Tonight, a member at newbuddhist.com posted a 2003 article from Slate by John Horgan called "Why I ditched Buddhism" (which was originally titled, "Why I Can't Embrace Buddhism"). The article itself is basically a critique of Buddhism as a whole, although most of the examples Horgan uses stem from the Tibetan and Zen traditions.
Reading it, a couple of points immediately come to mind. The first is that a belief in postmortem rebirth needn't be faith-based (which, incidentally, holds true for belief in God): it can arise out of personal experiences, such as from the occurrence of past-life memories; it can arise out of anecdotal evidence (e.g., the research of Ian Stevenson); it can arise out of reason (i.e., the concept of rebirth isn't illogical, it simply relies on premises that strict materialists reject); etc.
More importantly, I'd argue that Horgan mischaracterizes rebirth as the belief in a transmigrating soul rather than how it's actually presented in the Suttas and understood by Theravada, which is a process whereby one moment of dependently arisen consciousness conditions the arising of the next, a process that doesn't necessarily cease at death. But whether one takes a literal or non-literal approach, rebirth is simply the continuation of a process — nothing 'remains,' nothing 'transmigrates,' etc. — there are merely phenomena that condition other phenomena in the interdependent process we call life.
The next point is that Horgan's treatment of kamma as "the law of moral cause and effect" which, with rebirth, implies "the existence of some cosmic judge who, like Santa Claus, tallies up our naughtiness and niceness before rewarding us with rebirth as a cockroach or as a saintly lama" is overly simplistic.
The basic premise behind kamma is that there's a cause and effect relationship between our actions and how they're experienced. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu puts it, "It's simply the fact of action—you do something unskillful, it's going to come back in an unpleasant way." In the same way, if you do something skillful, it's going to come back and be experienced in a pleasant way. This idea lies at the heart of Buddhist virtue ethics.
In the Suttas, the Buddha defines kamma as intentional actions of body, speech and mind (AN 6.63) that have the potential to produce certain results, which, in turn, have the potential to produce pleasant, painful or neutral feelings (AN 4.235). The word itself simply means 'action.'
Pragmatically speaking, actions are deemed 'unskillful' (akusala) if they lead to to self-affliction, to the affliction of others or to both. Actions that don't lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others or to both are deemed 'skillful' (kusala) (MN 61). Therefore, the distinction between skillful and unskillful actions is based upon how their results are experienced—not only by ourselves, but by others as well. (This emphasis on the consequential aspect of actions is similar to Jeremy Bentham's teleological utilitarianism, with John Stuart Mill's idea of higher and lower happiness being similar to the Buddha's distinction between long-term and short-term welfare and happiness.)
Psychologically speaking, however, the quality of the intentions behind the actions is what ultimately determines whether they're unskillful or skillful. (This aspect is closer to Kant's deontological categorical imperative when combined with the Buddhist principle of ahimsa or harmlessness.) Intentional actions rooted in greed, hatred or delusion produce painful mental feelings "like those of the beings in hell," while intentional actions rooted in non-greed, non-hatred and non-delusion produce the opposite ("like those of the Beautiful Black Devas"). Then there are acts rooted in both that bring mixed results "like those of human beings, some devas, and some beings in the lower realms" (AN 4.235).
By bringing kamma to an end, however, the mind is said to become free from agitation, leaving only moral perfection behind (AN 9.7). As St. Maximus writes in Opuscula theologica et polemica, from a complimentary Christian perspective, "A perfect nature has no need of choice, for it knows naturally what is good. Its freedom is based on this knowledge."
Essentially, Buddhist ethics focuses on the moral character of the individual, and revolves around seeing our desires for happiness and freedom from pain in all living creatures. If we don't respect that in them, how can we ever expect the same? This is especially true regarding human beings. Here I agree with the Buddha that, besides some rare and special cases, there's no one that's as dear to us as ourselves, that all beings essentially want to be happy in their own way (according to their specific capacities), and that it's a fairly decent and logical reason to desire their happiness as well as our own (SN 3.8).
The reason is simple. If our happiness comes at the expense of their happiness, they'll do everything in their power to upset that happiness. Conversely, if they were to infringe upon ours, wouldn't it follow that we'd do everything in our power to upset theirs? It seems like a vicious circle to me, and one of the ways to break this circle is an ethical framework that takes the happiness of others into consideration, which encourages the development of things like generosity and the four brahma-viharas: unlimited goodwill, compassion, empathetic joy and equanimity.
But regardless of what one thinks about the idea of kamma itself, I think the way it's presented in the Suttas clearly contradicts Horgan's assertion that Buddhism as a whole teaches us to view others as unreal and, by consequence, nullifies his conjecture that, "To someone who sees himself and others as unreal, human suffering and death may appear laughably trivial." Buddhist morality takes great pains to recognize the happiness and suffering of others, and to promote the former while preventing the latter.
Another point is that the practice of meditation has been demonstrated to help to reduce anxiety and lower blood pressure, among other things. It can also help to make one more empathetic. So I think dismissing meditation so quickly, especially without further elaboration, is a bit hasty. In addition, I believe that more research needs to be done in this area to make any conclusive statements as to what meditation can and can't do. Neuroscience is a relatively young field, after all.
Besides that, I also think he mischaracterizes anatta as nonexistence, which is another big mistake, in my opinion. Selfless ≠ nonexistent. The teachings on not-self aren't merely assertions that we have no self; they're a method for deconstructing our false perceptions about reality, as well as an important tool in removing the vast net of clinging that gives rise to suffering. By equating anatta with nonexistence, he's grasping the snake by the tail, as the Buddha would say.
In the simplest of terms, the Buddha taught that whatever is inconstant is stressful, and whatever is stressful is not-self—with the goal being to essentially take this [analytical] knowledge, along with a specific set of practices such as meditation, as a stepping stone to what I can only describe as a profound psychological event that radically changes the way the mind relates to experience.
That doesn't mean, however, that the teachings on not-self are understood to deny individuality (MN 22) or imply that the conventional person doesn't exist (SN 22.22). They merely break down the conceptual idea of a self — i.e., that which is satisfactory, permanent and completely subject to our control — in relation to the various aspects of our experience that we falsely cling to as 'me' or 'mine' (SN 22.59). Moreover, Horgan appears to contradict himself when he says that Buddhism "holds that after death our souls are re-instantiated in new bodies," but then later criticizes the idea of anatta as nonexistence. Either Buddhism is inconsistent on this matter, or Horgan is. My money is on the latter.
As for the rest, I don't really have the time nor the inclination to go into it in detail, but I do think Horgan tries to make some good points. Nevertheless, I think his points are mostly built upon rather spurious assumptions and more aimed at knocking down straw men than anything else. For example, the idea that Buddhism stems from "our narcissistic wish to believe that the universe was created for our benefit" is simply an assumption, and Horgan offers nothing to back it up. The Buddha certainly never said that we're here for a reason.
All in all, I find Horgan's article more of an emotional ad hominem than a solid critique of Buddhism. That said, I think it's a good start, but it definitely needs a lot more work if it's to be taken as a serious critique of Buddhism.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
virtue, concentration and discernment
After a particularly traumatic experience, a friend of mine once asked, "Do you think that the best learning comes from our personal experiences, or can you learn as deeply from teachers, books, or contemplation?" My initial answer was to say personal experience, but the question got me thinking about just what the Buddha taught and how he taught it. In particular, how did he teach his followers to understand and realize the Dhamma for themselves?
Your first impulse may be to say (as I did) personal experience via the noble eightfold path. That in and of itself is a good answer; however, what does the path itself entail? Does it mean that we should learn only by direct experiences, or is it a combination of that and something else? To find the answer, I began looking through the Suttas for some hint of the Buddha's general teaching structure. The noble eightfold path itself has eight distinct subjects, and those subjects become fairly broad and all-encompassing when you divide them into their constituents. But, just as they can be broadened, they can also be condensed into three easier to deal with sections — virtue, concentration and discernment — with each factor falling under one of these three categories.
The first thing I noticed was the Buddha doesn't advise anyone to strive for awakening without at least some form of guidance. Moreover, if the path to nibbana was so easily found and simple to follow, there wouldn't really be a need for a 'turner of the wheel,' would there? So the reason that the Buddha doesn't just suggest searching for an end of suffering blindly and without direction is precisely because this path isn't necessarily easy to find or follow on one's own, let alone teach. This idea is conveyed in places like SN 6.1, where the Buddha, sitting in seclusion not long after his awakening experience, thinks to himself:
To actually 'see' what the Buddha is pointing at for ourselves, then, we must follow a similar path, one that combines the three basic principles of virtue, concentration and discernment into one. While it's true that the Pali Canon records cases of people just hearing the Dhamma and attaining the fruits of the path, these spiritual advanced people are relatively few and far between, the product of both past and present skillful actions and ripening conditions that the average worldling (puthujjana), intoxicated with sensual pleasures, doesn't possess. Not only that, but they had the added benefit of having the Buddha himself as their guide. Many had to put a lot of effort into their practice.
The most difficult part of the equation is how do you teach something that's unconditioned, beyond concepts and worldly phenomena? No language or method of analysis can impart this kind of knowledge to an individual in and of themselves; it's a realization or gnosis that's born from experience coupled with insight. So, for this reason, the Buddha devised a way for practitioners to gain both—the noble eightfold path. Through this path the Buddha combines methods of virtuous conduct (sila), methods of meditative concentration (samadhi) and methods of developing discernment or insight (panna), and these three intertwined modes of training help to give rise to what are often called the factors for awakening.
Sila or virtue is taught by the Buddha as the foundation of the practice, especially in regard to meditation. Virtue helps to provide the meditator with a mind that's free from remorse, and a mind that's free from remorse is better able to develop deep states of concentration, which are difficult to develop when the mind is consistently worried or agitated (AN 11.2). The training of virtue is best known by the five precepts:
The five precepts are the basic training rules all Buddhists are encouraged to observe to the best of their ability, and are based on the principle of harmlessness (ahimsa) and renouncing unskillful behaviours that cause other beings harm and provoke retaliation. They constitute the basic level of virtue the Buddha advises is necessary for the peace of mind conducive to a successful meditation practice, and they are seen as gifts "that are not open to suspicion, will never be open to suspicion, and are unfaulted by knowledgeable contemplatives & priests" (AN 8.39). In the context of the eightfold path, this also includes right speech, right action and right livelihood, which are the factors classified under the division of virtue. Without this solid base of virtue, it's extremely difficult to achieve a sufficient state of mental calm and absorption. (Believe me, it's hard to meditate when you've done a lot of things you regret; they're the first things that pop up when the mind starts to get quiet.)
But even though discernment comes at the end of the triad, one won't see the benefits of practicing virtue without at least a modicum of discernment. 'You have to crawl before you can walk,' as the old saying goes. Therefore, it can be said that right resolve, which is classified under the division of discernment, also lies at the beginning since the wisdom and resolve needed to undertake a path of renunciation and harmlessness in the first place must already be present in some degree. This brings to mind the first two lines of the Dhammapada:
Next we have samadhi or concentration. The category of concentration consists of right effort, right mindfulness and right concentration. In the context of the path, concentration means meditation, which generally consists of centering the mind on a single meditation object in such a way that eventually leading to states of deep meditative absorption (jhana). And just as discernment is needed to practice virtue, and virtue acts as a foundation for concentration, concentration and discernment go hand in hand. Of course, certain ancient commentaries, as well as contemporary teachers, tend to treat them as two completely separate things, but in reality it seems almost impossible to differentiate between the two when looking at how the Pali Canon itself treats them. For example, there's this passage from the Dhammapada:
Many of the mindfulness meditations can lead to insight as well concentration, while many insight meditations can lead to states of concentration. Right mindfulness consists of developing mindfulness in regard to the four frames or objects of reference, i.e., the body in and of itself; feelings in and of themselves; mind in and of itself; and mental qualities in and of themselves (DN 22). The type of concentration that the Buddha is referring to in the context of right concentration is called jhana or meditative absorption, which can ultimately lead to the "ending the mental fermentations" (AN 9.36). The basic quality here is that there's only one object or focus of mindful-awareness. This focus can eventually lead to states of rapture or joy (piti), which is a factor of the first jhana, all the way on through to the formless attainments—the highest of which is called "the base of neither-perception-nor-non-perception."
The most popular method of achieving this type of meditative awareness is mindfulness of breathing, although the four frames of reference can be used as well, especially when coupled with mindfulness of breathing. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu points out in his introduction to DN 22:
The practice of concentration itself has many benefits. It gives the mind a comfortable place to rest and can help to lower blood pressure. It can also help to make one more empathetic. The most important benefit, however, is the ability of concentration to temporarily subdue the five hindrances (nivarana), which the Buddha calls "overgrowths of the mind that stultify insight," i.e., sensual desire, ill-will, sloth and drowsiness, restlessness and anxiety and uncertainty (AN 5.51). SN 47.10, for example, briefly details how directing the mind towards an inspiring object can act as an antidote to these unskillful mental states, and MN 20 lists five methods for dealing with unskillful thoughts in the course of meditation. Once the mind is calm, clear, focused, concentrated and temporarily free of the five hindrances, it's then better able to perform the next mode of training—discernment.
Panna or discernment — which includes right view and right resolve — basically means seeing things as they are in relation to the three characteristics of existence (tilakkhana)—unsatisfactoriness (dukkha), inconstancy (anicca) and not-self (anatta). This development of insight is analogous to what many call vipassana or insight mediation, and is especially useful for the contemplation of the five clinging-aggregates — the most discernible aspects of our experience on top of which we construct our sense of self — as Sariputta, the Buddha's most trusted disciple, explains in SN 22.122:
The topics of discernment are numerous, however, and, being entwined with concentration practice, can include things like the contemplation the five subjects of frequent reflection, the contemplation of the body, the contemplation of death, etc. In essence, when the mind of an individual has acquired a solid foundation of virtue, and after the mind has been calmed and settled to a point of focused awareness, it can then proceed to 'experience' life via the profound context of Dhamma:
And the Dhamma is a mirror with many reflections—dependent co-arising, the noble eightfold path, the three characteristics, the four noble truths, etc. So it's not by simply experiencing life that I think we can most effectively realize the freedom and peace of nibbana, nor is it by simply reading the Suttas or listening to Dhamma talks by experienced teachers; but it's a combination of all three (i.e., personal experience, right view/technique and proper guidance) that can really help to free the mind from its defilements. This approach can be likened to the the approach we're encouraged to take in regard to the three jewels of the Buddha, our guide or teacher; the Dhamma, his teachings; and the Sangha, the community of monks, nuns and lay-followers who have practiced well.
In the end, experience in and of itself won't necessarily lead to liberation, especially if our experience of life is characterized by ignorance (avijja) of the four noble truths; but by experiencing life in reference to these "four categories for viewing and classifying the processes of immediate experience," we can be sure to get a clear view of things as they are. And if we're ever in doubt we're on the right path, we can always know the Dhamma by its qualities:
Your first impulse may be to say (as I did) personal experience via the noble eightfold path. That in and of itself is a good answer; however, what does the path itself entail? Does it mean that we should learn only by direct experiences, or is it a combination of that and something else? To find the answer, I began looking through the Suttas for some hint of the Buddha's general teaching structure. The noble eightfold path itself has eight distinct subjects, and those subjects become fairly broad and all-encompassing when you divide them into their constituents. But, just as they can be broadened, they can also be condensed into three easier to deal with sections — virtue, concentration and discernment — with each factor falling under one of these three categories.
The first thing I noticed was the Buddha doesn't advise anyone to strive for awakening without at least some form of guidance. Moreover, if the path to nibbana was so easily found and simple to follow, there wouldn't really be a need for a 'turner of the wheel,' would there? So the reason that the Buddha doesn't just suggest searching for an end of suffering blindly and without direction is precisely because this path isn't necessarily easy to find or follow on one's own, let alone teach. This idea is conveyed in places like SN 6.1, where the Buddha, sitting in seclusion not long after his awakening experience, thinks to himself:
This Dhamma that I have attained is deep, hard to see, hard to realize, peaceful, refined, beyond the scope of conjecture, subtle, to-be experienced by the wise. But this generation delights in attachment, is excited by attachment, enjoys attachment. For a generation delighting in attachment, excited by attachment, enjoying attachment, this/that conditionality and dependent co-arising are hard to see. This state, too, is hard to see: the resolution of all fabrications, the relinquishment of all acquisitions, the ending of craving; dispassion; cessation; Unbinding. And if I were to teach the Dhamma and if others would not understand me, that would be tiresome for me, troublesome for me.
To actually 'see' what the Buddha is pointing at for ourselves, then, we must follow a similar path, one that combines the three basic principles of virtue, concentration and discernment into one. While it's true that the Pali Canon records cases of people just hearing the Dhamma and attaining the fruits of the path, these spiritual advanced people are relatively few and far between, the product of both past and present skillful actions and ripening conditions that the average worldling (puthujjana), intoxicated with sensual pleasures, doesn't possess. Not only that, but they had the added benefit of having the Buddha himself as their guide. Many had to put a lot of effort into their practice.
The most difficult part of the equation is how do you teach something that's unconditioned, beyond concepts and worldly phenomena? No language or method of analysis can impart this kind of knowledge to an individual in and of themselves; it's a realization or gnosis that's born from experience coupled with insight. So, for this reason, the Buddha devised a way for practitioners to gain both—the noble eightfold path. Through this path the Buddha combines methods of virtuous conduct (sila), methods of meditative concentration (samadhi) and methods of developing discernment or insight (panna), and these three intertwined modes of training help to give rise to what are often called the factors for awakening.
Sila or virtue is taught by the Buddha as the foundation of the practice, especially in regard to meditation. Virtue helps to provide the meditator with a mind that's free from remorse, and a mind that's free from remorse is better able to develop deep states of concentration, which are difficult to develop when the mind is consistently worried or agitated (AN 11.2). The training of virtue is best known by the five precepts:
1. Panatipata veramani sikkhapadam samadiyami
I undertake the precept to refrain from destroying living creatures.
2. Adinnadana veramani sikkhapadam samadiyami
I undertake the precept to refrain from taking that which is not given.
3. Kamesu micchacara veramani sikkhapadam samadiyami
I undertake the precept to refrain from sexual misconduct.
4. Musavada veramani sikkhapadam samadiyami
I undertake the precept to refrain from incorrect speech.
5. Suramerayamajja pamadatthana veramani sikkhapadam samadiyami
I undertake the precept to refrain from intoxicating drinks and drugs which lead to carelessness.
The five precepts are the basic training rules all Buddhists are encouraged to observe to the best of their ability, and are based on the principle of harmlessness (ahimsa) and renouncing unskillful behaviours that cause other beings harm and provoke retaliation. They constitute the basic level of virtue the Buddha advises is necessary for the peace of mind conducive to a successful meditation practice, and they are seen as gifts "that are not open to suspicion, will never be open to suspicion, and are unfaulted by knowledgeable contemplatives & priests" (AN 8.39). In the context of the eightfold path, this also includes right speech, right action and right livelihood, which are the factors classified under the division of virtue. Without this solid base of virtue, it's extremely difficult to achieve a sufficient state of mental calm and absorption. (Believe me, it's hard to meditate when you've done a lot of things you regret; they're the first things that pop up when the mind starts to get quiet.)
But even though discernment comes at the end of the triad, one won't see the benefits of practicing virtue without at least a modicum of discernment. 'You have to crawl before you can walk,' as the old saying goes. Therefore, it can be said that right resolve, which is classified under the division of discernment, also lies at the beginning since the wisdom and resolve needed to undertake a path of renunciation and harmlessness in the first place must already be present in some degree. This brings to mind the first two lines of the Dhammapada:
Mind precedes all mental states. Mind is their chief; they are all mind-wrought. If with an impure mind a person speaks or acts suffering follows him like the wheel that follows the foot of the ox.
Mind precedes all mental states. Mind is their chief; they are all mind-wrought. If with a pure mind a person speaks or acts happiness follows him like his never-departing shadow.
Next we have samadhi or concentration. The category of concentration consists of right effort, right mindfulness and right concentration. In the context of the path, concentration means meditation, which generally consists of centering the mind on a single meditation object in such a way that eventually leading to states of deep meditative absorption (jhana). And just as discernment is needed to practice virtue, and virtue acts as a foundation for concentration, concentration and discernment go hand in hand. Of course, certain ancient commentaries, as well as contemporary teachers, tend to treat them as two completely separate things, but in reality it seems almost impossible to differentiate between the two when looking at how the Pali Canon itself treats them. For example, there's this passage from the Dhammapada:
There is no meditative concentration for him who lacks insight, and no insight for him who lacks meditative concentration. He in whom are found both meditative concentration and insight, indeed, is close to Nibbana.
Many of the mindfulness meditations can lead to insight as well concentration, while many insight meditations can lead to states of concentration. Right mindfulness consists of developing mindfulness in regard to the four frames or objects of reference, i.e., the body in and of itself; feelings in and of themselves; mind in and of itself; and mental qualities in and of themselves (DN 22). The type of concentration that the Buddha is referring to in the context of right concentration is called jhana or meditative absorption, which can ultimately lead to the "ending the mental fermentations" (AN 9.36). The basic quality here is that there's only one object or focus of mindful-awareness. This focus can eventually lead to states of rapture or joy (piti), which is a factor of the first jhana, all the way on through to the formless attainments—the highest of which is called "the base of neither-perception-nor-non-perception."
The most popular method of achieving this type of meditative awareness is mindfulness of breathing, although the four frames of reference can be used as well, especially when coupled with mindfulness of breathing. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu points out in his introduction to DN 22:
At first glance, the four frames of reference for satipatthana practice sound like four different meditation exercises, but MN 118 makes clear that they can all center on a single practice: keeping the breath in mind. When the mind is with the breath, all four frames of reference are right there. The difference lies simply in the subtlety of one's focus. It's like learning to play the piano. As you get more proficient at playing, you also become sensitive in listening to ever more subtle levels in the music. This allows you to play even more skillfully. In the same way, as a meditator gets more skilled in staying with the breath, the practice of satipatthana gives greater sensitivity in peeling away ever more subtle layers of participation in the present moment until nothing is left standing in the way of total release.
The practice of concentration itself has many benefits. It gives the mind a comfortable place to rest and can help to lower blood pressure. It can also help to make one more empathetic. The most important benefit, however, is the ability of concentration to temporarily subdue the five hindrances (nivarana), which the Buddha calls "overgrowths of the mind that stultify insight," i.e., sensual desire, ill-will, sloth and drowsiness, restlessness and anxiety and uncertainty (AN 5.51). SN 47.10, for example, briefly details how directing the mind towards an inspiring object can act as an antidote to these unskillful mental states, and MN 20 lists five methods for dealing with unskillful thoughts in the course of meditation. Once the mind is calm, clear, focused, concentrated and temporarily free of the five hindrances, it's then better able to perform the next mode of training—discernment.
Panna or discernment — which includes right view and right resolve — basically means seeing things as they are in relation to the three characteristics of existence (tilakkhana)—unsatisfactoriness (dukkha), inconstancy (anicca) and not-self (anatta). This development of insight is analogous to what many call vipassana or insight mediation, and is especially useful for the contemplation of the five clinging-aggregates — the most discernible aspects of our experience on top of which we construct our sense of self — as Sariputta, the Buddha's most trusted disciple, explains in SN 22.122:
A virtuous monk, Kotthita my friend, should attend in an appropriate way to the five clinging-aggregates as inconstant, stressful, a disease, a cancer, an arrow, painful, an affliction, alien, a dissolution, an emptiness, not-self. Which five? Form as a clinging-aggregate, feeling... perception... fabrications... consciousness as a clinging-aggregate. A virtuous monk should attend in an appropriate way to these five clinging-aggregates as inconstant, stressful, a disease, a cancer, an arrow, painful, an affliction, alien, a dissolution, an emptiness, not-self. For it is possible that a virtuous monk, attending in an appropriate way to these five clinging-aggregates as inconstant... not-self, would realize the fruit of stream-entry.
The topics of discernment are numerous, however, and, being entwined with concentration practice, can include things like the contemplation the five subjects of frequent reflection, the contemplation of the body, the contemplation of death, etc. In essence, when the mind of an individual has acquired a solid foundation of virtue, and after the mind has been calmed and settled to a point of focused awareness, it can then proceed to 'experience' life via the profound context of Dhamma:
There is the case where the disciple of the noble ones recollects the Dhamma, thus: 'The Dhamma is well-expounded by the Blessed One, to be seen here & now, timeless, inviting verification, pertinent, to be realized by the wise for themselves.' As he is recollecting the Dhamma, his mind is calmed, and joy arises; the defilements of his mind are abandoned, just as when the body is cleansed through the proper technique. And how is the body cleansed through the proper technique? Through the use of scouring balls & bath powder & the appropriate human effort. This is how the body is cleansed through the proper technique. In the same way, the defiled mind is cleansed through the proper technique. And how is the defiled mind cleansed through the proper technique? There is the case where the disciple of the noble ones recollects the Dhamma... As he is recollecting the Dhamma, his mind is cleansed, and joy arises; the defilements of his mind are abandoned. He is thus called a disciple of the noble ones undertaking the Dhamma-Uposatha. He lives with Dhamma. It is owing to Dhamma that his mind is calmed, that joy arises, and that whatever defilements there are in his mind are abandoned. This is how the mind is cleansed through the proper technique.
And the Dhamma is a mirror with many reflections—dependent co-arising, the noble eightfold path, the three characteristics, the four noble truths, etc. So it's not by simply experiencing life that I think we can most effectively realize the freedom and peace of nibbana, nor is it by simply reading the Suttas or listening to Dhamma talks by experienced teachers; but it's a combination of all three (i.e., personal experience, right view/technique and proper guidance) that can really help to free the mind from its defilements. This approach can be likened to the the approach we're encouraged to take in regard to the three jewels of the Buddha, our guide or teacher; the Dhamma, his teachings; and the Sangha, the community of monks, nuns and lay-followers who have practiced well.
In the end, experience in and of itself won't necessarily lead to liberation, especially if our experience of life is characterized by ignorance (avijja) of the four noble truths; but by experiencing life in reference to these "four categories for viewing and classifying the processes of immediate experience," we can be sure to get a clear view of things as they are. And if we're ever in doubt we're on the right path, we can always know the Dhamma by its qualities:
As for the qualities of which you may know, 'These qualities lead to dispassion, not to passion; to being unfettered, not to being fettered; to shedding, not to accumulating; to modesty, not to self-aggrandizement; to contentment, not to discontent; to seclusion, not to entanglement; to aroused persistence, not to laziness; to being unburdensome, not to being burdensome': You may definitely hold, 'This is the Dhamma, this is the Vinaya, this is the Teacher's instruction.'
Monday, February 14, 2011
magha puja: my unexpected experience
This is an edited version of something I wrote five years ago today after an unexpected experience.
I wasn't originally going to celebrate Magha Puja — the day tradition holds that 1,250 arahants spontaneously gathered at Veruvana Temple, Rajgarh city — this year. I'm not very big on 'holidays,' but I was definitely in for a pleasant surprise this time around.
I originally went to Wat Buddhanusorn on Sunday [February 12] just to visit my teacher, Ajahn Prasert, but I ended up celebrating Magha Puja there as well. It was a nice day; the sun was out, there were a lot of nice people there, and they even had traditional Thai music and dancing along with the ceremony. I was also happy to see my friend, Phra Mike, who'd recently been in Thailand, as well as few others who I had the pleasure of spending the year-end retreat with. And as if that wasn't nice enough, I was invited to go to Abhayagiri the next day with Ayya Tathaaloka.
So, yesterday [February 13], we drove to Abhayagiri and celebrated Magha Puja there too. It was the first time I'd seen Ajahn Amaro in person. For me, it was like seeing a celebrity, and it was such a joy to hear one of his talks in person. My meditation was also unbelievably focused; I came as close as I've ever come to one-pointedness of mind. I think one of the reasons for this was my extraordinary level of inspiration. Not only did I get the meet one of my favourite Dhamma teachers, but I also had the good fortune to meditate in the presence of relics from Ajahn Mun and Ajahn Sao.
Instead of my normal anapanasati (mindfulness of breathing) meditation, I began by mentally repeat 'buddho' over and over again. Since I knew that this was one of Ajahn Mun's methods of meditation, I felt it appropriate to give it a try. I'll admit that I've never had much success with this particular method because my mind often wanders away from the meditation object quite easily; however, last night I was able to keep my awareness right there. Nothing could distract me. If any thoughts or feelings arose, I'd simply dismiss them with my ever-watchful mindfulness, which is usually never-watchful.
This continued until almost everything else faded away. There was only the awareness of 'buddho' and the sensation of whatever it was that was consciously repeating it. If I'd been allowed to continue this undisturbed, I'm positive that I would've achieved complete one-pointedness of mind. But, as my luck often has it, a person nearby had to sneeze. It was pretty loud since the room was quite small, and I was aware of my surrounding just enough to become startled by it. Even so, I still felt very happy because I now knew that such concentration was possible.
I felt so at home there, and I'm glad that I got the chance to go. The whole night felt very auspicious to me. I wish that Abhayagiri wasn't so far away, because regular visits aren't in any way convenient. I'll tell you the truth, I've never really cared too much about 'relics' or the superficial practices of Buddhism such as pujas, but I now understand how powerful they can be—if just for the added inspiration and psychological enhancement of the experience alone.
It was a truly amazing and spiritually inspiring experience. You simply can't help but want to practice when you're around such dedicated members of the Sangha. Once again, my appreciation for the Buddha's monastic community has blossomed, and I'm deeply appreciative of the important place it holds.
These are the verses (gatha) that the Buddha is said to have spoken to the 1,250 arahants who gathered on this occasion:
I wasn't originally going to celebrate Magha Puja — the day tradition holds that 1,250 arahants spontaneously gathered at Veruvana Temple, Rajgarh city — this year. I'm not very big on 'holidays,' but I was definitely in for a pleasant surprise this time around.
I originally went to Wat Buddhanusorn on Sunday [February 12] just to visit my teacher, Ajahn Prasert, but I ended up celebrating Magha Puja there as well. It was a nice day; the sun was out, there were a lot of nice people there, and they even had traditional Thai music and dancing along with the ceremony. I was also happy to see my friend, Phra Mike, who'd recently been in Thailand, as well as few others who I had the pleasure of spending the year-end retreat with. And as if that wasn't nice enough, I was invited to go to Abhayagiri the next day with Ayya Tathaaloka.
So, yesterday [February 13], we drove to Abhayagiri and celebrated Magha Puja there too. It was the first time I'd seen Ajahn Amaro in person. For me, it was like seeing a celebrity, and it was such a joy to hear one of his talks in person. My meditation was also unbelievably focused; I came as close as I've ever come to one-pointedness of mind. I think one of the reasons for this was my extraordinary level of inspiration. Not only did I get the meet one of my favourite Dhamma teachers, but I also had the good fortune to meditate in the presence of relics from Ajahn Mun and Ajahn Sao.
Instead of my normal anapanasati (mindfulness of breathing) meditation, I began by mentally repeat 'buddho' over and over again. Since I knew that this was one of Ajahn Mun's methods of meditation, I felt it appropriate to give it a try. I'll admit that I've never had much success with this particular method because my mind often wanders away from the meditation object quite easily; however, last night I was able to keep my awareness right there. Nothing could distract me. If any thoughts or feelings arose, I'd simply dismiss them with my ever-watchful mindfulness, which is usually never-watchful.
This continued until almost everything else faded away. There was only the awareness of 'buddho' and the sensation of whatever it was that was consciously repeating it. If I'd been allowed to continue this undisturbed, I'm positive that I would've achieved complete one-pointedness of mind. But, as my luck often has it, a person nearby had to sneeze. It was pretty loud since the room was quite small, and I was aware of my surrounding just enough to become startled by it. Even so, I still felt very happy because I now knew that such concentration was possible.
I felt so at home there, and I'm glad that I got the chance to go. The whole night felt very auspicious to me. I wish that Abhayagiri wasn't so far away, because regular visits aren't in any way convenient. I'll tell you the truth, I've never really cared too much about 'relics' or the superficial practices of Buddhism such as pujas, but I now understand how powerful they can be—if just for the added inspiration and psychological enhancement of the experience alone.
It was a truly amazing and spiritually inspiring experience. You simply can't help but want to practice when you're around such dedicated members of the Sangha. Once again, my appreciation for the Buddha's monastic community has blossomed, and I'm deeply appreciative of the important place it holds.
These are the verses (gatha) that the Buddha is said to have spoken to the 1,250 arahants who gathered on this occasion:
Ovaada-paa.timokkha Gaathaa
Khantii parama.m tapo tiitikkhaa
Nibbaana.m parama.m vadanti buddhaa,
Na hi pabbajito paruupaghaatii
Sama.no hoti para.m vihe.thayanto
Patient forbearance is the foremost austerity.
Liberation is foremost: that's what the Buddhas say.
He is no monk who injures another;
nor a contemplative, he who mistreats another.
Sabba-paapassa akara.na.m,
Kusalassuupasampadaa,
Sacitta-pariyodapana.m:
Eta.m buddhaana-saasana.m.
The non-doing of any evil,
The performance of what's skillful,
The cleansing of one's own mind:
This is the Buddhas' teaching.
Anuupavaado anuupaghaato
Paa.timokkhe ca sa.mvaro
Mattaññutaa ca bhattasmi.m
Pantañca sayan'aasana.m.
Adhicitte ca aayogo:
Eta.m buddhaana-saasananti.
Not disparaging, not injuring,
Restraint in line with the monastic code,
Moderation in food,
Dwelling in seclusion,
Commitment to the heightened mind:
This is the Buddhas' teaching.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
buddhist virtue ethics
Ethics is fairly broad subject, but it mainly deals with questions of morality and codes of conduct that help guide our actions. When it comes to whether an action is deemed ethical, that depends a great deal on the underlying principles of the ethical system in question. Some, for example, take the outcome of an action to be the most important deciding factor, while others may take the action itself as the key determining factor.
In Buddhism, for example, the Buddha's distinction between skillful and unskillful actions seems like a middle way between, or possibly a synthesis of, Jeremy Bentham's teleological utilitarianism and Immanuel Kant's deontological categorical imperative. (That's not to say that Bentham and Kant represent two ends of a single ethical spectrum, only that the Buddha takes what Bentham and Kant stress and emphasis them together.) With the Buddha, just/skillful actions aren't simply judged to be just/skillful based upon their consequences, but also because there's something inherently and universally just/skillful about the actions themselves. In Buddhism, this would be due to the quality of the intentions behind the actions.
The underlying principles behind Buddhist ethics are kamma — the idea that certain actions produce pleasant, painful or neutral feelings/results — and the principle of ahimsa or harmlessness.
The basic premise behind kamma is that there's a cause and effect relationship between our actions and how they're experienced. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu puts it, "It's simply the fact of action—you do something unskillful, it's going to come back in an unpleasant way." In the same way, if you do something skillful, it's going to come back and be experienced in a pleasant way. In the Suttas, the Buddha defines kamma as intentional actions of body, speech and mind (AN 6.63) that have the potential to produce certain results, which, in turn, have the potential to produce pleasant, painful or neutral feelings (AN 4.235). The word itself simply means 'action.'
Pragmatically speaking, actions are deemed 'unskillful' (akusala) if they lead to to self-affliction, to the affliction of others or to both. Actions that don't lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others or to both are deemed 'skillful' (kusala) (MN 61). Therefore, the distinction between skillful and unskillful actions is based upon how their results are experienced—not only by ourselves, but by others as well. (This emphasis on the consequential aspect of actions is similar to Jeremy Bentham's teleological utilitarianism, with John Stuart Mill's idea of higher and lower happiness being similar to the Buddha's distinction between long-term and short-term welfare and happiness.)
Psychologically speaking, however, the quality of the intentions behind the actions is what ultimately determines whether they're unskillful or skillful. (This aspect is closer to Kant's deontological categorical imperative when combined with the Buddhist principle of harmlessness.) Intentional actions rooted in greed, hatred or delusion produce painful mental feelings "like those of the beings in hell," while intentional actions rooted in non-greed, non-hatred and non-delusion produce the opposite ("like those of the Beautiful Black Devas"). Then there are acts rooted in both that bring mixed results "like those of human beings, some devas, and some beings in the lower realms" (AN 4.235). By bringing kamma to an end via the noble eightfold path, however, and eliminating the skillful/unskillful dichotomy altogether, the mind is said to become free from agitation, leaving only freedom (SN 36.31) and moral perfection behind (AN 9.7). Or as St. Maximus writes in Opuscula theologica et polemica (albeit from a Christian perspective), "A perfect nature has no need of choice, for it knows naturally what is good. Its freedom is based on this knowledge."
Essentially, Buddhist ethics focuses on the moral character of the individual, and revolves around seeing our desires for happiness and freedom from pain in all living creatures. If we don't respect that in them, how can we ever expect the same? This is especially true regarding human beings. Here I agree with the Buddha that, besides some rare and special cases, there's no one that's as dear to us as ourselves, that all beings essentially want to be happy in their own way (according to their specific capacities), and that it's a fairly decent and logical reason to desire their happiness as well as our own (SN 3.8).
The reason is simple. If our happiness comes at the expense of their happiness, they'll do everything in their power to upset that happiness. Conversely, if they were to infringe upon ours, wouldn't it follow that we'd do everything in our power to upset theirs? It seems like a vicious circle to me, and one of the ways to break this circle is an ethical framework that takes the happiness of others into consideration. This, in turn, can eventually lead to the development of things like compassion and generosity, which, when combined with other qualities and training methods, can ultimately transform a self-centred desire for happiness into the selfless achievement of happiness via insight into the inconstant (anicca), stressful (dukkha) and selfless (anatta) nature of phenomena.
Nevertheless, Buddhism is a type of 'religious individualism' in that the teachings on kamma focus on individual actions and their consequences, so ethics are more or less a personal matter that each individual must explore and develop on their own; although guidance is certainly advised.
The way I see it, Buddhist ethics aren't entirely black or white, i.e., they aren't seen in terms of ethical and unethical as much as skillful and unskillful. In Buddhism, all intentional actions are understood to have potential consequences, and actions that cause harm to others and/or ourselves are considered to be unskillful and something to be avoided. But the Buddha never condemns people merely for making unskillful choices or breaking the precepts; he simply urges them to learn from their mistakes and to make an effort to renounce their unskillful behaviour with the understanding that skillful behaviour leads to long-term welfare and happiness.
All in all, I find Buddhist ethics to be less judgmental and more forgiving than many other systems when it comes to making mistakes (read 'less rigid'), as well as ingenious and profoundly simple from a theoretical point of view. But more importantly, I find it to be practical and extremely effective when sincerely adopted and put into practice.
In Buddhism, for example, the Buddha's distinction between skillful and unskillful actions seems like a middle way between, or possibly a synthesis of, Jeremy Bentham's teleological utilitarianism and Immanuel Kant's deontological categorical imperative. (That's not to say that Bentham and Kant represent two ends of a single ethical spectrum, only that the Buddha takes what Bentham and Kant stress and emphasis them together.) With the Buddha, just/skillful actions aren't simply judged to be just/skillful based upon their consequences, but also because there's something inherently and universally just/skillful about the actions themselves. In Buddhism, this would be due to the quality of the intentions behind the actions.
The underlying principles behind Buddhist ethics are kamma — the idea that certain actions produce pleasant, painful or neutral feelings/results — and the principle of ahimsa or harmlessness.
The basic premise behind kamma is that there's a cause and effect relationship between our actions and how they're experienced. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu puts it, "It's simply the fact of action—you do something unskillful, it's going to come back in an unpleasant way." In the same way, if you do something skillful, it's going to come back and be experienced in a pleasant way. In the Suttas, the Buddha defines kamma as intentional actions of body, speech and mind (AN 6.63) that have the potential to produce certain results, which, in turn, have the potential to produce pleasant, painful or neutral feelings (AN 4.235). The word itself simply means 'action.'
Pragmatically speaking, actions are deemed 'unskillful' (akusala) if they lead to to self-affliction, to the affliction of others or to both. Actions that don't lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others or to both are deemed 'skillful' (kusala) (MN 61). Therefore, the distinction between skillful and unskillful actions is based upon how their results are experienced—not only by ourselves, but by others as well. (This emphasis on the consequential aspect of actions is similar to Jeremy Bentham's teleological utilitarianism, with John Stuart Mill's idea of higher and lower happiness being similar to the Buddha's distinction between long-term and short-term welfare and happiness.)
Psychologically speaking, however, the quality of the intentions behind the actions is what ultimately determines whether they're unskillful or skillful. (This aspect is closer to Kant's deontological categorical imperative when combined with the Buddhist principle of harmlessness.) Intentional actions rooted in greed, hatred or delusion produce painful mental feelings "like those of the beings in hell," while intentional actions rooted in non-greed, non-hatred and non-delusion produce the opposite ("like those of the Beautiful Black Devas"). Then there are acts rooted in both that bring mixed results "like those of human beings, some devas, and some beings in the lower realms" (AN 4.235). By bringing kamma to an end via the noble eightfold path, however, and eliminating the skillful/unskillful dichotomy altogether, the mind is said to become free from agitation, leaving only freedom (SN 36.31) and moral perfection behind (AN 9.7). Or as St. Maximus writes in Opuscula theologica et polemica (albeit from a Christian perspective), "A perfect nature has no need of choice, for it knows naturally what is good. Its freedom is based on this knowledge."
Essentially, Buddhist ethics focuses on the moral character of the individual, and revolves around seeing our desires for happiness and freedom from pain in all living creatures. If we don't respect that in them, how can we ever expect the same? This is especially true regarding human beings. Here I agree with the Buddha that, besides some rare and special cases, there's no one that's as dear to us as ourselves, that all beings essentially want to be happy in their own way (according to their specific capacities), and that it's a fairly decent and logical reason to desire their happiness as well as our own (SN 3.8).
The reason is simple. If our happiness comes at the expense of their happiness, they'll do everything in their power to upset that happiness. Conversely, if they were to infringe upon ours, wouldn't it follow that we'd do everything in our power to upset theirs? It seems like a vicious circle to me, and one of the ways to break this circle is an ethical framework that takes the happiness of others into consideration. This, in turn, can eventually lead to the development of things like compassion and generosity, which, when combined with other qualities and training methods, can ultimately transform a self-centred desire for happiness into the selfless achievement of happiness via insight into the inconstant (anicca), stressful (dukkha) and selfless (anatta) nature of phenomena.
Nevertheless, Buddhism is a type of 'religious individualism' in that the teachings on kamma focus on individual actions and their consequences, so ethics are more or less a personal matter that each individual must explore and develop on their own; although guidance is certainly advised.
The way I see it, Buddhist ethics aren't entirely black or white, i.e., they aren't seen in terms of ethical and unethical as much as skillful and unskillful. In Buddhism, all intentional actions are understood to have potential consequences, and actions that cause harm to others and/or ourselves are considered to be unskillful and something to be avoided. But the Buddha never condemns people merely for making unskillful choices or breaking the precepts; he simply urges them to learn from their mistakes and to make an effort to renounce their unskillful behaviour with the understanding that skillful behaviour leads to long-term welfare and happiness.
All in all, I find Buddhist ethics to be less judgmental and more forgiving than many other systems when it comes to making mistakes (read 'less rigid'), as well as ingenious and profoundly simple from a theoretical point of view. But more importantly, I find it to be practical and extremely effective when sincerely adopted and put into practice.
Monday, January 17, 2011
buddhism and the ethics of abortion
Considering the prominence of the Buddhist principle of harmlessness and the broad scope of the first precept, not to mention the ongoing debate over a woman's right to choose, it's often asked whether things like abortion and birth control that prevents the implantation of the fertilized egg are considered to be unethical from a Buddhist standpoint. That's not necessarily an easy question to answer, however.
When discussing the precepts, the first thing that should be mentioned is that the precepts themselves are training rules that are voluntarily undertaken, not edicts or commands dictated by a higher power and/or authority; and they're undertaken to protect oneself, as well as others, from the results of unskillful actions. Actions are considered unskillful when they arise out of the mental defilements of greed, hatred, and delusion and lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both (MN 61).
Regarding the issue of conception and the moment when consciousness arises in an embryo, I think that Ajahn Brahmavamso makes some good points in support of his view that fertilized ova and very early embryos outside the mother's womb aren't reckoned as human life because they lack sensitivity to painful or pleasant stimuli. In his words, "[O]nly when the embryo-fetus first shows sensitivity to pleasure and pain (vedana) and first shows will (such as by a purposeful shrinking away from a painful stimulus) has consciousness and nama-rupa first manifested and the new human life started."
There's still a fair amount of controversy over this subject, though, because the Buddha himself never explicitly states when consciousness arises in an embryo; although he does state in MN 38 that "the descent of the embryo" requires the union of three things: (1) the union of the mother and the father, (2) the mother is in season (i.e., fertile egg), and (3) the gandhabba is present. It should be noted, however, that this last term has engendered a fair amount of controversy itself.
Gandhabba generally refers to a class of devas or 'heavenly being,' and the term in relation to rebirth isn't explained anywhere in the Suttas. In fact, it only occurs in one other place in a similar context. Some, such as Buddhadasa Bhikkhu, translate it as 'sperm' or 'seed' based on its association with fragrant substances like flowers (the stem gandha meaning 'scent'); but that's not how it's traditionally been defined in this context. Bhikkhu Bodhi, for example, believes that the traditional interpretation of gandhabba as the being-to-be's 'stream of consciousness' (vinnanasota) is a reasonable one, mostly stemming from the passage in DN 15 that mentions consciousness "descending into the mothers' womb" (The Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha, n. 411).
But since the Pali Canon is rather vague when it comes to conception and the arising of consciousness, it can also be reasonably argued that sentient life begins at conception (e.g., Ajahn Sujato's essay, "When Life Begins"), and that things like abortion and the use of emergency contraception may transgress the first precept. In essence, there's no way to be absolutely sure of the moment when consciousness arises in an embryo simply going by what the Pali literature has to say on the matter.
That being the case, many Buddhists take a more conservative position and lean towards treating any embryo, from the moment of fertilization onward, as being a potential living being from a Buddhist standpoint, and I don't necessarily disagree with that potentiality. Nevertheless, I still believe in a woman's right to choose for the simple fact that the fertilized egg/embryo is, for all intents and purposes, a part of her body, and no one should have the right to tell another person what to do with their own body. As for whether having an abortion or using emergency contraception is unethical, well, that's another question entirely.
The underlying principles behind Buddhist ethics are kamma — the idea that certain actions produce pleasant, painful, or neutral feelings/results — and the principle of ahimsa or harmlessness. Essentially, Buddhist ethics revolve around seeing our desires for happiness and freedom from pain in all living creatures (SN 3.8). Nevertheless, Buddhism is ultimately a type of 'religious individualism' in that the teachings on kamma focus on individual actions and their consequences, so ethics are more or less a personal matter that each individual must explore and develop on their own; although guidance is certainly advised.
The way I see it, Buddhist ethics aren't entirely black or white, i.e., they aren't seen in terms of ethical and unethical as much as skillful and unskillful. In Buddhism, all intentional actions are understood to have potential consequences, and actions that cause harm to others and/or ourselves are considered to be unskillful and something to be avoided. But the Buddha never condemns people merely for making unskillful choices or breaking the precepts; he simply urges them to learn from their mistakes and to make an effort to renounce their unskillful behaviour with the understanding that skillful behaviour leads to long-term welfare and happiness.
At worst, I think having an abortion or using emergency contraception can be considered unskillful and a violation of the first precept assuming that there's some level of consciousness present in the embryo at such an early stage (which is a mighty big assumption since there's basically just rupa (matter) and no perceptible sense organs, and most likely no thoughts, perceptions, volitions, or even consciousness); but I certainly wouldn't consider it unethical unless the intent behind it was truly malicious. However, in the end, I think the answer really comes down to how we choose to view embryos — whether as a collection of cells, potential living beings, or both — and this is where science should come into play more than some ancient religious texts, which I believe actually has a lot of bearing on how abortion is perceived in relation to the first precept and its ethical implications.
As Bhikkhu Bodhi notes in his tract, "Taking the Precepts," a full violation of the first precept involves five factors: (1) a living being; (2) the perception of the living being as such; (3) the thought or volition of killing; (4) the appropriate effort; and (5) the actual death of the being as a result of the action. Therefore, if there's no perception of a living being, only a small collection of dividing cells that have yet to develop into one, then there's no violation of the first precept, or at least not a full one.
When discussing the precepts, the first thing that should be mentioned is that the precepts themselves are training rules that are voluntarily undertaken, not edicts or commands dictated by a higher power and/or authority; and they're undertaken to protect oneself, as well as others, from the results of unskillful actions. Actions are considered unskillful when they arise out of the mental defilements of greed, hatred, and delusion and lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both (MN 61).
Regarding the issue of conception and the moment when consciousness arises in an embryo, I think that Ajahn Brahmavamso makes some good points in support of his view that fertilized ova and very early embryos outside the mother's womb aren't reckoned as human life because they lack sensitivity to painful or pleasant stimuli. In his words, "[O]nly when the embryo-fetus first shows sensitivity to pleasure and pain (vedana) and first shows will (such as by a purposeful shrinking away from a painful stimulus) has consciousness and nama-rupa first manifested and the new human life started."
There's still a fair amount of controversy over this subject, though, because the Buddha himself never explicitly states when consciousness arises in an embryo; although he does state in MN 38 that "the descent of the embryo" requires the union of three things: (1) the union of the mother and the father, (2) the mother is in season (i.e., fertile egg), and (3) the gandhabba is present. It should be noted, however, that this last term has engendered a fair amount of controversy itself.
Gandhabba generally refers to a class of devas or 'heavenly being,' and the term in relation to rebirth isn't explained anywhere in the Suttas. In fact, it only occurs in one other place in a similar context. Some, such as Buddhadasa Bhikkhu, translate it as 'sperm' or 'seed' based on its association with fragrant substances like flowers (the stem gandha meaning 'scent'); but that's not how it's traditionally been defined in this context. Bhikkhu Bodhi, for example, believes that the traditional interpretation of gandhabba as the being-to-be's 'stream of consciousness' (vinnanasota) is a reasonable one, mostly stemming from the passage in DN 15 that mentions consciousness "descending into the mothers' womb" (The Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha, n. 411).
But since the Pali Canon is rather vague when it comes to conception and the arising of consciousness, it can also be reasonably argued that sentient life begins at conception (e.g., Ajahn Sujato's essay, "When Life Begins"), and that things like abortion and the use of emergency contraception may transgress the first precept. In essence, there's no way to be absolutely sure of the moment when consciousness arises in an embryo simply going by what the Pali literature has to say on the matter.
That being the case, many Buddhists take a more conservative position and lean towards treating any embryo, from the moment of fertilization onward, as being a potential living being from a Buddhist standpoint, and I don't necessarily disagree with that potentiality. Nevertheless, I still believe in a woman's right to choose for the simple fact that the fertilized egg/embryo is, for all intents and purposes, a part of her body, and no one should have the right to tell another person what to do with their own body. As for whether having an abortion or using emergency contraception is unethical, well, that's another question entirely.
The underlying principles behind Buddhist ethics are kamma — the idea that certain actions produce pleasant, painful, or neutral feelings/results — and the principle of ahimsa or harmlessness. Essentially, Buddhist ethics revolve around seeing our desires for happiness and freedom from pain in all living creatures (SN 3.8). Nevertheless, Buddhism is ultimately a type of 'religious individualism' in that the teachings on kamma focus on individual actions and their consequences, so ethics are more or less a personal matter that each individual must explore and develop on their own; although guidance is certainly advised.
The way I see it, Buddhist ethics aren't entirely black or white, i.e., they aren't seen in terms of ethical and unethical as much as skillful and unskillful. In Buddhism, all intentional actions are understood to have potential consequences, and actions that cause harm to others and/or ourselves are considered to be unskillful and something to be avoided. But the Buddha never condemns people merely for making unskillful choices or breaking the precepts; he simply urges them to learn from their mistakes and to make an effort to renounce their unskillful behaviour with the understanding that skillful behaviour leads to long-term welfare and happiness.
At worst, I think having an abortion or using emergency contraception can be considered unskillful and a violation of the first precept assuming that there's some level of consciousness present in the embryo at such an early stage (which is a mighty big assumption since there's basically just rupa (matter) and no perceptible sense organs, and most likely no thoughts, perceptions, volitions, or even consciousness); but I certainly wouldn't consider it unethical unless the intent behind it was truly malicious. However, in the end, I think the answer really comes down to how we choose to view embryos — whether as a collection of cells, potential living beings, or both — and this is where science should come into play more than some ancient religious texts, which I believe actually has a lot of bearing on how abortion is perceived in relation to the first precept and its ethical implications.
As Bhikkhu Bodhi notes in his tract, "Taking the Precepts," a full violation of the first precept involves five factors: (1) a living being; (2) the perception of the living being as such; (3) the thought or volition of killing; (4) the appropriate effort; and (5) the actual death of the being as a result of the action. Therefore, if there's no perception of a living being, only a small collection of dividing cells that have yet to develop into one, then there's no violation of the first precept, or at least not a full one.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
not-self strategy
One thing that has always troubled me about the 'orthodox' view concerning the Buddha's teachings on not-self (anatta) is that it seems to go too far, making ontological statements about something the Buddha himself remained silent on. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu rightly points out, the only place in the Pali Canon where the Buddha is asked point blank whether or not there's a self (SN 44.10), he refused to answer on the ground that "to hold either that there is a self or that there is no self is to fall into extreme forms of wrong view that make the path of Buddhist practice impossible" (No-self or Not-self?).
I think part of the reason this doctrine is so misunderstood is due to the fact that it's often taken out of context and given an ontological status it doesn't deserve. Personally, I think it's important to at least understand the purpose of specific teachings — especially those on not-self — so that they're used skillfully, which is essentially the point of the water-snake simile in MN 22. And when it comes to the teachings on not-self, I agree with Thanissaro Bhikkhu that "the anatta teaching is not a doctrine of no-self, but a not-self strategy for shedding suffering by letting go of its cause, leading to the highest, undying happiness."
The view that there is no self and the view that there is a self are both forms of self-view. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on you how you look at it), the Buddha refused to directly answer whether or not there is a self (SN 44.10), stating that he didn't see "any such supporting (argument) for views [of self] from the reliance on which there would not arise sorrow and lamentation, pain, grief and despair" (MN 22). Instead, he focuses on events in and of themselves, as they are experienced, bypassing the question of self altogether. The Buddha says, "Who suffers," isn't a valid question, and suggests the alternative, "From what as a requisite condition comes suffering" (SN 12.35) in an effort to re-frame these questions in a way that's conducive to liberation — i.e., in terms of dependent co-arising — completely avoiding the question of 'who' or 'what' suffers. In other words, the teachings on not-self are ultimately pragmatic, soteriological methods rather than strictly ontological statements.
The Buddha makes it clear that everything he taught was for the sake of liberation/letting go (Ud 5.5), and "not for the purpose of holding onto" (MN 22). Moreover, while one may apply his teachings to other phenomena, the Buddha limits his scope to the six senses and their corresponding objects, noting that declarations about everything outside of this ultimately leads to vexation on the part of one making such statements when questioned as to their basis since such things lie beyond the range of description (SN 35.23).
In terms of what should be observed as not-self, the Buddha limits the use of this perception to the heaps of activities and processes on top of which we construct our sense of self — the 'all of personality identity' (sakkayasabba) — mainly the five aggregates (khandhas) or the six sense spheres (ayatana). For example, it should be clear from the context that when referring to 'the all' (sabba) and 'the world/cosmos' (loka), the Buddha was often using these terms as metaphors for the five aggregates or the six sense spheres; and while this may seem to cover everything, we must differentiate between our presumptions and our actual experience. For most of us, as unenlightened worldlings (puthujjana), we don't know the answer for sure. We must follow the Buddha's path to see the truth for ourselves. The Buddha never said that there's nothing beyond the experience of the five aggregates, he simply said that one wouldn't be able to explain such a thing because it "lies beyond range." That's not equivalent to saying that there's nothing there. As for the inclusion of nibbana in the term sabba (literally, 'all'), Thanissaro notes:
When reading the discourses of the Buddha — whether they're translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu, Bhikkhu Bodhi, or whomever — the picture I get is that the Buddha wasn't teaching or advocating a theory of self as much as stressing the idea that these very questions are a hindrance to the practice. One reason is that, in MN 2, existential questions of existence are considered by the Buddha to be "inappropriate attention." More specifically, both the views 'I have a self' and 'I have no self' are included in what the Buddha calls "a thicket of views, a wilderness of views, a contortion of views, a writhing of views, a fetter of views," and one who's bound by a fetter of views isn't freed from suffering and stress.
Another reason is found in MN 63. In this exchange, Malunkaputta demands that the Buddha answer ten questions concerning positions that are "undeclared, set aside, discarded by the Blessed One" — whether the cosmos is eternal or not eternal; whether the cosmos is finite or infinite; whether the soul and the body are the same or the soul is one thing and the body another; whether after death a Tathagata exists or does not exist, both exists and does not exist or neither exists nor does not exist — or else he will leave the Sangha. The Buddha responds by asking Malunkyaputta, "Did I ever say to you, 'Come, Malunkyaputta, live the holy life under me, and I will declare to you that 'The cosmos is eternal,' or 'The cosmos is not eternal,' or 'The cosmos is finite,' or 'The cosmos is infinite,' or 'The soul & the body are the same,' or 'The soul is one thing and the body another,' or 'After death a Tathagata exists,' or 'After death a Tathagata does not exist,' or 'After death a Tathagata both exists & does not exist,' or 'After death a Tathagata neither exists nor does not exist?'" Malunkaputta, of course, answers no. The Buddha further explains:
Taking all of these things into consideration, it's clear to me that the teachings on not-self, when looked at closely, aren't merely assertions that we have no self. They become something much more—a method for deconstructing our false perceptions about reality, as well as an important tool in removing the vast net of clinging that gives rise to suffering. When seen from this perspective, I think we can begin to see how these teachings — which seek to analyze the aspects of our experience on top of which we construct our sense of self in a process of, as the Buddha called it, 'I-making' and 'my-making' — help lead one towards dispassion, relinquishment, being unfettered, release. And this appears to me to be an active process that's done by the meditator; it's an observation, a contemplation and a realization, i.e., it's a teaching that one utilizes.
It seems to me that, if the Buddha really did take such a strong stance on the question of self as some people claim, he would've explicitly said there is, without a doubt, no self; or conversely, that there is, without a doubt, a self that's impermanent, or permanent and finite, or permanent and infinite, or separate from the body, or the same as the body, or neither the same as nor different from the body, etc. Instead, the Buddha taught his followers ways in which they could use what they had available to them (the five aggregates) to realize what was beyond them (nibbana). The question will inevitable arise, What is beyond them? But, as Sariputta warns in AN 4.174, asking what remains after the remainderless stopping and fading of the six contact-media "objectifies non-objectification" (or "complicates non-complication" as Thanissaro's original translation read):
And when Thanissaro says that the teachings on not-self should be used a strategy, it's because that, beyond being studied, they're meant to be put into practice. Without the compliments of observing the precepts, cultivating states of concentration and developing direct insight into our experience of phenomena, nobody's understanding of what the Buddha taught will ever be complete. It should also be remembered that the Buddha said his teachings were not to be used simply to argue with other contemplatives (MN 22), and to focus on only one side of the practice is to destroy this carefully constructed balance designed by the Buddha.
In the simplest of terms, the Buddha taught that whatever is inconstant is stressful, and whatever is stressful is not-self—with the goal being to essentially take this [analytical] knowledge, along with a specific set of practices such as meditation, as a stepping stone to what I can only describe as a profound psychological event that radically changes the way the mind relates to experience. That doesn't mean, however, that the teachings on not-self are understood to deny individuality (MN 22) or imply that the conventional person doesn't exist (SN 22.22). The way I understand it, they merely break down the conceptual idea of a self — i.e., that which is satisfactory, permanent and completely subject to our control — in relation to the various aspects of our experience that we falsely cling to as 'me' or 'mine' (SN 22.59).
There's rarely a moment when the mind isn't clinging to this or that in one or more of the four ways (MN 11). Our identity jumps from one thing to another, wherever the clinging is strongest. Our sense of self is something which is always in flux, ever-changing from moment to moment in response to various internal and external stimuli, and yet at the same time, we tend to see it as a static thing. It's as if our sense of self desires permanence, but its very nature causes it to change every second. As the Buddha warns in SN 12.61:
To me, what the Buddha seems to be teaching in regards to not-self is that anywhere whatsoever one may look for a permanent and ever-lasting self, one will simply find oneself grasping at unsatisfactoriness and inconstancy out of ignorance [of the four noble truths]. Everything that we can possibly experience in regard to this body (rupa) and mind (nama) is inconstant and stressful; therefore, everything that we can possibly experience in regard to these phenomena isn't fit to be labelled 'me' or 'mine.' And when people try to use the consciousness of nibbana (vinnanam anidassanam) as an example of what lies beyond range but can be experienced at some point, they fail to take into consideration the various teachings concerning this attainment.
For one, to even experience nibbana, all forms of self-view must be abandoned. There's no longer any thoughts of 'I,' 'me' or 'mine' in terms of the six senses media. Moreover, as AN 4.174 illustrates, intellectually trying to uncover a self in that experience seeks to objectify the unobjectified, and as Thanissaro notes, "[T]he root of the classifications and perceptions of objectification is the thought, 'I am the thinker.' This thought forms the motivation for the questions that Ven. Maha Kotthita is presenting here: the sense of 'I am the thinker' can either fear or desire annihilation in the course of Unbinding. Both concerns get in the way of the abandoning of clinging, which is essential for the attainment of Unbinding, which is why the questions should not be asked."
In the Buddha's teachings, everything is a question of skill; and the question "What am I?" isn't a question worth asking. Soteriologically speaking, it's a distraction that isn't conducive to liberation. In trying to answer this question, our focus is taken off of the immediate practice, and instead becomes lost within a 'thicket of views' of self. It's a speculative trap that the noble disciple must learn to avoid, for it only leads to more suffering, more becoming, more craving, and not the arising of knowledge, the abandoning of craving, nibbana. In MN 2, the Buddha makes the danger inherent in this kind of inappropriate attention abundantly clear:
Ultimately, I think trying to approach the teachings on not-self from an purely intellectual standpoint runs the risk of turning them into a metaphysical doctrine of self, which I believe falls short of their intended purpose. The Dhamma itself isn't just a collection of words, it's something to be utilized, to be experienced; and the Buddha didn't teach anatta as a doctrine of self, he taught anatta as part of his overall strategy to overcome suffering. There are those who'll automatically disagree with this statement, but if we put the Buddha's entire forty-five years of teaching into context, we'll see that it only has one taste, the taste of liberation (Ud 5.5). And when it comes right down to it, the Buddha only taught two things:
If we start from here and then ask what part do the teachings on not-self play in achieving this goal, I think we can more easily unveil its important and vital role. When it comes to the four noble truths, one of the main things to be understood in the comprehension of the first noble truth is that, what are called the three characteristics of existence (tilakkhana) are present throughout the most discernible aspects of our experience on top of which we construct our sense of self. When the mind is concentrated, it can be more clearly seen that whatever is inconstant (anicca), whatever is unstable and subject to change, is stressful, unsatisfactory (dukkha); and to hold onto anything that's inconstant, subject to change, break-up and dissolution, is a cause for mental stress, suffering.
Why, then, would we want cling to something that's inconstant, and by its very nature stressful, as a self? Would it proper to regard what's inconstant, stressful and subject to change as 'This is mine. This is my self. This is what I am'? And if our happiness is based on such unstable footing, is it really true happiness? Looking at it this way, I think we can start to see how the teachings on not-self, combined with those on inconstancy, fit into the Buddha's overall strategy to end suffering. As Thanissaro succinctly puts it, "We apply these standards to the experiences we consume: if they aren't long-term, then no matter how pleasant they might be, they aren't true happiness. If they're not true happiness, there's no reason to claim them as 'mine.' This insight forms the basis for the Three Characteristics that the Buddha taught for inducing a sense of dispassion for normal time- and space-bound experience" (All About Change).
This may be a bit of nonsense, but in one of the ways I like to look at it, the conventional viewpoint (sammuti sacca) explains things through subject, verb and object whereas the ultimate viewpoint (paramattha sacca) explains things through verb alone. In essence, things are being viewed from the perspective of activities and processes.
This, I think, is incredibly difficult to see, but perhaps what happens here is that once self-identity view (sakkaya-ditthi) is removed, the duality of subject and object is also removed, thereby revealing the level of mere conditional phenomena, i.e., dependent co-arising in action. This mental process is 'seen,' ignorance is replaced by 'knowledge and vision of things as they are' (yatha-bhuta-nana-dassana), and nibbana, then, would be the 'letting go' of what isn't self through the dispassion (viraga) invoked in seeing the inconstant (anicca) and stressful (dukkha) nature of clinging to false refuges that are neither fixed nor stable (anatta).
In addition to all of this, I think listening to Thanissaro's talks on the three characteristics and the five aggregates will help to shed some more light onto the reasons he teaches anatta in this way. When studying these teachings, however, I think it should be kept in mind that the purpose of the practice isn't to clone someone else's insights, it's to develop our own. And one of the main points I believe Thanissaro is trying to convey in his essay, "Not-self Strategy," is that one shouldn't study these teachings in an effort to construct a metaphysical view out of them, but in order to put them into practice. It's only after putting these things to the test that we're able to know, through own own experience, those same insights.
I think part of the reason this doctrine is so misunderstood is due to the fact that it's often taken out of context and given an ontological status it doesn't deserve. Personally, I think it's important to at least understand the purpose of specific teachings — especially those on not-self — so that they're used skillfully, which is essentially the point of the water-snake simile in MN 22. And when it comes to the teachings on not-self, I agree with Thanissaro Bhikkhu that "the anatta teaching is not a doctrine of no-self, but a not-self strategy for shedding suffering by letting go of its cause, leading to the highest, undying happiness."
The view that there is no self and the view that there is a self are both forms of self-view. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on you how you look at it), the Buddha refused to directly answer whether or not there is a self (SN 44.10), stating that he didn't see "any such supporting (argument) for views [of self] from the reliance on which there would not arise sorrow and lamentation, pain, grief and despair" (MN 22). Instead, he focuses on events in and of themselves, as they are experienced, bypassing the question of self altogether. The Buddha says, "Who suffers," isn't a valid question, and suggests the alternative, "From what as a requisite condition comes suffering" (SN 12.35) in an effort to re-frame these questions in a way that's conducive to liberation — i.e., in terms of dependent co-arising — completely avoiding the question of 'who' or 'what' suffers. In other words, the teachings on not-self are ultimately pragmatic, soteriological methods rather than strictly ontological statements.
The Buddha makes it clear that everything he taught was for the sake of liberation/letting go (Ud 5.5), and "not for the purpose of holding onto" (MN 22). Moreover, while one may apply his teachings to other phenomena, the Buddha limits his scope to the six senses and their corresponding objects, noting that declarations about everything outside of this ultimately leads to vexation on the part of one making such statements when questioned as to their basis since such things lie beyond the range of description (SN 35.23).
In terms of what should be observed as not-self, the Buddha limits the use of this perception to the heaps of activities and processes on top of which we construct our sense of self — the 'all of personality identity' (sakkayasabba) — mainly the five aggregates (khandhas) or the six sense spheres (ayatana). For example, it should be clear from the context that when referring to 'the all' (sabba) and 'the world/cosmos' (loka), the Buddha was often using these terms as metaphors for the five aggregates or the six sense spheres; and while this may seem to cover everything, we must differentiate between our presumptions and our actual experience. For most of us, as unenlightened worldlings (puthujjana), we don't know the answer for sure. We must follow the Buddha's path to see the truth for ourselves. The Buddha never said that there's nothing beyond the experience of the five aggregates, he simply said that one wouldn't be able to explain such a thing because it "lies beyond range." That's not equivalent to saying that there's nothing there. As for the inclusion of nibbana in the term sabba (literally, 'all'), Thanissaro notes:
The Commentary's treatment of this discourse is very peculiar. To begin with, it delineates three other "All's" in addition to the one defined here, one of them supposedly larger in scope than the one defined here: the Allness of the Buddha's omniscience (literally, All-knowingness). This, despite the fact that the discourse says that the description of such an all lies beyond the range of explanation.
Secondly, the Commentary includes nibbana (unbinding) within the scope of the All described here — as a dhamma, or object of the intellect — even though there are many other discourses in the Canon specifically stating that nibbana lies beyond the range of the six senses and their objects. Sn 5.6, for instance, indicates that a person who has attained nibbana has gone beyond all phenomena (sabbe dhamma), and therefore cannot be described. MN 49 discusses a "consciousness without feature" (vinnanam anidassanam) that does not partake of the "Allness of the All." Furthermore, the following discourse (SN 35.24) says that the "All" is to be abandoned. At no point does the Canon say that nibbana is to be abandoned. Nibbana follows on cessation (nirodha), which is to be realized. Once nibbana is realized, there are no further tasks to be done.
Thus it seems more this discourse's discussion of "All" is meant to limit the use of the word "all" throughout the Buddha's teachings to the six sense spheres and their objects. As the following discourse shows, this would also include the consciousness, contact, and feelings connected with the sense spheres and their objects. Nibbana would lie outside of the word, "all." This would fit in with another point made several times in the Canon: that dispassion is the highest of all dhammas (Iti 90), while the arahant has gone beyond even dispassion (Sn 4.6; Sn 4.10).
This raises the question, if the word "all" does not include nibbana, does that mean that one may infer from the statement, "all phenomena are not-self" that nibbana is self? The answer is no. As AN 4.174 states, to even ask if there is anything remaining or not remaining (or both, or neither) after the cessation of the six sense spheres is to differentiate what is by nature undifferentiated (or to objectify the unobjectified — see the Introduction to MN 18). The range of differentiation goes only as far as the "All." Perceptions of self or not-self, which would count as differentiation, would not apply beyond the "All." When the cessation of the "All" is experienced, all differentiation is allayed.
When reading the discourses of the Buddha — whether they're translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu, Bhikkhu Bodhi, or whomever — the picture I get is that the Buddha wasn't teaching or advocating a theory of self as much as stressing the idea that these very questions are a hindrance to the practice. One reason is that, in MN 2, existential questions of existence are considered by the Buddha to be "inappropriate attention." More specifically, both the views 'I have a self' and 'I have no self' are included in what the Buddha calls "a thicket of views, a wilderness of views, a contortion of views, a writhing of views, a fetter of views," and one who's bound by a fetter of views isn't freed from suffering and stress.
Another reason is found in MN 63. In this exchange, Malunkaputta demands that the Buddha answer ten questions concerning positions that are "undeclared, set aside, discarded by the Blessed One" — whether the cosmos is eternal or not eternal; whether the cosmos is finite or infinite; whether the soul and the body are the same or the soul is one thing and the body another; whether after death a Tathagata exists or does not exist, both exists and does not exist or neither exists nor does not exist — or else he will leave the Sangha. The Buddha responds by asking Malunkyaputta, "Did I ever say to you, 'Come, Malunkyaputta, live the holy life under me, and I will declare to you that 'The cosmos is eternal,' or 'The cosmos is not eternal,' or 'The cosmos is finite,' or 'The cosmos is infinite,' or 'The soul & the body are the same,' or 'The soul is one thing and the body another,' or 'After death a Tathagata exists,' or 'After death a Tathagata does not exist,' or 'After death a Tathagata both exists & does not exist,' or 'After death a Tathagata neither exists nor does not exist?'" Malunkaputta, of course, answers no. The Buddha further explains:
Malunkyaputta, if anyone were to say, 'I won't live the holy life under the Blessed One as long as he does not declare to me that "The cosmos is eternal,"... or that "After death a Tathagata neither exists nor does not exist,"' the man would die and those things would still remain undeclared by the Tathagata.
Taking all of these things into consideration, it's clear to me that the teachings on not-self, when looked at closely, aren't merely assertions that we have no self. They become something much more—a method for deconstructing our false perceptions about reality, as well as an important tool in removing the vast net of clinging that gives rise to suffering. When seen from this perspective, I think we can begin to see how these teachings — which seek to analyze the aspects of our experience on top of which we construct our sense of self in a process of, as the Buddha called it, 'I-making' and 'my-making' — help lead one towards dispassion, relinquishment, being unfettered, release. And this appears to me to be an active process that's done by the meditator; it's an observation, a contemplation and a realization, i.e., it's a teaching that one utilizes.
It seems to me that, if the Buddha really did take such a strong stance on the question of self as some people claim, he would've explicitly said there is, without a doubt, no self; or conversely, that there is, without a doubt, a self that's impermanent, or permanent and finite, or permanent and infinite, or separate from the body, or the same as the body, or neither the same as nor different from the body, etc. Instead, the Buddha taught his followers ways in which they could use what they had available to them (the five aggregates) to realize what was beyond them (nibbana). The question will inevitable arise, What is beyond them? But, as Sariputta warns in AN 4.174, asking what remains after the remainderless stopping and fading of the six contact-media "objectifies non-objectification" (or "complicates non-complication" as Thanissaro's original translation read):
The statement, 'With the remainderless stopping & fading of the six contact-media [vision, hearing, smell, taste, touch, & intellection] is it the case that there is anything else?' objectifies non-objectification. The statement, '... is it the case that there is not anything else ... is it the case that there both is & is not anything else ... is it the case that there neither is nor is not anything else?' objectifies non-objectification. However far the six contact-media go, that is how far objectification goes. However far objectification goes, that is how far the six contact media go. With the remainderless fading & stopping of the six contact-media, there comes to be the stopping, the allaying of objectification.
And when Thanissaro says that the teachings on not-self should be used a strategy, it's because that, beyond being studied, they're meant to be put into practice. Without the compliments of observing the precepts, cultivating states of concentration and developing direct insight into our experience of phenomena, nobody's understanding of what the Buddha taught will ever be complete. It should also be remembered that the Buddha said his teachings were not to be used simply to argue with other contemplatives (MN 22), and to focus on only one side of the practice is to destroy this carefully constructed balance designed by the Buddha.
In the simplest of terms, the Buddha taught that whatever is inconstant is stressful, and whatever is stressful is not-self—with the goal being to essentially take this [analytical] knowledge, along with a specific set of practices such as meditation, as a stepping stone to what I can only describe as a profound psychological event that radically changes the way the mind relates to experience. That doesn't mean, however, that the teachings on not-self are understood to deny individuality (MN 22) or imply that the conventional person doesn't exist (SN 22.22). The way I understand it, they merely break down the conceptual idea of a self — i.e., that which is satisfactory, permanent and completely subject to our control — in relation to the various aspects of our experience that we falsely cling to as 'me' or 'mine' (SN 22.59).
There's rarely a moment when the mind isn't clinging to this or that in one or more of the four ways (MN 11). Our identity jumps from one thing to another, wherever the clinging is strongest. Our sense of self is something which is always in flux, ever-changing from moment to moment in response to various internal and external stimuli, and yet at the same time, we tend to see it as a static thing. It's as if our sense of self desires permanence, but its very nature causes it to change every second. As the Buddha warns in SN 12.61:
It would be better for the uninstructed run-of-the-mill person to hold to the body composed of the four great elements, rather than the mind, as the self. Why is that? Because this body composed of the four great elements is seen standing for a year, two years, three, four, five, ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, a hundred years or more. But what's called 'mind,' 'intellect,' or 'consciousness' by day and by night arises as one thing and ceases as another. Just as a monkey, swinging through a forest wilderness, grabs a branch. Letting go of it, it grabs another branch. Letting go of that, it grabs another one. Letting go of that, it grabs another one. In the same way, what's called 'mind,' 'intellect,' or 'consciousness' by day and by night arises as one thing and ceases as another.
To me, what the Buddha seems to be teaching in regards to not-self is that anywhere whatsoever one may look for a permanent and ever-lasting self, one will simply find oneself grasping at unsatisfactoriness and inconstancy out of ignorance [of the four noble truths]. Everything that we can possibly experience in regard to this body (rupa) and mind (nama) is inconstant and stressful; therefore, everything that we can possibly experience in regard to these phenomena isn't fit to be labelled 'me' or 'mine.' And when people try to use the consciousness of nibbana (vinnanam anidassanam) as an example of what lies beyond range but can be experienced at some point, they fail to take into consideration the various teachings concerning this attainment.
For one, to even experience nibbana, all forms of self-view must be abandoned. There's no longer any thoughts of 'I,' 'me' or 'mine' in terms of the six senses media. Moreover, as AN 4.174 illustrates, intellectually trying to uncover a self in that experience seeks to objectify the unobjectified, and as Thanissaro notes, "[T]he root of the classifications and perceptions of objectification is the thought, 'I am the thinker.' This thought forms the motivation for the questions that Ven. Maha Kotthita is presenting here: the sense of 'I am the thinker' can either fear or desire annihilation in the course of Unbinding. Both concerns get in the way of the abandoning of clinging, which is essential for the attainment of Unbinding, which is why the questions should not be asked."
In the Buddha's teachings, everything is a question of skill; and the question "What am I?" isn't a question worth asking. Soteriologically speaking, it's a distraction that isn't conducive to liberation. In trying to answer this question, our focus is taken off of the immediate practice, and instead becomes lost within a 'thicket of views' of self. It's a speculative trap that the noble disciple must learn to avoid, for it only leads to more suffering, more becoming, more craving, and not the arising of knowledge, the abandoning of craving, nibbana. In MN 2, the Buddha makes the danger inherent in this kind of inappropriate attention abundantly clear:
This is how he attends inappropriately: 'Was I in the past? Was I not in the past? What was I in the past? How was I in the past? Having been what, what was I in the past? Shall I be in the future? Shall I not be in the future? What shall I be in the future? How shall I be in the future? Having been what, what shall I be in the future?' Or else he is inwardly perplexed about the immediate present: 'Am I? Am I not? What am I? How am I? Where has this being come from? Where is it bound?'
As he attends inappropriately in this way, one of six kinds of view arises in him: The view I have a self arises in him as true & established, or the view I have no self... or the view It is precisely by means of self that I perceive self... or the view It is precisely by means of self that I perceive not-self... or the view It is precisely by means of not-self that I perceive self arises in him as true & established, or else he has a view like this: This very self of mine — the knower that is sensitive here & there to the ripening of good & bad actions — is the self of mine that is constant, everlasting, eternal, not subject to change, and will stay just as it is for eternity. This is called a thicket of views, a wilderness of views, a contortion of views, a writhing of views, a fetter of views. Bound by a fetter of views, the uninstructed run-of-the-mill person is not freed from birth, aging, & death, from sorrow, lamentation, pain, distress, & despair. He is not freed, I tell you, from suffering & stress.
Ultimately, I think trying to approach the teachings on not-self from an purely intellectual standpoint runs the risk of turning them into a metaphysical doctrine of self, which I believe falls short of their intended purpose. The Dhamma itself isn't just a collection of words, it's something to be utilized, to be experienced; and the Buddha didn't teach anatta as a doctrine of self, he taught anatta as part of his overall strategy to overcome suffering. There are those who'll automatically disagree with this statement, but if we put the Buddha's entire forty-five years of teaching into context, we'll see that it only has one taste, the taste of liberation (Ud 5.5). And when it comes right down to it, the Buddha only taught two things:
Both formerly & now, it is only stress that I describe, and the cessation of stress.
If we start from here and then ask what part do the teachings on not-self play in achieving this goal, I think we can more easily unveil its important and vital role. When it comes to the four noble truths, one of the main things to be understood in the comprehension of the first noble truth is that, what are called the three characteristics of existence (tilakkhana) are present throughout the most discernible aspects of our experience on top of which we construct our sense of self. When the mind is concentrated, it can be more clearly seen that whatever is inconstant (anicca), whatever is unstable and subject to change, is stressful, unsatisfactory (dukkha); and to hold onto anything that's inconstant, subject to change, break-up and dissolution, is a cause for mental stress, suffering.
Why, then, would we want cling to something that's inconstant, and by its very nature stressful, as a self? Would it proper to regard what's inconstant, stressful and subject to change as 'This is mine. This is my self. This is what I am'? And if our happiness is based on such unstable footing, is it really true happiness? Looking at it this way, I think we can start to see how the teachings on not-self, combined with those on inconstancy, fit into the Buddha's overall strategy to end suffering. As Thanissaro succinctly puts it, "We apply these standards to the experiences we consume: if they aren't long-term, then no matter how pleasant they might be, they aren't true happiness. If they're not true happiness, there's no reason to claim them as 'mine.' This insight forms the basis for the Three Characteristics that the Buddha taught for inducing a sense of dispassion for normal time- and space-bound experience" (All About Change).
This may be a bit of nonsense, but in one of the ways I like to look at it, the conventional viewpoint (sammuti sacca) explains things through subject, verb and object whereas the ultimate viewpoint (paramattha sacca) explains things through verb alone. In essence, things are being viewed from the perspective of activities and processes.
This, I think, is incredibly difficult to see, but perhaps what happens here is that once self-identity view (sakkaya-ditthi) is removed, the duality of subject and object is also removed, thereby revealing the level of mere conditional phenomena, i.e., dependent co-arising in action. This mental process is 'seen,' ignorance is replaced by 'knowledge and vision of things as they are' (yatha-bhuta-nana-dassana), and nibbana, then, would be the 'letting go' of what isn't self through the dispassion (viraga) invoked in seeing the inconstant (anicca) and stressful (dukkha) nature of clinging to false refuges that are neither fixed nor stable (anatta).
In addition to all of this, I think listening to Thanissaro's talks on the three characteristics and the five aggregates will help to shed some more light onto the reasons he teaches anatta in this way. When studying these teachings, however, I think it should be kept in mind that the purpose of the practice isn't to clone someone else's insights, it's to develop our own. And one of the main points I believe Thanissaro is trying to convey in his essay, "Not-self Strategy," is that one shouldn't study these teachings in an effort to construct a metaphysical view out of them, but in order to put them into practice. It's only after putting these things to the test that we're able to know, through own own experience, those same insights.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
buddhahood, mahayana vs. theravada
Besides presenting what's said to be a complete path to buddhahood via, as Thanissaro Bhikkhu describes it in The Ten Perfections, "traditions set in motion by the experiences of visionaries from the beginning of the common era," one of the main difference between Mahayana and Theravada is that the former has a fundamentally different (or at least expanded) conception of buddhahood and what a buddha is capable of doing.
In Theravada, a sammasambuddha (perfectly enlightened buddha) is understood to be a person who achieves perfect enlightenment without having heard the Dhamma from others, and is able to effectively teach it to others. Once their natural lifespan is over (which, according to DN 16, a buddha can extend if asked), they pass away and attain total unbinding (parinibbana), a freedom that's characterized by the complete cessation of the five aggregates (khandha).
In Mahayana, however, a buddha isn't just one who achieves perfect enlightenment and teaches the Dhamma to others, but, according to the Mahaparinirvana Sutra and certain Tathagatagarbha sutras, one who also possesses purified (i.e., eternal and unchanging) aggregates that are incomprehensible the unawakened.
As such, from the Mahayana point of view, there's nothing stopping a buddha from 'popping back' into samsara (the cycle of death and rebirth), especially considering that, for them, the distinction between samsara and nirvana is little more than an illusion when viewed from the ultimate standpoint of the dharmakaya or 'truth-body.' Moreover, their conception of causality allows for the continuation of the mindstream after the breakup of the body. As Namdrol from E-Sangha once explained it to me:
In other words, not only does bodhicitta act as a cause to help keep the bodhisattva on the path to buddhahood throughout their innumerable lifetimes, it acts as a positive, non-afflictive cause for the continuation of the enlightened being/mindstream as well. And this is perfectly logical and consistent within Mahayana's own understanding of itself, which includes certain terms that Theravada understands differently.
For example, the Theravada standpoint is that the cause of said mindstream (as well as the body) is kamma (literally 'action'), both skillful and unskillful, although I'm not entirely sure if this corresponds to afflictive and non-afflictive in Mahayana. Nevertheless, in the Pali Canon, the noble eightfold path is said to be the kamma that leads to the ending of kamma (AN 4.235).
When it comes to the standard explanation of why the mind and body don't [always] cease with that attainment of nirvana, it's said that as long as the lifespan of the aggregates isn't completely exhausted — which itself depends upon the amount of input remaining from past kamma — the mind and body of an arahant (noble one) will continue. When this input from past kamma is exhausted, there's said to be complete cessation of both mind and body.
A Mahayanist, on the other hand, would probably disagree with this in an ultimate sense, saying that this is only how it appears from the point of view of samsara (think relativity here), but not from the point of view of high-level Bodhisattvas and fully enlightened Buddhas.
Another main difference is Mahayana's understanding of nirvana, which is also understood differently in Mahayana. In Mahayana, those who have attained nirvana still have work to do. This idea originates from certain Mahayana texts such as the Saddharmapundarika Sutra, where the arahant is said not to have reached final nirvana. Essentially, they're seen as being intoxicated with the bliss of the samadhi of cessation, not the nirvana that's attained by a fully enlightened buddha.
Moreover, it's said that buddhas are then able to awaken these individuals from their temporary cessation in order for them to continue towards complete buddhahood (making buddhas extremely important), which is characterized by omniscience. This is said to be due to buddhahood being the result of wisdom and merit accumulation, and not just the eradication of afflictions (which isn't too different from Theravada sans the awakening of arahants bit). As Thubten Chodron explains it:
The nature of Shakyamuni in Mahayana is a bit more complicated as well. For one thing, Mahayana isn't homogeneous in a number of areas; but in general, the historical Buddha is seen to be a nirmanakaya (created-body), i.e., a manifestation of the dharmakaya who appears for the benefit of sentient beings.
Of course, all of this contrasts with how the Buddha and nirvana are presented and understood in Theravada, which is why these inter-tradition dialogues often end with everyone talking past each other. Whether or not one agrees with all of this is irrelevant, however, since neither tradition is the arbiter of all things Buddhist. The best we can do is agree to disagree. To steal a phrase from tiltbillings, "The Mahayana does not get to define the Theravada for Theravadins any more than the Theravada gets to define the Mahayana for Mahayanists."
I'm not saying that one can't be critical of certain ideas or have inter-tradition debates, only that nobody can really 'win' such debates when each side is logically consistent within itself, and it all depends on what one takes as the basis for their views. It's entirely possible, for example, that a person who accepts the commentarial literature in Theravada as authoritative can have serious disagreements with someone who only accepts the Suttas, so just imagine the amount of disagreement possible with someone who accepts an additional collection of teachings that lies outside of Theravada altogether.
This is why I often try to look beyond these debates and focus instead on other criteria for choosing what to accept as the basis for my views, things such as archeology, scholarly opinion, textual analysis, etc. I'm just as liable to reject the majority of the Theravadin commentarial literature as I am the majority of Sanskrit sutras. Don't get me wrong, though. That doesn't mean I don't find things in each I like, admire or even adopt when I think they're beneficial; and it certainly doesn't stop me from trying to understand where other traditions are coming from in order to see past these differences.
In Theravada, a sammasambuddha (perfectly enlightened buddha) is understood to be a person who achieves perfect enlightenment without having heard the Dhamma from others, and is able to effectively teach it to others. Once their natural lifespan is over (which, according to DN 16, a buddha can extend if asked), they pass away and attain total unbinding (parinibbana), a freedom that's characterized by the complete cessation of the five aggregates (khandha).
In Mahayana, however, a buddha isn't just one who achieves perfect enlightenment and teaches the Dhamma to others, but, according to the Mahaparinirvana Sutra and certain Tathagatagarbha sutras, one who also possesses purified (i.e., eternal and unchanging) aggregates that are incomprehensible the unawakened.
As such, from the Mahayana point of view, there's nothing stopping a buddha from 'popping back' into samsara (the cycle of death and rebirth), especially considering that, for them, the distinction between samsara and nirvana is little more than an illusion when viewed from the ultimate standpoint of the dharmakaya or 'truth-body.' Moreover, their conception of causality allows for the continuation of the mindstream after the breakup of the body. As Namdrol from E-Sangha once explained it to me:
If the causes if a mindstream were solely afflictive, then with the exhaustion of the karmic share that sustains the life force of the body, and thus the life of a Buddha or an arhat, I might be inclined to agree that the mind stream of a Buddha or an arhat would cease at death, since all causes for its continuance would be exhausted too. However there is a slight problem with this: if the mindstream's causes were solely afflictive, why does the mind not cease with nirvana in toto? Why does the mind continue after the eradication of all afflictions in a Buddha and an arhat? And if the mind continues after the eradication of the afflictions of a Buddha, etc., why could it not continue after the breakup of the body of a Buddha, etc., albeit in a non-afflicted state? In fact, Peter Harvey's interesting book, The Selfless Mind, makes this very suggestion on page 250 where he summerizes all of his arguments and findings.
In other words, not only does bodhicitta act as a cause to help keep the bodhisattva on the path to buddhahood throughout their innumerable lifetimes, it acts as a positive, non-afflictive cause for the continuation of the enlightened being/mindstream as well. And this is perfectly logical and consistent within Mahayana's own understanding of itself, which includes certain terms that Theravada understands differently.
For example, the Theravada standpoint is that the cause of said mindstream (as well as the body) is kamma (literally 'action'), both skillful and unskillful, although I'm not entirely sure if this corresponds to afflictive and non-afflictive in Mahayana. Nevertheless, in the Pali Canon, the noble eightfold path is said to be the kamma that leads to the ending of kamma (AN 4.235).
When it comes to the standard explanation of why the mind and body don't [always] cease with that attainment of nirvana, it's said that as long as the lifespan of the aggregates isn't completely exhausted — which itself depends upon the amount of input remaining from past kamma — the mind and body of an arahant (noble one) will continue. When this input from past kamma is exhausted, there's said to be complete cessation of both mind and body.
A Mahayanist, on the other hand, would probably disagree with this in an ultimate sense, saying that this is only how it appears from the point of view of samsara (think relativity here), but not from the point of view of high-level Bodhisattvas and fully enlightened Buddhas.
Another main difference is Mahayana's understanding of nirvana, which is also understood differently in Mahayana. In Mahayana, those who have attained nirvana still have work to do. This idea originates from certain Mahayana texts such as the Saddharmapundarika Sutra, where the arahant is said not to have reached final nirvana. Essentially, they're seen as being intoxicated with the bliss of the samadhi of cessation, not the nirvana that's attained by a fully enlightened buddha.
Moreover, it's said that buddhas are then able to awaken these individuals from their temporary cessation in order for them to continue towards complete buddhahood (making buddhas extremely important), which is characterized by omniscience. This is said to be due to buddhahood being the result of wisdom and merit accumulation, and not just the eradication of afflictions (which isn't too different from Theravada sans the awakening of arahants bit). As Thubten Chodron explains it:
In the Sanskrit canon, or at least in the Tibetan tradition, when you have arhatship without remainder you abide in meditative equipoise on emptiness for a long, long time. So consciousness still exists, the person still exists, it's merely labeled in dependence upon those aggregates, which are not tainted aggregates, but not completely purified aggregates. Although they're free from ignorance, so they're untainted. Yes, they would be untainted. They still have the cognitive obscurations but they would be untainted. So you abide in the nirvana for eons in your meditative equipoise until eventually the Buddha wakes you up and says, “You have to work for the benefit of sentient beings, your job isn't really done.” So that's from a Mahayana viewpoint, what's happened to the arhats.
The nature of Shakyamuni in Mahayana is a bit more complicated as well. For one thing, Mahayana isn't homogeneous in a number of areas; but in general, the historical Buddha is seen to be a nirmanakaya (created-body), i.e., a manifestation of the dharmakaya who appears for the benefit of sentient beings.
Of course, all of this contrasts with how the Buddha and nirvana are presented and understood in Theravada, which is why these inter-tradition dialogues often end with everyone talking past each other. Whether or not one agrees with all of this is irrelevant, however, since neither tradition is the arbiter of all things Buddhist. The best we can do is agree to disagree. To steal a phrase from tiltbillings, "The Mahayana does not get to define the Theravada for Theravadins any more than the Theravada gets to define the Mahayana for Mahayanists."
I'm not saying that one can't be critical of certain ideas or have inter-tradition debates, only that nobody can really 'win' such debates when each side is logically consistent within itself, and it all depends on what one takes as the basis for their views. It's entirely possible, for example, that a person who accepts the commentarial literature in Theravada as authoritative can have serious disagreements with someone who only accepts the Suttas, so just imagine the amount of disagreement possible with someone who accepts an additional collection of teachings that lies outside of Theravada altogether.
This is why I often try to look beyond these debates and focus instead on other criteria for choosing what to accept as the basis for my views, things such as archeology, scholarly opinion, textual analysis, etc. I'm just as liable to reject the majority of the Theravadin commentarial literature as I am the majority of Sanskrit sutras. Don't get me wrong, though. That doesn't mean I don't find things in each I like, admire or even adopt when I think they're beneficial; and it certainly doesn't stop me from trying to understand where other traditions are coming from in order to see past these differences.
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