Buddha

The image that stays with me at the end of Karen Armstrong's Buddha is Ananda's tears. Ananda was Siddhatta Gotama's cousin and one of his earliest followers, accompanying Gotama through his long career. But Ananda did not reach enlightenment during the Buddha's life, and he openly wept when he realized that his friend Gotama had finally laid down to die. "When the Buddha heard about Ananda's tears, he sent for him. 'That is enough, Ananda,' he said. 'Don't be sorrowful; don't grieve.' Had he not explained, over and over again, that nothing was permanent but that separation was the law of life? 'And Ananda,' the Buddha concluded, 'for years you have waited on me with constant love and kindness. You have taken care of my physical needs, and have supported me in all your words and thought. You have done all this to help me, joyfully and with your whole heart. You have earned merit, Ananda. Keep trying, and soon you will be enlightened, too.'" So why, in a book about the Buddha, is it Ananda that I most admire? Why does he feel more fully human?

This is my third time through Buddha, and even though it is a slender book trying to capture the life of Siddhattha Gotama, it spoke more to me now than through my first two readings. Of course, trying to judge the accuracy of the book when Gotama's life is shrouded in even more legend and mystery than most biblical characters is virtually impossible. The first written accounts come at least 400 years after he died, and estimates for the dates of his life range from as early as about 570 to as late as 400 BCE. A number of historians question whether he even existed. From what little I know, however, Armstrong's take on his life seems a good place to start.

I especially appreciate her characterization of the social and intellectual milieu of the “Gangetic plains” around the time of Gotama's life. Developing iron age technologies allowed for the cultivation of more land and the production of surplus grains, stimulating trade and an increase in wealth. New social conditions called for increasing specialization, a growing merchant class, and a much more mobile society. These conditions set in motion a growing dissatisfaction with the established Vedic tradition that emphasized social caste, animal sacrifice and Brahmanic domination of ritual. "Since [the] new men fit less and less easily into the caste system, many of them felt that they had been pushed into a spiritual vacuum."

Two main trends began to fill the void. Along the western areas of the Ganges, thinkers reinterpreted the Vedic texts and ideas as emphasizing individual spiritual realization. These ideas eventually coalesced into the Upanishads, giving rise to Vedanta and other schools of Hindu thought. In the forests to the east of the Ganges, more emphasis was put on spiritual liberation through renunciation of the householder's life, living in small communities (sanghas) of beggar monks, and engaging in extreme ascetic or yogic practices.

The spiritual anomie caused by disillusionment with traditional answers reflected a much broader spiritual crisis and awakening during the first century B.C.E. that Armstrong, following Karl Jaspers, calls the Axial Age. Traditional ritualistic religions gradually yielded to ideas of individual responsibility, guilt and salvation in different areas of the world from about 700 to 200 BCE, giving rise to Buddhism, Hinduism, Confucianism, the Hebrew prophets and the Ionian enlightenment. "The Axial Age marks the beginning of humanity as we know it. During this period, men and women became conscious of their own existence, their own nature and their limitations in an unprecedented way. Their experience of utter impotence in a cruel world impelled them to seek the highest goals and absolute reality in the depths of their being.” This concept of the Axial Age has been roundly criticized by a number of historians as overlooking too many differences between the different traditions and encompassing too broad a span of time to be meaningful, but a number of other scholars, notably Robert Bellah and Jurgen Habermas, have found the idea to be useful in exploring the nature and evolution of religious practices.

The Buddha's message, then, begins with the "inescapable reality of pain"--dukkha. It is the first of the Four Noble Truths--"suffering...informs the whole of human life." The cause of our suffering comes from desire, which "makes us grab or cling to things that can never give lasting satisfaction." These were common assumptions among the forest monks, but Gotama said that the way out--Nirvana--was not through the extreme ascetic or yogic practices which he had tried and eventually abandoned but through a "middle way"--the eightfold path--that emphasized morality, meditation, and wisdom. Gotama taught techniques of mindfulness and awareness that stressed intense examination of thoughts, emotions and actions, leading to realization of the truths of anicca (impermanence), anatta (non-self)--the ego and the self had no reality but were just streams of sensations and thoughts held together out of fear. Contrary to other schools of thought, Gotama did not posit an eternal Self or soul or any other kind of metaphysical entity. (One recent commentator stated, "The Buddha was an atheist. There's no getting around it.") Nor did he insist on the infallibility of any of his teachings. His Dhamma (instructions or methods) were to be judged only by their consequences--how well they worked. But he felt that the monks who followed his path would find that "by meditation, concentration, mindfulness and a disciplined detachment from the world...it was possible to live in this world of pain, at peace, in control and in harmony with oneself and the rest of creation."

Which brings me back to Ananda’s tears. Since all living beings suffer, Gotama extended his compassion to the four corners of the universe, but it was a “wholly disinterested benevolence, “an attitude of total equanimity,” which “demanded that he abandon all personal preference.” Here was the one man, Ananda, who had accompanied Gotama on his journeys for over 40 years, shedding tears for the loss of his beloved companion and teacher, and the Buddha chided Ananda for his grief, in essence saying to him, you still don’t get it, do you. Gotama could not deal with his best friend’s sorrow (well, ok, he did not allow himself to have a bff), and that’s where Mr. Gotama and I begin to part company.

I have been a fellow traveller with Buddhism for, what, close to 45 years now. I have had a great affinity for the ideas of Buddhism, especially the radical agnosticism that seems to underlie much of Buddhist thought. Anatta and anicca seem to be truths that fit comfortably with the findings of science and can even accommodate the weirdness of quantum mechanics. As I keep track of the current debates over personal responsibility with the current findings of neuroscience, Buddhism made the same points about 2500 years ago. Gotama could have agreed with Michael Gazzaniga's "left brained interpreter that is coming up with the theory, the narrative and the self image, taking the information from various inputs, from the neuronal workspace, and from the knowledge structures, and gluing it together, thus creating the self, the autobiography, out of the chaos of input." And, certainly, as I grow older, the concept of dukkha fits with the decay and the suffering of old age.

But I never took my Buddhism to the next level, to that of practice, and as Armstrong really makes clear to me this time, it don't mean jack shit until then. Ideas don't mean nothing in the Buddhist scheme of things until they have been thoroughly and totally assimilated through the full acceptance and practice of the eightfold path and the incorporation of samadhi, jhana, and prajna--meditation, concentration, and wisdom. Only those people who have taken the vows to triple refuge--to the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha--can hope to get there. "The full Dhamma was possible only for monks---the Noble Truths were not for laymen; they had to be "realized" and this direct knowledge could not be realized without yoga, which was essential to the full Buddhist regimen....the laity were never able to graduate to serious yoga." The "full Buddhist regimen," then, eventually means "going forth" (taking the vows) and renunciation of the self--a renunciation of who I am and what I have stood for. That ain't going to happen.

I guess when it comes down to it, my Buddhism has been more about self actualization rather than self renunciation. It's been more related to sports psychology or the path of achievement than to the eightfold path, more about trying to remove limitations, doubts, negativity than about acknowledging suffering and seeking release. I want more tools in my mental arsenal to help me deal with my own problems. I don’t want to give up my best friends, my goals, my values, my personality

Perhaps it’s my inability to accept the centrality of suffering as the main fact of life. Armstrong begins her narrative of Gotama's life with the premise that, "the spiritual life cannot begin until people allow themselves to be invaded by the reality of suffering, realizing how fully it permeates our whole experience, and feel the pain of all other beings." Or as paraphrased by Diarmaid McCulloch in his review of The Great Transformation, "Life is a bastard, and then you die."

Well, frankly, I've spent the better part of my life trying to hide that little nastiness from myself. You would have thought that wallowing around in my own shallow mediocrity would have driven that point home by now, but somehow I've managed to keep hold of the hope that life is good, still trying to escape the limitations that time, place, age, and circumstance have laid on me, trying to be better than I am even though the energy and the physical presence have inevitably started draining away. It's kind of like what Waldo (Mr. Emerson) said as he came towards the end of his life, "One of these days, before I die, I still believe I shall do better." Probably it's all delusion. Or as my man Michael (Mr. Montaigne) might have said, I'm really pretty fucking lucky to have gotten this far, I guess, without undue suffering and hardship. It doesn't feel very noble or heroic, but well, it’s all I’ve got. "I grow old...I grow old..."

So, I guess I'll continue to be a fellow traveler, and maybe even spend more time on my zafu, waiting for my meditation app to tell me that I've done enough for the day. But I have no hopes about reaching any kind of enlightenment, and a whole lot of doubts about how desirable it even is. I'll just kind of muddle along and grow older and suffer, as confused as ever. So be it. I'm thinking that's about as good as it gets.

Author: Armstrong, Karen

Date Published: 2001

Length: 187 pp

print