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Spiritual belief systems such as Theravadan Buddhism, Zen Buddhism and Taoism are explored. Buddha's Four Noble Truths (dealing with suffering and attachment), Zen meditation practices of koan and zazen, and the Taoist tenets of yin-yang and wu-wei are explored.
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WHAT IS SPIRITUALITY? |
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In the view of Build A Better Buddha, spirituality is a term which refers to any set of ideas, methodologies, techniques or experiences whose sincere aim is to increase self-knowledge. In this context, not only does this term include the vast majority of the world's religions, it also includes so-called secular traditions such as psychology, philosophy and artistic expression. James Robbins emphasizes that the essence of the spiritual path—or any path of genuine self-inquiry, independence and liberation—need not center around any god, deity or "official" religious schema. Rather, an authentic and courageous desire to know one's self, Robbins asserts, is the only "required" basis for any true spiritual pursuit. |
The essential spiritual journey is fueled by the seeker's ongoing questioning and re-examination of long-standing assumptions, habits and beliefs with the goal of expanding his or her idea of the self. The ultimate goal of the spiritual path, in fact, is to simply be ... without rigid internal or external boundaries, without fixed judgments and self-conscious comparisons and competition.
According to Better Buddha, two essential aspects are common to all authentic paths of self-knowledge: direct perception and compassion. Direct perception, which is particularly emphasized by such wisdom traditions as Zen and Taoism, is the experience of simply perceiving reality directly as it is. As such, direct perception involves the cultivation, through meditation, devotion and other traditional practices, of a much larger view of self and the surrounding environment. The ultimate realization of direct perception is beyond doctrine and ritual, beyond words, rules and concepts, beyond good and evil. Compassion, which is particularly prominent in belief systems such as Christianity and and Hinduism, ultimately centers around the divinity of all living beings. In this context, we "do unto others" because we yearn to recognize that all individuals arise from the same, self-perfected source. In our service and devotion to others, we learn that there is essentially no "me" or "you," no "inner" or "outer," but one whole, infinite, organic and dynamic being—God, The Tao, The Self.
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TOWARD ONENESS |
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Belief systems which seek primarily to enforce and calcify individual and collective boundaries rather than expand them, are not true vessels of mindfulness. As Jesus said, "The Lord is one." Our highest goal, then, is the true and genuine acceptance of all individuals, despite their diverse and seemingly contrary beliefs, backgrounds and behaviors—a goal which can only be achieved by recognizing, understanding and integrating all aspects of one's own, ordinary self. |
Buddhism arose out of, and in many ways in rebellion against, India's Hinduism which many perceived to have gradually declined throughout its long history, traceable at least as far back as its ancient scriptures, the Upanishads. Buddhism is based on the teaching of Siddhartha Gautama, the historical Buddha, who was born around 563 B.C. in what is now Nepal. Having systematically rejected all the prevalent spiritual belief systems of his day, Hinduism included, Siddhartha taught a revolutionary path of "waking up," or simply perceiving life in its most essential, unobstructed form. The fundamental elements of the Buddha's teachings were:
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the questioning of the need for spiritual authority (himself included), each individual being capable of perceiving the self-evident truth of existence for him or herself
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a breaking away from ritual, tradition and other irrational, encumbered aspects of doctrine and dogma
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the rejection, or at least de-emphasis, of the supernatural
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a non-theistic, systematic exploration of one's self and surroundings through meditation and quietude
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a rejection of asceticism and other extreme practices of self-denial and nihilism
After Buddha's death, Buddhism gradually split into three major schools:
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HINAYANA (also called Theravada)—Still prevalent in Sri Lanka, Burma, Thailand and Cambodia, this school is arguably the most traditional and unified of the three. Relatively speaking, it tends to emphasize formality, requiring its practitioners to become full-time monks. |
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MAHAYANA—Prevalent in China, Korea and Japan, this school is much less uniform than Hinayana. Its many sub-teachings and schools—Zen being chief among them—are much more prevalent in the West than are its more rigid Theravada counterparts. |
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VAJRAYANA—This school, which includes Tantric and Dzogchen teachings, is most closely associated with Tibet, where Buddhism successfully mingled with Bon's pre-Buddhist deities. Like the Mahayana, the Vajrayana school enjoys relative prevalence in the West. |
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A detailed examination of the differences among these three schools is not within the scope of this site, and, more importantly, is not at all essential to an understanding of Buddhism. One of the core Buddhist teachings, common to all Buddhist schools of thought, is that of the Four Noble Truths. In the following excerpt from James Robbins' Build A Better Buddha, this core teaching is examined in its relationship to the life of the Buddha:
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BOOK EXCERPT |
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—THE
HISTORICAL BUDDHA
500 years or so before Jesus of Nazareth walked the earth, a young prince named Siddhartha Gautama snuck out of his father’s palace in the wee hours of morning, leaving his royal family and luxurious life behind. Dissatisfied with life’s passing pleasures, Siddhartha headed for the forest to study with the sages of his day. He stayed there several years, mastering even the most rigorous disciplines of asceticism, living at one point—so legend has it—on a single grain of rice daily. Still thoroughly dissatisfied, Siddhartha sat down beneath a sacred fig tree near the city of Gaya and said, "Come what may—let my body rot, let my bones be reduced to ashes—I will not get up from here until I have found the way beyond decay and death."1 The rest is, as they say, history.
ONE "The First Truth," said Buddha, "is the fact of suffering. All desire happiness. . . . Yet all find that life brings . . . frustration, dissatisfaction, incompleteness. . . . Life is change, and change can never satisfy desire. Therefore everything that changes brings suffering." 3 We all see this simple truth playing out in our lives over and over again. I finally get that big vacation and it’s great. I’m sipping drinks by the pool, sleeping in late, reading that book I’ve been meaning to get to . . . then what? Well, then the vacation is over and I’m back in the daily grind, waiting for that next Big Vacation in the Sky. But it is somehow never the Big Vacation, right? It always ends sooner or later, because life is change. Everything we love, life and all its varied pleasures, are, by definition, impermanent. No matter how much security we carve out for ourselves, how much money we save, how much food we stuff in the refrigerator, it is never going to be enough. That’s just the way life works, Buddha said. We all carry this tangled knot of fear deep inside our gut because we know that life itself is a temporary vacation. We sip our drinks for a while, take in some sun and then, suddenly, it’s over.TWO "The Second Truth is the cause of suffering. It is not life that brings sorrow, but the demands we make on life. . . . Thinking life can make them happy by bringing what they want, people run after satisfaction of their desires . . . [demanding] what experience cannot give: permanent pleasure unmixed with anything unpleasant. But there is no end to such desire; that is the nature of the mind. Suffering because life cannot satisfy selfish desire is like suffering because a banana tree will not bear man-goes." 4 This last point is particularly important. There is nothing wrong with expecting a banana tree to bear bananas; it just won’t work if we keep looking to it for mangoes. I point this out because this truth is often misunderstood. People sometimes say, "Okay, Buddha, I can see that I suffer because I want stuff. Therefore, I will simply quit wanting stuff." Some seekers shut themselves up in caves and eat insects or, less dramatically, they avoid the natural pleasures of sex, food, and drink.But this strategy—especially when pursued from a place of fear and defensiveness— can never work. Why not? Because that’s simply replacing one desire with another, exchanging desire to drink with desire to not drink. True, we’re not asking the banana tree for mangoes anymore—now we’re asking for oranges. So what are we supposed to do? If wanting stuff doesn’t work, and wanting to not want stuff is the same problem, how are we ever going to cure ourselves of suffering? THREE "There is a Third Truth. . . . Any ailment that can be understood can be cured, and suffering that has a cause also has an end. When the fires of selfishness have been extinguished, when the mind is free of selfish desire, what remains is the state of wakefulness, of peace, of joy, of perfect health, called ‘that which is extinguished’: nirvana."5 Okay, so there is a way to quit asking the banana tree for mangoes and oranges, but what is this way?FOUR "The Fourth Truth . . . is that selfishness can be extinguished by following an eightfold path: right understanding, right purpose, right speech, right conduct, right occupation, right effort, right attention, and right meditation. If dharma is a wheel, these eight are its spokes." The first spoke on the wheel, "right understanding," is the key to all the others. In fact, if we truly and fully comprehend this one, which is the very essence of direct perception, we automatically comprehend all the others. What exactly is right understanding? "Right understanding," said Buddha, "is seeing life as it is."6 Once again, we encounter the frustratingly slippery, for-tune-cookie elusiveness of Eastern wisdom. It’s as if we’ve asked an Olympic sprinter for advice on sprinting and she says, "Wait until the whistle blows, then run as fast as you can!"
The Buddhists call this foolish, yet amazingly persistent, expectation "attachment." When we begin to really "see life as it is," however, the never-ending dramas of our daily lives take on a richly artistic, or at least cosmically comedic, atmosphere. It is still a rather bumpy ride—still not so easy to bear—but what’s wrong with bumpy rides? I’m still shaking the banana tree waiting on mangoes, only now I know the whole time there are no mangoes on the way! I’m still wanting mangoes, you see, but I am not really expecting them. I am no longer so attached to the outcome, no longer so identified with the predicament of my one, very tiny self within the infinitely vast universe. I am still wobbling along slightly off center, licking my lips for that Big Vacation in the Sky, only now I’m aware there is never, ever going to be a Big Vacation in the Sky.Freud said, "When any situation desired . . . is prolonged, it only produces a feeling of mild contentment. We are so made that we can derive intense enjoyment only from a contrast and very little from a state of things." 7 If we ever really achieved that Big Vacation, Freud is saying, all of a sudden it would no longer feel like the Big Vacation. Sipping drinks by the pool would start to seem like work. Sleeping in would become tedious and boring. We have all seen people who spend their whole lives dreaming of retiring. Well, what happens when they finally retire? Do they spend their final days in bliss, weeping tears of joy? Maybe—for the first month or two. Then, like Freud said, they are wanting something else, a "contrast."It is not a dirty trick being played on us, this fact that we can never fully satisfy our desires. It’s a gift, really, in that it keeps things from stagnating, keeps things rolling along, however bumpily. In short, our constant frustration compels us to keep searching for the one, true, ultimate meaning—the authentic spiritual heart of existence. I know it certainly doesn’t feel like a gift sometimes, but that’s just it: If it always felt like a gift, it wouldn’t be a gift anymore! We are on our way to that damn banana tree again, shaking our heads because we know the whole thing is absolutely ridiculous. Still, what an incredibly beautiful dance it is, what a poignant, artistic journey! When we can step outside the habitual "rat race" of desire, outside the compelling drama of our tiny, individual selves long enough to directly perceive this beauty, this is when we experience the true meat of experience, the essential, permanent satisfaction behind the seeming dissatisfaction. Oh, and I just can’t wait to sink my teeth into one of those mangoes. . . . |
When Siddhartha left his
fig tree behind—which is now known as the Bodhi Tree—and stepped
back out into the Himalayan foothills, having finally found "the
way," the people were dazzled by his radiant appearance. "Are you a
god?" they asked. "Are you an angel?" The former prince and ascetic
smiled and said, "I am awake." From this point on, Siddhartha was no
longer Siddhartha—he was the Buddha, the "one who has awoken." On
this day, Buddha "set in motion the wheel of the
dharma
[spiritual teaching, the way]"
When we really stop,
look, and begin to see life as it is, we begin to notice something
very interesting: Wanting stuff isn’t the problem—it is expecting to
get it, expecting to be satisfied by the getting that’s confusing.
That’s just not the way life is. The word dukkha, which is
usually translated as "selfish
Buddhism entered China around the time of Christ. There, it mingled with Chinese Taoism to become Ch'an—Chinese Zen, more or less. Only later, when Ch'an migrated to Japan did it come to be known as Zen—the form in which this elusive teaching is most familiar to the majority of Westerners.
Although Zen traces its roots directly to the Buddha's teachings and is considered a subset of the Mahayana school of Buddhism, it is a singular, rather eccentric path in its own right. It is such a singular path, in fact, that it is essentially impossible to describe. The essence of Zen, however, is at least "pointed at" in the Buddha's Flower Sermon.
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Buddha was standing on a mountaintop with his disciples, who had gathered for his teaching. Without saying a word, however, the Buddha simply held up a flower and began to twirl it. His disciples were confused—all save Mahakasyapa. Suddenly grasping the essence of the Buddha's teaching, Mahakasyapa smiled quietly, causing the Buddha to choose him as his successor on the spot. |
In many ways, it is much easier to say what Zen is not, rather than what it is. Zen is not:
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a formula or method for self-realization
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a structured system of behaviors, practices, rules or guidelines
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a set of concepts, rituals or ideas
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logical, illogical, easy or difficult
Put simply: Zen is, above all else, not Zen. It is a direct experience, on ongoing process which is not quite a direct experience or ongoing practice. To confuse things further, there is nonetheless a kind of Zen "practice." The three main components of this practice are as follows:
| ZAZEN: Zazen is sitting meditation, more or less. It is often unstructured, the Zen practitioner being given instructions to simply sit, often for many hours, and see what happens. Its so-called methods are much less overt than those of other, more traditional forms of meditation, as are its goals. At the same time, zazen often involves the contemplation of a koan, as described below. |
| KOAN: A koan is a kind of riddle—albeit it an unsolvable one. Unsolvable so long as one is making use of logic or the conceptual mind, that is. We might imagine the following koan: Show me Buddha nature. As Buddha nature is empty, without form, the Zen practitioner is being asked something like Show me the face of God, or Show me what you are not. He or she is being asked to do the impossible. Then again ... |
| SANZEN: Sanzen is a kind of interview with the Zen master. After the student has contemplated his koan, he goes before the Zen master to present his "answer"—which is almost always incorrect. We can imagine a student answering the above koan. The Zen master shouts, "Show me Buddha nature!" The student is silent. The master, furious, whacks the student with a bamboo pole. The student, furious, grabs the bamboo pole and gives the master an equal whack. Both master and student laugh, the koan having just been "solved." |
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Zen training requires direct experience, spontaneity, naturalness. Ironically, to the degree that the Zen student is academically "studying" Zen, she will always be missing the point. Except, of course, when she is not ...
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A monk told the Zen master: “I have just entered the monastery. Please teach me.”
“Have you eaten your rice porridge?” the Zen master asked.
“I’ve eaten it,” the monk replied.
The Zen master said: “Then you had better wash your bowl.”
And at that moment the monk was enlightened … |
Along with Confucianism, Taoism was the primary religion and philosophy of pre-Buddhist China. Around 604 B.C., Lao Tzu was born, the supposed founder of Taoism. The essential Taoist principles can be traced back to the Tao Te Ching, a work attributed to Lao Tzu but which was more likely the work of numerous writers over a period of time. Chuang Tzu is the other major pioneer of Taoism, his collected writings echoing the elusive, paradoxical statements of the Tao Te Ching. In many ways, Taoism was a rebellion against Confucianism, which was already in full swing by the time Lao Tzu appeared on the scene. Whereas Confucius' teachings emphasized tradition, social responsibility and ethics, Taoism called for absolute spontaneity, individuality and naturalness—a state of harmony with the Tao—which precluded the sometimes schoolmarmish wisdom of Confucianism.
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As is the case with Zen, the teachings of Taoism are rather difficult to articulate. At best, there are three fundamental precepts which seem to thread together the bulk of Taoist writings:
THE NAMELESS TAO: The Tao is similar to the Christian God in that is omnipresent and all powerful. It is also an impersonal, impartial force, however, much like "the force" of George Lucas' Star Wars. Tao means, more or less, "the way of things," both material and immaterial, not dissimilar to the Buddhist term dharma. Taoism centers upon the absolute necessity, uniqueness, pervasiveness and indefinable elusiveness of this peculiar "way." The following passage from the Tao Te Ching is a typical description of the Tao:
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TAO TE CHING: CHAPTER ONE |
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The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao. The name that can be named is not the eternal name. The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth. The named is the mother of ten thousand things. Ever desireless, one can see the mystery. Ever desiring, one can see the manifestations. These two spring from the same source but differ in name; this appears as darkness. Darkness within darkness. The gate to all mystery. |
HARMONY: The traditional symbol of Taoism is the yin-yang, a black comma placed against an inverted white one. These both oppose one another and push one another along in their infinite turning. Moreover, the white comma contains a speck of the black, and vice-versa. Such is the Taoist idea of harmony—male and female, good and bad, easy and difficult, happiness and unhappiness. In Taoism, to want to have the good without the bad is much like wanting to have the donut without the whole. These two are literally inseparable, that is to say, as the one has no meaning without the other. In this context, we find the following passage in the Tao Te Ching:
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TAO TE CHING: CHAPTER TWO |
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Under heaven all can see beauty as beauty only because there is ugliness. All can know good as good only because there is evil. Therefore having and not having arise together. Difficult and easy compliment each other. |
WU-WEI: To be perfectly in harmony with the Tao, say the Taoists, is to realize a paradoxical state of being—a state in which things are accomplished but no effort is expended. We can imagine a bowling ball rolling down a hill. After the initial push, the bowling ball moves according to natural forces. Although the bowling ball is definitely "going somewhere," it is not doing so by some special effort on its part. Such is the path of spiritual awakening, Taoism teaches us. After some initial, elusive push in which we truly recognize the Tao, the "way of things," our spiritual journey is powered by some force greater than, and inseparable from, our individual momentum. The Tao Te Ching describes this idea of "work without doing" or "No fight: no blame" as follows:
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TAO TE CHING: CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN |
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Tao abides in non-action, Yet nothing is left undone. If kings and lords observed this, The ten thousand things would develop naturally. If they still desired to act, They would return to the simplicity of formless substance. Without form there is no desire. Without desire there is tranquility. And in this way all things would be at peace. |