The Zennist

Buddhas transcend faith

It is interesting to find that the Arahant or in Sanskrit the Arhat, is described as “one devoid of faith” (P., assaddho, Dhammapada 97) which seems to mean that he is beyond the need for faith having reached final and absolute knowledge through meditation (dhyāna).  The Buddha even tells Ānanda on one occasion: “You say this out of faith but it is a matter of knowledge for the Tathāgata” (D. ii. 155). 

Faith, while it varies in degrees from weak to strong, can never take us to absolute knowledge.  Understandably, a beginner has to accept Buddhism from a position of faith who may, in addition, harbor a number of doubts about Buddhism.

Many people I suspect, especially in Buddhism, don’t fully understand what faith is about.  Faith is closer to the word “persuasion” which has to do with the action of influencing the mind by arguments or reasons.  Thus, to have faith in the Buddha’s teachings means being persuaded by what he says in the various discourses (sutta, sutra).  But by no means do we have intuitive knowledge which Siddhartha attained whereby he became a Buddha.

Turning to beginners in Buddhism and Zen, most are not persuaded that after they die they will be reborn into another form.  In other words, they don’t have faith in this part of the Buddha’s teaching.  They are more persuaded by the materialist doctrine of one life then a dirt nap forever after you die.  They also have strong faith that the Buddha categorically denied the ātman although they are not sure where he actually denied the ātman.

Modern society doesn’t seem to realize that faith is what makes its world go around.  This includes persuasion arguments from Darwinism, the Big Bang theory, to global warming.  What we call “science" rests mainly on very elaborate and sophisticated persuasion arguments.  This means that science is pretty much faith based.  It tends to persuade us more than theology or for that matter, Buddhism.  Buddhism right now is in a very precarious spot.  It's being radically revised into a religion of lite materialism in which there is no ghost in the machine (Gilbert Ryle) which is actually a persuasion argument.  Yes, faith based.

The way of Zen is not by sitting

According to one of Zen’s four slogans we are told, “do not depend on written words,” and yet much of Zen and for that matter, much of Buddhism, seem to demand a lot of reading on our part.  This slogan I think is meant to imply that language cannot disclose ultimate reality.  It takes something more.  In fact, ultimate reality can only be hinted at.  And even the ‘hints’ often fall short of awakening.

The Buddha’s teaching about ultimate reality therefore presents a major problem for the new student or even the old student given the utter incapacity of the written or spoken word to convey buddhatā (the state of Buddhahood). 

Language, in other words, is not a bridge to the beyond.  It can take us to the edge of the chasm where on the other side of the chasm is buddhatā.  But this is not a bridge.  Yes, words can even evoke various kinds of subtle concepts about ultimate reality even suggesting a number of means by which to attain buddhatā, but concepts are not buddhatā.  They are not bridges.  In this regard we are left with an inadequate silence.  And what good does it do to deepen or prolong this silence?  Silence or quietism is not a bridge either.

What Siddhartha used as a bridge before he attained buddhatā and became recognized as a Buddha, was dhyāna which went from the conditioned to the unconditioned.  But is this some kind of leap that is preceded by an emptying out process, that is, an attempt at attenuate the power of thought which is always conditioned?  This is not an easy question to answer.  It is a difficult subject even for scholars who leave us with little more clarity than before we read their books.  But Zen seems to have found the way.  It's not by sitting, however, but by "intuition" which has been overlooked in the circles of modern Zen.

The atrophy of religion

To give oneself, personally, to religious thought and praxis is what religion is about.  The idea that religion is about the worship, belief and commitment to a god or different kinds of gods is too narrow of a definition in light of Indian thought going back to the ancient Vedas and including the Upaniṣads which shows a gradual development into, personal, religious introspection which is believed to reveal ultimate reality.

As we might guess, this religious, introspective development gave birth, eventually, to Buddhism in which we see such phrases as: “Unperturbed, the very self (ātmaiva) attains nirvana” (M. i. 255). Vedanta also took an introspective path similar to Buddhism.  Both Buddhism and Vedanta don’t easily fit within the typical pop Western view of religion.  Nevertheless, Buddhism and Vedanta still constitute the core of what a religion is meant to be.

When Western Buddhists say that neither Buddhism nor Zen are, in the true sense, religions, one needs to ask from what world do they come from which excludes Buddhism or Zen as religions?  An atheist might well not believe the Judeo-Christian God or a creator god, but this doesn’t mean he or she is not religious.  We need to keep in mind that the Buddha did not believe in a creator god. 

It might be a little different with an agnostic who, for example, believes in some kind of ultimate reality but understands that it is unknowable and might never be known.  For Thomas Huxley (1825–1895) "agnosticism" meant something different: “Sit down before the fact as a little child, be prepared to give up every preconceived notion, follow humbly wherever and to whatever abysses nature leads, or you shall learn nothing. ”  Here we can see that agnosticism is about being open minded; not having our mind already made up before we even begin the voyage of discovery.

The problem Buddhists face today is not with the atheistic or the agnostic position but with those individuals who harbor a deep-seated hostility toward religion, using atheism and agnosticism as a cover.  I dare say, that Buddhism and Zen have attracted far too many anti-religious types who seem to want to re-make Buddhism into something like a refuge for various marginalized groups in society.  In this way, neither Buddhism nor Zen can be religious in the sense of offering a path of awakening whereby gnosis of ultimate reality is attained.  They become ideological and politically involved.

Modern Buddhism suffers from a strange form of narcissism

Modern Buddhists postulate a ‘quasi’ or ‘as if’ self which means they accept a false, temporary self that exists as long as the biological body exists, but not beyond.  This means that both the false self and the biological body with its brain are the same.  What is beyond the annihilation of both is not known or recognized by them.

Put differently, the modern Buddhist, fundamentally, believes they do not exist as real persons which would necessitate a survivable real self or ātman which they believe Buddhism denies.  Instead, because they do not exist as real persons (have a soul or ātman) they must be mere reflections that exist for a limited amount of time, not unlike the “Replicants” in the Ridley Scott film, Blade Runner (1982).

However, the modern Buddhist has a major problem with his or her belief.  It is, basically, a narcissistic problem.  This, I have hinted at in previous blogs, is connected with Ovid’s Metamorphoses, “The Story of Echo and Narcissus” in which Narcissus, because of his thirst, falls in love with his image in a pool of water not knowing that this image is totally empty.  It is only a reflection lacking any substance.  Still, the real Narcissus believes that the image in the pool of water is both real and desirous.  He does not know that to regain his self he must turn away from the image in the pool.  This turning away, breaks the identification process with the fatal image which if it continues causes, so the speak, the atrophy of his soul.

This brings up the Buddha’s real teaching that modern Buddhist don't understand; which does not deny a self or ātman but, as with the example of Narcissus, teaches us to abandon desire for whatever is not our self, namely, the empty, biological image we were reborn into!  Only then do we discover and return to our true self once the break is made. 

This is not unlike the real life story of neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor who suffered a massive stroke of the left hemisphere of the brain.  In an interview with Katy Koontz, Taylor revealed the following:

“The consciousness of my right brain did not recognize the boundaries of my body at all. The left parietal region of the brain, in what’s called the orientation association area, holds a holographic image of your body so that you know where you begin and where you end. When those cells went offline after the stroke, I no longer had that perspective. I felt as big as the universe! My body was attached to me, but I didn’t experience it as my essence. Instead, I was the collective whole, connected to everyone and everything—I was completely fluid. Our right brain doesn’t see the artificial division of individual bodies that the left brain places on us. We’re actually all energy. Our bodies are just energy compacted into a dense form.”

In Buddhism, the formation or compacting (saṅkhāra) into a dense form (sankhāta) is like the image of Narcissus in the pool of water.  It is also about our own conception and birth.  Unbeknown to us, the right hemisphere of the brain is the portal, you could say, where our true self is accessed.  The left hemisphere, on the other hand, holds the empty holographic image that we identify with as being who we are, and like Narcissus desire it greatly, especially, during the phase of youth when sexual passion runs high.  Our desire for this image and its world compels us to supply it, constantly, with what we imagine it needs.  This is the becoming of narcissism and all the psychopathology that goes with it.

I am suggesting Jill Bolte Taylor’s experience including what we know about the right hemisphere of the brain, is not outside of the ballpark of a mystical experience like Siddhartha had by which he became a Buddha.  And it may be the fact that all Buddhas have through meditation (dhyāna/samādhi) accessed the right hemisphere of the brain which leads, directly, to the absolute which is also a return to the universal/one self (P., ekamattā), not the countless moons in the water, but the one in the sky.

Our thinking is within the manas — not beyond it

It is impossible to see our true nature through the senses of the false, screening self.  The false self, besides the ordinary senses such as sight and hearing, also includes the manas which is the false self’s mental powers such as the intellect, understanding, thoughts and imagination, and even will, to name just a few examples that represent the manas. 

Perhaps no sense is more difficult to let go of than the manas.  Specifically, this would be our thoughts and concepts about enlightenment which are never other than inadequate and unenlightened.  Here, as we can guess, the problem is one of attachment, a refusal to let go of the manas, maybe not even knowing how to let go.

Still, we have the ability to let go but it’s hidden deep within us—almost impossible to reach.  And many of us are not interested in letting go of our attachment to the manas.  Our depth of penetration only goes as far as the manas.  Then it stops on this side.  This means, for example, that we like to think about Zen giving it our thoughts.  But this thinking is within the limits of the manas; not beyond it. We find that we keep going to the same limit, repeatedly. 

None see the great disease of Zen.  It's our inability to get beyond the manas but more to the point, we do not know that we keep reaching the dead end of the manas.  If we did know we would be in despair, thrown into a kind of limbo, unable to escape from the manas-world while accepting, at the same time, an inaccessible transcendent world probably beyond the manas.

The Absolute is inexpressible, indeterminate, indefinable and ineffable.  It is above thought-constructions and can be directly realised through spiritual experience. — Dr. Chandradhar Sharma

Oneness, identity and non-daulity

In a materialistic culture we identify with our psychophysical bodies.  We are taught to treat them as who we are.  This is nothing more than a kind of narcissism that varies in degree from the simple narcissism of a child to hedonistic and malignant narcissism in the adult.  But it is still narcissism.

Buddhist narcissism is about our wrong identification with the psychophysical body as being who we really are.  (The modern belief that the Buddha categorically denied a self is not found in the old canon. He only taught against identifying with what is not our self, namely, the five aggregates.)

We are not taught to see this life as being made up of illusory appearances which are nothing more than configurations of Mind stuff which is unborn and unconditioned.  Nor are we taught to believe that consciousness (vijñāna) creates all (sarva) objects and properties (dharmā) of the physical world including endless rebirths. 

Unbeknown to us, we are nothing more than conscious agents interacting with other conscious agents creating countless illusory realities and multiple universes.  These continuous unbroken interactions between conscious agents is called samsara.  This entire field or abode of interactions between conscious agents is called the Ālayavijñāna.  To escape from samsara there must occur a revulsion of the basis, i.e., the ālayavijñāna.  This revulsion is called āśrayaparāvṛtti not to be confused with āśrayaparivṛtti (the uncovering of true reality).

The ālaya or abode of conscious (vijñāna) agents have one thing in common which is the duality of subject and object (or observer and observed).  These agents are unable to see, intuitively, the original one from which this binary (vi) consciousness first emerged.  The subject wrongly wants to see the one or ekatva, as ‘other-object’ — a difference from itself.  But true gnosis or intuition occurs only when the pure subject meets the pure object, like a drop of water falling into the ocean.  This is advaya in the sense of oneness, identity and non-daulity.

 

 

Enveloped by a heavy darkness

It follows in Buddhism that a significant mystical transformation or radical shift occurs when one goes from normal perception to direct intuition of ultimate reality. 

Normal perception, which is seeing the world through the senses and the mind (manas) acts, you could say, like a filter of delusion. In other words, in our human biological form we only look at the world through deluded, limiting filters, the goal of which is Darwinian fitness.  But Buddhism calls upon us to see, so to speak, reality without filters, i.e., ultimate reality uncovered. 

The aforementioned is certainly very profound stuff.  Still, I have reason to believe that in the non-academic and non-monastic world of those who dabble in Buddhism and Zen, the aforementioned doesn’t mean much in light of their daily practice (e.g., zazen).  Nevertheless, it is something profound.  It points to the absolute which our human imagination cannot imagine but still tries!

This leads me to say that there is a difference between Buddhism used as a self-help tool and Buddhism, including Zen, as a way of life but not in the ordinary, mundane sense.  In the latter, according to the Buddha, it is the way which goes against the stream.  Here is the passage in full:

“The way which goes against the stream is a profound one, very difficult to see.  Those who are afflicted with passion will not see it; they are enveloped by a heavy darkness” (Catuṣpariṣatsūtra).

Our one-sided passion for the external world, a kind of hedonistic narcissism, which is perceived through the senses and the mind (manas), has to be understood as the condition of being enthralled with what is external or foreign to one's true nature. Such people certainly are enveloped by a heavy darkness who because of this darkness lead unstructured and meaningless lives as in a trance.

Western meditation vs Buddhist meditation

If by meditation we mean close or continued thought in the sense of sustained reflection, then Buddhist meditation (jhāna/dhyāna) does not match the western idea of meditation. 

Buddhist meditation is more about the stilling of thoughts before a sudden shift into direct intuition of the absolute, i.e., transcendental knowledge (prajñā) occurs.  In Buddhism, such knowledge can never be the result of analytical reasoning but can only reveal itself, spontaneously, by a special kind of meditation.

The process of stilling is not, as we might think, done by willing.  It is about awareness or mindfulness that gets behind our inner world of thoughts.  But it doesn’t will.  Our thoughts become still as we decondition our normal habit or impulse to engage with various kinds of thoughts and emotionally tinged thoughts.  Even though one believes they are mindful of their thoughts as they arise and change, nevertheless, they are engaged with various thoughts, still under their spell.  The practitioner cannot do Buddhist meditation while they are still under the domination of the five hindrances, namely, sensual desire, ill-will, sloth and torpor, restlessness and worry, doubt.

Years ago, when I meditated in an adit that went back into a hill some 43 feet, it was much easier to meditate.  It was so quiet you could almost hear ashes drop from the burning incense.  The atmosphere of the adit helped me to be mindful of my thoughts to a great extent.  But I had also overcome the five hindrances by living in solitude which made this meditation doable for me. 

I should mention that in Buddhism overcoming the five hindrances  is a prerequisite for proper meditation.  This is where modern Zen and its practitioners delude themselves.  They are not doing real meditation because they are still under the influence of the five hindrances.  This, by the way, is one of the reasons one elects to become a monk or a nun and live away from the madding crowd.

 

A divide between Zen and Buddhism?

In Alan Watts’ book, The Spirit of Zen, a 1960 Evergreen Edition, the author writes the following:

“Zen is so markedly different from any other form of Buddhism, one might even say from any other form of religion, that it has roused the curiosity of many who would not ordinarily look to the ‘unpractical’ East for practical wisdom” (p. 17).

Is this true that Zen is different from any other form of Buddhism?  One could certainly make a good case that it is true but never a good enough case to say that Zen is not Buddhist.  It would be wrong to say that Zen is not Buddhist because it burned a commentary to a Buddhist discourse, burned a wooden statue of the Buddha to keep warm, and killed a cat to stop an argument between monks.

For those who have neglected to read some of the important works found in the Pali canon or have not studied the Mahayana literature, sufficiently, which can be mind boggling, it strikes me as arrogant to assume that Zen might have created itself.

Where Zen’s originality lies is not in its difference from Buddhism, for example, found in the Pali Nikayas and in Mahayana scripture but rather the means it uses to realize Gautama’s enlightenment for which the Zen tradition is aptly named.  The means or method relies on intuition which is the process of coming to direct knowledge of the absolute.

The goal of Zen has always been for the Zen adept to see what Siddhartha realized who then became a Buddha.  It has never been other than this.  But these are modern times where historical facts are ignored where even modern Zennists can say that they don’t believe in rebirth or accept karma; who also don’t accept nirvana as being all that important.  They just want to learn to sit in zazen—that's all.  For these people, zazen is just another tool they can use when their hedonistic desires and expectations are not being met, and they have to face reality, i.e., the first noble truth of suffering.

Buddhism and the problem of narcissism

Most of us are familiar with the story of "Echo and Narcissus" in Ovid's Metamorphoses.  For this blog's purpose it is about a beautiful youth in Greek mythology who pines away for love of his own reflection; who is then turned, eventually, into the narcissus flower.  

You might say that Narcissus suffered from exaggerated self-love which is what the Hollywood stars do on a regular basis whose narcissism encompasses their entire physical bodies.  To a certain extent this is normal in the growth and development of the child—but not in adults.  In the child and even the adolescent, this is called primary narcissism.  The Buddhist dictum: this is mine, I am this, this is my self, would easily apply to the growing child and the adolescent who are narcissistic.

Beyond this, when one becomes an adult, Buddhism argues that such an identification is not logical since it can be observed that physical bodies grow old and eventually perish from various causes.  Overly investing in one’s psychophysical life and existence as if it were the actual self is a foolish gamble.  We see proof of this in the Mahāpuṇṇama Sutta (MN 109)

What do you think, mendicants? Is form permanent or impermanent?”

“Impermanent, sir.”

“But if it’s impermanent, is it suffering or happiness?”

“Suffering, sir.”

“But if it’s impermanent, suffering, and perishable, is it fit to be regarded thus: ‘This is mine, I am this, this is my self’?”

“No, sir.”

“What do you think, mendicants? Is feeling … perception … choices … consciousness permanent or impermanent?”

“Impermanent, sir.”

“But if it’s impermanent, is it suffering or happiness?”

“Suffering, sir.”

“But if it’s impermanent, suffering, and perishable, is it fit to be regarded thus: ‘This is mine, I am this, this is my self’?”

“No, sir.”

“So you should truly see any kind of form at all—past, future, or present; internal or external; coarse or fine; inferior or superior; far or near: *all* form—with right understanding: ‘This is not mine, I am not this, this is not my self.’

You should truly see any kind of feeling … perception … choices … consciousness at all—past, future, or present; internal or external; coarse or fine; inferior or superior; far or near, *all* consciousness—with right understanding: ‘This is not mine, I am not this, this is not my self.’

Seeing this, a learned noble disciple grows disillusioned with form, feeling, perception, choices, and consciousness.

Being disillusioned, desire fades away. When desire fades away they’re freed. When they’re freed, they know they’re freed.

They understand: ‘Rebirth is ended, the spiritual journey has been completed, what had to be done has been done, there is no return to any state of existence.’”

That is what the Buddha said. Satisfied, the mendicants were happy with what the Buddha said. And while this discourse was being spoken, the minds of sixty mendicants were freed from defilements by not grasping.

This particular discourse, if we think about it, represents a break with primary narcissism in the same way we eventually give up our toys.  At some point in our youth it should begin to dawn on us that our embodied condition is limited—we can die.

Where excessive attachment to primary narcissism is still going on during the early part of adult life, this continuation then becomes dysfunctional.  It is what is called a “narcissistic personality disorder.”

The Buddhist notion of “no self” (anātman) addresses this kind of narcissism—but it is not a form of nihilism as if to suggest there is no such thing other than the body and the temporal life which ends in ashes.  Far from it.  Traditional Buddhism is about withdrawing identification of our self from that which is not our self where the right dictum should be: this is not mine, I am not this, this is not my self.

Narcissus only found substance, like today’s narcissists, in what was only shadow—a mere illusion.  The narcissist wants himself.  So the self becomes the five aggregates, namely, form … feeling … perception … choices … consciousness.  But what the narcissist seeks is nowhere to be found.  It’s all empty. 

If Narcissus could manage to turn away from gazing at the reflection of himself in the pool of shining water he would then, instantly, regain his true self!  But this illusion is too strong to turn away from.  It is conditioned; it appears at times beautiful.  The more he gazes at this reflection the more he desires it, holding on to it at any cost.  And the more we gaze at the five aggregates, called Mara's bait, unable to turn away from the aggregates and thus regain our true self, the more we become like Narcissus.