by natural selection which we have to take seriously—at least that is the way the game is played which we seem to want to play.

Buddhism, on the other hand, says that we have the capacity to see and realize reality as it is and, to a lesser extent, also follow the not so prime directive of natural selection given that the animative principle of our body is true reality—not what is animated (i.e., the temporal body and the world it perceives through its sensory apparatus).  This principle has to be directly intuited in and through itself because as far as our animated body is concerned this is its source just like electricity is the source of an electrical appliance’s operation.

In this regard we are fundamentally spiritual agents, but agents who are always unconsciously willing our self into an illusory body which, according to the Buddha, is empty in the sense of being for us only a relatively useful illusion, having no real inherent nature.  

In spite of this assessment by the Buddha, rather than put more time into realizing reality as it is, we seem to insist on clinging to this corporeal construct and its world so that, as a consequence, we are always reborn many times into various kinds of illusory bodies according to our will and disposition.  We are not open to any other view.  Unfortunately, this is the life of an ‘ordinary person’ who only follows the way of the sensory mind.  If we followed, instead, the Buddha's path we would save our self the trouble of being reborn. 

The Don Quixote types

Several days ago after reading Paul Johnson's section on "Karl Marx" in his book titled, Intellectuals, I concluded that Karl Marx was, in some ways, like Cervantes’ deluded fictional character Don Quixote who, as a result of reading too many books on chivalry, believed himself to be a knight-errant destined to redress the wrongs and injuries of the world committed by insolent and wicked men (for Marx it was the bourgeoisie). 

Then, out of the blue, I began to wonder, seriously, if our academic institutions are not encouraging the growth and development of Don Quixotes especially in the humanities and even in our law schools.  We might think of such people as enthusiasts, but nevertheless, deluded knights-errant trying to redress all manner of wrongs in the world but who end up doing far more harm than good.

Looking back to my twenties, how refreshing it was for me back then to have discovered Zen.  Zen, I believe, came to the West in the nick of time when the academic Don Quixotes had started to take over the world of the intellect, the intellect being a kind of tool that works on and with the imagination.  Zen, of course, will have none of this and the Western intellect still does not understand why Zen is like this. 

Zen masters are always alluding to something beyond the world of our imagination which frustrates the intellect which is always looking for some kind of believable representation it can have access to.  Yet, ironically, Zen has attracted a few intellectuals—the Don Quixote types: those who value the intellect as a means of unraveling the mystery of Zen; who imagine they are Buddhas already or close to it.  

The worst that comes out of this kind of deluded, intellectual Zen is hypocrisy and the making of a false Zen by which to lead the many astray, somewhat like what happened with Marx’s utopian vision—without the river of blood.  As history informs us, the legacy of Marx was the horrific body count of global Communism. With Cervantes' Don Quixote, the good news is that he repented.  Finally, the dark shadows of ignorance from the detestable books of chivalry that shrouded over him from his continuous reading of them disappeared. He died shortly afterward.

Having a good interpersonal relationship with the teacher

I have noticed over the years that a lot of bad parenting gets in the way of understanding what Zen Buddhism, and for that matter, all of Buddhism is about.  We like to believe that the gate of Zen is open to everyone regardless of their personality even if they suffer from what is called a borderline personality disorder which is the inability to form basic interpersonal relationships.  This inability seems to be growing a lot more these days. 

Given that Zen as far as awakening is concerned goes beyond language, an interpersonal relationship with a teacher is very important, especially, if the teacher is awakened.  In such a relationship, there has to be the development of a psychical bond through which the absolute can be transmitted.  This is what every teacher-student relationship in Zen is about.  But also, it is possible to directly intuit the absolute without a teacher’s help—it is just more difficult.  Each of us has the ability to transcend what we think we are, presently, attaining Buddhahood which is beyond what we might imagine.

Down to basics, awakening is not the recognition or transference of anything conditioned.  It is more of a psychical process that reaches down to what is most primordial, namely, absolute spirit or the same, pure Mind. Our conditioned body of birth, which will soon enough meet its end, cannot receive Zen's fruit for it is essentially empty like the stem of a reed—an illusion. It is also like a puppet that moves to and fro but knows not the source of its movements.  Wisely, Bodhidharma said: “Everyone wants to see this Mind, and those who move their hands and feet by its light are as many as the grains of the sand along the Ganges, but when you ask them, they can't explain it.”

This clear light of Mind cannot be revealed by the Sutras, treatises, or the sermons of the Zen masters. This light is veiled by the slightest stirring of the mind; certainly more by concepts, ideals and our emotions and desires which can be quite negative at times. Nor can it be grasped by any faculty of mind such as the intellect just as the meaning of non-action cannot be grasped by compulsive activity. The Mind which both the Buddha and the Zen masters realized requires an incorporeal awareness of the unconditioned which alone lets in the clear light.

Caodong vs Sōtō: which one is right?

Dongshan Liangjie (807-869) is recognized as the founder of Caodong (Sōtō) school 曹洞宗 who also taught the Five Ranks.  Caodong, in my view, is quite different in one aspect from Japanese Sōtō Zen which is based upon Dōgen's particular views which Charles Perbish sums up here quite well:

“Dōgen ( 1200-1253) studied Zen in China and brought back to Japan the tradition later to be identified with the Chinese Ts'ao-tung [Caodong-zong] (Japanese: Sōtō-shū) form of Zen. Under Dōgen, a form of Zen was taught in which the individual does nothing but sit (zazen) in the faith that he is already a Buddha, and that the zazen is an organic unfolding of Buddha nature. Since one is a Buddha, zazen is not practiced in order to become a Buddha. When all selfish graspings after such things as enlightenment are abandoned, and he can sit in zazen with no desire, his true nature will begin to reveal itself” ( ed. Charles S. Perbish, Buddhism: A Modern Perspective, p. 226).

What is to be underscored is that sitting is Buddhahood which, by continuous enlightened practice, the adept unfolds gradually.  This is not the case with the Five Ranks which, incidentally, Dōgen “himself had despised” according to modern scholars like Hakamaya Noriaki. 

There is an underlying ontology to the Five Ranks in which the absolute and the seeming (i.e., appearance) are harmonized which I would add is more like the element of water and the wave in which the wave is seen to be an illusion owing to our realizing the water element itself.  This wave illusion, I must stress, never intrudes upon the water element so as to make a duality of sorts.  Despite all of the waves in the ocean there is still water only.  For the Zen adept, they must penetrate through the illusions, not falling prey to any of them, in order to see the absolute.  Only by seeing the absolute is harmony possible.

Dōgen, I dare say, does not see the world as an illusory phenomenalization of the real or Mind which must be penetrated through by meditation but, rather, he sees everything as the real—as Buddha.  Hence, there is no illusion which we have to transcend.  And since everything is the Buddha then the Buddha is empirically accessible in all that we do.  Impermanence is also the absolute —birth and death, too.  Nor is there any requirement to attain kenshō 見性, that is, to see our true nature becoming Buddha 成佛—we are already there!   

But here, in truth, ‘everything’ refers to illusion, not the real.  Impermanence, too, is illusion and not the real.  Things are merely illusory configurations of the real which serve to hide the real because the real does not see itself in its configured condition. 

Our super imagination is at work constructing an illusion.  Nevertheless, despite this amazing illusion, the world is still Mind according to the Lankavatara Sutra which says, "the triple world is Mind itself (cittamātra)." Dōgen, on the other hand, believes that "walls, tiles and pebbles are mind" which, for the Buddha, are illusory configurations.  I really don't think Dongshan would have liked Dōgen's view.

 

The Zen Mind to Mind transmission requires intuition

The Zen Mind to Mind transmission is both self-revealing and self-authenticating—it does not depend upon a teacher who mysteriously gives it to us.  No teacher, in fact, can transmit this Mind.  It is all up to the student who must seek this Mind in their inner-mind.  The actual transmission of Mind is like the light of the sun that reveals not only itself (its form) but everything else. 

The teacher is more like a coach.  He or she inspires and pushes their students to do seemingly the impossible, that is, to awaken to the presence of the mysterious animative principle (i.e., pure Mind) that is actually running their physiological body; a body which they are constantly craving. 

What prevents the Mind to Mind transmission is the unawakened student’s assumption that this Mind (i.e., Buddha Mind) is something conditioned that he or she can eventually become aware of.  As might be expected, there is no external way for the teacher to divest this student of his or her wrong headed assumption that the Mind of the Buddha is conditioned rather than unconditioned.  This is so because there is no real comprehension on the part of the student as to what conditioned and unconditioned mean other than through conditioned understanding.

This brings us to the difference between intellectual knowing and direct intuition.  This blog, right now, is only for intellectual consumption.  If you, the reader, wish to enter the world of intuition which means the act or process of coming to direct knowledge or certainty without reasoning or inferring, much more is required.  It might begin with the teacher asking you,”How do you move Mount Everest three feet?”  Or your teacher might say to you, “In clapping both hands a sound is heard. Tell me right now, what is the sound of the one hand?”  Both questions require intuition to find the right answer. The answers are easy but they illustrate why Zen requires intuition and wants to wean us off of the intellect which is a long and difficult process that takes many years.

A difficult to obtain meditation

It is said by Nagarjuna in his Mahāprajñāpāramitā Śāstra that access to the first meditation or dhyāna is difficult to obtain.  This is because it has to do with renunciation (vairāgya) which is an aversion or separation from worldly life.  It is also a withdrawing into solitude (śāntavihāra) where we acquire a shelter from worldly influences.

We might think of the worldly life as being almost like a strong wind such that we cannot light our lamp—a lamp of wisdom.  In order to light it we must first seek shelter and this shelter is the shelter of dhyāna. 

We might think of this wind as our, constantly, distracted mind that is really the outer-mind which is being buffeted by the senses, including even mental objects. As we might expect, the inner-mind is always obscured and neglected by us where lies wisdom.  Even the mere thought of going into solitude is not appealing because we are so addicted to the outer-mind.

Our commitment to renunciation might at first pass us by lightly.  Still, for some of us it grows.  We notice it more when we see Buddhist monks or nuns.  We feel it, too, when walking alone in the countryside on an autumn day.  City life, naturally, tends to block from our mind any thought of renunciation.  The hustle and bustle of the city with its frenetic pace plays counterpoint to renunciation.

The first level of renunciation might be joining a Buddhist community or further, becoming a monk or a nun having to say goodbye to old friends, but more, having to say goodbye to our creature comforts.  Over time, as in my example, a do or die commitment to solitude takes over.  We are drawn to put ourself into an almost impossible condition having to relinquish every conditioned thing including our concepts, for nothing of ours—no possession no matter how subtle—can enter through the no-gate barrier 無門關.  Only what is immortal can enter.

 

There are many possible interpretations of Zen?

 It is not unusual to see relativism entering into Buddhist chat room discussions which, by the way, is perhaps one of the most subtle traps of consciousness (vijñāna) which the Buddha referred to as the magician's trick.  Each person assumes that there are any number of possible interpretations when it comes to Buddhism and Zen Buddhism and not just one correct, overarching interpretation.  On the other hand, as for the number of good interpretations, these same people are willing to admit there is a limited number of good interpretations which depend upon what is personally useful.

What is unstated but, nevertheless, believed to be true for everyone is that there is no one true way of looking at the world.  But such a belief is not found in Buddhism which centers around Gautama’s awakening whereby he became the Buddha and tried to teach his awakening to others who then would see eye-to-eye with him.

While the popular opinion is okay with relativism we have to assume that it is not okay with the belief, there is only one kind of awakening; not many kinds depending upon the person’s disposition and needs.  Zen is also relativistic when it comes to the interpretation of koans.  On the other hand, Zen can be overly simplistic, just sit in zazen.  That’s it.  This can be compared with just chanting “Nam-myoho-renge-kyo” or “Namu-amida-butsu”.

At the outset, with my own voyage of discovery, I believed that there was only one proper interpretation of Zen Buddhism which the Buddha transmitted and this interpretation rested upon a specific intuition.  At the time I had no idea what this intuition or experience involved or what to do to arrive at it.  The books of that time were not that clear which my beginner’s ignorance made worse.  Lucky for me there was no chat room or personal computers to confuse me even more!

Today relativism dominates Buddhist discussions and the study of Zen koans to the point where koans are almost like grist for the mill of the intellect which leads to intellectual arguments.  There is little or no acceptance of the belief that kenshō (見性) is what allows us to understand fully the koan in all of its variations.  This is a specific realization which is the same for everyone who has it.

Poison to the intellect

Koans 公案 are almost like poison to the intellect.  We may not even have a good idea what the intellect really is until we start reading koans.  At some point during our study of various koans we begin to question our approach to koans, especially our use of thought and reason in which we hope to trap the answer to the elusive koan.  We soon find, however, that our koan trap doesn’t work.  The answer to the koan always eludes the intellect.  That is what it is designed to do.  Zen master Yuanwu 圜悟 in fact says as much.

“There are some people these days who do not truly understand this koan; this is because there is no crack in it to insert their intellectual teeth.”

If we assume that the intellect is the faculty of thought and reason which only deals with extrinsic matters whereas intuition (dhyāna) is receptive to what is most intrinsic, this being our inherent nature (dharmatā), we shall properly orient ourself in the right direction and be capable of answering a koan despite their enormous difficulty.  Failure to do this will be a tremendous setback.  We will simply lack the spiritual eye that knows, exactly, what the koan is alluding to in each and every koan. 

There is not a single koan that can be ‘reverse engineered’, so to speak, by the intellect.  More importantly, trying to answer a koan without a teacher who is awakened; who fully comprehends how koans work, is almost to be on a fool’s errand.  Our greatest enemy on this path is our own presuppositions led by our intellect.  A teacher who has awakened—and there are few—helps us to detect how we are fooling ourselves with the intellect.

Fundamental to Zen is awakening to our own inner light which is called the “transmission of the light” which signifies the animative principle which is light-like.  This is what koans are always alluding to but we can’t see it because we remain unawakened to this light.  What keeps us in this state of unawakenedness is our stubborn attachment to the corporeal organism made up of the five skandhas which the intellect supports which, is strange to say, is at war with intuition.

 

 

The utopian political religion

In the English language the word “utopian” means: proposing or advocating visionary and usually impractically ideal schemes especially for the perfection of social and political conditions.  As we might expect, a utopia ever remains a fantasy—never a reality.  The utopian vision is not far from the old 1944 song “Big Rock Candy Mountain” where there are cigarette trees and lemonade springs!   

In light of this, I dare say that utopianism—heaven on earth—is the fatal disease of all religions. The religion that suffers from this disease, from the perspective of Buddhism, has unknowingly fallen prey to the first noble truth of suffering which is equated with our human ‘corporeal body’ (the five skandhas) including the natural world it inhabits, which can also be summed up as intrinsically illusory and empty. 

Perhaps even a worse strain of this disease is the ‘political religion’ in the example of Communism and short-lived Nazism and now so-called Globalism which is just an up to date version of Marxism—perhaps less ruthless and barbaric.  The frightening aspect of this is that technology helps to implement such a utopia which, paradoxically, would require a dystopian police state, one in which the attempt to control and limit what each person is thinking would have to be universally imposed by some kind of totalitarian structure. 

The present day efforts to make a political religion in the form of Globalism, from the perspective of Buddhism, is still more evidence of man’s growing insanity and his failure to realize that the cause of his suffering stems from the incessant belief that the corporeal body is real while what gives it life, i.e., animates it, is unreal and illusory!  But this view is actually an inversion.  It has placed all of its hopes in the corporeal that, for example, it contains all of our memories even language; and when this body dies, that’s our final end as a human being.  In this regard, the new political religion also believes that consciousness or mind comes from the corporeal brain like vapors from a sewerage treatment plant.  This, of course, is again contrary to Buddhism which understands that after the death of the corporeal body consciousness reincarnates into another biological form as a result of previous deeds or karma. 

We need to keep in mind that the last political religion which sold itself to the world through a utopian narrative was Communism.  It eventually turned into a dystopian monster leaving in its wake the deaths of millions (the global Communist body count as of 2006 stands at 149,469,610 not including war dead).

We should not forget the parable of the burning house in the Lotus Sutra, which is the symbol of the samsaric triple world.

“An old, wise man returns from his travels to his large and crumbling mansion to find that it is on fire and his many sons are trapped inside. He tells them the situation and calls on them to come out, but they do not understand what the statement “the house is on fire” means, and they are absorbed with their playthings. So the father tells them that he has presents outside: goat carts for some, deer carts for others, and bullock carts for the rest. The children then hurry to come out and ask for the carts, but the father does not have them. Instead, he gives each child an enormous and magnificent cart, of a type far beyond any splendor they could have imagined, drawn by white oxen. In modern terms, it is as if the children had expected to receive push-bikes, motor bikes, and automobiles, and each was then presented with a starship. They forget their former expectations and joyfully ride on the marvelous ox carts. The Buddha explains that the father in the story is himself; the house is samsara, which is subject to decay and death and is on fire with the passions; the children are disciples; the promised carts are the various apparent rewards consequent upon following Buddhist teachings and practices; and the ox carts are true liberation” (Robert K.C. Formam, The Innate Capacity).