Theologian Henri Nouwen wrote a very interesting book called On Discernment, which I read while I was in the library today. This book describes how all of a person's interactions with other beings have special significance, albeit often hidden underneath the surface appearances that people might happen to present. From a Christian perspective, this book explores the ways in which our interactions are refracting different elements of a more divine, spiritual relationship with a creator being, and thus it is best to cherish other beings in certain ways to reveal the hidden wisdom in those interactions. I certainly think that this kind of perspective also resonates in a Buddhist sense, because it essentially shows how interconnected beings really are.
In a sense, one cannot fully know her or himself unless they can see these different aspects of themselves as revealed by others. I guess the attitude that best describes it in a Chan way is that we treat all beings as mind communicating with mind. It's not two different 'minds' conferring with each other, but its mind in a kind of iterative communication which mirrors its own nature. This process of repeating 'mirroring' seems to serve the important function of allowing the mind to soften its grasp of phenomena and self, by encountering situations which continually challenge that identification with a conscious self. Maybe in the Christian context, this might be similar to encountering divinity within, through a sometimes painful process of letting go of what one cherishes to be 'oneself', whether it's the sense of control one has over things, or the sense of confident knowing, or even the sense of family or group affiliation. All these things continually need to be challenged before a person can truly 'know' this deeply mysterious and ungraspable presence in the universe--and to even know that they can't possibly ever fully 'know'.
Saturday, April 22, 2017
Friday, April 21, 2017
Human Humility
It's interesting to reflect on previous mistakes, in a way that doesn't make them seem awful or overpowering. As I reflected in my prior entry, it seems important to add a sense of nurturing to one's reflections, lest they become exercises in self-attack. This isn't to say that a person should exalt her or himself to the point of seeming to be 'all powerful' or omnipotent. It might be more accurate to describe self-nurturing as having the courage to highlight one's mistakes while not shying away from their impact.
I am not sure what Eastern cultures think about this idea of repentance, but it is certainly to me one of the hardest things to do, to embrace one's own weaknesses and still work to improve or overcome them. It seems to me that a person needs to have some degree of security in themselves to be able to handle criticism or previous mistakes without identifying oneself as 'someone who gets nothing right.' When the scale is tipped to the point of downing oneself for failing personal expectations, this is a sign to let go of taking the self as something that is enduring or even substantial. It's also a sign that things one has done wholesomely are being stowed away or discredited, and one can no longer have a clear awareness or perspective on their being and previous actions.
If humility arises without going into despair, it can be a very good way to ground the mind and allow scattered thoughts to dissipate. This is perhaps because humility can slow a person's processes and allow them to think about what they can improve, rather than rushing from one task to another in a frantic way. Humility toward one's own previous actions and work can be a way to take stock of what has been done successfully and unsuccessfully, as well as to develop a future plan for improvement. But, in my opinion, none of this works when there is a strong grasping to self, because in those moments, the self perverts this natural movement into something resembling pity or blame.
I am not sure what Eastern cultures think about this idea of repentance, but it is certainly to me one of the hardest things to do, to embrace one's own weaknesses and still work to improve or overcome them. It seems to me that a person needs to have some degree of security in themselves to be able to handle criticism or previous mistakes without identifying oneself as 'someone who gets nothing right.' When the scale is tipped to the point of downing oneself for failing personal expectations, this is a sign to let go of taking the self as something that is enduring or even substantial. It's also a sign that things one has done wholesomely are being stowed away or discredited, and one can no longer have a clear awareness or perspective on their being and previous actions.
If humility arises without going into despair, it can be a very good way to ground the mind and allow scattered thoughts to dissipate. This is perhaps because humility can slow a person's processes and allow them to think about what they can improve, rather than rushing from one task to another in a frantic way. Humility toward one's own previous actions and work can be a way to take stock of what has been done successfully and unsuccessfully, as well as to develop a future plan for improvement. But, in my opinion, none of this works when there is a strong grasping to self, because in those moments, the self perverts this natural movement into something resembling pity or blame.
Thursday, April 20, 2017
On Being Nurtured
I have been reflecting on Ian Suttie's book Origin of Love and Hate, for quite some time, and it touches upon ambivalence I feel toward the role of nurturing and maturity. Most cultures have what are called 'initiation' ceremonies, where young people are separated from what's familiar and 'nurturing' to them in favor of some wild experience which is meant to teach them growth and self-reliance. It's sometimes known informally as 'tough love', but I am also reflecting on how much this kind of initiation gets internalized into one's views of spirituality. There is almost a sense that spiritual initiations are meant to make people more self-reliant, as though there were these independent beings in the world who are meant to become isolated. But I have to say, this can lead to attaching to the self as something that is impervious to environment or emotions, which can be an even greater error than assuming that others will always take care of us in all situations. This can also lead a person to prematurely deny their own feelings or wishes, rather than facing up to vulnerability which is shared with all beings.
I wonder if perhaps a more balanced view is to acknowledge the desire to be nurtured or acknowledged by others in some way or another as a form of social sustenance. I may not have the means to find nurturance or understanding among those around me, but this does not mean that I need necessarily deny those emotions altogether. It's more just a matter of looking closely at contradictory forces within us that act as the conditions for very unique states of mind. For example, I might have a wish to be loved alongside a somewhat conflicting wish to be left alone at times, as well as a desire to surrender alongside a desire to control. Actually, none of these qualities 'negates' the other at all, especially when one is very clear that they are thoughts arising in mind and have no direct connection with each other. It's only when I insist that I behave in a single consistent way that I try to 'make sense' of these inner contradictions by trying to resolve them into one neat answer. While this is my tendency, I may also want to be aware that it's okay to have these contradictions, and I needn't make it my mission to resolve them in a neat way.
I also wonder if perhaps the highest form of nurturing is to embrace the contradictions that are in us and around us, as opposed to avoiding them or attempting to suppress them.
I wonder if perhaps a more balanced view is to acknowledge the desire to be nurtured or acknowledged by others in some way or another as a form of social sustenance. I may not have the means to find nurturance or understanding among those around me, but this does not mean that I need necessarily deny those emotions altogether. It's more just a matter of looking closely at contradictory forces within us that act as the conditions for very unique states of mind. For example, I might have a wish to be loved alongside a somewhat conflicting wish to be left alone at times, as well as a desire to surrender alongside a desire to control. Actually, none of these qualities 'negates' the other at all, especially when one is very clear that they are thoughts arising in mind and have no direct connection with each other. It's only when I insist that I behave in a single consistent way that I try to 'make sense' of these inner contradictions by trying to resolve them into one neat answer. While this is my tendency, I may also want to be aware that it's okay to have these contradictions, and I needn't make it my mission to resolve them in a neat way.
I also wonder if perhaps the highest form of nurturing is to embrace the contradictions that are in us and around us, as opposed to avoiding them or attempting to suppress them.
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
Unbounded
Tonight, as with many group meditation practices, I had to practice a strong determination to relax my body, in order to overcome tensions and strains in the spine. After a while, there were moments when I felt such a release and lightness that it felt 'normal' for the first time in a long time. Those brief moments would come and go, and I would later realize that they are only temporary experiences. However, it's interesting how I was still trying to evaluate these experiences in terms of some fictitious standard of 'normal' which I had established in myself.
When we come to think about spiritual or religious practice, there is a tendency to think of it as a blueprint for how to live and have the best possible experiences. I am beginning to wonder, though, is it conceivable that the direction of spiritual practice is always one step away--never quite within grasp, and not enclosing the universe in any way? For instance, the example of meditation suggests that the process never really quite takes a person to an 'optimal state' or make them into these fixed, 'self-actualized' beings. Rather, it seems more the case that meditation prepares a person to simply be in an unfolding uncertainty, without trying to add a concept of 'going somewhere'. As the Diamond Sutra suggests in particular, the words 'me' and 'enlightenment' only mar that journey by assuming that the world is bounded and transcribed into these easy-to-read lesson plans, whereas in fact there isn't a 'self' learning or growing. In this way, I can slowly let go of the illusory release from tightness or pain, knowing that these releases are never what meditation is aiming to do. They may be side effects of calming the mind, but they are not necessarily states of being to try to achieve.
When we come to think about spiritual or religious practice, there is a tendency to think of it as a blueprint for how to live and have the best possible experiences. I am beginning to wonder, though, is it conceivable that the direction of spiritual practice is always one step away--never quite within grasp, and not enclosing the universe in any way? For instance, the example of meditation suggests that the process never really quite takes a person to an 'optimal state' or make them into these fixed, 'self-actualized' beings. Rather, it seems more the case that meditation prepares a person to simply be in an unfolding uncertainty, without trying to add a concept of 'going somewhere'. As the Diamond Sutra suggests in particular, the words 'me' and 'enlightenment' only mar that journey by assuming that the world is bounded and transcribed into these easy-to-read lesson plans, whereas in fact there isn't a 'self' learning or growing. In this way, I can slowly let go of the illusory release from tightness or pain, knowing that these releases are never what meditation is aiming to do. They may be side effects of calming the mind, but they are not necessarily states of being to try to achieve.
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
The Optimistic Pessimist?
On the way to work this morning, I was reflecting on whether Arthur Schopenhauer could be considered a pessimist (as many have suggested) or an optimist. Most would argue that he is pessimistic based on such pithy lines in Counsels and Maxims as "life is given us not to be engaged but to be overcome..to be got over." (p.8) While these kinds of remarks suggest an attitude of resignation, I have to wonder if in fact it is only a strategy to allow life to be fully lived, in spite of its hardships. What Schopenhauer seems to be doing is creating a rhetoric of despair, not so that people can wallow in self-pity, but so that they can overcome their attachments to certain desires in life, including the longing to be loved and admired by everyone around us, or even the longing for human comfort.
What I gather from Schopenhauer's philosophy is that life is so much more livable when (perhaps paradoxically) there is not so much attachment to living itself. It's perhaps not a coincidence that Schopenhauer later inspired Nietzsche, since the two philosophers seem closely associated with a heroic romanticism, or a kind of exalting of a melancholy but defiant individual in the face of difficulty and challenge. It later leads to existentialism which, in my opinion, epitomizes the paradoxical embrace of choice over and above life itself. By valorizing the sense of choice or human will over and above the despair of life, these philosophies suggest that there is still a great deal that one can choose to be even given the very tight and limited controls that are thought to hem in a life.
Buddhism seems to depart from these philosophies in the sense that its practices challenge the notion of an individual who chooses from a certain vantage point, such as a particular body or 'attitude'. In doing so, there is no sense of the world as a thing that is to be controlled or controlling me in turn, and there isn't any of this negotiating of the 'terms' of a person's life which is often found in Schopenhauer--that is, trying to size up or assess the opportunities given to life after all suffering has been accounted for. Rather, the sense is that all experiences, including suffering, lead to mind, and this leads to a notion of phenomena as being constructions of the mind.
This doesn't mean that one necessarily has to change negatives to positives. Instead, the practice is to investigate what 'mind' is that undergirds these changing and shifting experiences. To put it in a different way, as soon as I set up the notion of 'I decide this', I already create a prison for myself, because I attach to this 'I" that is only a fleeting moment in time. The same goes with attaching to the notion of worth, value or 'the good'. In The Diamond Sutra, for example, we read: "the minds of all Bodhisattvas should be purified of all such conceptions as relate to seeing, hearing, tasting , smelling, touching and discriminating. They should use the mental faculties spontaneously and naturally, but unconstrained by any preconceptions arising from the senses" (In Goddard, 1994, p.94).
It's interesting to reflect on these sentences, because they suggest that suffering does not arise from attitude or 'frame of mind' so much as it arises from this mistaken illusion of a self that lives only in this body and are bounded by specific senses. It's not long before the view of the 'mind' bounded by senses becomes a living prison.
Think of the example of a driver cutting you off while you are driving or crossing the street on a busy day. If none of my stories or explanations of that story contain an "I", would there be so much suffering in it? Instead of "she/he cut me off!", how would the story be to say that this total and present moment is just happening as the result of previous conditions coming to fruition, and there is no individual actually suffering the outcome? Maybe it is just what it is, and there is no 'self' that is accumulating anything from the experience. In this way, I don't necessarily need to monitor myself to deal with situations, so much as recollecting that none of the elements of the experience constitute an enduring sense of self.
Goddard, D. (ed) (1994). A Buddhist Bible. Boston: Beacon Press
Schopenhauer, A. (Saunders, T.B trans). (1995). The Wisdom of Life and Counsels and Maxims. Amherst: Prometheus Books
What I gather from Schopenhauer's philosophy is that life is so much more livable when (perhaps paradoxically) there is not so much attachment to living itself. It's perhaps not a coincidence that Schopenhauer later inspired Nietzsche, since the two philosophers seem closely associated with a heroic romanticism, or a kind of exalting of a melancholy but defiant individual in the face of difficulty and challenge. It later leads to existentialism which, in my opinion, epitomizes the paradoxical embrace of choice over and above life itself. By valorizing the sense of choice or human will over and above the despair of life, these philosophies suggest that there is still a great deal that one can choose to be even given the very tight and limited controls that are thought to hem in a life.
Buddhism seems to depart from these philosophies in the sense that its practices challenge the notion of an individual who chooses from a certain vantage point, such as a particular body or 'attitude'. In doing so, there is no sense of the world as a thing that is to be controlled or controlling me in turn, and there isn't any of this negotiating of the 'terms' of a person's life which is often found in Schopenhauer--that is, trying to size up or assess the opportunities given to life after all suffering has been accounted for. Rather, the sense is that all experiences, including suffering, lead to mind, and this leads to a notion of phenomena as being constructions of the mind.
This doesn't mean that one necessarily has to change negatives to positives. Instead, the practice is to investigate what 'mind' is that undergirds these changing and shifting experiences. To put it in a different way, as soon as I set up the notion of 'I decide this', I already create a prison for myself, because I attach to this 'I" that is only a fleeting moment in time. The same goes with attaching to the notion of worth, value or 'the good'. In The Diamond Sutra, for example, we read: "the minds of all Bodhisattvas should be purified of all such conceptions as relate to seeing, hearing, tasting , smelling, touching and discriminating. They should use the mental faculties spontaneously and naturally, but unconstrained by any preconceptions arising from the senses" (In Goddard, 1994, p.94).
It's interesting to reflect on these sentences, because they suggest that suffering does not arise from attitude or 'frame of mind' so much as it arises from this mistaken illusion of a self that lives only in this body and are bounded by specific senses. It's not long before the view of the 'mind' bounded by senses becomes a living prison.
Think of the example of a driver cutting you off while you are driving or crossing the street on a busy day. If none of my stories or explanations of that story contain an "I", would there be so much suffering in it? Instead of "she/he cut me off!", how would the story be to say that this total and present moment is just happening as the result of previous conditions coming to fruition, and there is no individual actually suffering the outcome? Maybe it is just what it is, and there is no 'self' that is accumulating anything from the experience. In this way, I don't necessarily need to monitor myself to deal with situations, so much as recollecting that none of the elements of the experience constitute an enduring sense of self.
Goddard, D. (ed) (1994). A Buddhist Bible. Boston: Beacon Press
Schopenhauer, A. (Saunders, T.B trans). (1995). The Wisdom of Life and Counsels and Maxims. Amherst: Prometheus Books
Monday, April 17, 2017
Curiosity that Extends Everywhere
I have been reflecting today about the importance of having an open curiosity to learn from others. It's not so easy to cultivate this curiosity, but I believe that it's possible to do so intentionally, just as one practices loving kindness with intention. What would be the ingredients in this curiosity, however?
When I think about what it means to be curious about anything, I think about the leap of faith that is required. If a person doesn't have faith that there is a fundamental common ground that connects all sentient life, it's hard to make that leap of faith: how easy, in fact, it can be to go the opposite direction and think that there are enormous and insurmountable 'gulf' of difference between people. But without that basic faith, it can be quite difficult to try to be curious about others. Christian faith sees the life and death of Jesus as the bridging between all people, while Buddhist faith will tend to look at Buddha nature as a universal potential that links all living forms. In both cases, there is the cultivation of a belief in what life shares in common, which far surmounts the elements that make people different.
I am also aware that curiosity needs to be tentative and not connected with a pretentious aspect of self-advancement. To be curious seems to involve a kind of tentative grasping that is somewhat playful and not overly ambitious to fulfill an agenda. From a spiritual view, this is perhaps because we again are imbued with a faith that things are already deeply fulfilled within us, and there isn't anything to 'join' since the joined bond already exists. To be really convinced of this (grace or forgiveness?) is to have the liberty to participate in a communion with others without having the burden of self-judgment and self-condemnation around or within us.
When I think about what it means to be curious about anything, I think about the leap of faith that is required. If a person doesn't have faith that there is a fundamental common ground that connects all sentient life, it's hard to make that leap of faith: how easy, in fact, it can be to go the opposite direction and think that there are enormous and insurmountable 'gulf' of difference between people. But without that basic faith, it can be quite difficult to try to be curious about others. Christian faith sees the life and death of Jesus as the bridging between all people, while Buddhist faith will tend to look at Buddha nature as a universal potential that links all living forms. In both cases, there is the cultivation of a belief in what life shares in common, which far surmounts the elements that make people different.
I am also aware that curiosity needs to be tentative and not connected with a pretentious aspect of self-advancement. To be curious seems to involve a kind of tentative grasping that is somewhat playful and not overly ambitious to fulfill an agenda. From a spiritual view, this is perhaps because we again are imbued with a faith that things are already deeply fulfilled within us, and there isn't anything to 'join' since the joined bond already exists. To be really convinced of this (grace or forgiveness?) is to have the liberty to participate in a communion with others without having the burden of self-judgment and self-condemnation around or within us.
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Freedom from Pain
I am re-reading Arthur Schopenhauer's "Counsels and Maxims", as I have found quite a few interesting things about this book which seem to relate to living ethically according to the Four Noble Truths. Schopenhauer was by no means a Buddhist, but he was inspired by Buddhism at the time when he was writing in the 19th century. I don't agree with all of Schopenhauer's philosophy at this stage in my life, though I quite resonated with his ideas when I was in my 20s. Recently, I found that I am sometimes embarrassed to say that I like this philosopher because he has quite a few antiquated and questionable attitudes about people. Part of my embarrassment comes from the fact that his attitudes seem to be aristocratic at times and he is certainly relating to the prejudices of the time in which he is writing. However, one thing I do like about him is how clearly he articulates the First Noble Truth of suffering, in a clear way that convinces his readers of the universality of suffering. There are many times when I feel that he has a very lucid and direct understanding of how people suffer, and there is a certain genuine profundity in his writings which I took to even prior to having any spiritual path.
Schopenhauer's first 'maxim' is something he proclaims to borrow from Aristotle, namely the idea that "not pleasure, but freedom from pain, is what the wise man will aim at." (p.7) Schopenhauer proceeds to describe the vanity of using life to seek after pleasure or fame. His first argument is that the removal of something painful is more substantial than getting what one supposedly wants, because the former involves removing an obstruction to a person's will.
Actually, even if one doesn't agree with the logic of this argument, it's clear that relief from pain is often much more rewarding than finding what is pleasurable in life. I can think of two examples off the top of my head. The first is when I was in ninth grade, when I had looked forward to having summer vacation to read, only to find myself catching a cold as the time arrived and also not really getting into the books that I thought I had wanted to read. The 'pursuit' of the pleasurable experience turned out to be what Schopenhauer refers to as a 'chimera', and one which even risks a great deal of loss. In contrast, when I recently had a problem of my right ear feeling clogged for no apparent reason, it was such a relief for me when it had finally cleared up. This substantiates the claim by Schopenhauer that the 'freedom from pain' is so much more substantial and satisfying than the pursuit of pleasure.
The problem is that no sooner is a person relieved of pain that they will start to take it for granted again. Schopenhauer suggests a few exercises, such as reflecting on worse conditions than what one is in today, as a way of making them feel grateful for not being in a worse state of suffering. But perhaps his most compelling argument is that living simply, with few desires, is the best way to enjoy the things one has. I think this is also the aspect which comes closest to what I have read in Buddhist teachings. This isn't to say that the practice is only about meditation. I think Schopenhauer offers a more reflective balance by getting his readers to consider: are the pleasures they hope to gain from what they don't have equal to the pains of losing what they do have? This is a very interesting reflection which I would definitely encourage as a daily practice.
Schopenhauer, Arthur (tr. T. B. Saunders) (1995). The Wisdom of Life and Counsels and Maxims. New York: Prometheus Books
Schopenhauer's first 'maxim' is something he proclaims to borrow from Aristotle, namely the idea that "not pleasure, but freedom from pain, is what the wise man will aim at." (p.7) Schopenhauer proceeds to describe the vanity of using life to seek after pleasure or fame. His first argument is that the removal of something painful is more substantial than getting what one supposedly wants, because the former involves removing an obstruction to a person's will.
Actually, even if one doesn't agree with the logic of this argument, it's clear that relief from pain is often much more rewarding than finding what is pleasurable in life. I can think of two examples off the top of my head. The first is when I was in ninth grade, when I had looked forward to having summer vacation to read, only to find myself catching a cold as the time arrived and also not really getting into the books that I thought I had wanted to read. The 'pursuit' of the pleasurable experience turned out to be what Schopenhauer refers to as a 'chimera', and one which even risks a great deal of loss. In contrast, when I recently had a problem of my right ear feeling clogged for no apparent reason, it was such a relief for me when it had finally cleared up. This substantiates the claim by Schopenhauer that the 'freedom from pain' is so much more substantial and satisfying than the pursuit of pleasure.
The problem is that no sooner is a person relieved of pain that they will start to take it for granted again. Schopenhauer suggests a few exercises, such as reflecting on worse conditions than what one is in today, as a way of making them feel grateful for not being in a worse state of suffering. But perhaps his most compelling argument is that living simply, with few desires, is the best way to enjoy the things one has. I think this is also the aspect which comes closest to what I have read in Buddhist teachings. This isn't to say that the practice is only about meditation. I think Schopenhauer offers a more reflective balance by getting his readers to consider: are the pleasures they hope to gain from what they don't have equal to the pains of losing what they do have? This is a very interesting reflection which I would definitely encourage as a daily practice.
Schopenhauer, Arthur (tr. T. B. Saunders) (1995). The Wisdom of Life and Counsels and Maxims. New York: Prometheus Books
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