Online Sangha

I've been gratified over the years to encounter a small but steady circle of fellow hermits on social media. It's always encouraging to meet others on the path – a particular challenge that distinguishes our practice from that of our cœnobitic (collectively practicing) brothers and sisters.

However, the quality of our experiences, while less frequent, can be notably higher.

Because hermit monks meet on rigidly equal ground. We're ordained by no-one except our similarly equal mothers. Therefore we share, compare, and contrast from a position of parity.

And as none of us can invoke rank to overrule or silence another, we tend to do all of this freely, in sincere respect and gratitude.

Just having someone to talk to. Just that, leads us to cherish each other.

This is radically different from the way companionship works inside, where dominating "lesser" sangha is the defining role of teacher or senior student.

The obedience and hierarchy that are necessary in the monastery or Zen centre are pointless – impossible, actually – on our path; and as a hermit's teachers are often impersonal, we're in little danger of miring up in an obedience fetish.

Obedience to whom?

Throw in our civilian clothes, and layfolk are liable to be a bit mystified about what it is we "do". In such situations, it's natural to cite first what we don't do.

• We don't teach.
• We don't preach.
• We don't accept supervision from those who do.
• And we seldom practice in groups.

Most incisively, we cleave to our founder's insistence that enlightenment is not conferred. It's yours for the taking, and can't be refused or rescinded by anyone else.

Thus, the blog and social media component of my practice isn't about claiming authority I don't have. My efforts here aren't meant to teach others or arbitrate their enlightenment.

Rather, they help fulfil my duty of sangha. Supplying, for the most part, but receiving as well, when I'm lucky.

I greatly empathise with and appreciate my brothers and sisters on the path. This is a lonely calling, hard to triangulate, because our mistakes are made in solitude. Which means I'm frequently enlightened within minutes of encounters with other seekers.

A conundrum that's tormented me for 40 years, they resolved long ago.

Shackle struck, ego eluded.

Advance one step.


For those interested, my coordinates are:

https://universeodon.com/@RustyRing
https://bsky.app/profile/rusty-ring.bsky.social
https://twitter.com/Rusty_Ring

(My timeline on these platforms is rather more political these days than I'm comfortable with, but don't be intimated; I prioritise good conversations about Zen and practice, and related topics.)

Maximum Illumination

Enlightenment is the stated goal of Buddhism, possibly the only doctrine all denominations share, though variously defined.

As far as I know, all Zen lineages, diverse though we are, uphold the conviction that enlightenment is possible in this life; that it comes irrespective of social and material distinctions; and that meditation is the fundamental discipline of enlightenment practice.

In theory, we also hold our leaders to a "maximum illumination" standard; that is, the teacher must be the most enlightened person in the zendo. The old Chàn chronicles preserve accounts of itinerant peasants summarily unseating exalted abbots in dharma combat. And if that martial art has now mellowed to ritual sparing between genial sanghamates, in those old Chinese records it's presented as deadly earnest.

All of this goes to the strength with which the Ancestors cleaved to a central principle. To wit: if we're going to dropkick the Buddha's explicit orders for an egalitarian sangha, then the brother or sister monk we perch precariously on that perilous peak must at minimum embody awakening.

And it's at this point that we slam smack into the Christian concept of antinomianism.

For among the many commonalities our two religions share is an insistence on the possibility – nay, obligation – of attaining a superior spiritual state in this life. We call it enlightenment, they call it salvation, but though our understandings of those states differ in important ways, our certainty that they exist prompts coreligionists to announce themselves special and demand extra-scriptural privilege.

Specifically, they declare themselves leaders.

And this is where the antinomianism comes in. Because upon their ascension to secular power, two unproductive phenomena abruptly co-arise:

1. Their conduct becomes demonstrably unenlightened.

2. They insist this unenlightened conduct is in fact the height of enlightenment; it's just that the sangha are too pedestrian to grasp their higher wisdom.

And that second one is antinomianism. You see, it's really very simple: treating others like doormats is the soul of bodhisattva practice. It's just what arhats do, and if you were one, you'd get that

And there-in lies a crisis. Because it's not.

Not that defining enlightenment isn't hard. How can you tell if a person has attained a state that can't be comprehended, or even defined?

As the ancient Zen joke would have it: how do you eff the ineffable?

I've thought about this a lot. I've scrutinised my own experience; what's happened on the cushion, where my heart moves during and after kensho, what's changed in my personality in two decades of mindful practice.

I haven't become enlightened, but I've grown measurably, and the Buddha said that's evidence of nascent awakening.

So becoming a better person than you were pre-zazen is the test. Are you less judgemental now, more empathetic? Less uptight, more patient? Calmer? More loving, less ambitious?

Has your ego diminished, or inflated? Are you supple or brittle? Do you fret more in social contention, or less?

How do you measure up on the 8 Worldly Dharmas Illumination Indicator?

If these lights aren’t green, why waste your life becoming an even bigger ass than you already are by being boss?

In the end, I've gained one practical insight into the quandary of human limitation:

–––> It's what you do with it.

(NB: Not a new concept on these pages, but a new application of it.)

Annoyance, impatience, disappointment, despair, frustration; what do you do when they happen?

Do you use or manipulate others? Do you make cutting remarks or determine to get even?

Do you apologise when you've behaved in an ignorant, superior, or abusive fashion?

These are universal human challenges, but a moral authority must own and publicly grapple with them. And by this standard, you can see the risk you run to your own practice when you set yourself up as a guru.

Which is why my brotherly counsel is not to.

Of one thing I'm sure: selfish, inconsiderate, preëmptory behaviour is not a sign of enlightenment. And refusing to confess, apologise, and atone afterward indicates you're not even on the road.

It's not that I don't yet know enough about enlightenment.

It's that I know too much.


(Photo courtesy of Unsplash.com and a generous photographer.)

A Precept For The New Year

"Here’s my new year’s wish to all those of genuine good will and decency:

"May you have the strength and the courage to oppose what should be opposed."

Heidi Li Feldman

(To my sister's succinct and sufficient statement I would append that this be a precept to our enlightenment practice, a reaffirmation of the call to right action, for the impending year and those that follow.)


(Photo courtesy of Sneha Cecil and Unsplash.com.)

What It Takes

Long ago, in the first years of my Zen practice, I encountered a teaching that's remained in my mind through the intervening years. Unfortunately, despite my obsession for note-taking and record-keeping, an hour of combing through my files hasn't produced line or author.

So I'll have to report both from memory as best I can.

I recall that the source was a modern Chinese Chàn teacher, born in the 19th century. This makes him almost certainly Xuyun; the more since in the course of my digging I discovered in an early practice folder a text file of his teachings. Sadly, this wasn't one of them.

Whoever it was, the Chàn master in question had this to say:

"You ask why there are so many schools of Chàn. [This was possibly translated as 'Zen'.] It is because people have different natures. They require different practices. That is why there are so many schools of Chàn. It takes that many."

At the time, having just taken the Zen path following a lifetime of convicted Christianity, I was impressed by the wisdom and generosity of this pronouncement.

As my practice grew deeper and broader, I would come to see the very soul of Zen in it.

Such freedom from jealousy and turf-warring is rare; nowhere more so than in religion.

In the course of my subsequent Zen vocation, I've been a bit disappointed, if not surprised, to find that this is not in fact our party line. The truth is, though Zenners score higher on the many-paths test than Christians (low bar that they are), our reflex too is to malign teachers in other schools; even other teachers in our own.

The error in this goes beyond fundamental insecurity and egotism. At the end of the day, like all we purchase with that two-sided coin, it deprives us of wealth.

Because other schools, lineages, denominations, even faiths (that's right, I said it) encode centuries of enlightenment instruction. Buddhism isn't like other religions; our founder said enlightenment comes of action (meditation), not faith. The clear implication is that the world is full of people very unlike us who must nevertheless be enlightened.

And that means an honest seeker won't simply tolerate superficial differences in doctrine and dogma, he or she will welcome them as a blessing, delving into them to profit from the insight they embody.

In the end, I'd suggest we go Xuyun one better:

Given that our species is still stumbling around in the dark, 2500 years beyond the Buddha, screaming war and weeping bitter tears, it's obvious we don't have enough schools yet.

National Hermit Day

This Sunday, 29 October, is National Hermit Day. (I have no idea which nation declared this. The day commemorates an Irish saint, so I'd guess Ireland must at least be in. And since most of the websites about it are American, I'd guess they're in, too. Really, it seems more like International Hermit Day, unless, like Labour Day, various countries are feuding over what date it's observed.)

Anyway.

Judging by Internet sources, lots of people are writing about this, but not many are researching it.

This page, for example, manages to get just about everything wrong.

• The 29th is not St. Colman's Feast. (That would be the 27th.)

• A group of hermits is not called an "observance"; it's a skete. But at least the person who made that up knew what we are; he or she might have gone with a "grumpy" or a "Kaczynski" or some other synonym for antisocial.

• No mention of spiritual practice – the fundamental definition of a hermit.

This one does a better job, at least mentioning the religious nature of non-metaphorical hermits, but only after it says:

Hermits, by definition, are people who prefer seclusion to socialization.

Uh, no. Our actual motivation can be contemplated here.

Honourable mention to this site, which not only gets St. Colman's feast day right, but leans heavily on the religious origins of the word, going so far as to list two actual hermits (50% of the total) on their list of famous hermits.

Anyway.

I'm not sure what we should do on (Inter)National Hermit Day. A hermit parade on the high road would be pretty paltry, unless you happen to live near the Zhongnan Mountains. Pinching people not wearing sandals would involve a lot of people, and spread the most irritating of all the asinine North American St. Patrick's Day customs.

So bump that.

We might take a page from Bodhisattva Day and don some meaningful garment… if the whole thing about hermits weren't that we serve in civilian clothes, without exclusive robes or regalia.

So how about this: prepare a nice sesshin meal. While enjoying it, contemplate the worthiness of devoting your life to pursuing fundamental, extra-human truth. Recall that it's your right, neither alienable nor certifiable.

Rice and beans or a hearty ramen soup, maybe. A good cup of tea and a nice flavour plate on the side.

Eat in gratitude and appreciation for how delicious and filling it is, whether the dish earns others' praise or not.

It feeds and rehinges.

And that's a blessing worth celebrating.


(Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)

How Sudden Are You?

So another visit to the annals of early Buddhism has yielded a further bit of provocative trivia: subitism is very old. Possibly as old as the religion itself.

This contentious point of Buddhist teaching, whose name draws on the French « subite » – "sudden" – asserts that enlightenment is a discrete event that occurs all at once in a blinding flash that explodes in your brain, changing both it and you forever. (The Christian adjective for this notion is "catastrophic", as in catastrophic conversion, the Evangelical ideal.)

The opposite view is gradualism, in which enlightenment slowly accrues over time through diligent practice, and only in turning back does one realise it has, at some point, been attained. (And Western Buddhism often implies that it may remain occult even to death.)

This is the main doctrinal difference between Rinzai and Soto, the two extant schools of Japanese Zen. (Seon, Korea's Chàn-descended tradition, also embraces sudden insight, but interestingly, has divided into parties over whether further practice afterward is required to "ripen" it, versus insistence that the bang itself is comprehensive; you're done.)

Rinzai students meditate to precipitate the long-awaited thunderbolt that strikes off the shackles of delusion – weakened beforehand by the crowbar of koanic logic – leaving a mind gleaming in perfect clarity.

Soto types sit for insight – a post-cognitive grasp of the koanic nature of existence, which, over a period of years or lives, eventually calibrates our minds to the universal frequency – though we may not apprehend for some time that our minds have inexplicably taken to gleaming in perfect clarity.

I'd always assumed subitism developed within Zen itself, and was surprised to learn that it actually came from the Southern School of Chàn, having been planted there by none other than 8th century founder and Huineng successor, Shenhui. Further study reveals that the two perspectives were already current in Bodhidharma's India, and may have touched off the first great theoretical debate in Buddhism

The topic isn't pedantic; it strikes at the very nature of enlightenment, and therefore Buddhism. Are we a religion, as subitism suggests, leading faithful practitioners to concrete, certifiable metaphysical transformation; or a philosophy, as gradualism would have it, shifting the adherent's perception by subtle and cumulative means?

History tends rather to support the first, though test cases are often ambiguous. Exhibit A would be the Buddha himself, said to attain enlightenment at an exact moment – upon seeing the morning star after eight days of intensive practice. The softness in that argument comes from his description of the phenomenon, devoid of fireworks, euphoria, or choirs of angels. He just… woke up. (The title we know him by translates as "The One Who Awakened".)

The legend of Bodhidharma also implies a sudden change – we're told he sat before a wall for nine years and "became enlightened", though we have even fewer particulars about the mechanism of that. To the best of my knowledge he never described it, or specified a time, date, or even season. Did he "become enlightened" in a flash, or did he just notice that it had happened, and get up?

And somewhat strangely, Dogen – founder of Soto – by his own detailed admission also received catastrophic illumination. According to the man himself, he was meditating up a storm when the jikijitsu suddenly whacked his dozing seatmate with the kyôsaku. At the crack of the cane, Dogen awakened as well.

Yet this is also the guy who told us enlightenment is gradual.

So clearly the distinction isn't simple. There are many Soto stories of enlightenment events like Dogen's – moments where the dam broke to the fall of a final raindrop, and nothing was the same again. What's common to both teachings is that getting to that point, whether it arrives with chirping birds or marching bands, is intricate, esoteric practice, demanding much zazen and maintenance of one's perceptual instrument.

And that makes the query a bit beside the point, though it does remain intellectually stimulating.

Rather a koan in its own right, really.


(Photo courtesy of Felix Mittermeier and Wikimedia Commons.)/span>

Too Important To Sell

A few years ago I read a Brad Warner post about getting others into Zen. Brad was typically circumspect on the notion, but he did admit to having attempted it from time to time. Which rendered me thoughtful.

I've never wanted to do that.

That's partly why my blog is simultaneously so prickly and largely devoid of any basic information about Zen. Aside from the fact that most of the text here is addressed to me, I've always imagined that what supplementary audience remain are fellow seekers, either already practicing Zen, or at least otherwise self-motivated to read it.

Any outreach I picture for Rusty Ring is limited to comforting members of my own sparse and scattered tribe, and giving open-minded others a balancing perspective on Zen convention. Thus my readers are generally friends and companions from the first visit, and nobody in need of or open to conversion.

This turns out a practical editorial as well as spiritual policy, since in the past 12 years exactly one werewolf has honoured my comments section with his or her gory theatrics. I've sometimes been savaged off-site – when I've participated in any Zen discussions there, which is rare – but at risk of a jinx, that one troll, several years back, is the only one I've seen.

It's just that, if you aren't selling anything, you don't attract much attention.

Now, if I hung out a shingle proclaiming COME HERE FOR ENLIGHTENMENT, or I CAN SOLVE YOUR PROBLEMS, I'd be all up in readership. And, if I monetised, money.

And then my threads would totally be stuffed with people foaming at the mouth, rabid to debunk me. Which would lead to more publicity. Which would bring more readers. Which would score me more money.

What it wouldn't bring any of, is enlightenment. Not for me, not for my followers, not for the world at large.

This suspicion of apologetics is why Zen frowns on evangelism. Because the Christians have it wrong; you can't force salvation on others. You can't talk them into it, trick them into it, shame them into it, or even just sincerely hand it to them.

They won't take it.

The best – and I mean the rare and absolute best – that evangelism can accomplish is to cash in on the weak and desperate, those sentient beings so damaged and disoriented that they can't tell the difference between chicken salad and chicken shit.

I took the Zen path because I had to. World weariness had rendered my life unliveable, and it was this or jump off a chair. So I went looking for a practice.

Not a treatment. A task.

Nobody had to doorbell me or buttonhole me or altar-call me. I've endured all of that before. (Fortunately I'm of a nature to appraise rather than believe.)

Unless you come to enlightenment practice on your own road, for your own reasons, under your own steam, you can't pull it off. Instead you'll be recruited, distracted, and used up by unenlightened others.

That's why our monasteries make you kick down the door to get in. And why I write an underground blog that prospective readers must expend effort to find, and why I'm delighted to talk with interested parties about Zen, but usually end up advising them to stay on their existing path, unless getting off this Ferris wheel – which is the point of Zen practice – is all they want to do.

'Cos otherwise you're wasting your time and Zen's.

And both of those things are too important to toy with.


(Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)

Street Level Zen: Enlightenment

« Il n'y a rien de plus heureux qu'un être humain qui est devenu ce qu'il était déjà. »

Le si regretté Serge Bouchard.

(English translation here.)

(Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commmons and a generous photographer.)

Discursive Mind Kyôsaku

"We mustn’t forget that today’s science and culture have only developed out of the lowest levels of consciousness."

Sawaki Kōdō


(Photo of lotus pond in the Singpore ArtScience Museum courtesy of Dietmar Rabich and Wikimedia Commons.)

Good Song: Sour Grapes

It's about time I shared a John Prine song.

The guy's catalogue is replete with complex, insightful meditations on the nature of life and suffering; incisive depictions of human reality with occasional flashes of enlightenment around the edges. And the self-mocking that signals that.

This one's a case in point. On the surface it's a straightforward portrait of the enlightened mindset, which I might boil down to "people are not the universe".

But hovering just beneath that is something else, that truly emerges into full sun in the last verse.

Considered in order, what you got here is a meditation on the nature of enlightenment practice. And a worthy memorial to my brother John, who died last year of the 2020 plague, and wrote this song when he was 14 years old.

Sour Grapes
by John Prine

I don't care if the sun don't shine
But it better or people will wonder
And I couldn't care less if it never stopped rainin'
'Cept the kids are afraid of the thunder

Say sour grapes
You can laugh and stare
Say sour grapes
But I don't care

I couldn't care less if I didn't have a friend
'Cept people would say I was crazy
And I wouldn't work 'cause I don't need money
But the same folks would say I was lazy

Say sour grapes
You can laugh and stare
Say sour grapes
But I don't care

I couldn't care less if she never came back
I was gonna leave her anyway
And all the good times that we shared
Don't mean a thing today

Say sour grapes
You can laugh and stare
Say sour grapes
But I don't care

Koan: Attaining Enlightenment

The hermit Hyung asked, "How do you find something that isn't lost?"

Wu Ya's commentary: "Go to the last place you didn't see it."



(Photo of the Atacama Large Millimeter/submillimeter Array [ALMA] courtesy of Babak A. Tafreshi and Wikimedia Commons.)

Bodhi

Life is an incurable disease, from which we all eventually heal.




(Photo courtesy of Frank Gualtieri and Wikimedia Commmons.)

The Third Treasure

After a recent very pleasant afternoon spent in the companionship of a beloved sangha-mate, I've fallen to contemplating the blessings of the Third Treasure.

This is the hardest one for us hermits to acquire. The Buddha is in the can. He's been and done, and left his priceless teaching and even more priceless (less priceable?) example.

The Dharma too is freely available. In fact, good ol' Donum Secundum is the great strength of my path. House-monks must cobble up an artificial, human-dependent Dharma to simulate the flow of the River we wild boys see in the sky each night. If in their rituals our domesticated brothers and sisters sometimes take direction from Les Nessman-roshi, it's that mocking up a universe is not for the faint of heart.

But we hermits, having sniggered at their choreographed pantomimes, must quickly return to the endless task of pulling Sangha out of plants, animals, mountains, tools, stars, meteorological events, water features…

Which isn't crazy at all.

For their part, cœnobites enjoy free and convenient access to, like, companionship. So much so that it becomes burdensome. Leonard Cohen, asked if he missed the days of his own Zen centre residency, diplomatically replied that monastery monks are "like pebbles in a bag, polishing each other smooth". He then pointedly dropped the subject.

But Sangha is critical, if for no other reason than to triangulate one's own attitudes and actions. A human being alone first becomes weird (guilty) and then insane (charges dropped for lack of witnesses), wandering off on ego-deflected tangents until simple reason, to say nothing of enlightenment, becomes impossible. Any sincere solitary will tell you that mindfulness of this dilemma, and self-monitoring of our course over the ground, claim much of our cushion time.

But as vital as all that is, it's not Sangha's greatest gift. There's also endless wisdom and insight; the times a fellow traveller solves a koan you've been working on for years in two or three words, and a tone that implies "…you dumbass". Then you return to your own practice liberated, in the Buddhic sense, and game to seize the next quandary.

But even that is not Sangha's highest power.

That would be simple companionship.

Here in the industrialised world, where humanity itself is roundly considered weakness, if not sin, we generally insist that social interaction is a luxury, and a superficial one at that. We absolutely do not recognise that refusing same is equivalent to denying food and shelter.

If we kept food from prisoners, there would be scandals, hearings, forced resignations, ruined careers; more advanced nations would levy the satisfying irony of prison sentences.

But when we lock people in dungeons, nothing happens. No gavel strikes, no activist shouts "hey-hey ho-ho", no candidate makes promises – even ones she has no intention of honouring – to eliminate this particularly caustic torture.

To cite a single case, a large percentage of incarcerated Americans are daily buried alive in solitary confinement. Not for days (24 hours being the maximum the average person can endure without permanent damage), nor even weeks, but years. Even sentences of ten years without the equivalent of food and shelter are considered trivial in American courts.

All of which is on my mind in the wake of four hours spent catching up with a close friend and comrade in Zen. I cleared the tea things much lightened, instructed, and renewed, and very aware that when the Buddha called Sangha one-third of Enlightenment, he wasn't being twee.

The equivalence is mathematical: in Buddhist practice, Sangha is of equal necessity to the Buddha and the Dharma.

Or to put it another way, you'd be entirely justified in locking your Buddha statue in a closet and replacing it on your altar with photos of your peers.

The Rinzai side of me is already smirking seditiously.


(Photo of "A Few Good Men" courtesy of Vibhav Satam and Unsplash.)

Tuesday, 20 March, is Bodhisattva Day

It's happening, droogies! This Tuesday the time comes again to emulate Mr. Rogers and throw down for Bodhisattva Day.

So:

ALL TROOPS BREAK OUT YOUR CARDIGANS!

That's pretty much it. No need to wear a colour-coded ribbon or do an interpretative dance or march about in the streets chanting "Hey-hey ho-ho!" or sing a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walk out.

Just wear the wool of compassion.

Or the acrylic. Your call.

Because enlightenment is its own movement.

Again, that's THIS TUESDAY, 20 MARCH. All over the world. Boys and girls. Buddhists and non-Buddhists. People who are legitimately cold and those who are just posing. Crunchy and smooth. Waterfall and window shade.

Tuesday.

20 March.

Cardigan.

Gassho.


(Photograph of Día de los Muertes ofrenda to Mr. Rogers at Carmichael Library courtesy of Albert Herring and Wikimedia Commons.)

Economics

(The following is a passage from Rough Around the Edges, a manuscript I began 20 years ago. Though my Zen practice was still about six years in the future, it's interesting to me today to read a fundamentally exact description of what the Buddha called "world weariness" – the mainspring of enlightenment practice – written in my own pre-monastic hand. Like the man said, we come by it honestly.)

The problem, the problem. What is the problem?

You're born. Somewhere, someone sets an egg timer. For a quarter-hour you rave like a rich man in a burning mansion, snatching at a vase, a string of pearls, anything to show you lived there.

The timer dings; you're unborn. The necklace falls to the ground.

We get it about wealth. The prophets have all warned us. But there are other treasures just as fleeting.

I hunger for love, to share life, and not to be alone. Except it won't do. Even if you find love, the timer still goes ding. The necklace falls to the ground.

What's the problem? I'm afraid to die alone. But I live alone. I work alone, and most of the time, I love alone.

The seconds tick. The words echo in my mind. A thought occurs:

Perhaps the most valuable thing in that house is the fire.




(Adapted from Rough Around the Edges: A Journey Around Washington's Borderlands, copyright RK Henderson. Photo of the mechanics of egg-timing courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and generous photographer.)

Street Level Zen: Awakening

"Until the sleeper is aroused from his slumber, everything that transpires inside the dream makes perfect sense."

Joe Queenan


(Photo courtesy of Faisal Akram and Wikimedia Commons.)

Banana Seat Buddhism

"Popping a wheelie just meant pulling the front wheel off the ground for a moment, but riding a wheelie was the measure of the kid. Alfred Dickerson could ride a wheelie all day long, as if riding on one wheel was God's plan."

(Definitive definition of enlightenment, vs simple kensho, courtesy of fellow Blogger blogger Jim Neill. From his Blogger blogger blog, Life in the Nohodome. Jim's whole meditation on the 70s-kid bike culture, from which this excerpt was excerpted, is brilliant. And scientifically accurate. To the third decimal place. After multiple blind and diverse dates. Go see it.)


(Snapshot of unknown provenance.)

Enlightenment Kyôsaku

Why chatter about enlightenment?
Listening to the night rain on my roof,
I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.

Ryokan



(Photo of woodblock print Night Rain at Oyama, by 二代目 歌川豊国 [Utagawa Toyokuni II], courtesy of William Pearl and Wikimedia Commons.)

Are Teachers Necessary?

This is a long post. It needs to be. If you're a Buddhist, or just a fan of the Buddha, please read patiently; the topic is of importance to the worldwide Sangha.

Regular readers know that "no need for teachers" is one of my refrains. That's a given; I'm a hermit. Some of my ilk want all ordination – all teachers – abolished. In the words of one brother: "Burn down the monasteries. Flush 'em into the sunlight. Make 'em walk The Path."

But I have nothing against teachers, as such, or cœnobite practice. Too many of my friends have pledged their lives to it, taken rakusu, and credit it with their salvation. A central tenet of my own Rule is that apostasy doesn't nullify practice; hypocrisy does. The Buddha said that our paths are all our own. Earned over ten thousand lifetimes; bespoke to each of us; necessary to our enlightenment. Criticising the gait of others is a waste of Sangha, at best; at worst it's a kind of murder.

That said, I regularly run into monastery rats who are entirely comfortable telling me, with blunt satisfaction, that my hermit path is a conceit; that I'm not a "real" monk; that the word "Zen" necessarily means submission to a (living, human) master.

Then they smile indulgently, slap up a gassho, and bow deeply, murmuring something about "the Buddha".

Yeah, about that…

To take a page from my Christian brothers and sisters, "What would Gautama do?" Well, we can't know. We can know what he did, but even that we'll have to know in the koanic sense, because the answer is mu. Fact is, teachers were so important to the Buddha's enlightenment regimen that he never mentioned them, according to my unscientific, non-exhaustive survey of the sutras. (Note: I'm aware that some sutras aren't the authentic words of the Buddha. I'm also aware that the Buddha gave hundreds of sermons that haven't survived to our time. But if we insist on pitching legalities at each other, the sutras are all we've got. And you started it.)

So. Truth.

Almost all sutric occurrences of "master" or "teacher" refer to Gautama himself. (And Ananda, in at least one case.) In parables, "master" usually refers to an employer or householder. In any case, there are very few references to "Buddhist masters", and essentially none to what monks might "owe" them.

But the Buddha himself did have masters – two that he was willing to own – in his seeking days. One was Uddaka Ramaputta, a Brahmanic meditation teacher; the other was Alara Kalama, a hermit monk (oh, snap!). And in his first-ever teaching, he dismissed both as unnecessary.

Moving forward, in the Pratimoksha – regulations for Buddhist monks – he says:

All of you Bhikkhus [monks]! After my Nirvana, you should revere and honor the Pratimoksha. […]You should know that it is your great teacher, and is not different from my actual presence in the world.

Human teachers are not mentioned, even though he's literally laying down the law.

In a even more poignant moment, the sutras have this to say:

1. Now the Blessed One spoke to the Venerable Ananda, saying: "It may be, Ananda, that to some among you the thought will come: 'Ended is the word of the Master; we have a Master no longer.’ But it should not, Ananda, be so considered. For that which I have proclaimed and made known as the Dhamma and the Discipline, that shall be your Master when I am gone. [Emphasis mine.]

Oddly, the sutra then claims that he said:

2. "And, Ananda, whereas now the Bhikkhus address one another as 'friend,' let it not be so when I am gone. The senior Bhikkhus, Ananda, may address the junior ones by their name […] but the junior Bhikkhus should address the senior ones as 'venerable sir' or 'your reverence.’

Let me get this straight: this bizarre command ("after I die, stop following my lifelong example") was important enough for the Buddha to deliver on his death bed, in his final words to his sangha? Yeah. Bullshit. Just as the Gospels were trafficked to serve worldly interests, this document has been hacked. And not even skilfully; check out the very next line:

3. "If it is desired, Ananda, the Sangha may, when I am gone, abolish the lesser and minor rules.

So let's sum up these three paragraphs: "We have too many rules. My teachings are all you need. Oh, and some dictators, too." I'll say it again: Bullshit.

In fact, just in case somebody wants to set himself up as a dictator, the Buddha goes on in the fourth paragraph to make a very pointed last request, entirely consistent with his lived teaching:

4. "Ananda, when I am gone, let the higher penalty be imposed upon the Bhikkhu Channa."

"But what, Lord, is the higher penalty?"

"The Bhikkhu Channa, Ananda, may say what he will, but the Bhikkhus should neither converse with him, nor exhort him, nor admonish him."

Ouch! Why all the hate on this dude Channa? Well, Channa (Chandaka in Sanskrit) was charioteer to the young Gautama. It was he who took the adolescent outside the family compound, against his father's orders, to witness human suffering and ultimately abdicate his aristocratic position in favour of monastic practice.

According to tradition, Chandaka later became a disciple of the Buddha, whereupon, because of his personal relationship with him, he began to lord it over the other monks. As the Buddha's health failed, Chandaka let it be known that he intended to assume authority over the sangha after the Master's death. The Mahaparinibbana Sutta records the Buddha's reply: "As if." (Note also that the worst punishment the Buddha can conceive is simply not responding. Far cry from the shunning and vituperation some contemporary teachers call down on their critics.)

Another version of the same scene omits specific commentary on the Chandaka matter and cuts straight to the chase:

The Buddha further explained: "If there is anyone who thinks [after my death], 'It is I who will lead the brotherhood', or 'The Order is dependent on me, it is I who should give instructions', the Buddha does not think that He should lead the order or that the Order is dependent on Him."

Alright. But seriously, could there really be no sutra passages (besides the suspect Paragraph 2, above) that recognise the master-disciple relationship?

Well, here it says that those who tread the path of Enlightenment should support Dharma masters materially (the modern Buddhist notion of dana), "making sure they lack nothing". So such masters apparently exist. Yet they aren't owed obedience; that's a Confucian notion, foreign to the Buddha in every sense. It's also worth pointing out that of 36 instances of the word "master" in this translation, the other 35 refer to the Buddha himself.

In yet another sutra, the Buddha praises a Master Sunetto – who died long before his lifetime – in the Sermon of the Seven Suns. But again, he draws no parallels with his own programme.

In the Suda Sutta he compares the monk to a cook, who

…takes note of his master, thinking, "Today my master likes this curry, or he reaches out for that curry, or he takes a lot of this curry or he praises that curry. Today my master likes mainly sour curry... Today my master likes mainly bitter curry... mainly peppery curry... mainly sweet curry... alkaline curry... non-alkaline curry... salty curry... Today my master likes non-salty curry, or he reaches out for non-salty curry, or he takes a lot of non-salty curry, or he praises non-salty curry." As a result, he is rewarded with clothing, wages, and gifts. Why is that? Because the wise, experienced, skilful cook picks up on the theme of his own master.

This sounds thunderously similar to exhortations in Zen literature on the deference and service a monk owes his teacher. Ah, but there's more:

In the same way, there are cases where a wise, experienced, skilful monk remains focused on the body in and of itself... feelings in and of themselves... the mind in and of itself... mental qualities in and of themselves -- ardent, alert, and mindful -- putting aside greed and distress with reference to the world. As he remains thus focussed on mental qualities in and of themselves, his mind becomes concentrated, his defilements are abandoned. He takes note of that fact. As a result, he is rewarded with a pleasant abiding here and now, together with mindfulness and alertness. Why is that? Because the wise, experienced, skilful monk picks up on the theme of his own mind.

So the master here is not a person at all. It's a metaphor for the relationship we should have with our own nature. That is, it's the same theme of personal autonomy that runs through the Buddha's entire teaching.

It's true that I didn't search every sutra in existence, and I'm certain a competent zendo lawyer could find one somewhere to build a case on. But after several hours of research, I found not a single Buddhic statement directing seekers to submit to teachers, masters, or abbots. According to my man Gautama, there are exactly three treasures:

1. Buddha – sole, one-time-only human teacher
2. Dharma – the universal Truth and master, accessible to all through meditation
3. Sangha – the community of seekers

Still holding out for categorical?

Yourself depending on the Dhamma, honouring it, revering it, cherishing it, doing homage to it and venerating it, having the Dhamma as your badge and banner, acknowledging the Dhamma as your master, you should establish guard, ward and protection according to Dhamma. (My emphasis.)

I've now dumped a whole truckful of electrons on this subject. Few readers will have made it this far; the Internet rule is "short and punchy". But this issue needs old-fashioned, grown-up attention. And the conclusion is cogent and irrefutable:

1. Teachers are not Buddhic.
2. Buddhists are not required to have teachers.
3. Those who do have teachers, are not required to marry them.

None of which means that teachers are "bad", in my opinion. I read copiously from the written thoughts of contemporary teachers, and listen to their podcasted teishos. Their wisdom and direction are a pillar of my practice. Further, the innovated master-student relationship that currently passes for mainstream Buddhism is rich and productive for many people. It's not in the sutras. But a thing doesn't have to be in the sutras to be valid; scripture never gets around to mentioning most of life. Finally, I find much in the monastery – itself almost entirely exsutric – that's powerful and effective. More that is, than isn't.

But external direction and ordination aren't necessary. Period.

(Photo of the Buddha in vitarka ["giving instruction"] mudra -- "talk to the hand!" -- courtesy of Aaron Logan and Wikimedia Commons.)

Beating Swords Into Search Engines

Every so often a host name in my blog stats provokes a moment of reflection. Certain ISPs are a given: schools and universities; Zen centres; private corporations; government servers; and of course, lots of general service providers. But it's the armed-response readers that hit me hardest.

To date I've been "surveilled" (to use a non-word I dislike) by the US Department of Defense; America's Orwellian "Department of Homeland Security"; the US Justice Department; and the Pentagon. And though Yank institutions make up the bulk of this traffic, I've also been visited by the Royal Military College of Canada; the Indian Armed Forces; and the British Ministry of Defence, among others.

Given the predilections of current Western governments, with their brazen rejection of democracy and embrace of pre-Enlightenment concepts of loyalty, these drop-ins always give me pause. We know that such agencies – especially those in the US – collect "intelligence" on unoffending civilians. We also know they're not above working violence on similar, when the whim takes them.

Meanwhile, I've made no secret in these pages of my opposition to those trends and goals, so I suppose I could conceivably wind up on some professional stalker's target list. Still, it's hard to swallow. OK, ordinary innocuous folk like me have recently been investigated, harassed, and worse. On the other hand… really? Government enforcers paid to monitor some half-mad Zen hermit on a desolate beach somewhere out in the North Pacific rainforest?

I'm not buying it. Rather, I believe these civil servants and military personnel are simply surfing the Net on the boss's dime. (A survey of local times at the agencies in question reveals that about half of them drifted in on their lunch hour.)

And that insight changes the whole story. As chilling as it is to find "Pentagon" in one's daily results, in the end, it's probably proof of our shared human nature. You got people screwing off on the job, and following more or less random impulses to satisfy their curiosity on sundry topics. Better still: some of them apparently have at least a passing interest in alternatives to confrontation and "enemy-think". (One happened in while searching "eightfold path".) Will my little Blogspot journal change their lives?

Puh-leez.

But if they keep hunting around in this fashion, they will in fact eventually find plenty of grist for that mill. It's out there; that's how I got here, myself.

Any road. If, honoured reader, you're engaged in the security industry and have surfed in here on the sly: Welcome! We Zenners don't recruit or evangelise; you're free to come and go as you like, and to leave as unchanged as you wish. Peace and wisdom to you, brother or sister, and may we all find Enlightenment at the end of this road.


(Photo of Let Us Beat Swords into Plowshares - 1959 Soviet gift to the United Nations, by sculptor Yevgeny Vuchetich - courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)