some rambling thoughts on nibbana

What is nibbana? In the Suttas, nibbana is defined as the end of dukkha (suffering); the extinction of craving (AN 10.60); the extinguishing of greed, hatred and delusion (SN 38.1). Beyond that, it's open to interpretation.

For starters, I think it's much better to think about phenomena in Buddhism as activities, events or processes rather than things or places. The way it's presented in Theravada, samsara, literally 'wandering on,' is the potential for the arising of human [mental] suffering, while nibbana, literally 'extinguishing,' is the cessation of that potential. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu puts it, "Samsara is a process of creating places, even whole worlds, (this is called becoming) and then wandering through them (this is called birth). Nirvana is the end of this process (emphasis mine)." Nirvana is "realized only when the mind stops defining itself in terms of place ... it's realized through unestablished consciousness."

This may be a bit of nonsense, but in one of the ways I like to look at it, the conventional viewpoint explains things through subject, verb and object whereas the ultimate viewpoint 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 [of the four noble truths] 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). Nibbana isn't the unconditioned as much as it's the unconditioned.

As with all conditional things, since ignorance itself isn't self-sustaining, it persists for only as long as the conditions for its existence persist:

When this is, that is.
From the arising of this comes the arising of that.
When this isn't, that isn't.
From the cessation of this comes the cessation of that.

Thus, by seeing deeply into dependent co-arising [which is synonymous with Nagarjuna's emptiness (shunyata)], we remove the veil of ignorance from our metaphorical eyes and open ourselves to the deathless (amata), or as Dogen says in the Genjokoan, "No trace of realization remains, and this no-trace continues endlessly."

(Incidentally, this kind of reminds me of something I read recently in Bertrand Russell's A History of Western Philosophy. While discussing Heraclitus' doctrine of perpetual flux [which is similar to the Theravadin samsara], he goes to discuss how:

Science, like philosophy, has sought to escape from the doctrine of perpetual flux by finding some permanent substratum amid changing phenomena… Unfortunately it seemed that protons and electrons could meet and explode, forming, not new matter, but a wave of energy spreading through the universe with the velocity of light. Energy had to replace matter as what is permanent. But energy, unlike matter, is not a refinement of the common-sense notion of a "thing" [which can be compared to the notion of selfhood (atta)]; it is merely a characteristic of physical processes (emphasis mine). It might be fancifully identified with the Heraclitean Fire, but it is the burning, not what burns. "What burns" has disappeared from modern physics.

Compare that with what the Buddha says in SN 12.35.)

As for nibbana being the annihilation of consciousness (vinnana) after death, that's how some people interpret the term anupadises-nibbana-dhatu (nibbana element with no fuel remaining) in Iti 44 — as well as the line, "With the cessation of consciousness each is here brought to an end" from DN 11 — but that's certainly not how it's understood by everyone.

In The Mind Like Fire Unbound, for example, Thanissaro Bhikkhu writes that, "This experience of the goal — absolutely unlimited freedom, beyond classification and exclusive of all else — is termed the elemental nibbana property with no 'fuel' remaining (anupadisesa-nibbana-dhatu)." He also points to the term vinnanam-anidassanam (consciousness without feature) in DN 11, and notes that this consciousness, not "partaking the allness of the all," doesn't come under the aggregate of consciousness because it stands outside of space and time. As such, it's a type of awareness that's "not harmed by death."

One objection to this is that consciousness is simply bare awareness of sense data and ideas, and it's absurd to think about consciousness without an object. Positing a transcendent consciousness, then, would be a contradiction in terms. However, this objection is countered by the fact that the consciousness of nibbana is said to have the deathless (amata) as it's object. For example, there's this passage from MN 64:

Whatever is there of material form, feeling, perception, mental formations, and consciousness — he beholds these phenomena as impermanent, suffering, as a disease, a boil, a dart, a misfortune, an affliction, as alien, as decomposing, as empty, as selfless. He turns his mind away from these phenomena; and when he has turned his mind away from them, he focuses his mind on the deathless element [amata-dhatu], thinking: "This is the peaceful, this is the sublime, that is, the stilling of all formations, the relinquishing of the foundations, the destruction of craving, dispassion, cessation, nibbana." (Bodhi)

Moreover, if nibbana were some kind of ultimate (paramattha) or unconditioned (asankhata) reality (dhamma) apart from the conditioned phenomena (sankhata dhamma) of mentality-materiality (nama-rupa), as the orthodox position holds, then it'd at least make logical sense that there could be a seventh class of consciousness outside of the six associated with the sense-doors that 'knows' it. (As a side note, I find surprising parallels between Socrates' dialogue in Plato's Symposium regarding immortality and the idea of forms and the Buddha's discourses regarding the deathless.)

So while some Theravadins describe nibbana as the end of all consciousness, stressing the cessation aspect of nibbana, others describe nibbana as a state of purified awareness and stress its transcendent aspect. To be honest, I can see how both views — i.e., the annihilation of consciousness vs. an awareness untouched by death — seem like the extremes of annihilationism and eternalism. Nevertheless, both have support in the suttas, as well as sophisticated arguments as to why their view doesn't fall into either extreme.

Personally, I used to lean towards the classical position that all consciousness ceases at death, and then I tended to lean more towards the view that there may be a type of consciousness that lies outside of space and time. The imagery of consciousness that "does not land or increase" mentioned in SN 12.64 does seem to support such a possibility, as do various other passages throughout the Canon. And while many assume nibbana to be equivalent to a state of nonexistence, a state of nothingness, Bhikkhu Bodhi points out in In the Buddha's Words: An Anthology of Discourses from the Pali Canon that, "… no text in the Nikayas ever states this. To the contrary, the Nikayas consistently refer to Nibbana by terms that refer to actualities. It is an element (dhatu), a base (ayatana), a reality (dhamma), a state (pada), and so on" (319).

Lately, however, I've been content with viewing nibbana as the extinguishing of greed, hatred and delusion (SN 38.1), and consciousness without feature as the living arahant's consciousness devoid of defilements and non-attached to any phenomena whatsoever, and leaving it at that. In fact, I think Bhikkhu Nanananda sums it up well in "Nibbana Sermon 07":

Now viññāṇaṃ anidassanaṃ is a reference to the nature of the released consciousness of an arahant. It does not reflect anything. To be more precise, it does not reflect a nāma-rūpa, or name-and-form. An ordinary individual sees a nāma-rūpa, when he reflects, which he calls 'I' and 'mine'. It is like the reflection of that dog, which sees its own delusive reflection in the water. A non-arahant, upon reflection, sees name-and-form, which however he mistakes to be his self. With the notion of 'I' and 'mine' he falls into delusion with regard to it. But the arahant's consciousness is an unestablished consciousness.

We have already mentioned in previous sermons about the established consciousness and the unestablished consciousness.[ix] A non-arahant's consciousness is established on name-and-form. The unestablished consciousness is that which is free from name-and-form and is unestablished on name-and-form. The established consciousness, upon reflection, reflects name-and-form, on which it is established, whereas the unestablished consciousness does not find a name-and-form as a reality. The arahant has no attachments or entanglements in regard to name-and-form. In short, it is a sort of penetration of name-and-form, without getting entangled in it. This is how we have to unravel the meaning of the expression anidassana viññāṇa.

emptiness

One of the most widely known concepts in Buddhism is that of emptiness (adj. sunna, noun sunnata); and this concept, along with not-self, has given many the impression that Buddhist is ultimately a type of nihilism. My understanding, however, is that emptiness is a tool, not a view. As a doctrinal term, emptiness in and of itself is used in a couple of different but related ways in Pali Canon. In one context, emptiness is used as a mode of perception, a way of looking at experience that's utilized in meditation (e.g., MN 121, MN 122). In another context, emptiness refers to the insubstantiality of the five clinging-aggregates and the six sense media (e.g., SN 22.95, SN 35.85). In this sense, it's synonymous with not-self, or as Richard Gombrich sums it up in What the Buddha Thought, the idea that, "Nothing in the world [of our normal experience] has an unchanging essence."

Personally, my opinion is that the teachings on emptiness (especially in the Pali Canon) are often taken out of context, and coincidentally, far removed from their intended purpose. For example, the view of emptiness that things have no inherent existence, while philosophically complex and seemingly implicit in the teachings on dependent co-arising, may have actually developed over time. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu notes, "emptiness is a mode of perception, a way of looking at experience" (Emptiness). Moreover, "... the idea of emptiness as lack of inherent existence has very little to do with what the Buddha himself said about emptiness. His teachings on emptiness — as reported in the earliest Buddhist texts, the Pali Canon — deal directly with actions and their results, with issues of pleasure and pain" (The Integrity of Emptiness).

The evolution of emptiness into the nonexistence of phenomena possibly began with Nagarjuna — a famous 1st-2nd century Buddhist teacher and philosopher — who I believe was attempting to deconstruct all of the prevalent metaphysical views of the time via logical analysis in an attempt to show how these views were ultimately illogical from the standpoint of emptiness, especially in regard to the Abhidhammika's idea that things exist by way of intrinsic characteristics. The own-nature (sabhava) of dhammas (what's often translated as 'phenomena,' but I think better understood as 'an existing cognizable experience or event'), which is a concept that was introduced in the later substrata of Abhidhammic and commentarial literature, was answered (skillfully might I add) by Nagarjuna with the lack of own-nature or emptiness (nihsvabhava) of dhammas. However, this was mainly directed at the Sarvastivadins, who held a more realist position. For example, in his Introduction to Buddhism, Peter Harvey explains:

'They are dhammas because they uphold their own nature [sabhaava]. They are dhammas because they are upheld by conditions or they are upheld according to their own nature' (Asl.39). Here 'own-nature' would mean characteristic nature, which is not something inherent in a dhamma as a separate ultimate reality, but arise due to the supporting conditions both of other dhammas and previous occurrences of that dhamma. This is of significance as it makes the Mahayana critique of the Sarvastivadin's notion of own-nature largely irrelevant to the Theravada.

Nevertheless, I think that Nagarjuna's logic of emptiness was a much needed counter to the growing body of speculative metaphysics dominating Buddhist thought at the time, and, like the Buddha's teachings on emptiness, was directed towards the removal of clinging. In fact, I believe that clinging to views was what Nagarjuna considered to be the biggest obstacle on the path to awakening, and I think this idea is supported by the verse: "When there is clinging perception, the perceiver generates being. When there is no clinging perception, he will be freed and there will be no being." (MMK 26:7). In other words, he was using logic simply as a tool in order to help people realize emptiness, and consequentially, awakening. Essentially, my view is similar to that of David Loy in Derrida and Negative Theology, who sums it up nicely by saying:

The MMK offers a systematic analysis of all the important philosophical issues of its time, not to solve these problems but to demonstrate that any possible philosophical solution is self-contradictory or otherwise unjustifiable. This is not done to prepare the ground for Nagarjuna's own solution: "If I were to advance any thesis whatsoever, that in itself would be a fault; but I advance no thesis and so cannot be faulted." [Vigrahavyavartani, verse 29].

Unfortunately, I think that at some point in time, Nagarjuna's logic of emptiness was taken a little bit too far and unintentionally reified by others into some kind of ultimate viewpoint. But to be fair, I don't think that Nagarjuna can be faulted for this. As Nagarjuna warns in MMK 13.8:

The Victorious Ones have announced that emptiness is the relinquishing of all views. Those who are possessed of the view of emptiness are said to be incorrigible.

Nevertheless, I'm not an expert on the subject, so take whatever I say with a grain of salt.

vegetarianism part deux

As I mentioned in my last post, being a vegetarian isn't a requirement to being a Buddhist; however, does that mean that purchasing meat is the same as purchasing produce? My answer is no.

Any way you look at it, the meat that one purchases from the grocery store must come from an animal that's been deliberately killed; but the same cannot be said about the fruits and vegetables that one purchases. Fruits and vegetables aren't sentient beings, and harvesting them doesn't automatically entail the intentional killing of any sentient beings. If any sentient beings are killed in the harvesting of a fruit or vegetable, it's conceivable that it was accidental rather than deliberate. In the case of meat, that's not the case. The animal must almost always be deliberately killed by someone.

It's true that purchasing meat from the grocery store doesn't entail the kamma of killing for the purchaser. I say this because the act of killing requires the intention to kill just as much as it does the actual taking of life. However, a well-informed practitioner should at least be aware that an animal has to be deliberately killed for that meat to be available. Abstaining from eating meat doesn't free one from the web of killing and death, of course, but it's hard to argue against the fact that doing so would at least help by not directly contributing to the meat industry that's built around the raising and killing of animals specifically for their flesh.

The way I see it, no source of food is 100% free from harming sentient beings, but the consumer does have the power to limit the amount of harm done. This can be achieved in many ways, e.g., not buying meat or at least buying meat from farmers and companies who treat their animals more humanely, buying eggs from farmers and companies who allow their hens to roam freely, buying produce from farmers and companies who don't use any pesticides, etc. So the consumer isn't powerless. They can have an effect on how many animals are killed, the manner of their deaths or how they're treated in general, not to mention the amount of pesticide-free produce that's sold, etc.

When going to the super market, for example, that particular store keeps a record of all purchases and uses that information towards influencing store policy. Theoretically, if the the majority of consumers cease buying meat, the demand for meat will go down and less animals will need to be killed in order to meet the demand. In addition, if the majority of consumers who do purchase meat and dairy products purchase them from farmers and companies who treat and kill the animals in a more humane fashion, other companies will naturally follow suit due to the potential profit of such business practices. The same holds true for the kind of produce we buy. In a capitalist society, money is the greatest impetus for change pure and simple.

Essentially, all of this ties into to the idea of personal responsibility and how far we as individuals wish to be socially active in regard to our Buddhist beliefs and practices. It's a personal choice that we each must make. For some, purchasing meat is perfectly acceptable to them since they know that the animal has been killed by another person; but for others, the purchasing of meat might not seem so acceptable when they consider things such as what meat is and how it gets to the store. Therefore, while I think that in regard to the first precept the Buddha taught about personal responsibility in the form of regulating our own actions of body, speech and mind, that doesn't mean that we should simply turn a blind eye to where our food comes from. Doesn't that also fall within the realm of personal responsibility?

Hence, while I agree that vegetarianism isn't a requirement, I do think it's at least a compassionate option that's in line with the Buddha's teachings on ahimsa. That's why even though there's nothing in Theravada which states this lifestyle choice is necessary or even preferred, I generally try to avoid buying meat or anything with meat in it when I go to the store, out to eat at a restaurant, etc.

Just to be clear, however, I'm not trying to demonize meat-eating or the meat industry because that's a pointless crusade. As I said, abstaining from eating meat doesn't free one from the web of killing and death; all living things must consume/feed in order to survive, and some are dangerous and survival instincts almost always trump compassion and empathy. There are worldly solutions to these problems, of course, but these solutions can merely limit the potential harm to other sentient being. In essence, there are no perfect solutions.

On top of that, condemning or demonizing another for their complicity means that we should also condemn and demonize ourselves as well. If we want to, we can find reasons to demonize anything, including internet usage. I doubt that most people are aware of how many birds are killed each year by microwave towers, but one could reason that every person who surfs the web or sends out an e-mail contributes to those deaths. Shall we cease to use the internet then?

vegetarianism

Vegetarianism is an often-debated topic within Buddhist circles. Generally speaking, I think vegetarianism is a more compassionate option that's in line with the Buddha's teachings on ahimsa or harmlessness, but one doesn't have to be a vegetarian in order to be a Buddhist. The Buddha himself rejected Devadatta's demand to institute vegetarianism as a requirement.

There's a lot to the story of Devadatta if one goes back through the vast collection of suttas and their commentaries. Basically, Devadatta was the Buddha's cousin. He practiced meditation until he developed some very impressive psychic powers. Unfortunately, Devadatta became corrupted by jealousy and tried to take over leadership of the monastic order. He tried to introduce a number of changes to the Buddha's rules — one of them being strict vegetarianism — all of which the Buddha rejected. He also tried to get the Buddha to name him as his successor, and when that failed he to tried to have the Buddha assassinated on a few separate occasions (all of which failed because, according to tradition, it's impossible for the life of a Buddha to be taken by violence).

In the end, Devadatta caused a schism in the Sangha and ran off with a large number of monks. The Buddha then sent the Venerable Sariputta and Maha Moggalana to give a discourse to the rogue monks and win them back. And as for poor Devadatta, he was eventually swallowed up by the earth and fell into Avici (a nasty sounding hell realm), where, it's said, after suffering for one hundred thousand eons (kappas) he'll be reborn as a pacceka-buddha called Atthissara or a buddha named Devaraja. Or so the story goes.

As for the Buddha, he never said that simply eating meat is unwholesome. One way to look at it is that meat is just matter/materiality (rupa). In fact, it's the very same matter that makes up all things, including plants. So it's not simply the material of the food that's in question here. What is in question are the intentions behind our actions. It's these that produce either wholesome or unwholesome kamma, and unwholesome kamma is what should be considered "stench," not simply the eating of meat.

I'm sure the Buddha understood that many people lived solely because of their livestock, or the animals that they hunted. For some, it was either raise animals for food, hunt or starve. Would it have been wise to force people to abstain from eating meat if it meant that they couldn’t feed their families? Of course not. But the Buddha also respected animals and he didn't wish to see them killed, especially when it was meant specifically for him and his disciples. He also knew that many people who did give alms to the monastic community weren't always followers of the Buddha. Some were followers of the other sects, but they'd still give food to other wandering ascetics. (If they were brahmins, for instance, they'd almost certainly have meat to offer.) The dilemma was to find the middle way between the two extremes. Mendicants were expected to accept and eat only what's given to them, but the Buddha didn't want animals killed just to feed his followers; so it was in this spirit that the Buddha stated his monastics should only eat meat if it's pure in three ways:

'Jivaka, those who say "Animals are slaughtered on purpose for the recluse Gotama, and the recluse Gotama knowingly eats the meat killed on purpose for him" do not say according to what I have declared, and they falsely accuse me. Jivaka, I have declared that one should not make use of meat if it is seen, heard or suspected to have been killed on purpose for a monk. I allow the monks meat that is quite pure in three respects: if it is not seen, heard or suspected to have been killed on purpose for a monk.'

Now, this doesn't mean that the Buddha condoned the killing of animals, far from it. Let’s not forget the first precept: Panatipata veramani sikkhapadam samadiyami (I undertake the precept to give up killing living beings). Nevertheless, besides ahimsa, the main theme behind the monastic life is non-attachment. Ideally, one shouldn't be attached to any food that one eats. Whether one prefers meat, vegetables, fruits or rice, one should be content with what one is given. Food is merely to be used to sustain the body, and to keep one healthy enough to practice. In fact, the Buddha didn't want his monks and nuns to forget the importance and purpose of the four requisites (i.e., clothing, food, shelter and medicine), or their purpose in the holy life, and so everyday they're expected to contemplate the uses of all four, including food:

Pa.tisa"nkhaa yoniso pi.n.dapaata"m pa.tisevaami,
(Considering it thoughtfully, I use alms food,)

Neva davaaya na madaaya na ma.n.danaaya na vibhuusanaaya,
(Not playfully, nor for intoxication, nor for putting on bulk, nor for beautification,)

Yaavadeva imassa kaayassa .thitiyaa yaapanaaya vihi"msuparatiyaa brahma-cariyaanuggahaaya,
(But simply for the survival & continuance of this body, for ending its afflictions, for the support of the holy life,)

Iti puraa.nañca vedana"m pa.tiha"nkhaami navañca vedana"m na uppaadessaami,
([Thinking,] Thus will I destroy old feelings [of hunger] and not create new feelings [from overeating].)

Yaatraa ca me bhavissati anavajjataa ca phaasu-vihaaro caati.
(I will maintain myself, be blameless, & live in comfort.)

In addition, the tradition of going for alms is a very important practice because it ties the monastic community and lay-community together. Without this intimate bond, the two would eventually drift apart—the monks and nuns into practicing the Dhamma in some remote area and the lay-followers into delighting in sensual pleasures in the large cities. This way, they help to support one another. The lay-community offers food, clothing, shelter and medicine to the monastic community, and in turn, the monastic community offers to teach meditation and Buddhist discourses to the lay-community, thereby keeping the teachings and practices alive for future generations. If the laity ceases to support the Sangha, then the Sangha will simply cease to exist. And you can't always count on everyone offering you alms to be a vegetarian.

With that being said, what does this have to do with us? Well, in today's world, we have many more choices than they did back then. Farming and livestock raising have taken on completely different forms. In the past, animals were generally treated better because they were so important. People fed them well, watched over them and respected their sacrifice to feed their families. Today, however, they're raised in very poor conditions for the sake of sheer volume. The more you have to offer, the more people can buy and the cheaper it'll be. What we should be asking ourselves is, What can I afford to eat? If we can afford to buy enough of the right kinds of foods that we need to stay healthy, then we can try to eat no meat at all. This way, we'll contribute less to the suffering of animals.

However, if we can't do that, we can at least try to eat as little meat as possible. We can also try to buy meat from places that have higher standards for raising livestock. Organic and free range farms are popping up everywhere. Why is this important to do? Well, as a Buddhist, we should realize that animals are also sentient beings. They have rupa, and when they're alive, they also have mind/mentality (nama). They're aware. They can feel pain. They can suffer. If we do eat meat, we should at least contemplate where our food comes from, and we should respect these animals' sacrifice for our own well-being. We should eat mindfully, regardless of what we eat, where we eat and when we eat.

Not all Buddhists are vegetarian. Some are, but some aren't. No matter which we decide to choose, we should realize that our choices affect more beings than just ourselves. Eating meat is OK, but be mindful of where that food comes from and that eating it doesn't make one superior to one who doesn't. Not eating meat is also OK, but be mindful of where that food comes from and that it doesn't make one superior to one who does. The goal of the holy life is to free ourselves from greed, hatred and delusion; it's not meant for us to cling to one particular practice over another. Each person should decide what's right for them and respect the choices of others. Our choices, no matter what they are, should be carefully guiding us towards liberation, not towards being judgmental.

Just for some added perspective, I don't consider myself either a meat-eater or a vegetarian. To me, each can be easily taken on simply as a view, position or habit. One can slowly begin to feel strongly one way or the other, and that can give rise to further ego-clinging. This is true with all things, from clothing, hair styles and cars, to food, religious beliefs and musical tastes. That's why the Buddha often admonished his followers to be ever-mindful. Even if we do attach to these things, it's important that we see this. Why? Because that's how we can learn from them. Insight arises only when we observe the friction caused by our own fabrications, intentions and desires.

was the buddha sexist?

Was the Buddha sexist? It's an honest question. There are a couple of passages in the Canon that have led people to wonder whether he might have been. Mettanando Bhikkhu offers one perspective on the Buddha's attitude towards women in his article "Was the Lord Buddha a sexist?" While the author doesn't provide conclusive evidence, he provides circumstantial evidence that does help to support his view and make a compelling case that "sexual discrimination or sexism was not at all a part of the original teaching of the Buddha, who excluded no one."

My own opinion is that the Buddha was exceptionally progressive for his time (approximately 400 BCE). For example, it's clear to me that women had just as important of a place in the Buddha's monastic Sangha as men, which is evident by the Therigatha of the Khuddaka Nikaya and the Bhikkhuni-samyutta of the Samyutta Nikaya. In addition, I'm equally convinced that female lay-followers weren't devalued by the Buddha either, and this is evident by the many accounts of such women and their high status throughout the Suttas (e.g., Visakha, Migara's Mother, who was one of the three chief supporters of the Buddha).

People often point to the Buddha's initial reluctance to ordain women and prophecy that the true Dhamma would only last 500 years because of their 'going forth' as evidence of his negative attitude towards women, but I'm skeptical that this is something the Buddha himself actually said. And even if he did, the issue isn't so cut and dry. For one thing, the story itself, which deals with both the brute survival of the teaching and the survival of the teaching unadulterated with 'synthetic Dhamma' or 'counterfeit Dhamma' (saddhamma-patirupa), isn't only controversial and considered by many to be a later addition, but also held by many who do accept it as being conditional.

Many, for example, hold that the acceptance of the additional rules on the part of the bhikkhunis and the subsequent council after the Buddha's death altered this, acting as conditions for the Dhamma's survival far into the future. However, it's interesting to note that a similar exchange between the Buddha and Maha Kassapa makes no mention of this when discussing the disappearance of the true Dhamma. Instead, it's the failure of monks, nuns, and lay-followers as a whole that leads to the disappearance of the true Dhamma:

[At Saavatthii Kassapa asked the Buddha:] "What is the reason, Lord, and depending on what conditions is it that formerly there were fewer precepts, yet more monks attained enlightenment? What is the reason, Lord, and depending on what conditions is it that nowadays there are more precepts, and fewer monks attain enlightenment?"

"It is like this, Kassapa. When beings are in decline, and the true Dhamma is waning, then there are more precepts and fewer monks attain enlightenment. But there is no disappearance of the true Dhamma, Kassapa, till a counterfeit Dhamma arises in the world; but when a counterfeit Dhamma arises, then there is a disappearance of the true Dhamma, just as there is no disappearing of gold so long as no counterfeit gold has arisen in the world... The earth-element does not make the true Dhamma disappear, the water-element... the fire-element... the air-element..., But right here men of straw appear, and it is they who bring about the disappearance of the true Dhamma. A ship, Kassapa, may sink all at once, but it is not thus that the true Dhamma disappears. There are five contributory factors, Kassapa, which lead to the adulteration and disappearance of the true Dhamma. Which five? It is when monks and nuns, male and female lay-followers behave disrespectfully and rebelliously towards the Teacher,... towards the Dhamma,... towards the Sangha,... towards the training,... towards meditation.

"But when monks and nuns, male and female lay followers behave respectfully and deferentially towards the Dhamma,... towards the Sangha,... towards the training,... towards meditation, then these five things conduce to the maintenance, the purity and the preservation of the true Dhamma."

Why the allowance of women into the monastic order would speed up the appearance of counterfeit Dhamma and the disappearance of the true Dhamma, the Buddha doesn't say in his exchange with Ananda recorded in the Vinaya. But this exchange with Kassapa and his obvious concern about the continuation of the true Dhamma goes a long way towards explaining his role as convener of the First Council, particularly when recalling the reaction of Subhadda after hearing of the Buddha's death ("Weep not, neither lament! We are well rid of the great Samana. We used to be annoyed by being told, 'This beseems you, this beseems you not.' But now we shall be able to do whatever we like; and what we do not like, that we shall not have to do"), which Kassapa may have seen as the sprouting of 'counterfeit Dhamma.'

Other things that make me suspicious of the 500 year prophecy is that it's only found in one place, the Cullavagga of the Vinaya Pitaka, and there are numerous instances where the Buddha talks favourably about bhikkhunis in the Suttas, especially in relation to them being part of the complete Buddhasasana consisting of the four-fold assembly (catu-parisa) of monks, nun, laymen, and laywomen. In DN 16, for example, the Buddha has an exchange with Mara three months before his parinibbana in which Mara, eager for the Buddha's parinibbana, says:

"For the Blessed One, O Lord, spoke these words to me: 'I shall not come to my final passing away, Evil One, until my bhikkhus and bhikkhunis, laymen and laywomen, have come to be true disciples — wise, well disciplined, apt and learned, preservers of the Dhamma, living according to the Dhamma, abiding by the appropriate conduct, and having learned the Master's word, are able to expound it, preach it, proclaim it, establish it, reveal it, explain it in detail, and make it clear; until, when adverse opinions arise, they shall be able to refute them thoroughly and well, and to preach this convincing and liberating Dhamma.'

Which seems to imply that the Buddha intended to allow women into his monastic order all along. All in all, it seems to me that the legitimacy of the Buddha's reluctance to ordain women and 500 year prophecy rests on shaky ground and we should be wary of putting too much stock into it. But assuming it's legitimate, I'm confident that the reasons for his initially reluctance must have been cultural/conditional and not due to an inherently negative view of women or their abilities on the Buddha's part. This is particularly evident by the Buddha's acknowledgment, in the same exchange with Ananda where we find the 500 year prophecy, that women are just as capable of achieving liberation as men.

In regard to the eight weighty rules (garudhamma) mentioned in the same controversial account, which are also pointed to as evidence of the Buddha's negative attitude towards women, it should kept in mind that even if they were formulated by the Buddha, it wasn't necessarily due to a negative view of women. For example, the rules could easily have been to protect the bhikkhunis from danger, help maintain healthy and harmonious relations between the two groups or procedures for ensuring the proper education and support of bhikkhunis, as both Ven. Prof. Dhammavihari and Sujato Bhikkhu have suggested. It's also possible that the Buddha was sexist, although it's difficult to fathom why considering his egalitarian path.

It should also be kept in mind that the Buddha was man who lived in India 2,600 years ago when the societal attitudes towards women were probably much harsher than they are today, meaning that we should try to avoid judging these things by today's standards. Personally, I'm not the type of Buddhist who thinks that the Buddha's 'enlightenment' made him some kind of cosmic superman who could see into the future and had knowledge of all things beyond suffering and the cessation of suffering. So while I like to think the eight 'weighty' rules were later additions, I can understand why the Buddha might have instituted them considering the sociohistorical context in which they were formulated.

For one thing, not only were women treated like property by their families and/or husbands during this time, but other renunciates (especially brahmins) would most likely have had a hard time living with women in a monastic setting as women renunciates were such a rare thing. The fact that Buddha gave the going forth to women at all is actually quite amazing.

Think about his position. On the one hand, he realized that women have the same potential to achieve awakening as men; but on the other, he realized that the continued existence of the Sangha depended upon internal and external harmony. Not only did everyone in the monastic community need to get along, but it depended on the lay-community for material support. Allowing women to go forth meant that they were no longer under the authority of their families and/or husbands, which probably angered many people because it upset the status quo.

Moreover, during this time in India, it was generally believed that women didn't have the same spiritual capacities as men, which most renunciates were. The Buddha, on the other hand, knew that women had the same spiritual capabilities, but he was probably aware that accepting them into his monastic community would cause a fair amount of friction within the lay-community, as well as within the monastic community itself, which consisted of men who, in all likelihood, may not have been happy about having to live in a monastic setting with members of the opposite sex.

So if the Buddha did formulate these rules, he was most likely in a tight spot and arguably did his best to accommodate all sides involved so as to preserve harmony within the community as a whole. What he did was extremely progressive and revolutionary, even if it might not seem so by today's standards. Plus, the Buddha may very well have repealed these rules just before his death when he said "the Sangha may, when I am gone, abolish the lesser and minor rules" (DN 16). But since the usually thorough Ananda didn't bother to ask which rules the 'lesser and minor rules' were, the Sangha decided not to abolish any of the rules after his death.

As for the recent bhikkhuni controversy, I completely support full ordination of women for the simple fact that one of my teachers when I used to live in California was Ayya Tathaaloka. I've met few with as much dedication to the practice as her, and I'm happy to see that others, like Ajahn Brahmavamso, are taking up the cause. I honestly don't see why a few minor technicalities should prevent women from having the exact same opportunity as men to commit themselves fully to the practice. I'm sure it's easy for men who don't have that problem to wonder what all the fuss is about, but if a lower ordination wasn't enough for them, why should it be for an entire gender?

From what I've read about it (which is mostly research and presentations done by Bhikkhu Bodhi, Ajahn Sujato and Ayya Tathaaloka from the 2007 conference in Hamburg), the question rests on whether bhikkhus and bhikkhunis from the Dharmagupta lineage — which, Ajahn Brahm and others argue, follows Theravada Vinaya — can ordain bhikkhunis. There have been some good arguments against this, of course; one being the claim by Dhammanando Bhikkhu that the Dharmagupta lineage began in 357 CE with ordinations by bhikkhus only, thus invalidating it by Theravadin standards. But even if that's true, as Bhikkhu Gavesako points out, "The problem with the transmissions of ordination lineage is that, even in the Theravada tradition, nobody knows for sure whether the lineage was once broken or not."

In the end, I know that nothing I say will change the minds of those who are decidedly against this; however, I think it comes down to following the spirit rather than the letter of the Vinaya. I can't imagine the Buddha wanted his monastic community to be dominated solely by men, nor can I imagine that he'd be so uptight about ordination procedures (you know, the whole 'not clinging to rite and rituals' thing) if it meant reviving the other half of the Sangha at a time when women are breaking free from centuries of discrimination (like being considered the property of their husband/family) and now have more freedom to engage in both worldly and spiritual pursuits. But then, I'm just a dumb lay-follower, so what do I know?

buddhism and politics

On newbuddhist.com, someone recently asked, "What sort of political philosophy is most compatible with Buddhism? Does Buddhism support socialism?" As much as I'd like to say yes, the teachings of the Buddha that are recorded in the Pali Canon are more or less apolitical.

The Buddha doesn't explicitly promote a particular political philosophy, although he does give some pragmatic advice to lay-followers within the existing political economic system of the time, mainly dealing with generosity, honesty and fulfilling one's duties in society (e.g., DN 31). So in answer to the first, I'd say that Buddhism itself is compatible with pretty much any political-economic system as it predominately deals with developing virtue, concentration and discernment within the worldly circumstances we’re confronted with, not the circumstances themselves.

Moreover, I agree with Richard Gombrich that, "The Buddha's Dhamma represents a strong form of what has been called 'religious individualism'" (Theravada Buddhism, 72). I say this because the teachings on kamma (literally 'action') focus on individual actions and their consequences, and not so much collective or societal actions. So Buddhist ethics are generally seen as a personal matter that each individual is encouraged to explore and develop on their own.

As for the second question, there's nothing in the suttas to suggest that the Buddha was either for or against private ownership of the means of production, especially in the modern industrial sense. That's not something anybody could have foreseen 2,600 years ago.

Furthermore, while it's true the Buddha encouraged generosity among his lay-followers, and that his monastic community has a relatively egalitarian communal structure, his teachings were also quite popular with the rising mercantile class in India at that time and many of his wealthier lay-followers were merchants. In fact, I think the Buddha's advice to the lay-community regarding livelihood sounds more in line with some kind of enlightened entrepreneurialism than socialism.

In DN 31, for example, the Buddha advises lay-followers to use a portion of their income for personal use, including charitable donations, but he also advises that some should be used for business investments and to be saved for hard times as well. This shows that the Buddha wasn't necessarily against consumption, private property and/or the accumulation of wealth, but there are suttas which seem to suggest that he was at least in favour of some type of welfare-state.

There's the case of DN 5, for example, where the brahmin Kutadanta asks the Buddha for advice on how to best conduct a great sacrifice. Kutadanta, who was evidently wealthy, had been given a village and some land by King Bimbisara, which he ruled as a king himself. On being asked by Kutadanta — who had a legion of animals waiting to be slaughtered — how to perform a great sacrifice, the Buddha answered with a fable about a great king who asks his chaplain a similar question.

Long story short, the king (i.e., the state), who'd amassed great personal wealth but whose kingdom was "beset by thieves" and "infested with brigands," is told by his chaplain that taxing the people, executing and imprisoning them, or simply banishing them from the land won't solve his kingdom's problems, and is given this advice:

To those in the kingdom who are engaged in cultivating crops and raising cattle, let Your Majesty distribute grain and fodder; to those in trade, give capital; to those in government service assign proper living wages. Then those people, being intent on their occupations, will not harm the kingdom. Your Majesty's revenues will be great, the land will be tranquil and not beset by thieves, and the people, with joy in their hearts, will play with their children, and will dwell in open houses.

Nevertheless, I don't think that the Buddha would object to a more egalitarian, socialist society that tries to limit the economic and societal conditions which foster things like greed and violence, and the way Buddhism has affected me personally has lead me to adopt more socialist-leaning views. As Albert Einstein put it, "the real purpose of socialism is ... to overcome and advance beyond the predatory phase of human development" (Why Socialism?), and I have a hard time not getting involved when I see what I perceive to be people being preyed upon by greed, hatred and delusion.

Before I became interested in Buddhism, I didn't really have any political-economic views to speak of. In act, I was completely uninterested in political economy whatsoever. After years of studying and practicing Buddhism, however, I began to take more of an interest. This was partially due to cultivating compassion and being more sensitive the suffering of others, as well as Buddhism's encouragement to analyze our actions and their effects in the world in an effort to make ourselves and the world a better place.

Of course, it became clear to me early on that the world was imperfect, that there is and always has been suffering in the world. I also realized that it can't be 'fixed.' But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try our best to do what we can to make things better, and that's certainly compatible with Buddhism and Buddhist ethics in general.

anatta

One of the most controversial and misunderstood subjects in Buddhism is the subject of anatta 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. 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, 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 said, "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. Hence, my understanding is that the teachings on not-self are ultimately pragmatic, soteriological methods rather than strictly ontological statements.

Self (atta), in the philosophical sense as opposed to it's conventional usage, is defined as that which is "permanent, stable, eternal, not subject to change" (SN 24.3). Our sense of self, the ephemeral 'I,' on the other hand, is merely a mental imputation, the product of what the Buddha called a process of 'I-making' and 'my-making.'

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).

So in essence, the Buddhist teachings on not-self aren't merely assertions that we have no self; they are 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.

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).

rebirth

One of the things people new to Buddhism have trouble accepting is the literal interpretation of rebirth, which seems at odds with today's materialist or physicalist view of reality, but I don't really see the Buddha's teachings on rebirth as that big of an obstacle. One can certainly practice Buddhism without believing in rebirth, or one can even take a non-literalist approach to rebirth if they so choose. While I don't want challenge the validity of the traditional understanding of postmortem rebirth, I'd like to at least mention how the process of rebirth is generally understood.

To begin with, the Buddha didn't reject that specific mental events are contingent upon corresponding physical events in the brain, which is the prevailing view of modern science, but he didn't explicitly promote it, either. In The Buddha and His Teachings, for example, Narada Thera notes that:

In the Patthana, the Book of Relations, the Buddha refers to the seat of consciousness, in such indirect terms as 'yam rupam nissaya—depending on that material thing', without positively asserting whether that rupa was either the heart (hadaya) or the brain. But, according to the view of commentators like Venerable Buddhaghosa and Anuruddha, the seat of consciousness is definitely the heart. It should be understood that the Buddha neither accepted nor rejected the popular cardiac theory.

So even though the Buddha detailed the mutual dependency of mental and physical activity and consciousness (DN 15), he wasn't a strict materialist. In regard to name-and-form (nama-rupa), for example, he didn't see consciousness as merely the byproduct of matter; he saw mentality and materiality as mutually sustaining immaterial and material phenomena, using the analogy of two sheaves of reeds leaning against one another to illustrate their relationship (SN 12.67).

In Theravada, the literal interpretation of rebirth (punabhava) is viewed as an instantaneous process whereby the last consciousness of a being at the time of death immediately conditions the arising of a new consciousness (kind of like 'spooky action at a distance' where two entangled particles communicate with each other instantaneously, even over great distances).

According to the teachings on dependent co-arising (paticcasamupadda) — a process of conditionality that's understood to occur moment to moment and over multiple lifetimes (non-literalists simply disregard the 'three-life' model, e.g., see Paticcasamuppada: Practical Dependent Origination) — if there are sufficient conditions present, those conditions with inevitably result in future births (SN 12.35). Along with consciousness, craving (tahna) plays a vital role in the renewal of beings and the production of future births.

In explaining how craving could result in future births, the Buddha used a simile in which he compared the sustenance of a flame to that of a being at the time of death. Essentially, a flame burns in dependence on its fuel, and that fuel sustains it. When a flame burns in dependence on wood, for example, the wood sustains that flame. However, when a flame is swept up and carried away by the wind, the fuel of wind sustains that flame until it lands upon a new source of fuel. In the same way, a being at the time of death has the fuel of craving as its sustenance (SN 44.9). Hence, the Buddha states, "Wherever there is a basis for consciousness, there is support for the establishing of consciousness. When consciousness is established and has come to growth, there is the production of renewed existence" (SN 12.38).

To better illustrate this, I'd like to make an analogy to a theory introduced by Richard Dawkins in his book The Selfish Gene. There, he presents his theory that those genes whose phenotypic effects successfully promote their own propagation will be favourably selected in detriment to their competitors, which is essentially a part of what helps species survive and reproduce. He does not mean that the human gene is actually selfish, but rather that it acts as if it were. Craving can also be seen to act in a similar way.

If we look at craving as being the cause by which this process happens at the molecular level, we can get an idea of the role that craving plays in realm of rebirth. In this pseudoscientific analogy, the propagation of genes is analogous to becoming and birth in dependent co-arising, and the cause of this process is craving; in the case of genes, it would be craving in regard for the reproductive success of the organism, or of other organisms containing the same gene, while in the case of beings, it would be craving in regard to the production of renewed existence, or the establishment and growth of consciousness.

Unfortunately, there are no suttas that give a detailed explanation of this process, and the detailed workings of this process are to be found in the Abhidhamma and Pali commentaries. While many people reject the Abhidhamma and commentaries as reliable sources of information regarding what the Buddha taught, I don't think the views of the Buddha and the ancient commentators such as Buddhaghosa are necessarily mutually exclusive. It's true, for example, that the Pali term patisandhi-citta (re-linking consciousness) — which is used to explain the process of rebirth in detail — is only found in the commentarial literature; but one can just as easily argue that such a 're-linking' consciousness is implied in places like SN 44.9, where the Buddha states that, "... when a being sets this body aside and is not yet reborn in another body, I designate it as craving-sustained, for craving is its sustenance at that time."

Of course, one can just as easily re-interpret such statements, or to be more precise, translations, in a way that supports a single-life presentation of dependent co-arising and non-postmortem rebirth (i.e., keeping solely within the framework of what I'd call psychological processes), which I have no problem with personally. That's why I prefer to leave it up to the individual to decide what interpretation or model they find more useful in their approach to the study and practice of the Dhamma. But in either interpretation, rebirth is 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 only difference I see is that one side believes this process ceases at death, regardless of whether there's still craving present in the mind, and the other doesn't.

As for myself, however, I'm agnostic when it comes to rebirth. I'm open to the possibility, but I don't consider it a fact. That said, I do think that rebirth can be a useful teaching. Being open to teachings on rebirth, for example, has the potential to lead to skillful actions. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu explains in "Faith in Awakening":

...instead of an empirical proof for his teaching on karma, the Buddha offered a pragmatic proof: If you believe in his teachings on causality, karma, rebirth, and the four noble truths, how will you act? What kind of life will you lead? Won't you tend to be more responsible and compassionate?

But luckily you don't have to believe in postmortem rebirth to be a Buddhist. As far as I know, there's no sort of Buddhist excommunication if you don't. You can be a Buddhist without believing in rebirth, or you can even take a non-literalist approach to rebirth if you want. The teachings are open to either interpretation.

For example, on one level, rebirth and kamma (literally 'action') deal with the framework of morality and ethical conduct in general. In this sense, I understand rebirth to signify the Buddha's observation that there's a type of continuity that underlies experience in the form of our actions and their results — one that does not necessarily end at death — and kamma to represent the intentional element of our psyche that goes into experience.

This corresponds to what the Buddha called "right view with effluents, siding with merit, resulting in the acquisitions [of becoming]" (MN 117). Here, morality and ethical conduct are associated with intentional actions and their corresponding results — which aren't just limited to those within the present lifetime — and the continuous cycle of birth and death (which can also be taken metaphorically).

On another level, rebirth and kamma deal with the framework of what I'd call psychological processes, which corresponds to what the Buddha called "noble right view, without effluents, transcendent, a factor of the path" (MN 117).

Here, rebirth still signifies the Buddha's observation that there's a type of continuity that underlies experience in the form of our actions and their results, and kamma still represents the intentional element of our psyche that goes into experience, but they are placed within the context of the four noble truths and the noble eightfold path. In this context, the emphasis is on things such as recognizing and understanding the mental processes by which we construct our sense of self, as well as how to utilize those processes in more skillful ways.

Looking at it from a more non-literalist perspective, however, I think that the teachings on dependent co-arising, the aggregates (khandhas) and not-self (anatta) are quite insightful in that they are the parts of Buddhism that correspond to parts of modern psychology. For one thing, they basically detail the process by which we construct our sense of self — i.e., our ego or identity — and, ultimately, how to utilize that process in more skillful ways.

The aggregates themselves, for example, aren't simply descriptions of what constitutes a human being as some people mistakenly think—they're one of the many ways of looking at and dividing up experience that we find throughout the Pali Canon (e.g., aggregates, elements, six sense-media, etc.). More importantly, they represent the most discernible 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' (e.g., MN 109). I think that Thanissaro Bhikkhu sums up the relationship between the teachings on not-self and the process of I-making and my-making very well in his essay "The Problem Of Egolessness."

Our sense of self is quite fluid — it's always in flux, ever-changing from moment to moment in response to various internal and external stimuli — and it's often hard to observe this process in action. Nevertheless, there are times when our sense of self causes us a great deal of suffering, times when we cling very strongly to those momentary and fleeting identities and the objects of our sensory experience on which they're based in ways that cause a great deal of mental stress.

But if we can learn to be more aware of these mental processes, we can learn to master them through a combination of mindfulness training and other contemplative techniques. I imagine that there are methods found within modern psychology that are comparable and perhaps equally as effective, but many people still find Buddhist methods helpful (and even some modern psychologists are finding them useful as well). So I can definitely understand the difficulty in accepting concepts such as rebirth, but there are plenty of other things in Buddhism that can potentially have an immediate impact on our mental well-being in the here and now.

However, in the end, I don't think it really matters which view of rebirth one holds because the actual practice is still the same. What truly matters is what one does with the teachings, not what one believes about them. That's why I think the Buddha likened his teachings to a raft in MN 22:

...I have taught the Dhamma compared to a raft, for the purpose of crossing over, not for the purpose of holding onto. Understanding the Dhamma as taught compared to a raft, you should let go even of Dhammas, to say nothing of non-Dhammas.

is buddhism a religion or philosophy?

People often ask whether Buddhism is a religion or a philosophy. That's a difficult question for me to answer as I think Buddhism could easily be labelled both; although out of the two, I'd say it's closer to a philosophy in the sense of being a way of life or something you do.

But to be even more precise, I think Buddhism has always been what we might call a type of 'transcendent psychology,' and it's only been relatively recently (at least in the West) that its more technical terms have been understood and translated in ways that make this clear. I think this shift is due in no small part to the decades of excellent scholarship that has been brought to bear on the texts and the religious-historical context in which they took shape.

Regardless of how it's been popularized, at its core, Buddhism deals exclusively with one subject, that of human mental suffering. The Buddha himself made it clear that:

Both formerly and now, monks, I declare only stress and the cessation of stress.

That's not to say there aren't 'supernatural' concepts in Buddhism, or that local customs, deities and religious practices haven't found their way into Buddhism wherever it's been established. But rather than a pure system of thought or a strictly faith-based worship of the supernatural, a critical analysis of the earliest texts reveals a much more pragmatic and specialized method of mental training than most traditional Buddhists and Western converts realize—one that seeks to diminish and even eliminate suffering by radically changing the way the mind relates to experience.

Whatever else this radical transformation may open one up to, I can't say, but I suspect that Thanissaro Bhikkhu's right when he says that we're "not committing spiritual suicide." The allegory of the cave in Plato's Republic immediately comes to mind here, where he uses the image of the philosopher turning the soul (mind) away from the darkness of the visible realm (samsara) towards the light of the form of the Good (nibbana).