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MINDFUL HERESY

by Chimed Rigdzen

All rights reserved/Jan. ‘00

 “IF YOU LIVE THE SACRED AND DESPISE THE ORDINARY, YOU ARE STILL BOBBING IN THE OCEAN OF DELUSION.”   

 Lin-Chi 

“ Life has a way of running away from our thoughts. . . .”  Bill 

Table of Contents

 Foreword:         

About three years ago my wife attended a medical conference in Hawaii.  While she participated in various lectures and health care presentations during the day, I roamed around the art galleries and coffee shops of Kona. Since both of us were Buddhist practitioners, we usually spent our evenings visiting different Buddhist shrines, temples, and centers. We even paid our respects to the indigenous deities, offering incense and prayers at the local holy sites.  

About the third day of our stay I was growing a little restless.  I’m not the type of person who can spend hours on end lathering on sunscreen, daydreaming on the beach. I knew I was in danger of spending the rest of our stay on the island prostrated before that universal deity we call “The Tube”. I had to take some action, and amazingly enough, I did. 

In the middle of my third review of CNN Headline News I turned off the television, put down my cold cup of Kona coffee, and marched downstairs to the condominium’s recreation center.  I rented a bicycle and pedaled for parts unknown.  After  thirty minutes under the blazing sun with no water, I stopped at yet another coffee shop.  Intending to fill up on ice-water, I found myself grabbing a local paper and ordered a cold cappuccino.  I sat at a small table.  After I cool down, I thought, I’ll head back.      

I had just finished the sports section when an elderly gentleman walked in, ordered a drink, and sat at the table beside me.  One benefit I’ve noticed from traveling is that I tend to me more convivial, and soon enough the gentleman and I had struck up a pleasant conversation.  His name was William, but he preferred to be called Bill. 

Bill, I later learned,  had been traveling around the islands for almost a year.  His wife of nearly forty years had died two years earlier.  He was traveling, he told me, in order to “revitalize” himself. I nodded and smiled as this man essentially recounted the highlights of his life to me in a period of about an hour. My first impressions of him were that he was intelligent, sensitive, articulate, and a bit discursive in thought.  Given this, I should also mention that he disclosed more about himself in that hour than I had probably done in a year with my closest of friends.  I didn’t know if he was painfully honest about himself, or just lonely.

At some point I told him I had to go, shook his hand, saying how much I had enjoyed talking to him  (even though I had mostly listened; I had hardly said a word during our time together).  He stood, smiled, and said with an odd twinkle in his eye:  “Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”  I smiled back, and agreed that maybe we would.

The next morning my wife left early again for her conference, and I decided to play a round of golf.  I wasn’t really planning on doing this.  Aside from the fact that golf is very expensive on the islands, I am not a very good golfer.  For me, golf really is a “good walk spoiled.”  Back home I played on occasion with a couple of friends who were also fellow members of the same Buddhist retreat center I attended.  We enjoyed being outdoors, and especially enjoyed the comraderie of being a threesome on the course. Golf, I feel, is made to be played by threesomes.

Naturally, whenever we went out, we would get a hard time from some of the other members of the Sangha.  Didn’t we realize how much waste of natural resources and chemical pollution golf courses created?  I usually responded by saying that a golf course was as close as I’d ever get to a Zen garden.  Regardless of how we responded, we would always expect a good tongue-lashing by a few people, and as soon as they left we would get back to discussing that seven iron shot from a hundred and sixty yards out.

So in a way I wasn’t really looking forward to playing that day.  I knew I would get paired up with some stranger, which took most of the fun out of the game for me.  But I didn’t really have much else to do, so I called in a reservation for early afternoon.  I arrived a little early to take some practice swings on the driving range.  I rented a cart, loaded up my clubs, and headed for the tees.  I had nearly worked myself into a hacking frenzy, muttering to myself as I lined  up for another swing at it, when somebody walked up behind me.  I looked back, and there was Bill--smiling.

We exchanged greetings, and after he watched me torture myself with another few swings, he set up at the tee next to me.  I was so engrossed in my own frustration I didn’t bother to look over at him, but I could hear the clean “schwack” of club meeting ball time and time again.  I would watch my ball drub along the ground seventy-five yards in front of me, and then notice another ball whiz past and sail another two-hundred yards down the fairway.  It seemed that Bill knew how to play golf.

When I finally finished my bucket of balls, I called over to him, wishing him “luck,” and climbed back into my cart.  Within a few minutes I heard my name being called to the first tee.  I drove over and waited.  Soon, I could spot another cart making its way toward me.  Once again, it was Bill, smiling and waving.  We had been paired up to play together.  He decided to leave his cart behind, and jumped in with me.

Bracing myself for what I thought would be an endless monologue around the course, I set up for my first shot.  I got lucky and smacked the hell out of it.  I nearly fell over, but I hit it solidly.  I watched as the ball sailed out at least two-hundred and thirty yards.  Let’s see this old geezer beat that, I thought.  Bill pulled out a pink, lady’s  ball, took a few effortless practice swings, and then proceeded to gracefully whack his ball a good fifty yards past mine.  He looked at me, smiling sheepishly.  “Lucky,” he said.

We got into the cart without another word spoken.  In fact, I doubt if Bill said more than four or five words the whole time we were playing.  I shot a 99.  He shot a 78.  He was a little more than “lucky”. 

After our round, we headed back to the clubhouse for cold drinks. Still, he was silent.  My mind, though, was racing.  How did he do it?  I had to know.  Aside from the nature of Buddhamind, golf was for me one of life’s major mysteries.  

“Easy,” he told me.  “Relaxation.  That’s the key to every locked box I’ve tried opening.  Attentive relaxation. ” 

“I know,” I replied.  “But how? How do you relax trying to hit that damn thing? It refuses to move.  So then you move, or your mind does.  You start thinking so much that you couldn’t hit the ground with a rock.” 

“Concentration.  Visualization.  Repetition,” he said softly.  It sounded like he was repeating a personal mantra.  

“You practice these things?  You do that?” 

“Sure,” he said.  “I’m a Buddhist.  That’s what you do, no matter what you’re doing.  At least in the preliminary stages of the process.” 

I don’t know why, but he really surprised me saying this.  He just didn’t strike me as the kind of person who followed a spiritual discipline. He seemed rougher and less-polished than most of the people I had come across in the Dharma.  I told him that I was a Buddhist, too.  

He got that twinkle in his eyes again.  “Sort of figured that,” he said nonchalantly.  

So began my three days of earnest conversations with Bill.  We struck a deal.  I would tell him my thoughts about religion and spiritual practice, and he would teach me how to play golf, the “noetic” side of golf, as he called it. He guaranteed that he would have my game in the eighties in no time, and I assured him he would find my insights about the spiritual path, if not illuminating, then at least interesting.  As it turned out, we were both wrong.  

He had rented a small coffee shack inland some ways.  We met there each day until it was time for my wife and me to leave for home and the mainland. His place was a single room, with a small kitchen and bathroom off to the side. It was clean and tidy, with little decoration except for three framed photos on the wall, and a white candle on his bedstand.   One picture was of him and his wife, standing in front of a small house.  They’re holding hands and looking very happy.  An Irish Setter is at their feet.  The other picture was an autographed picture of Ben Hogan.  “To Bill.  Good Luck. Ben.”  The last picture was of Bill himself, lying down on what looked to be a hospital bed, plastic tubes running in and out of his body. 

“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the last picture.  

“Me getting chemotherapy,” he said.  “Last year. Tough go.”                            

“Jesus!” I said.  “What’s wrong?” 

“Cancer.  Got cancer.  In remission now,” he said.  “Played hell with my golf game.” 

He refused to pass on any more details about his disease. This was a pattern I discovered in all my conversations with Bill.  He would talk quite openly about matters I thought personal, and then refuse to discuss other events in his life that I felt were much more public affairs.  He told me he had no children. “Philosophers usually don’t have children,” he said.  But he refused to say much about his wife, other than to mention that she had been “a wonderful, precious human being”.   What he did love to talk about was philosophy in general, and Buddhism in particular. 

“I began studying Buddhism when I was around seventeen.  Found a copy of the Prajnaparamitta Sutra in a used book store.  Ate it up.  Didn’t understand a word of it, but I was hooked.” 

What I discovered in my brief conversations with Bill was that he  was the one who had interesting--and uncomfortably lengthy-- observations in regard to Buddhism.  “Interesting” may not be the right word.  Maybe “provocative” is closer to correct.  Even though I found myself disagreeing with much of what he had to say, I couldn’t help but be intrigued by his challenging viewpoints.  It seemed to me he had something to say, even if I oftentimes thought it was wrong.  

Because of this I kept up a correspondence with him for well over a year after my wife and I left Hawaii.  I was eventually able to persuade him to the mainland for a visit.  My wife and I owned a small retreat cabin in the mountains of Oregon, and it was here, I thought, that I would bring him to carry on our discussions.  I also wanted to bring a tape recorder, ask questions of him, and then let him respond.  He assured me that it wouldn’t be worth the effort, but I was finally able to convince him otherwise.  

The conversations that follow are taken directly from these tapes, but they are not presented without some editing. For this particular manuscript, for example, I have reduced countless scatterings of conversation into a few sessions.  Sometimes Bill would digress so far from the topic at hand, that I found it necessary to delete large sections.  For the most part, however, I feel that I have consistently transcribed the spirit, if not letter, of his conversations with me. 

For the reader’s benefit I would like to add a few more details.  For one, Bill is (or had been before his sickness) a large man.  He claimed that when he worked in the mines and shipyards during his twenties he carried about two-hundred pounds of “mostly muscle”.  When I met him he couldn’t have weighed much over 150 lbs. with a height of about five-ten or eleven. He sported a gray mustache and a totally bald head, and I estimated his age to be late sixties. Though he appeared vital enough, I’m sure his recent illness had robbed him of what the Tibetans call “La”, or intrinsic life force.   

His manner was casual, relaxed, but he did manage to get himself heated up on a few occasions.  Then he would burst from his chair and pace anxiously around the small room.  I couldn’t help but imagine him doing the same in front of a classroom of university students, but he claimed never to have taught anyone anything a day in his life.  “We can’t really teach one another anything,” he said bluntly.  “We can only assist in the process of self-learning.” 

As for my background, there’s little to say.  I have been a high-school math teacher for over twenty years.  I am now forty-four years of age.  I have been associated with Buddhism for at least fifteen years.  I have served as both a treasurer, and for a short period, as retreat director of a small Vajrayana Buddhist center located in the foothills of northern California, where I was given the name “Chimed Rigdzen” (pronounced: Chee-may Rig-zen).   I have always dreamed of writing about Buddhism at some point in my life, but until I met Bill I really didn’t feel I had much to offer about the subject.  I’m sure some readers will feel, after reading this manuscript, that I still don’t, and that what I think of as provocative many others may think of as heretical.  Like Bill used to say to me: You can’t control the opinions and judgements of others, nor should you try.   

Because of my busy schedule and commitments it has taken me nearly two years to transcribe my tapes into some kind of presentable form.  I still have loads of tapes I haven’t listened to since the first days.  Bill and I are still in contact.  His cancer is still in remission, which according to my wife only means that the doctors can’t find it right now. He still lives in the same coffee shack in Kona.  With any luck, we will meet again this summer.  When I told him that our manuscript was finally finished, he said: “Oh well.”  

He also said to give his best wishes and regards to those people who are “proud to have a heart beating in their chest, and a brain buzzing in their head.”  

Session One:  Retreat Cabin/ Ashland, Oregon

(Spring of 1995)         

          Bill was seated comfortably in my old rocking chair by the large front window, his bald head silhouetted against the grey light of this Oregon spring morning.  I had just come in from an early run and the crackling fire that Bill had thoughtfully started was a welcome sight.  When I thanked him for his effort, Bill smiled and said his “brains needed warming up” for our session.  But, as I had long suspected and as our sessions together amply proved, that part of his inner anatomy had been aflame long before I entered the picture.

          On the low wooden table between us, I placed the tape recorder and a hot pot of chai and, settling myself across from him, I clicked the “start” button on the recorder.  Bill seemed eager to begin, leaning forward expectantly, waiting for my first question. 

CHIMED:  I suppose the first question to ask you is: What do you mean by Buddhist? 

BILL: “Define your terms”.  This maxim is considered the cornerstone of sound, reasonable discussion, until, of course, we decide to ignore it.  By the way, what I mean by “reasonable” is employing the neo-cortex predominantly, as opposed to, say, the limbic system. Scientists can now measure these sorts of things, and they feel reasonably confident about which part of the brain is active and firing during acts of remembering, thinking, dreaming, and so on. As a species we’ve pretty well papered over the outside world, so we are now focusing on the microcosm, the smaller worlds within.  Cartography of the mind. This is the direction modern psychology is going these days, and I’ll tell you it’s a lot different view from the old pagan soul theories--such as Plato’s-- of two-thousand years ago.  

CHIMED:  How so? 

BILL:  Oh...let’s save that for later if we stumble back on to it.  I’d rather finish up with my original comments on reason, and so forth.   

          (Pause)  The tape recorder is on now, isn’t it?

CHIMED:  Yes, it is. 

BILL:  Good.  So then...I also consider reason to be the emergence of the individual consciousness from the group mind of the species.  This individuated consciousness is what I call “ego”.  (So, obviously I’m not using Freud’s definition of ego). Reason is also voluntary behavior as opposed to impulsive or reactive. Reason involves choice, and removes us from groupthink, along with its slinky array of compulsive reactions.   

But even though we can think as we will, we  can also be strongly  influenced by our beliefs and other emotional  pre-dispositions.  Reason, you see, counter-balances these biases. To my mind employing reason develops free will because thinking is fundamentally acausal.  We only run into serious difficulties when we ask too much of our rational faculties and drive reason into places she has no business going.    

Anyway, Socrates was famous for driving his students crazy as they tried to define what they meant by justice, beauty, truth, and so on.  In effect, he would question every response until inevitably his students began contradicting themselves. What began for them as self-evident terms soon became a confusing ball of doubt.  Getting lost in sincere doubt was considered spiritual progress and, I believe, stood as a rite of initiation into the universal dialectic of philosophy.   You see, most of the time we really have no idea what we’re saying.  Why do I say this?    

(Pointing)  That’s your cue, Chimed.  

CHIMED:  Oh.  Sorry.

BILL(Laughs)   I’ll tell you why.  Because our categories of thought (our concepts) and our intuitions very often oppose one another.  Our idea of freedom, for example, is contradicted by the normal experiences in our daily lives.  We might insist on the internal ideal  of freedom,  but everything around us-- especially our bodies-- is weighted and conditioned.  So what happens?  Our idea of liberty bounces  off the hard reality of personal containment.   Right away what we verbalize as happening to us and our direct perception of things start zig-zagging into bi-polar attitudes. (Maybe we can talk more about this later).  

Anyway, trying to define Buddhism is a good place to begin our  discussions, since without a definition of terms no accurate understanding of matters can occur. Or any worthwhile differences of opinion. 

CHIMED:  I have a feeling there might be quite a few  “differences of opinion”.  

BILL:  That would really be good.  I was about to say that one of my Buddhist teachers once defined a Buddhist as “someone who looks within”.  I feel that this is an excellent starting point.  To my mind this means that anyone who cultivates introspection and self-reflection, regardless of whether she belongs to an organized religion, or shuns all religions and calls herself an atheist,  is a Buddhist.  Anyone who searches for truth via the interior experience (introspection/self-reflection) is a  Buddhist.  

That said, let’s not forget that this so-called “interior experience” that we loosely refer to as “selfhood” or “subjectivity” also relates in some unknown way to  an independent “outside”  reality. Few people are vain enough to claim that they are the only beings in the universe. Only solipsism and other forms of extreme subjectivism insist on this view.  Aside from delusional personalities, most of us agree that there is my self-- my interiority, personality and individuality-- and then the entire rest of the universe which is manifestly not  myself. The constant otherness of all my experiences. You see, what I’m reporting here is my common sense  belief in substance and the external status of matter.  The belief in an independent world that would pulse on with or without me. The world doesn’t disappear just because I decide to look inward--even if I want it to do so.  Belief in exterior substance--we usually call this “nature”--is probably one of the few worthwhile beliefs that we possess.  

CHIMED: I believe I understand your point here, but I was thinking more of Buddhism as a religious order.   

BILL: That’s fine. I was about to say there is a more formal definition of a Buddhist. This description involves outward association with traditional Buddhist doctrine and practices. It is the acknowledgment of a long-standing Buddhist tradition, doctrine, and formal practices: rituals; methods of meditation; retreats and so on. In this sense, you’re not really a Buddhist unless you practice the ethics, logic and introspective exercises of this tradition.

There are many great traditions designed with spiritual awakening in mind, but their methods can be very different from one another in style--or even intent.  These days a lot of people think: Oh, Judaism is essentially the same as Buddhism;  or Mohammadism is the same as Hinduism;  and so forth.  Even Shamanism or ancient pagan soul cults get thrown into the mix.  Trust me, they’re different. At least if you take them at their word,  they’re different.  Our minds, however, won’t  tolerate differences very long.   

CHIMED:  How so? 

BILL:  We seem to automatically coalesce our internal affairs. A synthesis of differing views proves more satisfying than mere analysis: We take things apart only to put them back together again.  Apparently, our minds prefer the peace and satisfaction provided by the resolution of conceptual differences or conflicts.  It’s as though we are all intrinsically synoptic philosophers. We don’t like cognitive dissonance. Every philosophical system, every religious doctrine eventually rests on some type of synthetical resolution. This synthesis of viewpoints supposedly brings to an end our internal frustration, doubt, and strain. In this sense every spiritual path is  the same,  all one part of the great dialectical tradition, or at least humanity’s attempt at some coherent system of metaphysics,  Buddhism, of course, tries steering around any apparent need for synthesis with its concept of Emptiness, which, to my mind, is the most elegant synthesis of all.   

But you can’t just throw out the differences between methods because they don’t add up to a neat and  tidy spiritual equation. It’s really not fair to cut up all these distinctions in doctrine and then piece them back together like a cosmic  jig-saw puzzle.  This is a serious confusion on the part of many spiritual seekers, and probably arises due to our modern mix-and-match approach to spiritual discipline. Today, we really do want everything to be One.  Maybe this is because so many of us feel emotionally fractured.  

CHIMED:  Using your terms, then, is it possible for someone to belong to a Zen or Vajrayana lineage, for example, and actually not be a Buddhist? 

BILL:  It’s not only possible, it’s likely.  Most people feel that they have become a Buddhist if they do things like twirl their malas, wear orange robes, bow ceremoniously to the teacher, and pay dues or donate money to their spiritual organization.  The way in which these things are done can be quite ritualistic and elaborate.  So, once these outer displays are memorized and performed effortlessly, then many people start believing that they have sort of made the grade, and that they are now qualified Buddhists.   

In time, these very same people will begin looking down on those people who either can’t or won’t practice these kinds of exterior arrangements.  Given enough time and money, a spiritual hierarchy begins to form, because these sycophants now look and act more like the lama (Guru) or lineage holders than you do. This is a form of political power.  These type of disciples oftentimes form the elite guard of spiritual organizations, what my wife and I referred to as “The Special Ones”.   

These Special Ones mistakenly believe they have accrued spiritual wisdom, but actually they’ve only coupled political muscle with their very personal  motives and agendas.  Due to their ardent belief in doctrinal purity they begin practicing one form of illusion after another. They have mistaken the disorders and phobias of their personalities for spiritual awakening. Some esoteric Buddhists refer to this as ego-delusion,  most aspects  of which are purportedly caused by demonic possessions.  For me, this is a pretty primitive form of psychological understanding, not nearly up to par with our current knowledge of psychological disorders.  

CHIMED: Since you mention politics, what do you think is the relationship between politics and spiritual paths?  Isn’t spiritual practice actually beyond political ambitions?  Beyond  worldly  concerns? 

BILL(Laughter).  Boy, this is a tough nut to crack for anyone who becomes seriously introverted.  

First, let’s define our terms.  What do we mean by “politics”?  The term itself arises from the Greek word for “people”, which is “polis”.  So we get words like metropolis, police, and, of course, politics.  To my mind, politics refers to the commerce between individuals, whether that commerce be as simple as an exchange of goods or money, or whether it’s exchange of ideas and viewpoints.  A community, we could say, is  defined by the conceptual, emotional, and physical exchanges that occur within it. So, in that sense, politics is involved whenever people gather and relate to one another.   

Some years ago the British psychologist Laing wrote an excellent book called The Politics of Experience.  The view was that every human relationship is essentially a political relationship. If we observe our social behavior carefully we notice that each of us is constantly establishing or conceding “territory”, whether that be physical, emotional or mental terrain. If we look at politics in this way, then we eventually realize that it is impossible to move beyond politics; unless, of course, you no longer have a body, or needs, or personal dreams and wishes.  I haven’t seen this yet, even amongst the so-called enlightened teachers. Gurus, Tulkus, Senseis, Priests, Rabbis or whatever, usually have the very political needs of building their centers or holy places so that they have a venue for spreading their messages. They also have bodies, which they may have the audacity to call “illusory,” but they lug them around all the same. 

CHIMED:  So, are you saying that politics necessarily distorts spiritual aspirations, or...? 

BILL:  I suppose what I’m saying is that the real nemesis is isms.  Anyone interested in spiritual awakening more often than not finds themselves involved in one kind of ism or another. On a general level it doesn’t matter if we talk about nationalism, shamanism, communism, or Buddhism. The problems remains similar, if not the same.  Christianity, by the way, is also an “ism”, being essentially “Paulism”.   

What this means is that the founder of a movement, religious or otherwise, expresses an insight, attitude or intent.  As the years pass this revelation or spiritual insight also passes away from the organization and the politics that develop within that organization. For example, if people believe that Buddhism as it is practiced today is the same Buddhism that Shakyamuni Gautama had in mind, then they probably also believe that the Catholic Church really is the bride of God. I, however, believe that it is quite otherwise. (Speaking of the Catholic Church, take a look at what happened to the Franciscan order as soon as their leader passed away). Few philosophers believe that Plato was a Platonist.  Nietzche said the only Christian he had heard of was killed on the cross.  I’m amazed that Westerners have no problem in denouncing traditional Christian observances as outdated, distorted, superstitious, and misleading of the original beliefs or insights of Jesus, and yet readily accept Buddhist doctrine as though it was totally pure and unadulterated.  

There have been as many reformations and Ecumenical councils in the Buddhist doctrine as there have been in Christianity.  And if Western students of Buddhism believe that there is no long standing rivalry and enmity between the various sects of Buddhism such as there is within the Christian faith, then they haven’t done their homework. No, I believe there is quite a wide breach between Shakyamuni’s original insight into the nature of Mind, and that which is generally practiced as Buddhism today.  

For one thing, I believe his was an insight based on harmony rather than sophisticated styles of  what I call “escapism”.  Or maybe mental, emotional and physical balance through the “golden mean” is closer to his original point, such as Plato and Aristotle advocated. You see, Shakyamuni began his spiritual journey with ascetic practices, but eventually he decided to give them up.   They proved injurious to the harmony of the psyche.  

CHIMED:  So you believe there’s an inherent antagonism between spiritual insight and the spiritual organization that grows up around it.  Is this a fair assessment of your attitude? 

BILL:  Look, I know I’m not saying anything new here.  This kind of criticism about social institutions of any kind has been around for quite a while.  The classic book in sociology, The Social Construction of Reality,   lays it all out,  chapter and verse.  I’m not suggesting some kind of conscious, negative intent is at work-- necessarily.  I’m simply suggesting that any social body is necessarily political, and as such will eventually expand away from, rather than towards its original goal.   

You might ask: Why?  Because a social institution becomes an organism unto itself, an entity that finds itself at risk and in need, the same fundamental position that any individual encounters.  All social bodies require resources, funds, labor, sacrifices, and ultimately pacts, contracts,  and compromises, in order to survive.  It is a natural evolution for a social organization to reorganize itself in this way since the ultimate organizing principle of any and all associations tends to be survival first, and more power soon thereafter. Power in numbers.  The view becomes quantitative rather than qualitative.  Alone, I may be wrong and my prejudices overcome.  Banded together with others who share the same biases as myself suddenly makes me “right”, and more importantly gives me the power to assert this righteousness.    

This is the way of worldly activities, and if anyone believes that any religion is actually as unworldly as it professes to be, then they are suffering from severe naivete.  We might wish it to be otherwise in some mythical, perfect world, say like Heaven or a Dharmic Pure Realm.  But here on earth, politics is superior to spiritual aspirations, since the everyday reality for people is essentially political.  Religion is simply one more aspect of political posturing.   It’s an ugly truth, perhaps, but it’s the truth nonetheless. Or maybe I should say “factual”. 

CHIMED:  If I follow what you’re suggesting, then it seems to me that all religions, Buddhism included, are developing in the wrong direction, as though they were more harmful than beneficial.   Do you really think this is the case? 

BILL:  No, not necessarily, although if you read recent philosophical texts, that very reality has been strongly suggested. It’s a valid question, I feel. On the other hand, we could simply say that they are “adapting” or “developing”.  Let me use Judaism as an example.  After their dispersion by the powers that be, the Jews no longer had a homeland.  This meant that for them all of the things that hold a community together, such as customs, taboos, laws, delegation of power and responsibilities, the communal sense of values, the sense of common self-identity even, had to be carried by someone. Their cultural identity had to be vouchsafed if they were to survive.  Religion was the natural choice for this kind of responsibility.  Wherever Jews gathered, be it in Russia, Portugal,  America,  or wherever, their religion was what bound them, guided them, and provided a sense of cohesion.  All of this provides for the possibility of group survival.  Political survival.  

So what happens?  The Rabbis or priest class make all the decisions.  All vital authority is placed in their hands. The differences between secular and religious life are dissolved, if they still exist at all. Theocracy is firmly established.  The constant threat of extinction meant that people were more than willing to put absolute confidence in their spiritual elders.  They did so for the sake of physical, emotional, and even mental security. Is this bad or misguided?  I don’t think so.  Instead, it was very pragmatic of them. Very utilitarian in outlook.  

What developed was a fascinating admixture of everyday life and spiritual doctrine. Every act, from sex to spitting after a meal, is overlaid with spiritual import. The Rabbis were the only lawgivers: Judge and executioner both. They explained how the world came to be, continued to exist, and what awaited beyond this life.  They made these evaluations based upon strict interpretation and observance of the doctrine as it had been passed on to them. Moral judgment was no longer simply the spiritual vocation of an individual, i.e. ethics. Morality became a social issue only, bearing awesome weight in the body politick. 

For the Jews then, the political reality of religion often brought them to extreme measures. For example, they sometimes found it necessary to  excommunicate their most gifted members.  The scapegoating of Spinoza is an example of political zeal gone awry.  You see, even though debate was deemed an integral part of their Judaic doctrine, when Spinoza brought some real arguments to the table, the elders insisted he take his opinions elsewhere.  First they humiliated him, and then they ostracized him. 

In a very real sense, all of this was beyond moral reproach because,  without some absolute code of conduct,  the entire Jewish heritage was in danger of being annihilated. As with most Oriental cultures, the group took precedence over the individual, and religion was the glue that kept this collective body together.  

CHIMED:  So you feel these political realities eventually altered the original doctrine?  

BILL:  Exactly.  I believe it led to superficial, dogmatic views and attitudes.  The original philosophical imperatives to question authority, pursue self-doubt to its end, and to distinguish spiritual aspirations from worldly concerns, all of this had to be thrown over the edge.   Too much for these homeless peoples to lug around.  They required simplicity and directness from their spiritual leaders, not esoteric babble that tired their minds and confused their hearts.  That sort of doctrine didn’t put bread on the table or pay off the constable.  It’s not surprising, for example, that the Cabala fell strongly out of favor within the Jewish communities, including the community of priests and elders. Today of course there is a revival of the Cabalistic mysteries, re-stirring a pot boiled years ago by Maimonides.  Which also means that there is more wealth and leisure these days.  

CHIMED:  Yes, but how does all this relate to Buddhism? 

BILL:  Well, Tibetan Buddhists find themselves in a similar, homeless situation.  Don’t they? And they, too, have been forced into some very pragmatic, political judgements.  Can you kill a Chinese  soldier who is torturing your parents and still remain a Buddhist monk worthy of enlightenment?   More than a few of them have had to answer this question quite directly. The circumstances, of course, are very much different for the Western disciples of Buddhism. For them there is no overt, external threat... at least not yet.   

However, Western Buddhists still struggle with continuous material requirements,  such as the need for money to cover  expenditures for temples, housing, insurance,  and so on.  Couple this with the other political necessities of contemporary American life, things like a voice in legislative procedures, the development of corporate structures, tax issues, positions on community issues such as ecological concerns and the like, and you have a pretty perilous path to tread if you want to keep getting your message out there.  

I call this the Christianizing of Buddhism, because what began 2,500 years ago as an esoteric, mystical doctrine--in effect, a philosophical reference point-- about personal liberation has become a mish-mash of social, moral and intellectual  beliefs all promoting some kind of political agenda.  Buddhism, I’m sorry to say, is fast becoming as  superficial and dogmatic as Christianity.  Another way of saying this is that it has become commercialized, creating as many fundamentalists within Buddhism as there are in Christianity.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they came out with a magazine on Buddhism, and you could just walk down to your newsstand and buy one.  On-line Buddhism. 

CHIMED:  I believe all of that’s already happening. 

BILL:  Oh.  Anyway, putting aside just about everything I’ve said to this point, I feel that there really is no Buddhism.  Never has been, nor will there ever be. You can’t be a “Buddhist” because that creature is purely a social fiction--a trick of language. No such critter. Not here, nor in any of the so-called Pure Realms.   

CHIMED:  O.K.  But backing up just a bit? 

BILL:  Sure. 

CHIMED:  Are you suggesting that moral problems are inherently superficial? 

BILL:   Not at all.  I’m just saying the process is intimately human and personal.  We don’t need religions in order to be ethical or moral human beings.  Couldn’t we say that  “life” is lord enough for us all?   We only require a small dose of common sense and a little bit of everyday human kindness.  Both of these qualities naturally ooze out of our species.  On the basis of these two factors alone we could develop a working, compassionate system of ethics, totally without religious interference. 

This, you see, is essentially the viewpoint  of the old humanist movement which, for reasons beyond my comprehension, has become the dreaded “H” word in contemporary politics.   Granted, what we usually mean by “spirit” is directly or indirectly related to moral capacities, but I don’t believe that we need to believe in God or even the intrinsically compassionate nature of Mind, for that matter, in order to treat each other in an ethical or morally responsible manner.  To insist that we do is fear-based thinking. We’re saying to ourselves: “Oh, I won’t get to hang out with God unless I’m really nice.”  Since Buddhists have no God they fret instead  about admittance into Pure Realms or more advantageous rebirths, and the like.  Same fundamentalist attitudes underneath it all, however.  

Besides, when someone says “God”, aren’t they really muttering “matter”?  As in “matrix” or “mother”?  Weren’t the first religions based on the propitiation and worship of nature?  Then the Christians-- God bless their hearts--go and make nature the enemy  of God.  Go figure that one out. (It’s not that hard, actually) 

CHIMED:  What do you mean? 

BILL:  I mean that natural impulses always suggest something underneath, or behind us, and so aspiration–in this instance “God”–is the antithesis, something above or beyond us. Anyhow, I would almost agree with Nietzsche: morality does not cure humankind’s ills; rather it creates them.  Of course Nietzsche also spent a lot of time ranting against mediocrity, which is like complaining about the weather because it’s not to your liking.  

As I said earlier, some simple common sense, such as the “Golden Rule” that we all learned as children, will do the trick.  I don’t believe that spirit has any overriding interest in moral precepts. I don’t believe that spirit holds any grudges against us. All of that stuff is the byproduct of human fears, aspirations, and needs. In other words, it’s political and inseparable from groupthink.  

CHIMED:  So you feel that there really is no “Buddhism” in its original sense, and that most of what we think of as moral or spiritual issues are really political.  Is that a fair encapsulation of your viewpoints? 

BILL:  To the degree that a good Buddhist shouldn’t have any viewpoints for fear of growing a humongous ego--yes, I pretty much said that. 

CHIMED:  Alright.  Let’s pick-up there.  What is your definition of ego? 

BILL:  Oh, damn!  (Laughs)  I knew you would ask me that.  If you remember, I alluded to ego right at the beginning of our talk.  (Long pause)  But, let’s see.  Let’s get a little more definitive. 

The first thing that comes to mind, of course, is “I” or me.  The thinking part of Descarte’s “cogito, ergo sum.”  I say the “thinking part” because to me thinking really means: “thinging”.  Let me explain.  

I once saw an old film clip where the town’s city council had called an emergency meeting due to the large number of UFO sightings that had recently taken place in the local community. (This was documentary, not commercial footage.) Anyway, by the end of the meeting everyone was calling what they had seen, but could not explain, the “Thing”.  They had “thinged” the UFO, and somehow that made their frantic situation a little more tolerable. Thinking about the alien object required that they somehow “thing” it, and so draw it into some circle of familiarity. 

With this little town’s meeting in mind, I would say that when we  humans think, we are searching for a way to  soothe ourselves.  Why? Because we are stuck  exploring the unexplainable.  Just as a very general example, I would say that the words matter or life  represent for us what must remain unknowable, and therefore forever mysterious. Part of the reason I say this is because the top physicists of our day now freely admit that they really don’t understand the mechanics of an atom.  Remember, speculation and research has been going on in this area for quite a while now.  The more they discover, the more dubious they become of their own explanations.  Descartes suggested that the only thing we couldn’t doubt was the act of thinking (cognition).  Since he was a logician at heart, he simply restated the logical principle that philosophers call “presupposition by denial”. More explicitly, his observation only implied a constant, but unrecognizable, “I” which stands behind all cognition, an ego that arises as mysteriously as life itself.   

Summing up, I would label this thing-ing aspect of cognition as our attempt to organize life into human sized, liveable patterns. 

CHIMED:  I believe you’ve confused me a bit.   

BILL:  O.K.  Let me muddy the waters some more.   The way I see it Descarte’s explanation addresses the ongoing process of self-identity, but not the fundamental experience of pure awareness, a presence I regard as the actual self (or maybe better said, the “other self”).  This other self remains hidden by naturally merging with the thinking of ego or “I”.  Or saying this another way, the proof of who I am is essentially non-existent, since am-ness is not the “I” of thought, but instead a process of awareness essentially empty of inherent being or existence, those traditional descriptions of normal experience. 

Now most people who are familiar with the writings on this topic might think I’ve just described the Buddhist position on the empty nature of mind.  Actually, what I have just described is the position of many Western philosophers in regard to the nature of the self, or mind.  You see, ego could be thought of as our attempt to give identity to the self.  Ego, or “I” equals self-identification.  

CHIMED:  Sort of like the humanistic notion of self-image? 

BILL:  Yes... I suppose in that direction, at least.  Personally, my view of self is more developmental and synthetic. That is to say, learning about ourselves is an ongoing process, and if we are learning than we are also changing and adapting our viewpoint accordingly. Our self is constantly being altered. In this sense then, my view of self is that self-identity accrues over time and through personal experiences. Self-identity is a conditioned event, not some static concept. Awareness, I would say, always remains transcendental and an object of adoration only to the degree that it is not recognized.  

So cutting this long story very short, ego in the popular connotation of the word is like being a Buddhist:  a fiction of sorts, but a necessary one. Without an ego, there is no spiritual progress because without it you wouldn’t even realize that you were lost and needed to move on in more thoughtful directions. I say this only because I consider ego to be essentially a by-product of our representational mind, or perhaps even synonymous with our representational mind.   There are at least two other aspects of mind or knowledge that are independent of this representational function: the immediacy of sensation (what I think of as the instinctive/intuitive realm); and the simple presence of knowing, before any facts or articles of assumption, belief, or prejudice jump in and cloud the issue.  

CHIMED:  I think you just lost me again.  You seem to be talking about three different forms of knowledge.  What does this have to do with ego?  Isn’t this epistemology you’re talking about? 

(Bill sets his cup, from which he had been sipping intermittently, down on the table, stands up, stretches and walks over to the fireplace.  Kneeling, he throws another long into the fire, poking it thoughtfully.  He rubs his hands briskly together over the flames, reflecting on my question; after a few minutes, he walks back to his chair and sits.) 

BILL:  Well, I’ve gotten a bit off the point, so let’s move back a little.  Another way of approaching ego is to consider it as a purely synthetical concept, like the ideas of “matter”, or “God”.  It’s another  generalization by which we hope to wrap together all the discrepancies and conflicts arising in our personal experiences. Our personal experiences, you see, are ongoing and variable, until death do us part.  (After that... who can say?)  Schizophrenics, by the way, love generalizations. I believe they find comfort in absolutes.   

CHIMED: You’re kidding, right? 

BILL: Nope. Look at the research.   Anyway, the other side of this same coin is that our intuition of self is singular and unchanging, analogous to the mathematical concept of zero or one. On some level I must recognize the paradox of my existence, which is that I am simultaneously part of the great flux or changing nature of matter and that which never changes.  A mundane example of this would be that as I grow older, though my body changes dramatically through the years, these changes are nonetheless happening to an unchanging “me”, or self.  Or so it seems, at least.   

Or from yet another view, you could think of ego  as the conceptual counterpart to the material body, since our bodily form unites all the subsystems that ferment inside it just as the idea of ego unites all of our flighty thoughts and shifting moods.   In this sense, ego amounts to little more than an inference. So, the capacity to organize discreet experiences  into some inference of singularity is another way that I think of ego. Ego is always singular and alone; life is always pluralistic and social. 

CHIMED:  I think that’s a little clearer. 

BILL:  Good.  We must be headed in the right direction.  Don’t you think? 

CHIMED:   I suppose.  

BILL: (Aside) Seriously.  Do you think that clarity is better than confusion?   

CHIMED(Mumbling) Oh....I don’t know.  (Pause)   Intuitively, I would have to say yes.  Logically, I might argue with you.  

BILL:   I agree.  Anyway, the other thought that comes to mind when considering  the idea of ego is that the current problem of spiritual awakening in the West is not one of  too much ego, but rather of too little  ego.  Now, the Buddha was supposed to have said that there is “no ego”.  Or at least that’s what I’ve been told by a lot of Buddhists.  Therefore, a lot of spiritual practice revolves around trying to get rid of this bugger.  But to me this is like trying to stay alive by getting rid of your body.  Not much sense there.   I feel that ego-- or in this instance, our innate sense of individuality-- is an evolutionary reality .  It is a higher order cognitive function. The ego is a natural, biological development like the sense organs, or the neocortex.   

If your hand starts grabbing things it shouldn’t, or you’re having thoughts that aren’t particularly helpful, would you try to cut off your hand, or remove your brain?  Not unless you’re inordinately primitive or crazy. It makes more sense to have a healthy, well-functioning ego rather than no ego.  No ego to my mind is a physical, mental, emotional, and even spiritual impossibility.  Cognitive suicide. 

Where a lot of confusion enters in for Western Buddhists is right here on this problem:  a weak or sickly ego is taken for “no ego”.  Shy people have a spiritual head start.  Humble people are closer to God, or rather Empty Mind.  

CHIMED:  You don’t think they are?           

          BILL:  They may be or they may not be.  It depends on the rest of their constitution.  One thing is for sure: needy, emotionally dependent people are not going to find the answers they’re looking for in Buddhism.  Simply doesn’t work that way.  That kind of stuff each individual has to take care of in his or her own, away from moral approbation.  You have to work out individual issues in an individual way.   

Most Buddhists would probably make a lot more spiritual growth by getting to know their parents better instead of their Guru.  Or locating a good therapist and trying to work through it all. Most Buddhist practitioners mistake self-denial and emotional displacement for the dissolution  of their egos.  So while they think they’re becoming more and more enlightened, the folks around them quietly shake their heads and walk away from the psychological storm they see accumulating.   

 I say:  Get that  ego alive and functioning. Glad to be here !   kind of ego.   A joyful, healthy, expanding, growing ego.  An ego which is evolving, rather than dissipating.  Once this is accomplished, then you can easily pass on to more significant, spiritual considerations.  Western students need  lots more ego--the more creative the better.  Besides, when you come down to it, you can’t rid yourself of something you don’t really have.  

CHIMED:  You’re serious?  You don’t see the ego as a problem?  Most Buddhists that I know think of ego as poison. A definite impediment to spiritual awakening.  Are you saying this is not the case? 

BILL(Laughing) No. Yes. No. Yes.  Please don’t arrest me!  Thought police!  They’re here!  Thought police!    

(Gets up and waves his arms in the air. Laughs again while shaking his head.  Long pause) 

Seriously?  I suppose you could argue that position, but still this is like lighting a match in a hurricane.  What’s the point?  Is spiritual practice supposed to make us sick of ourselves?  Is this the path? Even though many people might think it is,  I don’t  think so.  I say recognize your ego for what it is: a natural function that both connects you and disconnects your from every other living creature on this planet, whether you like it or not. Then simply get on with it.  

Every human being has an ego.  Certainly it’s nothing to be ashamed of.  What is this madness towards the ego, anyway?  Is a mother supposed to dump her baby in the garbage bin because she doesn’t like the way it looks?  You’re human?  You’ve got an ego. Your baby.  Even in collective societies like China, it’s not as if they don’t realize that they are in fact separate beings, each unique, each attending his or her own set of traits and propensities.   

You know what I find?  The more sickly the ego, the more toxic it becomes.  Doesn’t matter if its big and sick, or small and sick.  Still poison to be around.  Let’s be clear that I’m not really making a moral judgement here.  Essentially, those people without a sufficient ego simply poison themselves.  Sad situation.  Life is so short, and then the lack of an  engrossing, vital ego makes it so very hard.  These folks definitely need help in finding their spiritual core, but knocking   themselves on the back of the head isn’t going to do the trick.  Neither is having some religious teacher  do the knocking for them. 

I repeat: Ego is good; ego is natural;  do not try to get rid of it.  Rather, try to understand it more clearly.   This is one area where I feel Buddhism is doing more harm to us than good.  Calling the ego the sister of ignorance, delusion, and little more than a manifestation of toxic emotions and neurotic mind does a great disservice to people.  This sets a deleterious attitude towards oneself and inclines spiritual seekers towards shame and guilt instead of self-understanding.  All religions seem to have this abundant strain of masochism within them.  Part of the package. 

CHIMED:  Wow.  Pretty bold statement. 

BILL:  Better to be honest in hell then to lie in heaven.  

CHIMED:  Alright.  I seemed to have gotten you a bit worked up, so let’s move on. 

BILL:  That’s fine.  You’ll be lucky if  my big ego doesn’t attack your little ego before this interview is over. 

CHIMED: (Nervous laughter)  Fair enough. So, let’s consider another one of those fundamental Buddhist precepts:  Suffering.  Life is deemed to be, at core, little more than mitigated strife. What do you say to this element of Buddhist doctrine? 

BILL:  My first inclination is to say “dogma”,  pure and simple.  By now, I hope you understand that to me dogma and doggie-doo are pretty much the same stuff.  On the other hand, only a fool would deny the struggle that life presents.  Our bodies grow old, decay, and finally dissolve.   Old age is not going to be a Sunday walk in the park.  (I can say that from personal experience.)  Then to complicate matters our emotions continuously  spar with one another, each one claiming to be the victorious representative of truth, or at least our true motivation.  In the meantime,  our minds are fraught with continuous--usually anxious--- activity, never resting even when we sleep.  Like a river it all flows, whether we want to move with this rush of mental and material stuff or not.  We have little to no choice in the process, and that in itself is a form of frustration--and even suffering.  We find ourselves continuously struggling against that  which is essentially inevitable. 

All of this is biological.  Anything that exists “suffers” in this way.  Some people may claim to be in perpetual bliss, like those New Agers with  beatific smiles plastered on their faces, but I doubt if they really are.  Maybe babies are quite content with it all. I really can’t remember that far back.  

CHIMED:  You make being alive sound pretty bleak. 

BILL:  I believe you’re   the one who asked about suffering.  I’m just saying that in one way it is  pretty bleak.  Supposedly, the Buddha’s answer to the dreary problem was to bring an end to all of this fluctuating mass.  How?  By discovering the changeless and the unmoving in the midst of the flux of becoming, a becoming which is proported to be all space filling and all time consuming.  Hence, the notion of salvation as opposed to pure awakening.   

Actually, this is an old philosophical premiss which was bandied about by the ancients in both the East and the West. Some of these deep thinkers and mystics concluded that this unchanging presence is totally non-existent.  In fact, not only is it  non-existent,  it is also more real and  profound than mere existence,  or being.  Supposedly, if this truth--this reality of the non-existent-- is discovered,  the struggle ceases. Suffering ends.   

I might point out that if we accept this notion of salvation or liberation  from suffering-- as I think most Buddhists do-- then to call Buddhist doctrine “nihilistic” is a pretty fair appraisal.  At heart it is very similar to Christian doctrine, although most Buddhists wouldn’t admit this. To me, Christianity is also disguised nihilism.  Not properly speaking, but practically speaking.

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