The Zennist

Zen naturalism?

The average secular Zennist is close to believing that giving free rein to their thoughts and urges is the Way even when doing zazen.  This is living in the here and the now.  It is a kind of naturalism in which Zen's lifestyle is derived from nature.

People who find the soul of Zen to be found in naturalism don’t see Zen Buddhism as a means towards a mitigation of man’s spiritual ignorance including a mitigation of his natural desires which can easily cause him to lose what is characteristic of human beings: a kind of slow descent into the abyss.

With this kind of naturalism getting inserted into Zen, no longer do spiritual explanations of Zen suffice.  They are treated with a quiet contempt as if Zen has only been about a special kind of naturalism, almost like Taoism, in the example of Zen laymen Kanzan and Jittoku who supposedly lived during the Tang dynasty (618-906). 

Both Kanzan and Jittoku lived what you might call an unfettered lifestyle.  They were neither bound to Buddhist monastic rules nor the secular world with its unending demands.  According to Zen master Bukan 豊干 both had realized Buddha-dharma and to a much greater degree than the monks in his monastery.

Whether or not this is fiction or based upon real historical figures doesn’t matter.  What is of concern is to misunderstand and appropriate Kanzan and Jittoku, and even Bukan as representatives of Zen naturalism hoping to sidestep Zen’s underlying demand that we must intuit our true nature, this being kenshō.

Without the demand of kenshō this naturalism will eventually collapse into a kind of ontological nihilism in which there is no-truth-all-the-way-down which appears to be endemic in postmodern culture.

The Buddha never denied the Ātman

Most Buddhist scholars—not all—I dare say can’t answer this simple and important question which goes something like this: Why isn’t the self or attā (in Sanskrit, ātman) equated with Mara, the Buddhist devil? 

This is an important question because in the typical Buddhist literature fed to the general public it is said of the Buddha that he denied the Ātman.  But where, exactly, does the Buddha categorically declare that there is no self (P., natthattā) which, by the way, would make the Buddha an annihilationist!

Nowhere in the Buddhist canon is the self or attā denied by the Buddha.  Instead, what we find is that what is not the self or in Pali anattā are the five aggregates. Here is an example:

"Bhikkhus, form is anattā.  What is anattā should be seen as it really is with correct wisdom thus:  ‘This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self.’  Feeling is anattā... Perception is anattā...Volitional formations are anattā...Consciousness is anattā.  What is anattā should be seen as it really is with correct wisdom:  ‘This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self.’" (S. iii. 22–23).

What we learn is that these five aggregates are not our self or attā which means that prior to this, in ignorance, we believed they were our self—we identified with them in the sense of, this is mine, this I am, this is my self.  Now we don’t.  None of these aggregates are my self or ātman. 

Next, we learn that these same five aggregates are to be equated with Mara, the Buddhist devil.  Here is the proof:

"When there is form, Radha, there might be Mara, or the killer, or the one who is killed.  Therefore, Radha, see form as Mara, see it as the killer, see it as the one who is killed.  See it as a disease, as a tumor, as a dart, as misery, as really misery.  Those who see it thus see rightly.  When there if feeling ... When there is perception ... When there are volitional formations ... When there is consciousness, Radha, there might be Mara, or the killer, or the one who is killed" (S. iii. 189).

Logically, what is not the self or anattā is also Mara!  Do the Buddhist scholars tell us this?  No, they just publish more lies and distortions which is  part of an overarching anti-religious agenda coming from postmodernism.

The immaturity of youth

Youth are guided by their immaturity and what their culture has stuffed into their heads while they are still immature lacking critical thinking skills which come much later in their mental development.  How much of their immaturity plays a large part in their choices and actions remains to be seen but it is not small. 

And of the youth who count themselves wise and virtuous; who know not any limits to their youthful hubris, it is not surprising that they want to right all the wrongs they find in the world as fast as possible, imagining a heaven on earth achievable in their lifetime.

For every problem in the world, there lies an immature, youthful solution that lacks wisdom and a keen sense of history which, if it has its way, leads to some kind of absurdity or catastrophe.  In the world of politics it is more noticeable where often the consequences are both negative and unexpected even though the goal or goals seem noble.

The Buddha taught that a heaven on earth (utopia) is impossible because conditioned things are impermanent, unsatisfactory and insubstantial.  In other words, what we call our reality is not real at all although we are taught otherwise by fools.

Still, in this predicament, it is not impossible to lessen our desire for conditioned things while looking within trying to realize our true nature which survives and transcends the temporal order.  It is far wiser not to get deeply involved with the temporal order which, in the long run, only leads to sorrow since we have yet no power over it, lacking enlightenment.

This somewhat reminds  me of the Kāka Jātaka (146) about a crow with his mate who were flying by the sea-shore, looking for food.  They happened to spy some offerings to the Nagas, one of the offerings being strong drink.  They ate freely of the meat offerings and drank the spirits so that they both became very drunk.  In this state they decided to enjoy themselves playing in the waves when suddenly a wave caught the hen-crow and she drowned.

Eventually, the other crows heard the crow’s wailing for his beloved mate.  He told them what had happened to her.  They, too, all began to lament.  Then as of one mind they thought they could save the hen-crow by using their bills to empty out the sea. This eventually proved impossible.

Youth, guided by their immaturity often, like the crows, fail to realize the consequence and futility of their foolish solutions.  But stupidly they carry on repeating the cycles of painful rebirth.

What was the Buddha's compassion?

Maybe a good question to ask ourselves is what was the Buddha’s compassion or in Sanskrit, karuṇā?  I don’t think the standard definition of compassion does the Buddha’s karuṇā  justice.

After his enlightenment while still at the foot of the Bodhi Tree in solitude, the Buddha knew that what he had realized was transcendent and profound; that it could not be communicated since it was beyond the senses and speech.  Still, by compassion the Buddha was able to teach what he had realized but not in the way ordinary beings imagine compassion to be which was more at empathy for others.

What seems logical to me is that after the Buddha’s awakening what was not known, now becomes known, and that is the animative principle or just Mind with a capital M which you could say is absolute spirit. This means that the Buddha's compassion is experienced as subtle light to those open to receiving it (not all have enough good karma to receive it but many do).  In other words, as a result of this enlightenment a Buddha, naturally, radiates this subtle light to help make beings awaken.  This is the wordless, transcendent teaching.

We read in the Itivuttaka (III, iv, v) that the “Light-bringers, dhamma-speakers, open the door of the deathless [to nirvana], setting free the many folk from bondage [of sense desire].” 

This is rather a fitting way to describe the compassion of a Buddha.  I mean who else might be able to bring spiritual light except a Buddha?  According to the Avatamsaka Sutra, "the Buddha emanates light for them [the unawakened]." This light or radiance can't be turned on or off.  With the first day of awakening this light naturally grows.  The new Buddha becomes like a mini-sun. 

I am also strongly inclined to believe that the followers of the Buddha who could experience the light he emanated were enlightened as a result of experiencing this divine light.  This was the real teaching out of compassion for the many.

 

Escapism can be good

Sometime in our life, hopefully sooner than later, we get the impression that we are gradually having to adapt to life in a well disguised madhouse, this being modern culture that is made to look like a funhouse.  At some point the funhouse is not fun anymore.  Personally, we find ourself doing the same things over and over again so that each time we do them, the fun becomes less.

At some time down the road it may dawn on us that it’s time to escape from our culture.  It is starting to look more like a madhouse than a funhouse.  In this madhouse, most people are too far gone to recognize what has happened to them or to do anything about it even if they did recognize what was happening. 

At some point, we conclude, and rightly so, it’s time to maybe think about escaping, to get as far away from the madhouse and the crazy people who inhabit it.  This maybe is the time when we read books about Zen and the life of various Zen masters.  But then we wonder if this is not another form of escapism.  But is escapism all that bad?

So what is escapism?  As simple as it gets, the idea of escape, from a Buddhist point of view, means to avoid future or imminent pain or misfortune.  For example, if you see a flashing warning sign as you drive warning you to take the detour on the right side of the road, this can be thought of as a timely warning, helping you to avoid an accident.  The detour on the right side of the road is the escape.   

We live in a world with many kinds of warning signs, not all flashing but warning us nevertheless.  There are many things we should avoid lest we bring harm to ourselves or to others in the near future or many years down the road of life.  In this regard, a sane culture should be escapist.  People should try, as much as possible, to avoid future suffering.  Here are a few examples.  Don’t drop out of school.  We’d better leave now a storm is brewing.  Cigarettes can be hazardous to your health.  Avoid unprotected sex.  Get your teeth checked and cleaned.  Don’t travel to this country there is a civil war going on.  Don’t drink the water.  There are many more examples.

There is nothing wrong with a Buddhist kind of escapism of becoming a monk or a nun for a few years so as to better know your self.  Far worse is to become a solid member of the funhouse that is actually a madhouse whereby we throw caution to the wind living the life of a cultural zombie or profligate.  Such a way of living does not bode well for our karma or our next life. 

Our search for the secret of Zen

We are in the habit of grasping.  We grasp things like a tool, for instance, which is natural to do. But we also try to grasp a concept or a meaning that a word is pointing to which lies beyond the word.  We automatically assume that a word’s meaning has a graspable, explicit meaning.  This is the problem we face in the world of Zen.  What Zen is pointing to, namely, our true nature is ungraspable. 

Like Tantalus’ grapes which move away from his grasp, the more we  try to grasp Zen from our own side, with all of its assumptions, the less we understand Zen from its own side which is beyond our range.

What Zen is trying to tell us is that we cannot grasp the secret of Zen.  To do so is to continually fail at Zen. Our search for the secret of Zen requires of us a new kind of attention or awareness that is totally open and not consciously directed.  This is the only way we can discover and unlock the secret of Zen.

This kind of attention is in sharp contrast to what I would call consciously directed attention that wants to ferret out the most adequate meaning or concept among all possible meanings, especially, when it comes to Zen koans.  But keep in mind that the adept has to be broken of the habit of using consciously directed attention.  Oddly, this is where koans help to wean the adept off of this bad habit, bringing the mind into a crisis, what in Zen is called “great doubt.”

Great doubt signals the shift to a new awareness, one that is totally open and not consciously directed.  It is a radical break with consciously directed attention that is habituated to looking for something to grasp, hence, to solve Zen’s secret using the wrong means.

With the crisis of great doubt, the looking-for-something, is no more.  In a way, it died.  It has been changed into an awareness that is totally open and not consciously directed.  It is so sensitive that when, so to speak, the Buddha whispers from on high, you hear it loud and clear.  This time there was nothing in your head blocking his mysterious transmission.