“BUDDHISM: THE RELIGION OF PARADOX”

A Sermon by the Rev. Bruce Clear

Sunday, April 5, 2009

All Souls Unitarian Church

Indianapolis, Indiana

An "iconoclast," says a dictionary, is one who challenges cherished beliefs. There are Unitarians take a certain pride in being iconoclastic. But Unitarians are rank amateurs in the art of iconoclasm when compared to Buddhists, who draw into question many of the simple assumptions we make about the world. They turn assumptions on their head. Paradoxically, the ideas toward which they can be iconoclasts are often their own ideas.

Take, for example, the idea of paradox. A paradox is when two contradictory notions both appear to be true, such as a square circle or an event without a cause. The Western mind is not only uncomfortable with paradoxes, it rebels against them. The entire history of Western thought is an attempt to make experience make sense. Our world does not abide paradox, at least for very long. If two notions are contradictory, one must be false. Things cannot be at the same time both moving and stationary, both temporary and permanent, both flat and curved, both true and false. We make no room for paradox in the Western mind.

But not so with the Buddhist mind. It thrives on paradox. The world is a paradox, built on paradox. The fundamental paradoxes are between our experiences and what appears to be reality. We experience the world as orderly and predictable, but that orderliness is found only in our minds. We experience the things of this world -- the rocks and mountains, rivers and oceans -- as real and permanent; but in fact, all is transitory, and the only thing that is permanent is change itself. We experience our "selves" as individuals, identifiable unique persons. In fact the "self," our own self -- what other religions may call "the soul" -- is an illusion. Not a mystery, mind you. Not something that we don't fully understand. It is an illusion, a fake, a fraud we accept. The "self" does not exist. Such is the religion of paradox.

As I proceed to describe Buddhism, it must be remembered that there are at least as many kinds of Buddhism as there are kinds of Christianity. One cannot adequately describe Christianity by focusing on one denomination -- say, Episcopalians or Jehovah's Witnesses -- because drastically different kinds, such as Baptists or Catholics or Quakers, would be left out.

So also with Buddhism and its many different "denominations." In fact, Buddhism, by its very nature, lends itself to the flowering of many schools. Buddhism distinguishes itself from most other religions by its shocking disavowal of strict guidelines or doctrines. (Perhaps in this, as in other ways I'll explain, it begins to resemble our own Unitarianism). Gautama, the Buddha, taught a religion which has no central authority: no holy book or scriptures to reveal divine truth. Certainly, there are countless volumes of wisdom written to pass on the insights of the Buddha and of those who came after him, but these are not treated with the kind of authority found in the Jewish or Christian scriptures, the Muslim Koran, or even the Hindu Vedas.

Gautama, the Buddha, taught a religion that has no sacred rituals. Over the centuries, certain Buddhist sects have developed quite elaborate ritual practices, but Buddhism requires no ritual or sacrament.

Most shocking of all to the traditional Western mind, Gautama taught a religion which requires no belief in God (or gods), no appeal to the supernatural, no theology as we know it. Buddhism is not atheistic, necessarily -- belief in God or gods is not prohibited, and many Buddhist sects promote it -- but Buddhism as a religion is not centered around, nor does it require, a god.

Let me offer briefly some of the basics of Buddhism. In understanding Buddhism, it seems to me, one should begin by realizing that, unlike most forms of Western religions, Buddhism is not centered on beliefs. It is, primarily, a psychological religious form, teaching not so much what to believe, but rather how to live in order to find true happiness. Of course there are beliefs involved, but understanding what Buddhists believe would miss the point of what Buddhism is about. Instead of asking a Buddhist what he or she believes, the more insightful and fruitful question is asking what path they are traveling.

The founder of Buddhism, Siddhartha Gautama, was born 2500 years ago into a wealthy and powerful ruling family in Hindu India, but soon realized that such status and power was not making him happy. In his quest for happiness, he abandoned his family and wealth, and spent six years as a Hindu ascetic, owning nothing and denying himself comfort and eating food scraps others would share. He discovered that this pietism and denial of worldly things was also not the path to happiness.

But happiness and bliss came to him all at once, on the famous night he meditated under the "Bo" tree. That night he received Enlightenment, and his mind pierced the secrets of life. He became "The Buddha," meaning "the Enlightened One," or, more simply, the "one who is awake." He was awakened to the truths of life and happiness, and chose to devote the remainder of his life in teaching his insights to others.

Those insights are easily described. Buddhism, as I say, is more properly a religious or even psychological philosophy of life rather than, in the case of most Western religions, a metaphysical other-worldly belief system. It is human-centered, non-theistic, and very much "this-worldly" philosophy.

The Buddha offered "Four Noble Truths" of life that have been consistent over the millennia. First: all life is suffering. The boldest fact of being human is the fact that no matter what our lot in life, we experience pain, misery, suffering, and sadness. The second noble truth explains the reason for our suffering. It is because we crave and desire things out of life that we can't have -- or if we do have, don't satisfy. This includes our desire for material possessions, but it means far more than that. We cling to loved ones, but we experience the loss of loved ones. We seek after knowledge, but we discover our own ignorance. We want stability, but everything changes around us. Or we want change and freshness, but we find our lives in a monotonous rut. The third Noble Truth is that it is possible to overcome suffering, to break out of the cycle of frustrated desires of life. We do this by letting go of cravings and attachment to things in life we desire. We do this by learning how to train our mind so as not to feel dependent or wish for things outside of ourselves. We do this by learning how to be happy without depending on things or people outside of us for our own happiness. The fourth and final Noble Truth is the roadmap to overcome suffering, the different paths we can take to learn how not to be dependent on desire. There are eight of them, and collectively they are called "The Eightfold Path" to Enlightenment.

I will not spend much time delineating these eight different paths, but what is probably most important here is the recognition that there is no one right way to be religious in the Buddhist scheme of things. All paths are important, and no one reaches final Enlightenment until they have mastered all eight, but no path is more important than any other. Reincarnation allows us to focus on one or two paths during this lifetime, and follow a different path during our next life. Different Buddhist sects may devote themselves to one or two of the eight different paths, without reflecting negatively on those who choose a different path.

First, there is the path of "knowledge," which can be pursued by serious study, even a life of academics. Next, there is the path of "aspirations," which involves mastering the will by committing oneself to something. Then there is the path of "right speaking," being clear about speaking what one means, and always speaking kindly and without malice. The fourth path is about right action or behavior, which involves devotion to ethical choices. Fifth is the path of right livelihood, or choosing an occupation which keeps one on the right path and devoted to universal well-being rather than money and power. The sixth path concerns "right effort," which points to our ability to keep our thinking from straying into destructive areas, and always on the path. Then there is the path of awareness or mindfulness, which means being self-aware, and self-critical. Finally, there is the path of concentration, the life-long practice of meditation which unites us with the whole universe.

You may now breathe a sigh of relief, for you will not be tested on the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path before you leave this morning. I can do this, of course, only because I have the text before me as I write. While the details may not be crucial here, the overall sense of the psychological focus of Buddhism is crucial. Buddhism is about finding happiness in a world that has such a large store of unhappiness. And the key to this is disciplining oneself, training oneself, not to seek happiness in our attachments and dependencies to things outside of ourselves.

Perhaps the starting place for this advice is the radical view (at least radical to Western minds) that there is no such identity as the "self." We are each the result of an infinite number of conditions which shape us. We are not an identifiable "self," with a fixed essence, but rather the consequence of the flow of life over which we have only limited control. It is common in Western thought to think of the "self" as having a fixed and essential nature that cannot change. You hear it all the time when people say, "that's just who I am!" or "you must accept me for who I am." “Who you are” is never written in stone.

The illusion of a self was perhaps the Buddha's most revolutionary insight. As it is explained in his book on Western Buddhism, the English Buddhist writer Kulananda puts it this way:

"It is plain that we have no abiding essence (as individuals). We are who we are solely in dependence upon all the myriad of conditions which have preceded us. We become who we will become in dependence upon the conditions of the present and future. If we set about creating conditions which support change for the better, then we will, inevitably, change for the better."

In Buddhist thought, the "self" is an empty vessel, to be filled with life experience which shapes it, and which changes us over time. This concept of "emptiness" is important for understanding the Buddhist religious psychology. It is also the key to understanding why desires and attachments are the source of suffering. Since we experience ourselves as fundamentally empty, that is why we turn to desire and craving, attaching our emotions to things outside of ourselves. Kulananda explains it this way:

"Craving is the mechanism by which we try to augment and secure our ego-identity by including in it things from 'outside' of it. By grasping on to things we like, things which give us pleasure, things with which we wish to be associated, we constantly strive to build up a firm ego-identity.

"We use (pleasure, power, and status) to fill that empty feeling inside which is simply part of the ordinary... human condition. Whenever we encounter this sense of inner emptiness we try to assuage it with something, anything. To this end we use chocolate bars, beer, mindless television watching, compulsive shopping, sex, stamp collecting, gambling, overwork, mindless chatter, and even compulsive altruism: anything to plug the gap, to give us a sense of 'being real.'"

This, then, is the human condition. We suffer in life because we desire things outside of ourselves to fill any emptiness we feel and make us happy. We can find happiness, though, if we learn to let go of our attachments and desires and turn to ourselves alone for the source of happiness. That there is no real self is a profound paradox.

One might think, at first, that Buddhist philosophy was designed primarily to comfort those who live in poverty. It says, after all, that suffering comes from desire for things outside of yourself, and therefore you should cultivate a path that finds happiness within. On the surface, it sounds like an ideal religious "opiate" to pacify poor people into accepting their lot in life.

But the Buddhist precept is equally true for the rich as it is for the poor. After all, the Buddha himself was born into a wealthy and powerful family, but was led to abandon it in order to find happiness. Every survey done that reports on personal happiness shows no correlation between happiness and wealth. There are proportionately as many unhappy people in mansions as there are unhappy people in trailer parks. What the Buddha says to both is the same: if you don't have what you think you want, and you're unhappy, then look for happiness within; if you do have what you think you want, and you're still unhappy, then look for happiness within.

It is no coincidence that the Dalai Lama's most popular book entitled, "The Art of Happiness." It is not just one more self-help book on the growing shelves of self-help books, it is a religious reflection from the Buddhist perspective. The book is co-authored with the American psychiatrist Howard Cutler based on conversations with and observations of the Dalai Lama. In the opening chapter, Cutler asks the Dalai Lama if he is happy. He answers "yes." Then Cutler asks if happiness is a reasonable goal for most of us. The Dalai Lama says it is, and elaborates this way:

"I believe that happiness can be achieved through training the mind.... But when I say 'training the mind,' I am not referring to 'mind' merely as one's cognitive ability or intellect. Rather, I'm using the term in the sense of the Tibetan word Sem, which has a broader meaning, closer to 'psyche' or 'spirit'; it includes intellect and feeling, heart and mind. By bringing about a certain inner discipline, we can undergo a transformation of our attitude, our entire outlook and approach to living. When we speak of this inner discipline, it can of course involve many things, many methods...."

The inner discipline that the Dalai Lama identifies is what leads to happiness, and that discipline comes about in many ways, but the Eightfold Path, referred to earlier, is an outline of such methods for inner discipline.

For example, meditation is one form of "training the mind" with inner discipline. And there are many methods of meditation. Sitting in silence and emptying the mind is the most common form, perhaps, but also art and music can be meditative forms, such as the famous flower arranging meditations found in Japan. Chanting is also a common form of meditation.

Over the last generation or so, the Western world has become somewhat enamored of the Buddhist sect known as Zen. I have mentioned that each sect tends to emphasize one of the eightfold paths, and zen concentrates on the last one, the path of meditation. Many Westerners who are exposed only to Zen form a skewed view of Buddhism by equating Zen meditation with Buddhism itself. There are, we must keep in mind, many paths.

We associate Zen most closely with the Buddhism of Japan. It should be understood that Zen is itself the product of the adaptability of Buddhism. Zen came to Japan by way of China, where it was strongly influenced by Taoism, and in Japan it has become further shaped by native Shinto traditions.

If nothing else, we can all agree that Zen is entertaining. The purpose of the Zen method is to widen the doors of our perceptions, to force us to look at the world from a radical, and sometimes absurd perspective. Zen is the "Mother" of religious iconoclasm. Someone once said that our minds are like a furnished room, where our ideas and beliefs are arranged neatly and conveniently like furniture. The purpose of Zen is to rearrange the furniture in our minds.

Zen attempts to rearrange the furniture of our minds through nonsequitors, confrontation, and sometimes just plain silliness. "An ancient Zen master, whenever he was asked the meaning of Zen, lifted one of his fingers. That was his entire answer. Another kicked a ball. Still another slapped the inquirer in the face."

One practice that is unique to Zen is called the koan, a word or phrase that becomes the object of meditation, and most often that word or phrase is nonsensical, like the famous, “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” or perhaps, “Stop that ship on distant shores,” or “Why is a mouse before it spins?” Or, “What is the face of a person before his parents were born?”

Zen confronts the puzzles and paradoxes of life, not in order to force them to make sense, but rather to force ourselves to find some meaning, even where meaning is not even there. Though we may not actually "solve" a paradox, if we can find a new way to view it so that it is meaningful for us, it is no longer an obstacle to us.

Isn't this, after all, a useful tool for living? Isn't much of life like a koan -- puzzling and impenetrable to analysis, but infinitely open to imaginative new concepts? What do we know, fully know, in the end, about love and passion? Do we know any more about human hope than we know about the sound of a single hand clapping? Do we understand how music moves us any more than we understand the face of a person before his parents were born? Is not most of life, or at least the deepest parts of life, much like the mystery of a koan?

Buddhism may sound strange to Western ears, but there is much we can gain from it. I have long thought that a distinctive element of our Unitarian heritage is that we are comfortable with ambiguity. In Western religious traditions, where so much of the emphasis is on finding truth and certainty, finding "the answers," ours is a religion which is not unshaken with ambiguous answers, or with tentative answers. Buddhism challenges us to go further than ambiguity: to learn to be comfortable not just with ambiguities, but with paradox -- for the world is not only mysterious, it is sometimes downright strange. We must learn to live with it anyway.

Buddhism also reminds us of the psychological and therapeutic rationale for religion. Our religious ideas may provide great insight into the nature of the universe, but unless it also helps us cope, unless it supports us in the face of suffering, unless it gives us not just beliefs but also a path to journey on, it does not serve us well. What good is it to know the secrets of the divine if we cannot wake up each morning to face a new day with confidence and gratitude for life?

Buddhism also models for us the idea that religious paths need not be competitive. Through history we have learned to expect that one religion wins at the expense of others, and that each religion competes for the human soul. Why can't there be many paths? Why can't we honor differences? Buddhism shows us that diversity is possible, and that different paths are not a threat to each other, and that mutual respect for different religions is a possibility.

Those seemingly silly koans show us, it seems to me, that just because we think we understand something, doesn't mean we cannot confront it anew with imagination, and conceive the world differently, and fruitfully, from a new perspective. No matter how much we think we may know, we can always go deeper with our minds. No matter how much assured we are of our feelings about the world, we can always go deeper with our hearts.

Tibet’s Dalai Lama may be the world’s foremost voice for Buddhism. Educated in traditional Western studies, he describes the contributions of Buddhism this way:

"Western science has produced many advancements for the good of humanity while Buddhism offers a very deep examination of the mind and human nature. Each can enrich the other, and I believe that each is needed to remove suffering and help the cause of peace in the world.... Our beliefs as well as our actions must come from our heart, for in our hearts the true wisdom that frees us and the path of compassion are inseparable."

[From The Courage of Conviction, ed. by Phillip Berman, 1985, pp. 60-61.]

We have much to learn from Buddhism, I think, and much that is compatible with our own liberal religious tradition.