2022/10/23

** [The Meaning of Life: Garfield: L34-35, 36 Dalai Lama

LECTURE 34

HH Dalai Lama XIV—A Modern Buddhist View ..............................120

LECTURE 35

HH Dalai Lama XIV—Discernment and Happiness........................124

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HH Dalai Lama XIV—A Modern Buddhist View

Lecture 34




[The Dalai Lama] has argued repeatedly that as far as he is concerned, it’s the deliverances of science that tell us about the fundamental nature of reality, not classical religious scriptures, and he has repeatedly said that where Buddhism or when any religion conÀ icts with science, we should go with science, not with the deliverances of religion.

T

he Dalai Lama’s view of the meaning of life is, of course, deeply inÀ ected and motivated by Buddhism, but he articulates it primarily as a modern secular vision, a vision with roots in ideas of individual liberty, freedom of speech and religion, democratic theory, and the importance of science. He follows Aristotle in seeing the universal goal of human life to be happiness, but that happiness can only be attained in the context of social interdependence. Like any Buddhist, the Dalai Lama sees the problem of life as constituted by suffering, whose modern sources he ¿ nds in consumer capitalism and industrialism. He sees the sources of happiness in purposive action in a human context.

The Dalai Lama agrees with Aristotle that happiness, À ourishing, meets the criteria for the highest good in life: ¿ nality and self-suf¿ ciency. The components of happiness in a modern life include food, shelter, physical security, peace, education, access to health care, the opportunity for free expression of ideas, a certain amount of leisure, and possibility for personal development. The fact that people around the world are willing to ¿ ght to achieve these goals must mean that they are universal.

Because the Dalai Lama’s is a Buddhist account of the nature of reality, it is rooted in the doctrine of dependent origination, in which all things are interdependent in three senses. The ¿ rst is causal dependence; everything occurs as a consequence of innumerable causes and conditions, and every event produces innumerable effects. The second form of interdependence is part-whole dependence; parts depend upon the whole for their nature and functioning, and wholes depend upon parts in order to exist. The third form of interdependence is dependence on conceptual imputation, that is, dependence of things for their identity and function on the way in which we think about them.

The Dalai Lama argues that interdependence provides us with the deepest analysis of the fundamental nature of reality. Everything around us, in particular, our own lives and the lives of the communities in which we participate, is characterized by this threefold interdependence. Moreover, the Dalai Lama emphasizes that this is completely consistent with the deliverance of modern science. Physics, for example, demonstrates that everything is part of a uniform, causal whole and interdependent in all these ways. He



argues that if our lives are to be meaningful, they must be grounded in reality, and given that interdependence is the fundamental nature of reality, a meaningful life is one that responds to and reÀ ects an appreciation of interdependence.

For the Dalai Lama, human interdependence deserves special emphasis. Social reality develops for us distinctive kinds of partwhole interdependence because so much of our lives and our identities are determined by the wholes of which we’re parts. Conceptual imputation in the construction of identity and roles is also salient in human affairs in ways that it’s not in physical affairs. Our decisions that a particular person is a



Interconnection also constitutes our happiness because so much of our happiness is social. We become happy when our actions actually match the goals and values we endorse. That’s often only possible socially because so many of our goals and so many of our values are collective social values.



criminal versus an upright citizen, a colleague versus a competitor, and so on determine the nature of our relations, the nature of our lives, and the nature of our happiness.

Each of the dimensions of interdependence is implicated in the arising of suffering and the production of happiness. All these forms of interdependence give us the possibility of having complex effects in our actions. Everything we do ripples through societies instantly and in countless ways and in ways that we can’t always control but that demand our reÀ ection. And because our actions have so many effects, we have obligations to make sure that

those effects are bene¿ cial, and we have responsibilities to those who can be affected by our actions.

According to the Dalai Lama, modern capitalism has brought Everything we do ripples through societies instantly and in countless ways and in ways that we can’t always control but that demand our reÀ ection.

the original source of suffering— primal confusion that results in attraction and aversion—to new heights. Advertising, for example, creates both need and fear, attraction and aversion, and it isolates us in a marketplace with a given commodity, forcing a decision on whether or not we need something. The Dalai Lama thinks that commodi¿ cation has also infected politics because it creates politicians and ideas as commodities, then generates attraction or aversion. The mass media and mass culture are, thus, sources of confusion and suffering.

Oddly, the sources of happiness in the modern world are similar to the sources of unhappiness. One such source is our interconnection with others, which enables us to produce both the material and the collective social goods we want and allows us to discover truth in learning from one another. This interconnection also brings us happiness in the form of social interactions and activities with friends and families. It offers us the opportunity to work out the kinds of social values and ideals we endorse and lead a life of integrity and authenticity. Ŷ

Name to Know

His Holiness the Dalai Lama XIV, Tenzin Gyatso (b. 1935): The Dalai Lama lineage in Tibet is regarded by Tibetans as a reincarnate lineage: Each successive Dalai Lama is recognized as a rebirth of his predecessor, and all are regarded by Tibetans as emanations of AvalalokiteĞvara, the Buddhist celestial bodhisattva of compassion.




Suggested Reading


  • Prebish and Baumann, eds., Westward Dharma.


Study Questions

1. In what sense is the Dalai Lama’s diagnosis of modern life Buddhist? In what sense is it modern?

2. What is the difference between the analysis of modernity presented by Gandhi and that presented by the Dalai Lama?

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HH Dalai Lama XIV—Discernment and Happiness

Lecture 35


The union of compassion and discernment is a union of moral perceptual skills—where, when we see a situation, we see the sources of suffering, we see the possibilities for happiness—and the interpersonal skills that allow us to see what kinds of interventions will be most useful and commit us to those kinds of interventions.

A

s we saw in the last lecture, dependent origination grounds the possibility of both suffering and happiness. For the Dalai Lama, the source of suffering in the modern world is the ideology of commodity fetishism, and the only solution to suffering is to develop a deep kind of compassion, an attitude that respects interdependence and commits us to the creation of happiness.

The Dalai Lama notes that unhappiness doesn’t derive directly from external circumstances but from our emotional reactions to adversity. Such emotional reactions arise from both attachment and aversion and can be either individual or collective. The Dalai Lama thinks of emotions that cause suffering as pathologies; examples include greed, lust, hate, and so on. In some cases, such as when we speak of righteous anger, we mistake pathology for virtue, but as we’ve seen, anger never results in positive outcomes. If we’re going to understand the nature of suffering and happiness, we must be able to distinguish between bene¿ cial and pathological emotions.

According to the Dalai Lama, pathological emotions are grounded in confusion, a misperception of reality. We see something else as the source of our unhappiness instead of ourselves; we see some object as necessary instead of simply an option. To cultivate positive emotions, we need a clear, accurate understanding of reality and not just on a theoretical or abstract level. We must seek instinctive, spontaneous responses to the world as causally dependent, part-whole dependent, and dependent on imputation. This instinctive cognitive habit is dif¿ cult to accomplish, and that’s why the notion of karunƗ—compassion—is so important. KarunƗ gives us commitment, that altruistic aspiration to act, impelling us to develop spontaneous ways of interacting with the world in place of our ordinary approaches. The use of moral imagination is important here because we need to be able to understand that the interests of others are, in a deep sense, just like our interests and that their pain is just like our pain.

The Dalai Lama argues that the cultivation of compassion comes in two parts: the cultivation of restraint and the cultivation of virtue. By restraint, he means the holding back of instinctive negative reactions, actions of anger, greed, carelessness, and so forth. By virtue, he means developing a positive commitment to bene¿ t others. Restraint cuts off the roots

To cultivate positive emotions, we need a clear, accurate understanding of reality and not just on a theoretical or abstract level. of suffering by prompting us to reÀ ect on the causes of pathological emotions, thus subverting primal confusion and ignorance. ReÀ ection also highlights the impermanence of the world, including the

impermanence of the things that cause us to experience suffering and

our own emotional reactions. Through reÀ ecting on selÀ essness, we’re able to suspend the ordinary cognitive habit of thinking of ourselves as subjects and everything else in the world as objects. That way of thinking reÀ ects the nature of reality as determined by a polar coordinate system with oneself at the center and everything else arrayed in terms of its relationship to the center. This conception gives rise to conÀ ict, but by reÀ ecting on selÀ essness, we come to take our own importance less seriously.

Restraint keeps us from doing bad things, but it doesn’t by itself motivate us to do the things that are necessary for own happiness or the happiness of others. To do that, we need to cultivate generosity, the willingness to detach ourselves from our possessions. As ĝƗntideva reminded us, virtue also requires patience, not only with others but with ourselves. The moral development that we come to demand of ourselves when we adopt this understanding of the nature of our lives isn’t acquired in a moment.

The concept of virtue that the Dalai Lama emphasizes requires attentive concern, mindfulness, discernment, and compassion. The dimension of attentiveness commits us to truly understanding the nature of the problem and the solutions that would rectify it. The dimension of concern is a commitment to take action. Mindfulness of our own emotional states enables us to focus on virtuous rather than nonvirtuous emotions. Discernment is necessary to allow us to understand the details of any particular situation: What are the causes, conditions, and effects? Finally, we need compassion in the sense of karunƗ, an altruistic commitment to act. For compassion to be genuine and ef¿ cacious, it must rest on discernment, a deep analytical understanding of suffering.

The Dalai Lama emphasizes that this kind of compassion entails a Gandhian universal responsibility, a responsibility for the welfare of all, because there are no limitations on compassion. Any limitations could originate only in pathological distinctions between ourselves and others. Compassion must be rooted in the de-centering of the individual, which will make such distinctions impossible. What we’re seeing here is a modern version of the bodhisattva path: the altruistic resolution to act for the bene¿ t of all sentient beings. Ŷ




Suggested Reading

Study Questions

1. In what sense is the Dalai Lama’s recommendation for a meaningful life different from those of Gandhi and Lame Deer? In what respects is it similar?

2. Why is compassion, as opposed to a sense of duty, the foundation for a meaningful life in the modern world, according to the Dalai Lama?










So, What Is the Meaning of Life?

Lecture 36




Often, one is led to ¿ nd super¿ cial similarities and to overemphasize those and, therefore, to lose a lot of the texture and detail that’s bequeathed to us by the textual traditions that we’ve been examining.

W

e’ve encountered a great deal of diversity in this course, but we can still point to certain recurrent themes. For example, almost every position we’ve considered has emphasized the importance of a

connection between our own lives and some larger context, of temporality, of some ideal of human perfection, and of spontaneity. In conjunction with spontaneity, we’ve seen an emphasis on freedom. We’ve also seen the need to understand the nature of the world we live in and the nature of our own lives in order to live an authentic life. In this lecture, we examine each of these themes to see what general conclusions we might draw.

The larger context required for a meaningful life has sometimes been conceived as a universal, divine, or cosmic context, as in the BhagavadGƯtƗ, the book of Job, and the Stoics. For the Daoists, this larger context is similar but more impersonal; it’s the context of the dao, the way of things. Sometimes, this context is a bit more narrow—a global context or a natural one. Lame Deer, for instance, emphasized that the context of our lives that matters most is that of nature, and the Dalai Lama, along with Aristotle, Confucius, and others, emphasizes a social context. In each case, the key to ¿ nding meaning in our lives is to ¿ rst identify the larger context in which our small lives make sense, then to understand how we can make our lives meaningful by connecting them to that context.

With regard to temporality, the Stoics emphasized the eternality of the universe and the fact that the period of our existence is brief and bounded by in¿ nite gulfs of our absence. Buddhism also emphasizes a constant awareness of impermanence, the beauty of impermanence, and the urgency that impermanence gives to our lives. Tolstoy, Lame Deer, and Nietzsche pick up on the theme of mindfulness of death: At each moment in our lives, we need to be aware of our own mortality and ¿ nitude.

In the texts we’ve examined, we’ve often seen the question of the meaning of life addressed in terms of an account of human perfection. Aristotle offered us an ideal of the perfect human life in the concept of eudaimonea, À ourishing, and tells us that this ideal can be achieved through a life of activity in accordance with virtue, through moral strength and

practical wisdom, and through friendship. The Daoists and Zen Buddhists give us the sage as the ideal of perfection, one who pays attention to the empty spaces This spontaneity is motivated by the idea that our actions and values don’t need to be brought together arti¿ cially.

and who lives spontaneously, effortlessly. ĝƗntideva and the

Dalai Lama extend this account of perfection to encompass the cultivation of a certain kind of compassion, a commitment to altruistic action on behalf of others. For Kant and Mill, human life is focused on reason, discourse, and participation in liberal democratic societies. That ideal was challenged by Nietzsche, who emphasized that what makes our lives beautiful is our artistry and spontaneity, our ability to re-evaluate the values we’re taught and lead our lives in harmony with values we ourselves create.

Many of the philosophers and theologians we’ve examined have urged us to cultivate spontaneity in our lives. This spontaneity is motivated by the idea that our actions and values don’t need to be brought together arti¿ cially. For Aristotle and Confucius, the model here is that of the artist, one who practices endlessly to achieve a second nature. For Daoism and Zen, the emphasis is on the need to pare away the arti¿ cial second nature and return to naturalness. Ultimately, Lame Deer tells us that we need to understand that we are fundamentally part of the biological world, a world of circles rather than squares.

For the thinkers we’ve explored, a meaningful life necessarily entails freedom. The GƯtƗ emphasized the fact that freedom emerges from discipline, while the Daoists urged us to free ourselves from social standards. Hume and Kant emphasized the need to attain freedom from authority, an idea that Mill extended to an insistence on absolute freedom of thought. Nietzsche was concerned with freedom from philosophical ideas and from an intellectual tradition that makes creativity impossible. Gandhi emphasized selfmastery similar to that in the GƯtƗ, the kind of discipline that frees us from consumerism and other external constraints.

The answer to our original question is deeply complex and conÀ icted; it requires us to cultivate an awareness of reality in all its complexity and adversity, to understand that our lives are ¿ nite, and to develop a commitment to achieving individual excellence and to creating meaning in the lives of others. Perhaps the ¿ rst step in ¿ nding meaning is to ask the question, then to engage, as we have done in this course, with the wide diversity of answers that have been given throughout history and around the world. Ŷ




Study Questions

1. What are the major dimensions along which accounts of the meaning of life differ from one another? How would one go about choosing one approach over another?

2. What common insights survive these differences? Why do these ideas transcend the different approaches? Are they consistent with one another?






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Glossary




ahimsa: Nonviolence, or refraining from harming others.

Analects, The: The collection of sayings and dialogues attributed to Kongfuzi (Confucius). It relies on a set of key philosophical ideas, including:

x ren: Humanity, warm-heartedness x li: Ritual propriety, etiquette x de: Virtue, integrity, moral rectitude

x xiao: Filial piety; respect for, and obedience to, one’s parents, elders, and superiors x tian: Heaven, or the order of the universe

x wu-wei: Inaction or spontaneous, effortless activity in contrast to studied, deliberate action aretƝ: Virtue or excellence.

awarƝ: In Japanese Buddhist aesthetics, the particular beauty that derives from the impermanence of things, the beauty things have just before they fade.

being-time: The intimate union of existence and temporality; the fact that to exist is to be impermanent yet to have a past and a future to which one is essentially connected and the fact that human existence is always experienced in relation to past, present, and future.

bodhisattva: In Buddhism, one who has formed the altruistic aspiration to attain awakening for the bene¿ t of all sentient beings.

Chaldeans (Book of Job): An ancient Near Eastern people who lived in Mesopotamia.

depersonalization: Abstraction from one’s own personal interests or place in the world; taking a disinterested view of things.

dharma: A word with many meanings the root of which means “to hold.” Meanings include duty, virtue, doctrine, entity, and reality, depending on context.

Epicurean: A school of Greek and Roman philosophy following the teachings of Epicurus (4th3rd century B.C.E.). Central doctrines of the school were atomism, materialism, and an emphasis on the attainment of peace of mind through moderation and control of the emotions.

ƝthikƝ/ethos: Behavior or conduct.

eudaimonea: Human À ourishing, a good life, often translated as “happiness.”

foundationalism: The doctrine that knowledge must rest on a basis. Examples of foundations of knowledge are perception and reason.

Jainism: An Indian religion in which nonviolence is the central value.

karunƗ: Compassion, the commitment to act to relieve the suffering of others.

kratƝ: Moral strength, the ability to stick to one’s resolve in the face of temptation or fear.

Krishna: An Indian manifestation of divinity.

libertarianism: The belief that individuals should have the maximum personal liberty consistent with the liberty of others; resistance of the intrusion of the law into the private sphere. metaphysics: The study of the fundamental nature of reality.

neo-VedƗnta: A late 19th- and early 20th-century philosophical movement in India grounded in a revival and reinterpretation of the ancient Indian texts collectively called the Vedas. Prominent neo-VedƗnta philosophers included Ramakrishna, Swami Vivekananda, and Sri Aurobindo.

phenomenology: Inner experience, or the theory of inner experience.

phronesis: Practical wisdom, the ability to deliberate wisely about how to accomplish one’s goals.

postmodernity: An ideological outlook that rejects the fundamental tenets of European modernism—the unity of the subject, the fact that knowledge constitutes a uni¿ ed system that rests on sure foundations, the conviction that civilization is progressive—in favor of a conviction that subjectivity is variable and often fragmented, a suspicion of uni¿ ed systems and a conviction that knowledge is socially constructed and À uid, and a suspicion of a single narrative of human progress. The term also refers to the social conditions that reÀ ect this view, namely, conditions in which fundamental claims are contested, societies are pluralistic, and values do not sustain a uni¿ ed view of knowledge or progress.

Sabeans (Book of Job): An ancient Near Eastern tribe that lived near present-day Yemen.

Samaj movements: The Arya and Brahmo Samajs (Samaj means “society”); two prominent modernist religious reform movements that swept India in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Both emphasized a return to classical Indian texts and ideas but also the abandonment of ritual, the rejection of caste, and an embrace of modernity and Indian nationalism.

Sanskrit: The language of classical Indian scholarship, as opposed to Prakrits, classical vernacular languages.

Sapere Aude!: Kant’s motto of enlightenment: “Dare to know!”

satyƗgraha: A Gandhian term: holding on to, or insisting on, the truth. A refusal to act in accordance with any principle one does not endorse and a commitment to principled action and honesty.

Sheol (Book of Job): The underworld, the place where the dead reside in the ancient Hebrew tradition.

Ğramana: A wandering ascetic of ancient India.

svadharma: One’s own particular duty or role in life, often in India tied to caste.

swadeshi: Literally, one’s own country. Commitment to the value and practices of one’s own country or culture, to self-reliance, and to consuming only what is produced locally.

swaraj: Self-rule. This can mean individual self-mastery or the selfgovernment of a people or nation. For Gandhi, these two senses were deeply connected. theophany: Revelation of the deity.

Transcendentalists: A group of American philosophers, poets, and writers who looked to Asia for inspiration and who were oriented toward mystical values and concerns that transcend the mundane world. Emerson, Thoreau, and Whitman were prominent Transcendentalists.

Utilitarianism: A moral theory according to which actions are right to the degree to which they promote happiness or pleasure and wrong to the degree that they promote unhappiness or pain.

yoga: Discipline or spiritual practice. The Bhagavad-GƯtƗ enumerates three kinds of discipline, representing three aspects of life:

x karma yoga: The discipline of action, the pursuit of divinity through action

x jñƗna yoga: The discipline of knowledge, the pursuit of divinity through knowledge

x bhakti yoga: The discipline of devotion, the pursuit of divinity through devotional practice



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Biographical Notes



Aristotle (384–322 B.C.E.): Aristotle was born in Stageira and moved to Athens in his youth, where he was a prominent aristocrat. He studied under Plato at the Academy. After Plato’s death, he traveled in present-day Turkey, conducting scienti¿ c research. In 343 B.C.E., he was appointed tutor to Alexander the Great. In 335 B.C.E., he returned to Athens and established the Lyceum, where he taught for 12 years, probably his most philosophically creative period. He left Athens to avoid prosecution for impiety and died at age 62 in Chalcis. Aristotle, like Plato, wrote philosophical dialogues, but none of his original works survives; what we have instead are lecture notes from his students. He wrote and taught on virtually every academic subject, including the natural sciences, rhetoric, poetry, metaphysics, logic, ethics, and political philosophy. Aristotle was enormously inÀ uential in the development of Islamic philosophy and medieval European philosophy.

Chuang Tzu (Zhuangzi) (perhaps c. 370–c. 300 B.C.E.): There is no consensus regarding the existence of Chuang Tzu, who may have been created as a ¿ ctional author of the text that bears his name. This text, however, may be the work of multiple authors over several centuries. It is said that he left a minor government position for a life as a hermit philosopher and that he once turned down a prime ministership.

Confucius (Kongfuzi) (c. 551–479 B.C.E.): Confucius was born in the Chinese state of Lu (the present-day Shandong province of China) to a military family near the end of the Spring-Autumn period of Chinese history, a period that saw a great deal of warfare between small Chinese states. His father apparently died when Confucius was young, leaving the young boy and his concubine mother in poverty. Confucius clearly studied the Chinese classics with great success and spent most of his life as a low-level civil servant. He became famous as a teacher and spent much of his life traveling from state to state, teaching philosophy and politics. The texts by means of which we know Confucius’s thought are records of his conversations and teachings preserved by his disciples.



His Holiness the Dalai Lama XIV, Tenzin Gyatso (b. 1935): The Dalai Lama lineage in Tibet is regarded by Tibetans as a reincarnate lineage: Each successive Dalai Lama is recognized as a rebirth of his predecessor, and all are regarded by Tibetans as emanations of AvalalokiteĞvara, the Buddhist celestial bodhisattva of compassion. Dalai Lamas are, hence, regarded by Tibetans as physical manifestations of compassion in the world. The Dalai Lama has traditionally been both the spiritual and political leader of Tibet. The present Dalai Lama was born in a small village in Amdo, in far northeastern Tibet. When he was 3 years old, he was recognized by a search party as the rebirth of the 13th Dalai Lama and brought to Lhasa for enthronement and education. In 1949, the Army of the People’s Republic of China entered Tibet, and despite his youth, the Dalai Lama assumed, at the age of 14, political leadership of Tibet. Shortly after this, he completed his monastic education and earned the highest academic degree conferred in Tibet, the geshe lharampa (a Ph.D. with highest honors). For 10 years, the Dalai Lama attempted to cooperate with the Chinese government in order to allow Chinese authority and modernization while preserving Tibetan cultural identity. But as Chinese repression grew more severe, Tibetan resistance increased. In 1959, the Tibetans rose up against Chinese occupation, and the Dalai Lama was forced to À ee into exile in India, followed by several hundred thousand Tibetan refugees. In India, the Dalai Lama has led a government-in-exile and overseen the establishment of Tibetan schools, orphanages, hospitals, social services, monastic institutions, universities, and ¿ nally, a democratic Tibetan government, stepping aside as head of government. He has opened a long-running dialogue with scientists and has published dozens of books, ranging from highly technical books on Buddhist philosophy to popular guides to happiness. The Dalai Lama has taught or spoken in countries around the world, always promoting nonviolent conÀ ict resolution, interfaith harmony, and a humanitarian social identity. In 1989, he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Peace.

Dǀgen (1200–1253): Dǀgen was the illegitimate son of a high-ranking Japanese courtier, who died when her son was 7 years old. Early in his life, Dǀgen joined the great Tendai monastery at Mt. Hiei. But he was dissatis¿ ed with Tendai philosophy, bothered by the problem of the need to seek awakening if all sentient beings are primordially awakened. He moved to a Zen temple in Japan, studying under the great Zen master Eisai until the latter’s death. In 1223, Dǀgen traveled to China to search for teachings that would resolve his remaining concerns. After visiting several monasteries, he encountered the Zen teacher Rujing, under whom he had his awakening experience. In 1228, Dǀgen returned to Japan with the Sǀtǀ Zen lineage inherited from Ruing; he taught at several important temples and wrote hundreds of essays, laying the philosophical foundations of Sǀtǀ Zen in Japan. He settled near the end of his life at Eiheji, which became the headquarters of the Sǀtǀ Zen lineage in Japan.

Epictetus (55–135 C.E.): Little is known of the life of Epictetus, who was born a slave. He lived the ¿ rst part of his life in Rome but was exiled to Greece. He studied Stoic philosophy in his youth and, at some point, gained his freedom. He was a popular teacher and widely respected both as a Stoic philosopher and an orator. None of his writings, if ever there were any, survives. The fragments that constitute his corpus are, in fact, lecture notes.

Gandhi, Mohandas K. (1869–1948): Gandhi was born in Porbandar, then a small princely state, in the modern state of Gujarat. His father was diwan of that state. Gandhi’s parents were both devout Hindus, but much of the surrounding community was Jain; hence, he grew up in a context of great piety and commitment to nonviolence. He was married at age 13. At age 18, he left India for London, where he studied law. While in England, he was active in the Vegetarian Society and came into contact with theosophists; thus, he developed a broader interest in world religions. Gandhi also studied liberal political theory and read Tolstoy and the American Transcendentalists. He returned to India in 1891 and, after some desultory practice, accepted a position in South Africa in 1893. In South Africa, Gandhi encountered ¿ rsthand the racial discrimination that pervaded the British Empire. Most famously, he was thrown off a train at Pietermaritzburg when he refused to vacate the ¿ rst-class compartment for which he had a ticket. This event and others led Gandhi to lead massive nonviolent protests against discriminatory laws. In this context, he formulated his principle of satyƗgraha—insistence on the truth and principled nonviolence as the only ways to challenge overwhelming repression. Gandhi returned to India in 1915, joined the Indian National Congress, and became active, ¿ rst, in the congress’s efforts to resist unjust laws and policies, then in the independence movement. Gandhi led this movement to Indian independence through careful cultivation of nonviolent resistance and refusal to comply with British imperial rule. He led numerous public protests and was jailed regularly but maintained his paci¿ sm and tolerance. Gandhi was deeply opposed to the partition of India and deeply saddened by that eventuality and the violence that came in its wake. He was assassinated by a Hindu fundamentalist terrorist as he walked to prayers in 1948. Gandhi has been a major inÀ uence on such subsequent advocates of nonviolence and insistence on truth as the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, President Nelson Mandela of South Africa, and HH the Dalai Lama XIV.

Hume, David (1711–1776): David Hume was a philosophical prodigy and a central ¿ gure of the Scottish Enlightenment. He entered the University of Edinburgh when he was 12 years old, rejecting the study of law for philosophy. After a brief career in business, he traveled to La Flèche, where in conversation with Jesuit philosophers and with access to an excellent library, he wrote his Treatise of Human Nature, published when he was 26 years of age. The Treatise is today recognized as one of the great masterpieces of Western philosophy but was ridiculed by critics at the time of its publication. Hume was undaunted and continued to publish philosophical essays, many of which were well-received, and his monumental History of England, a text that remained a standard history for more than a century after his death. He aspired to a chair in philosophy at Glasgow but was rejected as an atheist. Hume was widely admired as a humanist and as a scholar. He died in Edinburgh a very happy man.

Kant, Immanuel (1724–1804): Immanuel Kant is almost universally regarded as the greatest of all European philosophers. He was born and spent his entire life in Königsberg (present-day Kalningrad) in Prussia. Indeed, he never ventured more than 100 miles from that city. Kant studied at the University of Königsberg, then spent his entire career teaching there. He was a proli¿ c writer, but most of the books of his early years are no longer inÀ uential. In 1781, however, he produced his masterpiece, The Critique of Pure Reason, one of the most profound philosophical investigations undertaken in the Western tradition. This was followed by both The Critique of Practical Reason and The Critique of Judgment, extending Kant’s philosophical system from epistemology and metaphysics to ethics, then to aesthetics and a number of smaller but important texts. It is fair to say that Kant completely transformed the face of European philosophy. He was the ¿ rst professor of philosophy to be an important philosopher in his own right; he developed the ¿ rst comprehensive European philosophical system since the Enlightenment; and he demonstrated that philosophy can take natural science seriously yet remain an autonomous domain of thought. Today, nobody can become a serious philosopher without ¿ rst studying the work of Kant.

Lame Deer, John (1900–1976): John Lame Deer was a Lakota Sioux medicine man born on the Rosebud Reservation and educated in Bureau of Indian Affairs schools. In early adult life, he was a rodeo rider and led the rough life of that trade. After meeting the keeper of the medicine pipe of the Lakota people, he became a medicine man. The second half of his life was devoted to educating Lakota and other Americans about Lakota culture, to the revival of Lakota culture, and to the recovery of traditional Lakota land in the Black Hills.

Lao Tzu (perhaps 6th, 5th, or even 4th century B.C.E.): There is no consensus about whether Lao Tzu (Laozi) ever existed. Many scholars regard him as a mythical ¿ gure constructed as the author of the Daodejing, which may well have developed under the hands of multiple authors over several centuries. Putative biographies locate his birth in Chu (Henan province) and state that he spent much of his adult life in Zhou, near present-day Luoyang, working in a library. He is said to have left the court and disappeared into the West.

Marcus Aurelius (121–160 C.E.): Marcus Aurelius was the son of a wealthy, noble Roman family living in present-day Spain. Marcus was educated by eminent tutors and adopted, in 138, by the emperor Aurelius Antoninus (Pius), under whom he served as consul for some time. While in public service, Marcus continued to pursue his education, studying Greek, literature, philosophy, and rhetoric with some of the most prominent teachers in Rome. He also studied law, a subject for which he appears to have had little appetite. In 161, on the death of Antoninus Pius, Marcus assumed the throne as emperor of Rome along with his adopted brother Lucius, who died soon thereafter, leaving Marcus as sole emperor. His reign was marked by many border wars, all of which concluded satisfactorily for Rome. He was noted as a skilled legislator and judge and was apparently much occupied with administration. Marcus continued to pursue philosophy throughout his life and, on a visit to Athens, proclaimed himself “Protector of Philosophy.” He died while on tour in what is now Vienna.

Mill, John Stuart (1806–1873): John Stuart Mill was the son of the historian James Mill, a close follower of the Utilitarian philosopher Jeremy Bentham. Bentham and Mill developed a rigorous system of upbringing and education for the young John Stuart, who was isolated from other children and taught Greek, Latin, Hebrew, and algebra from age 3. By the time he was 10, he could read Plato in Greek and composed poetry in classical Greek. In his teens, Mill studied logic, rhetoric, history, and economics, but by age 20, he suffered a psychological collapse. Mill married Harriet Taylor, a brilliant young woman, and with her was a forceful advocate for the rights of women, for political liberty, and for a social policy aimed at the bene¿ t of the masses of ordinary people. Mill’s essays on political philosophy were widely read in his own time and are still inÀ uential today.

Nietzsche, Friedrich (1844–1900): Nietzsche grew up in a middle-class Prussian family. He excelled in his studies, particularly in music and literature, and pursued theology and philology at the University of Bonn. Despite his parents’ piety, he dropped theology and devoted himself to classical philology. Under the inÀ uence of Arthur Schopenhauer, he also developed an intense interest in philosophy and science. In 1869, Nietzsche was appointed, at age 24, professor of philology at Basle. Nobody before or since has held such a chair at such a young age. Nietzsche held the chair for 10 years, before his health declined, and during that period, he began his philosophical work. He was a close friend of the composer Richard Wagner during his early days at Basle but became estranged from Wagner later, breaking with him over political and cultural issues. In 1879, Nietzsche resigned his chair because of ill health, and for the next 10 years, he traveled Europe and wrote almost all of his most inÀ uential philosophical books. By 1889, however, Nietzsche descended into madness. From that time, his sister and mother cared for him, and he was frequently hospitalized. He died in 1900.

ĝƗntideva (8th century C.E.): We know almost nothing of the life of ĝƗntideva. All biographical sources agree that he was born a Brahmin, converted to Buddhism, and studied at Nalanda University in present-day Bihar state in India. He composed two principal works, Siksasamuccaya

(“Collection of Teachings”) and BodhicƗryƗvatƗra (“How to Lead an Awakened Life”).

Seneca (c. 4-65 CE): We know little of Seneca’s early life, although his was an inÀ uential family. One of his brothers was a proconsul, and Seneca himself became tutor to the emperor Nero. He studied Stoic philosophy with eminent teachers but seems to have been at odds with the court, nearly executed by Caligula and exiled by Claudius. Nonetheless, he returned to Rome to serve as Nero’s tutor and counselor. Once again, however, he fell into political disrepute and retired to write. Seneca was later accused of participating in a conspiracy to assassinate Nero and was ordered to commit suicide, which he did. He was a remarkable writer, and his letters and essays have been widely read and have inÀ uenced many subsequent ethicists and moral psychologists.

Siddhartha Gautama (c. 500 B.C.E.–c. 420 B.C.E.): Siddhartha Gautama, more commonly known as ĝakyamuni Buddha or just the Buddha, was born in Lumbini to the royal family in the small state of Kapilavastu, in presentday Nepal. The precise dates of his life are uncertain, and he may have lived as much as 50 years earlier or later than the dates indicated here. What we know of his life derives from the record of his teachings and from frankly hagiographic biographies. He was raised in the royal palace as crown prince, but in his early 30s, he abandoned the palace for the life of a wandering ascetic. He studied for several years under a series of teachers and ¿ nally set off on a solitary quest for understanding, culminating in his experience of awakening at Bodh Gaya, in present-day Bihar state in India. Following that experience, he taught for about 50 years, wandering through what is now northern India and Nepal, attracting numerous disciples and the patronage of several powerful kings, and establishing a monastic community. He died at the age of 80 in Kushinagar in what is now Uttar Pradesh state.

Tolstoy, Lev (Leo) (1828–1910): Count Leo Tolstoy was born into one of the most distinguished Russian noble families, but his own youth was undistinguished. He did poorly in school, dropped out of university, ran up huge gambling debts, and joined the army. Between 1857 and 1861, Tolstoy traveled extensively in Europe. During this time, he met eminent European writers and political thinkers, experienced the difference between liberal European states and the repressive Russian regime, and was exposed to new ideas about education. He returned to Russia an anarchist and a paci¿ st and with a passionate interest in the elevation of the serfs through education. He founded schools for his own serfs’ children and began to write the magni¿ cent novels for which he is so famous, novels critical of war, of the state, and of middle-class society. Tolstoy became a devout Christian and fused his Christianity with his commitment to nonviolence. He communicated with Gandhi and was inÀ uential in Gandhi’s own fusion of religious fervor, nonviolence, and criticisms of modernity and the state. At the end of his life, at age 82, Tolstoy renounced his wealth and left home to become a wandering ascetic, but he died of pneumonia shortly after setting out.  



[The Meaning of Life: Garfield,: L17-21 Buddhism

 LECTURE 17

The Teachings of the Buddha ...........................................................58

LECTURE 18

ĝƗntideva—MahƗyƗna Buddhism ....................................................62

LECTURE 19

ĝƗntideva—Transforming the Mind ..................................................66

LECTURE 20

Zen—The Moon in a Dewdrop and Impermanence .........................70

LECTURE 21

Zen—Being-Time and Primordial Awakening ...................................73


==
The Teachings of the Buddha
Lecture 17


You can try this at home. Remove all of your thoughts. Remove your body. Remove your memories. Remove your personality. Remove your perceptions. And ask, what’s left? The Buddhist insight was nothing is left. Persons are fundamentally selÀ ess, just constantly changing continua, and that’s because of their impermanence.

T

he word “Buddha” comes from the Sanskrit bodh and means simply “awakened one.” The Buddha was a prince named Siddhartha

Gautama who lived in about the 5th century B.C. At around the age of 30, Siddhartha left his home as a Ğramana, a wandering mendicant, seeking to answer the problem of why there is suffering in the world. In the course of his travels, he came to a small town called Bodh Gaya, sat down under a tree—now called the Bodhi Tree (the “tree of awakening”)— and vowed not to arise until he had attained full awakening. He meditated all night and, at dawn, realized the fundamental nature of reality, becoming awakened. For the last 45 years of his life, he wandered across northern India, communicating his insight to hundreds of students.

Three fundamental ideas animate all of Buddhist philosophy: impermanence, selÀ essness, and interdependence. First of all, the Buddha recognized that all phenomena are impermanent, and he divided impermanence into two levels: gross impermanence, the slow change in things over time, and subtle impermanence, the idea that everything is constantly changing, moment by moment. Ourselves and everything around us are continua of causal processes, sequences of momentary events, not single solid things that persist through time.

The second major idea is that of selÀ essness; there is no core, no basic entity to things. The Buddha distinguished between two kinds of selÀ essness: the selÀ essness of the person and of phenomena. Because things are constantly changing, there is no component or identity that they retain over time. The same is true of ourselves. We, too, are constantly changing continua.

Closely connected to selÀ essness is the idea that everything in the universe, including ourselves and every state of ourselves, is interdependent. The Buddha distinguished three kinds of interdependence. The ¿ rst of these is causal, meaning that everything that occurs depends on causes and conditions. The second is mereological; that is, the whole is dependent on its parts and vice versa. Finally, the Buddha argued that everything depends for its identity on conceptual imputation, meaning that the identity we ¿ nd for anything in the world arises from our own conceptual categories.

The Four Noble Truths, set forth by the Buddha, should really be understood as four truths for those who would be noble. The First Truth is that all is suffering. Each

thing we encounter is either itself a source of suffering or something that is Once he realized the fundamental nature of reality, the meaning of life, Siddhartha Gautama (c. 500 B.C.E.–c. 420 B.C.E.) was awakened as the Buddha.

suffering. The most obvious kind of suffering is what the Buddha called the suffering of suffering, that is, ordinary pain and unpleasantness. The second kind of suffering is the suffering of change, which involves both change itself, such as growing old, and anything that lasts too long, even something pleasant, as sources of suffering. The third kind of suffering is that of pervasive conditioning. This suffering is brought on by the fact that we live in a world of uncertainty, one in which everything depends on a vast network of causes and conditions that are out of our control. The background anxiety caused by those conditions is pervasive suffering, which gives rise to the suffering of change and the suffering of suffering.

The Second Truth is that there is a cause of suffering: attraction and aversion. Those two causes, in turn, are caused by primal ignorance, our inability to recognize that things are impermanent, selÀ ess, and interdependent. We treat things as though they have natures that make them the things they are, independent of our imputation and desires, independent of their parts, independent of their causes and conditions. The result is that we accord much more importance to things that are attractive or aversive than they really have. We treat them as being desirable or undesirable in themselves, and we treat change as something to be resisted or dreaded, rather than a natural part of our lives.

The Third Truth is that there is a release from suffering, which is to eliminate primal ignorance. The Buddha urges us to reduce attraction and aversion by coming to understand the fundamental nature of reality. We can’t eliminate pain or change, but we can eliminate the suffering that they bring by eliminating our primal confusion about those things and about ourselves.

The Fourth Noble Truth is the prescription for removing this confusion, which is the Eightfold Path. The Eightfold Path identi¿ es domains of concern for Buddhists and suggests that if we live appropriately in those domains, we can eliminate primal ignorance and, hence, suffering. The three principal domains here are action, which includes right action, right livelihood, right propriety, and right speech; thought, which includes the right view, right meditation, and right effort; and mindfulness. Ŷ

Name to Know

Siddhartha Gautama (c. 500 B.C.E.–c. 420 B.C.E.): Siddhartha Gautama, more commonly known as ĝakyamuni Buddha or just the Buddha, was born in Lumbini to the royal family in the small state of Kapilavastu, in presentday Nepal.



Important Term

Ğramana: A wandering ascetic of ancient India.

Suggested Reading

Chödron, Taming the Monkey Mind.

Rahula, What the Buddha Taught.

Williams, Buddhist Thought.




Study Questions

1. What does it mean to say that the world is pervaded by suffering? Is this true even for those who enjoy life?

2. What is the relation among primal ignorance, attachment, aversion, and suffering? Why is primal ignorance so dif¿ cult to extirpate?









ĝƗntideva—MahƗyƗna Buddhism

Lecture 18




When we put together the idea of emptiness and the bodhisattva ideal, you have a sense of how, about 500 years later, Buddhism develops a kind of deeper metaphysics but also a more committed social face.

T

he term MahƗyƗna means “great vehicle,” and it describes an evolution of Buddhist thought that arose in India between the 1st century B.C.E. and the 1st century C.E. The MahƗyƗna revolution brought the idea of lay practice of Buddhism to prominence and saw the gradual evolution of the ideal of self-development into an ideal of altruistic practice and social virtues.

The MahƗyƗna began with the propagation of a set of controversial sutras. In Buddhism, a sutra is a text taught by or in the presence of the Buddha, but these sutras, the Prajnaparamita sutras, or “Perfection of Wisdom” sutras, became known after Buddha’s death. According to the MahƗyƗna tradition, the Buddha taught these during his lifetime but only to a select group of people, because he recognized that they were complex and might be misunderstood if they fell into the wrong hands. Many scholars believe that they were developed by Buddhist monks who needed to legitimate the new ideas evolving in the MahƗyƗna.

The revolutionary content of the MahƗyƗna is embodied in two signi¿ cant ideas. The ¿ rst of these is that our primal ignorance is an innate tendency to think that both ourselves and phenomena around us have inherent existence—that we are substantial, independent things. But the fact is that the fundamental nature of things is to be empty of essence, empty of substantiality. To understand things as they are is to understand them as empty in this sense—not nonexistent but conventionally designated, interdependent, and not substantially existent. There are held to be two truths about things: the ultimate truth, their emptiness of essence, and the conventional truth, their ordinary functioning as interdependent things. Although conventional truth is more super¿ cial, the two are, in a deep sense, identical. To understand that things are empty is to understand that they are just conventional. To understand the conventional reality of things is to see that they are empty.

The second revolutionary idea in the MahƗyƗna is the bodhisattva path.

In pre-MahƗyƗna Buddhism, the moral ideal was that of the arhat, the person who understands the Four Noble

Truths, practices the Eightfold Path, and

The fact is that the fundamental nature of things is to be empty of essence, empty of substantiality. achieves the cessation of suffering. The ideal of the bodhisattva is of a person who commits himself or herself to attaining full awakening in order to bene¿ t other sentient beings.

Among the principal ¿ gures of the

MahƗyƗna movement was the 8th-century

philosopher ĝƗntideva, who taught at the great Buddhist university Nalanda. The text for which he is most famous is the BodhicƗryƗvatƗra, which can be translated as “How to Lead an Awakened Life.” It’s a kind of how-to manual setting out the bodhisattva path and remains one of the most popular texts in the Tibetan Buddhist tradition.

The bodhisattva path begins and ends with the cultivation of a state of mind called bodhicitta, meaning a commitment to attaining an awakening. This is animated by another mental state, karunƗ, usually translated as “compassion.” The bodhisattva revolution can be thought of as the replacement of the ideal of self-awakening with the ideal of compassionate engagement. Note that the karunƗ is not about feeling and it’s not an emotion; it is a commitment, not “sloppy sympathy.”

ĝƗntideva distinguishes two levels of bodhicitta, the ¿ rst of which is aspirational bodhicitta. That is the genuine aspiration to attain awakening in order to bene¿ t others, and it motivates the arduous task of cultivating the bodhisattva path. But because aspirational bodhicitta emerges at the beginning of the bodhisattva path and isn’t animated by full awakening—by a true understanding of interdependence, selÀ essness, and impermanence— it’s not fully engaged. By the end of the bodhicitta path, when we’ve realized the full wisdom that makes it possible to see reality as the Buddha thought reality should be seen, then we reach fully engaged bodhicitta with spontaneous awakened action, spontaneous karunƗ for the bene¿ t of all sentient beings.

The bodhisattva path is characterized by the cultivation of the six perfections: generosity, propriety, patience, effort, meditation, and wisdom. All of this is reÀ ected metaphorically in the Buddhist wheel of life. At the hub, we have a snake, a rooster, and a pig, representing aversion, attraction, and ignorance. Outside of the hub, we have the six realms of cyclic existence, a kind of iconographic representation of our emotional lives. If we broaden our vision, we see that the whole wheel of life is within the jaws of death. The iconography of the wheel of life demonstrates that all of our constant cycling between different emotional states has as its background this anxiety or terror about death. In the next lecture, we’ll see ĝƗntideva’s understanding of how we can deal with that fear to transform ourselves from beings who are constantly shuttling between these states of suffering into beings who can actually do something about it. Ŷ




Name to Know

ĝƗntideva (8th century C.E.): We know almost nothing of the life of ĝƗntideva. All biographical sources agree that he was born a Brahmin, converted to Buddhism, and studied at Nalanda University in present-day Bihar state in India.



Important Terms

bodhisattva: In Buddhism, one who has formed the altruistic aspiration to attain awakening for the bene¿ t of all sentient beings.

karunƗ: Compassion, the commitment to act to relieve the suffering of others.




Suggested Reading

Goodman, Consequences of Compassion.

Williams, MahƗyƗna Buddhism: The Doctrinal Foundations.




Study Questions




1. How do we understand the Buddhist wheel of life as a metaphor for ordinary life?

2. What is the signi¿ cance of taking phenomenology as an approach to morality? 










ĝƗntideva—Transforming the Mind

Lecture 19




After all, when we look at other lives and we ask which one is the most meaningful, we don’t pick the one that’s most sordid, the one that’s most sel¿ sh. We pick the one that is most bene¿ cial to others.

A

t the end of the last lecture, we saw that there is a fundamental psychological block to meaningfulness—the fear of death—and to solve the problem of suffering, we need to remove that block. That subject is addressed in ĝƗntideva’s How to Lead an Awakened Life.

In chapters 1 and 2, ĝƗntideva explores the motivation for cultivating virtue in order to make our lives meaningful. He begins by saying that he hopes to bene¿ t others with his text and, in doing so, to become a better person himself. He points out that in our ordinary lives, we are overcome by motivations—greed, fear, sel¿ shness—that make our lives sordid and meaningless, but we know that the cultivation of virtue and concern for others would make our lives more meaningful. If for a moment we have the motivation to cultivate moral development, we should seize it.

ĝƗntideva argues that the vicious life—the life replete with vice—is permeated by fear; the fear of death conditions our lives by animating confusion, attachment, and aversion, but despite its pervasiveness, this fear is invisible to us. In our inattention, we get caught up in motivations that we would never reÀ ectively endorse. Vice is grounded in fear and it generates fear. Given that the two are so deeply interrelated, the only release we could possibly imagine from fear is the cultivation of virtue, which makes our lives peaceful, meaningful, and bene¿ cial to others.

Recall, from our last lecture, that the ¿ rst step on the bodhisattva path is the cultivation of aspirational bodhicitta, that is, the commitment to achieve awakening. Engaged bodhicitta is a goal that can be achieved only by cultivating all the perfections on the bodhisattva path, especially the perfection of wisdom. This perfection allows us to engage with reality as it is, not as it appears to us through the haze of ignorance. Engaged bodhicitta is the



According to the wheel of life, the biggest motivation for virtue is the fear of death. Virtue is something we cultivate in order to make our lives peaceful, in order to make our lives meaningful, and in order to make our lives bene¿ cial to others.

spontaneous capacity, arising out of deep insight, to see things that have to be done and to do them. This idea coincides with those of Aristotle and the Daoists: The cultivation of deep insight generates the possibility of spontaneity.

In the remainder of the text, ĝƗntideva works through the structure of the perfections, beginning with generosity. This is the ¿ rst of the virtues to be cultivated because giving enables us to reduce our attachment to things and to the self. The innate view that places us at the center of the universe is a distortion that generates pointless cycling through suffering instead of pointed altruistic aspiration.

The second perfection is that of mindfulness. From the Buddhist perspective, mindfulness is deeply moral because it keeps us focused on the virtues we intend to cultivate and on the degree to which our own activity reÀ ects those virtues. ĝƗntideva gives us the image of unmindfulness as a mad elephant, stampeding and causing destruction wherever it goes. He further argues that our suffering is caused primarily by our own mental attitudes. For that reason, we can lead better lives, not by transforming the world around us, but by transforming our minds. This idea recalls the exhortion from Stoicism to focus only on what we can control.

ĝƗntideva then turns to the perfection of patience, an important virtue because it is the answer to anger and because it’s a state of mind that can block attraction and aversion. It’s also a necessary virtue for anyone who is seriously committed to moral cultivation, because self-transformation is an arduous path. The chapter on patience gives us numerous echoes of Seneca and Marcus Aurelius on the topic of anger. Anger destroys our ability to think rationally and to bene¿ t others; a single moment of anger can devastate lifelong relationships or commitments. As Marcus Aurelius did, ĝƗntideva urges us not to become angry at people, who are driven by conditions, any more than we would become angry at a stomachache. ĝƗntideva also emphasizes the fact that anger isn’t harmful to just others but to ourselves. Again, echoing both Seneca and Marcus Aurelius, ĝƗntideva tells us to respond to those who make us angry with pity and compassion. If we are going to bene¿ t others, we must help them overcome irrationality, not pile our own irrational anger on top of theirs. The instrument for overcoming our own anger is thinking about it analytically and, in doing so, cultivating patience, which requires mindfulness, meditation, and wisdom.

In the cultivation of wisdom, we make the transition from aspirational bodhicitta to fully engaged bodhicitta. Wisdom is the dinstinction between just knowing analytically that anger is bad and patience is good and completely eliminating the superimposition of essences and independence. This leads to an engagement with things as interdependent, selÀ ess, and impermanent, a spontaneous engagement that allows the virtuoso manifestation of compassionate action. Ŷ




Suggested Reading

Dalai Lama XIV, A Flash of Lightning in a Dark Night.

ĝƗntideva, A Guide to the Bodhisattva’s Way of Life (three good translations: Crosby and Skilton, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008; Wallace and Wallace, Ithaca, NY: Snow Lion Publications, 1997; and Padmakara Translation Group, Boulder, CO: Shambhala Classics, 2006).




Study Questions

1. What is bodhicitta? What is the difference between aspirational and engaged bodhicitta, and why is this difference so important?

2. What are the six perfections? Why is each of them central to the cultivation of bodhicitta? How do they connect to the causes of suffering? 










Zen—The Moon in a Dewdrop and Impermanence

Lecture 20




When Buddhism entered [China,] it was always interpreted through the lenses of Daoism and Confucianism. When Buddhism was translated into Chinese, it was translated into a language that was already rich with philosophical resonance.

T

he Zen (Chinese: Chan) tradition sees its own beginning in a special moment of wordless communication between the Buddha and one monk, Maha Kasyapa. Since that moment, the Buddha’s realization about the nature of reality, gained from contemplation of a single À ower, has been passed from one Zen master to another in an unbroken line of transmission.

Zen came to China in the late 5th or early 6th century C.E. with the monk Bodhidharma, regarded as the ¿ rst Chinese patriarch in a succession of six. The story of the sixth patriarch, Hui Neng, brings to life some of what is pregnant in Zen. Hui Neng, an illiterate woodcutter, was living at the temple when the ¿ fth patriarch held a poetry contest to choose his successor. The patriarch’s principal disciple, Senxiu, came up with this verse: “The body is the Bodhi tree; the mind is a clear mirror. Always strive to polish it. Let no dust alight.” The physical practice of Buddhism is like the tree under which the Buddha gained awakening; it’s the physical prop that makes awakening possible. The mind, like a mirror, is naturally luminous and reÀ ects the nature of reality. We see echoes of Confucianism in the emphasis on polishing and cultivating that mirror. Finally, “Let no dust alight” tells us to keep our minds clear of emotions and delusions.

Hui Neng’s response was this poem: “Bodhi originally has no tree. The mirror has no stand. Buddha nature is primordially clean and pure. Where could dust even alight?” Here, awakening doesn’t depend on physical being; it depends on the primordial nature of the mind—the mirror—which has no stand. In other words, don’t worry about the ordinary physical world; pay attention to experience. Further, our ability to attain awakening “is primordially clean and pure.” The attractions and aversions highlighted by Senxiu’s poem aren’t even part of our primordial nature.

The second verse reads: “The mind is the Bodhi tree. The body is a mirror stand. The mirror is primordially clean and pure. How could it ever be dusty?” Here, the mind is the support for awakening, while the body merely holds up the mind. And given that the mind is “primordially clean,” what we need to eliminate is the idea of cultivation. In doing so, we’ll ¿ nd that we are already fully awakened, already, effectively, a Buddha.

Zen Buddhism is suspicious of language and conceptuality and emphasizes direct experience and meditation as opposed to study. Zen Buddhism is suspicious of language and conceptuality and emphasizes direct experience and meditation as opposed to study. If you understand your own nature,

you attain Buddhahood. Much of

Zen training hinges on puzzles

called coagons: What is the sound of one hand clapping? These puzzles are meant to make us realize that rational and discursive thought doesn’t work; solutions come with sudden insight. Understanding this inner process leads us to understand our own minds.

In the Zen tradition, each of us has a primordial capacity to understand ourselves and the world completely, to live in a fully awakened, spontaneous way. Practice is a matter of recovering or uncovering that Buddha nature. Zen also emphasizes the idea that beauty is the world, and seeing beauty is part of what it is to understand the world.

The notion of impermanence plays a much more central role in Zen than it does in other Buddhist traditions. While Indian Buddhism makes a distinction between gross and subtle impermanence, Zen also distinguishes metaphysical impermanence, an impermanence in the nature of things. The idea here is this: Zen focuses on our own mind and experience, and the mind is subtly impermanent; our thoughts change from moment to moment. Because of this, we are constantly experiencing subtle impermanence. Our own mental states provide us with the foundation for a constant experience of constant change. But because of our fear of death, we reinterpret the experience of impermanence as an experience of constancy, thus creating a layer between ourselves and reality and between ourselves and genuine experience. As a result, we live in a meaningless dream world even though we have the constant reality of a beautiful, impermanent world before our perception all the time.

We close with a poem from Dǀgen: “Being in the world: To what might it be compared? Dwelling in a dewdrop fallen from a waterfowl’s beak, the image of the moon.” Dǀgen compares “being in the world”—our experience—to a dewdrop from a bird’s beak—something delicate, impermanent, and unbelievably beautiful. Further, the moon is contained in this tiny dewdrop, just as being in the world entails containing the vastness of reality within us—but only momentarily. The deepest kind of beauty is that which reveals impermanence because in doing so, it reveals the nature of our minds and reality. We can experience reality only if we grasp and celebrate impermanence. Ŷ




Suggested Reading

Kasulis, Zen Action, Zen Person.

Suzuki, Zen Buddhism.




Study Questions

1. How is Zen a continuation of Indian Buddhist ideas? What does it draw from Daoism?

2. Why is impermanence such an important part of the Zen understanding of the nature of reality?










Zen—Being-Time and Primordial Awakening

Lecture 21



If you really apprehend emptiness—this notion of voidness of essence— then all you apprehend is the ordinary nature of ordinary things.

T

he Indian philosopher Nagarjuna distinguished between two truths that are distinct in one sense but constitute a fundamental unity.

Conventional or everyday truth posits entity, while ultimate truth sees phenomena as empty of essence, empty of independence, and empty of permanence. The unity between these two truths arises as follows: One way to characterize the ultimate truth of emptiness is to say that conventional phenomena are no more than conventional; their identities are posited by us, but they do not inherently have identities. The two truths are distinct in our awareness but are ontologically uni¿ ed, that is, uni¿ ed in being.

The emptiness of phenomena is itself empty. For my hand to be empty is for it to have the property of emptiness, but the emptiness of my hand depends on my hand. If I don’t have a hand, I don’t have any emptiness of my hand. The notion of emptiness here is not a deeper reality behind ordinary things but the actual reality of ordinary things—itself empty of essence, empty of independence, and empty of permanence. We don’t say that ordinary things are empty; there is just emptiness. Even emptiness is empty.

The Heart sutra helps us understand this idea of the emptiness of emptiness and the nonduality of ultimate and conventional truth. In this sutra, the question is asked: How does one become truly wise? The answer is that anyone who wants to understand the nature of reality should contemplate its components and see that each of them is empty of essence. The sutra then gives us the fourfold profundity: Form is empty, but emptiness is form. Form isn’t different from emptiness; emptiness isn’t different from form. The point here is that form—physical reality—is empty. But to be empty is just to be the emptiness of ordinary things; there is no deeper reality behind that idea. The fact that emptiness and form are different from each other means that if you truly understand both conventional phenomena and emptiness, you understand the ordinary world around us, which is nothing but empty phenomena. Thus, these two truths, even though they involve two different apprehensions of the world, are actually nondually related—they’re the same thing.

In this sense, for Zen, phenomenology—the nature of our experience—joins with metaphysics. Metaphysically, we understand that there’s no difference between ordinary reality and its ultimate nature. But phenomenologically, we understand that to experience ordinary reality is to see things as they are, not to see beyond them. This ties to the distinction between perception and conception, two modes of awareness with different objects: the particular

and the universal. Universals are permanent, independent, and unreal. Perception can reveal reality to us, but conception, because it always involves engagement with abstract concepts, is deceptive. If we superimpose Perception can reveal reality to us, but conception, because it always involves engagement with abstract concepts, is deceptive.

conception over perception, we fail to see actual momentary phenomena and, thus, fail to see the ultimate nature of reality. But if we can strip away that superimposition, we realize the absence of duality between the conventional and the ultimate.

This stripping away also allows us to see the absence of duality between subject and object. In ordinary experience, we distinguish ourselves as the subjects and everything else around us, including people, as objects; thus, we’re the center of the world. But once we drop the notion that we exist as substantial phenomena and see that we are interdependent, constantly changing processes, then that pole of subject and object disappears. This is what enables spontaneity and allows us to enter into the experience that Dǀgen called being-time, real presence in the world.

Dǀgen emphasizes that existence itself is temporal. Time is the nature of our world, not an abstract container in which the world occurs. Time is change; thus, it’s constituted by things that are changing. Things don’t happen in time; time exists because things happen. Time has two aspects: It is experienced as À owing, and it is arrayed simultaneously, like Dǀgen’s mountain range.

We may experience only the present right now, but the present exists and is signi¿ cant only in its relationship to the past and the future. To ignore the moment that we live in is to lose reality, because all that is real is that moment, but to ignore the past and the future is to lose the meaning of reality.

The goal of Zen practice is full awakening, which is not to suddenly see beyond reality but to see reality as it is. Dǀgen tells us that we are constantly perceiving things as impermanent, interdependent, and essenceless, but we then superimpose conception on them. That primordial perception, however, is the ground of our Buddha nature, what makes it possible for us to be awakened. We are always, in every moment, primordially awakened, and our task is to recover that state through mindfulness and meditation. Ŷ



Important Terms

being-time: The intimate union of existence and temporality; the fact that to exist is to be impermanent yet to have a past and a future to which one is essentially connected and the fact that human existence is always experienced in relation to past, present, and future. metaphysics: The study of the fundamental nature of reality.

phenomenology: Inner experience, or the theory of inner experience.




Suggested Reading

Kasulis, Zen Action, Zen Person.

Stambaugh, Impermanence Is Buddha Nature.




Study Questions

1. In what sense are the two truths different? In what sense are they identical? Why is a nondual understanding of their relation so central to Zen?

2. What does it mean to say that we are primordially awakened? Why is practice necessary at all if this is true? 




[The Meaning of Life: Garfield, L13-16 Daodejing

LECTURE 13
Daodejing—The Dao of Life and Spontaneity ..................................45

LECTURE 14
Daodejing—The Best Life Is a Simple Life .......................................48

LECTURE 15
Daodejing—Subtlety and Paradox ...................................................52

LECTURE 16
Zhuangzi on Daoism—Impermanence and Harmony ......................55
===

Daodejing—The Dao of Life and Spontaneity
Lecture 13

Remember in the background that for every chapter of the Daodejing we discuss, we’ll be relying on a single translation, [but] there are hundreds of others, and … interpretation always lies behind translation.

The Daodejing is traditionally ascribed to a ¿ gure known as Laozi (“old master”), although most scholars believe that the book is actually a compilation of sayings and chapters from a variety of sources. The text, comprising 81 chapters grouped into two books, was solidi¿ ed around the 3rd or 2nd century B.C.E. The Daodejing is the most frequently translated book in the world, and its translations and interpretations differ vastly.

Although Daoism shares with Confucianism a certain preoccupation with the idea of wu-wei, the Daoists have an opposite understanding of its cultivation. For the Confucians, wu-wei is a positive thing, the building up of ever-greater virtuosity. For the Daoists, it is negative, a paring away of accretions and a return to a natural state. In Daoism, culture inhibits our natural state, whereas in Confucianism, it is part of our nature to become cultured. Language and conventions are not civilizing factors in Daoism.

The meaning of the word dao most simply is “a way,” as in a path or a way of life. Interestingly, a dao can also mean a discourse or discussion or a text or poem. In this sense, it can be a way of thinking or a way of talking. Finally, it can refer to the fundamental nature of reality—as we might put it, “the way things are.” The word de can mean moral virtue, but it can also mean nature, as in the nature of things. Other meanings include excellence, purity, power, and light.

In the Daodejing, what is the dao a dao of? Primarily, it’s a dao of life—a way of life—speci¿ cally, a way of life lived in harmony with the universe. For that reason, it’s also the dao of the universe, the fundamental nature of things, because the central insight of Daoism is that the right way to live is in harmony with the way the universe itself is. Given that human life is so concerned with talking and thinking and drawing distinctions, it’s also a dao of talk and a dao of thought. The dao here is all of these things: the nature of the universe, the way we should live, and the way we should think about the nature of the universe and the way we should live.

One of the distinctive elements of the Daoist account of life is the focus on stripping away culture and returning to nature. Also important is an emphasis on the background, not the foreground. The Daoists focus on empty space, as opposed to the positive things that occupy space. The goal is not to create spontaneity but to recover the spontaneity that we have in us from

birth. There’s also a deep suspicion of language in thought and an The dao here is all of these attempt to return to a primordial things: the nature of the mode of thinking. universe, the way we should

As mentioned, different translations

live, and the way we should of the Daodejing offer differing think about the nature of the interpretations of the text. We read universe and the way we excerpts from three translations of chapter 1 that introduce us to a should live. number of important Daoist themes. Among these is the idea that words and names are conventional, not

constant; their meanings aren’t anchored to reality. Further, there is a kind of primordial ground for the possibility of thinking that we can’t literally describe but is the basis of our ability to experience and describe anything. We also see the idea that desire and human concerns bring particular entities into a foreground; it is our concerns that make objects what they are. Finally, positive space emerges from negative space, and to understand the relationship between that emergent positive and the primordial is the deepest mystery.

Chapter 2 of the Daodejing gives us a discussion of the relativity of values to each other—good to bad, beautiful to ugly—and the mutual dependence of opposites. We can characterize something as having a particular quality only if we characterize something else as having the opposite quality. In this way, we attribute value to things in the world that have no intrinsic value. The properties or qualities we identify are projections of our own concerns and desires, and these projections distance us from reality.

The Daodejing urges us to pay attention to the background of reality, as well as the foreground. The Daoist sage gives up the effort of distinguishing foreground and background and is able, therefore, to recover a spontaneous engagement with the entire matrix of the world in which he or she exists. The sage also recognizes that he himself is not an object against a background who initiates unique actions but a participant in a vast array of processes. Our achievements are the consequence of the conÀ uence of a vast causal network of which we are only one part. Because the sage makes no claims— has no attachments—“he suffers no loss.” Ŷ


Suggested Reading
  • Hansen, A Daoist Theory of Chinese Thought.
  • ———, Tao Te Ching on the Art of Harmony: The New Illustrated Edition of the Chinese Philosophical Masterpiece.
  • Red Pine, Lao-Tzu’s Taoteching.

Study Questions

1. What is the range of meanings of dao? How are they related to one another? How is the dao different from the Confucian tian?

2. Why is the issue of relativity so important? What is achieved by focusing on binaries instead of on particular poles of those binaries?


=====

Daodejing—The Best Life Is a Simple Life

Lecture 14


We also ¿ nd here, more speci¿ cally with respect to the … Confucian context, a speci¿ c denigration of justice and ritual, a speci¿ c denigration of the explicit forms of behavior, forms of social intercourse, and the most ritualized, calci¿ ed, speci¿ ed, and explicit forms of social interaction.

As we continue with the Daodejing, recall the multiple meanings of dao: a way of living, of talking, and of thinking; the way the universe works; and a way of understanding all these things. The ¿ rst chapter of the Daodejing points out that language and the concepts that language encodes are not ¿ xed and do not reÀ ect the nature of reality; they are, instead, projections of our own thinking onto reality. If the goal is to live in harmony with reality, these projections are obstacles. By naming objects, we are also picking them out against a background, and thus, we tend to experience the world as discrete. But according to the Daoists, reality is a seamless whole, of which our lives are a part.

Confucianism and Daoism share a valorization of wu-wei that differs from anything we have seen in the Western tradition or in the Bhagavad-GƯtƗ. The difference here lies in the concept of a meaningful life as one that is lived spontaneously, not one in which we deliberate and choose each action we perform. The contrast between the Daoists and the Confucians is in the analysis and achievement of that kind of effortless spontaneity.

In chapter 3 of the Daodejing, we read: “Bestowing no honors keeps people from ¿ ghting. Prizing no treasures keeps people from stealing. …” The positive value of winning prizes or having treasure is often valorized without noticing the negative content that creates jealousy or covetousness. Instead, the text says, “the rule of the sage empties the mind, but ¿ lls the stomach; weakens the will, but strengthens the bones.” The mind is the part of us that conceptualizes and drives us through calculation, while the stomach drives us through instinct. This passage also suggests that ¿ xing on models of success results in the occlusion of other possibilities.

Chapter 38 gives us the Daoist valuation of effort and conceptualization with regard to moral action. In both the Aristotelian and Confucian accounts, virtue required a great deal of effort and thought. In Daoism, we ¿ nd a complete rejection of that and an explicit denigration of Confucian accounts of justice and ritual. A beautifully ironic passage in this chapter reads: “When the way is lost, virtue appears; when virtue is lost, kindness appears; when kindness is lost, justice appears.” Remember that “the way” is spontaneous behavior in accordance with nature. When we lose our spontaneity—by getting caught up in conventions and focusing on the foreground—we turn to a doctrine of virtue for guidance on how to behave. If we lose virtue, then we must be instructed to at least be kind. And when we stop being kind to one another, then we need justice. Having followed this Confucian hierarchy, the Daodejing then tells us: “When justice is lost, ritual appears. Ritual marks the waning of belief and the onset of confusion.”

We see here a kind of negative valuation of effort in what it takes to be human. Each of these stages requires more effort than the preceding one, but the most effortless, spontaneous behavior is the best. Cultivation and effort emerge only as necessities when we lose our character. The Confucian ideal of

ritual—of highly explicit Winning awards is valorized, yet it can also cause jealousy and covetousness. forms of social interaction— is viewed by the Daoists as the most fossilized, least natural form of interaction. And those are often the forms that are most valorized as the foundations of our social order.

For the Daoist, every step down the hierarchy—from dao, to virtue, to kindness, to justice, to ritual—is a denigration of ourselves from a natural state to an arti¿ cial one. This denigration occurs in a single



process, cultivation. The

Confucian model of cultivation is akin to bottling spontaneous, natural behavior, and the result is the destruction of natural life.

In chapter 12, we see that this destruction is wrought by language and cognition and their role in the For the Daoist, every step down the hierarchy—from dao, to virtue, to kindness, to justice, to ritual—is a denigration of ourselves from a natural state to an arti¿ cial one.

Confucian goal-driven approach to life, as opposed to a spontaneous, natural approach. The chapter begins with a set of paradoxes: “The colors make our eyes blind. The ¿ ve tones make our ears deaf. The ¿ ve À avors make our mouths numb.” The idea here is that if we conceptualize something, such as the color red, then we tend to see scarlet, crimson, and so on as all the same color. We reduce our multifarious world to boxes de¿ ned by conceptual categories. This doesn’t reveal reality but breaks it into chunks.

Chapters 18 and 19 give us similar paradoxes, pointing out that morality is harmed—not helped—by sophistication, cultivation, and structure. Our social structures and the arti¿ cial values they embody induce not human progress but decadence and corruption. Productive action stems from wu-wei, and sometimes, doing nothing is exactly the right thing to do. Ŷ


===

Suggested Reading
  • Hansen, A Daoist Theory of Chinese Thought.
  • ———, Tao Te Ching on the Art of Harmony: The New Illustrated Edition of the Chinese Philosophical Masterpiece.
  • Kasulis, Zen Action, Zen Person.
  • Red Pine, Lao-Tzu’s Taoteching.

Study Questions

1. How does the fact that there is no constant dao ground the idea that À exibility, tolerance, and spontaneity are fundamental to moral life?

2. Why do Daoists disparage moral striving and effort, and why in particular are justice and ritual regarded as antithetical to moral life? 


===
Daodejing—Subtlety and Paradox
Lecture 15


All this space between sky and earth is there, and it’s inexhaustible—it doesn’t go away—and just as it’s a bellows that makes it possible for us to have a ¿ re and be warm, it’s that space that makes it possible for things to exist, to be, and to change.

I

n chapter 5 of the Daodejing, we read, “Heaven and earth are heartless, treating creatures like straw dogs.” Straw dogs were burned in Chinese rituals as a way of expiating one’s sins. Here, the Daodejing means that as far as the universe is concerned, people are dispensable. This echoes the idea we saw in the book of Job: that the universe isn’t constructed around us.

Detachment makes sense if what we want is a life of harmony. Attachment is getting stuck in one piece of the foreground and ignoring all of space and time as a consequence. Our lives and our world are empty—they have no essence, no permanence—but it’s because of that emptiness that our lives are full of possibilities.

In chapter 7, we read, “Heaven is eternal and earth is immortal. The reason they are eternal and immortal is that they don’t live for themselves; hence, they can live forever.” The message here is that if we want to lead a life that has some endurance through positive effects, we need to let go of ourselves and our concerns. The sage, we are told, “lets himself go, but ends up safe.” Our self-centered, goal-directed behavior is often exactly what gets in the way of accomplishing our goals; if we relax and allow other ideas to À ourish and others’ goals to be met, our own will be met, too.

The Daodejing offers us a beautiful metaphor about water: “The best are like water, bringing help to all without competing, choosing what others avoid, hence approaching the dao….” Of course, water is bene¿ cial, but also important is the idea that water doesn’t compete: It À ows around rocks in a stream; it provides a home for ¿ sh; it makes things possible for others. For us, to live as spontaneously as water and to live to bene¿ t others is to approach the dao. Another water metaphor emphasizes the importance of moderation: “Instead of pouring in more, better stop while you can.”

Elsewhere, the Daodejing tells us, “Houses full of treasure can never be safe. The vanity of success invites its own failure.” If you parade your successes and set yourself up as the foreground of the universe, you put yourself in disharmony with those around you, and your projects will fail because you lack cooperation.

Chapter 11 concludes, “When your work is done, retire. This is the way of heaven! Focus on the empty space!” We realize that there is always more that could be done tomorrow, but we don’t need to keep ¿ lling that space. Possibilities are just as important



as accomplishments. The focus on

For us, to live as spontaneously as water and to live to bene¿ t others is to approach the dao. empty space continues with this metaphor: “Thirty spokes converge on a hub, but it’s the emptiness that makes a wheel work.” If a wheel

was nothing more than spokes and a rim—solid things—it couldn’t be put

on an axle, and it wouldn’t work. It’s the emptiness at the hub that makes the wheel work. We’re so conditioned by conceptual thought, language, and socialization to focus on the wood and the metal of the wheel that we miss that important empty space. The same is true of a pot and even a house. The conclusion here is: “Existence makes something useful, but nonexistence makes it work!” This is a key to the great mystery—the relationship between the dao and all the things that are manifest in the world. Nothing is what it is in virtue of its positive or negative aspect alone.

We’ve seen that concern for others is the best way to advance ourselves and that self-concern always back¿ res. Just as we don’t want to focus on the wheel but notice the hub, we can’t focus on just ourselves, but we have to pay attention to the social context in which we ¿ gure. Such ideas are subtle, but the Daodejing argues that a virtuous life is subtle. Indeed, the text tells us that when an idiot hears about the dao, “he laughs out loud.” From the standpoint of most social convention, the good life described in the Daodejing sounds absurd, but it’s precisely because it runs counter to cultivation that we know we’re on the right track. Often, what is imperfect is best and what we don’t have turns out to be the most useful.

Following the dao is not a positive cultivation, not building something up. It’s eliminating the rigidity that arises from cultivation. In this, it’s much more like Stoicism than it is like the GƯtƗ or Confucius. It’s also much more metaphysically charged than many of the texts we’ve read so far, an account not only of what our lives are like but of what the universe is like and of how our lives can be in harmony with the universe. Ŷ

====
Suggested Reading
  • Hansen, A Daoist Theory of Chinese Thought.
  • ———, Tao Te Ching on the Art of Harmony: The New Illustrated Edition of the Chinese Philosophical Masterpiece.
  • Kasulis, Zen Action, Zen Person.
  • Red Pine, Lao-Tzu’s Taoteching.

Study Questions

1. Why is virtue so paradoxical? Why does Daoism valorize the paradoxical?
2. Why is imperfection valued over perfection? Why is ruling a nation like cooking a small ¿ sh?


======
Zhuangzi on Daoism—Impermanence and Harmony
Lecture 16


We can lead our lives as Chinese philosophers (or as American individuals), or we can lead our lives as butterÀ ies, just so we À it about as a butterÀ y would or À it about as a Chinese philosopher would.

That’s all that counts.

Before we move on to the Zhuangzi, we need to keep some of the “big ideas” of Daoism in mind: the emphasis on the negative rather than the positive; the idea that moral cultivation is a negative process, a stripping away of attachments and even of knowledge; and the idea that language and concepts are variable and reÀ ect more about us than they do anything beyond us. For Daoists, the recognition that language and concepts aren’t ¿ xed leads to a suspicion of logic and reason, which are also arti¿ cial constructs—tools that we invent ourselves. Interestingly, this critique of logic and reason is based on logical argument, but Daoists acknowledge that it applies to Daoism as much as to anything else. In the end, Daoism gives us good reason to reject good reasons; it urges us to strip away all accretions, even the accretion of understanding the dao.

One other point we need to keep in mind is the fact that Daoism, like Confucianism, involves an aestheticization of experience and philosophical reÀ ection. Both accounts are pregnant with aesthetic metaphors, although Daoism ¿ nds beauty in a kind of rough naturalism as opposed to a beauty of perfect cultivation and civilization. We also ¿ nd this aesthetic dimension to life in the Zhuangzi.

The core of this text seems to have been written by an author named Zhuangzi, who lived from about 369 to 286 B.C. The full text was probably completed about 150 years after the original author’s death, again, a compilation from numerous authors. Zhuangzi is said to have turned down a lucrative political post because he didn’t want to be like the ox offered in sacri¿ ce: “He is generously fed for years and dressed in the ¿ nest embroidered fabrics, so that he may one day be led into the Great Temple for slaughter.”

One of the most famous passages in the Zhuangzi concerns the philosopher named Zhuang Zhou who dreamed he was a butterÀ y; then, when he awoke, he was unsure whether he was a butterÀ y dreaming about Zhuang Zhou. Reason can’t possibly settle the question of which is the dream and which is reality, and further, the answer doesn’t matter. Whatever reality we’re in, trying to reach a conclusion about its fundamental nature merely mobilizes more concepts. This story

One of the most famous also illustrates the Daoist point

passages in the Zhuangzi that distinctions—butterÀ ies, human concerns the philosopher beings; reality, dreams—are just named Zhuang Zhou who projections. In a sense, we live in a dreamed he was a butterÀ y; dream world all the time. When you look at a tree, you’re seeing your own

then, when he awoke, he

perception of the tree; it isn’t somehow

was unsure whether he was in your mind. Experience does not put a butterÀ y dreaming about us in direct contact with reality.

Zhuang Zhou.

Another famous story in the Zhuangzi is that of Cook Ding. He studied oxen for three years in an attempt to learn

how to cut them up for cooking. “But now,” he says, “I encounter [the ox] with the spirit rather than scrutinizing it with my eyes.” The cook continues, “My understanding consciousness, beholden to its speci¿ c purposes, comes to a halt, and thus do the promptings of the spirit begin to À ow.” The result for the cook is that cutting up the ox is effortless. Indeed, he says that his knife goes into the empty spaces within the joints, reminding us of the bellows metaphor from the Daodejing. This story emphasizes both the priority of spontaneous, nonconceptual engagement with reality and the insight that spontaneous engagement emerges from cultivation that involves the peeling away of a certain kind of conceptual perception, not the addition of more knowledge.

The story of Zhuangzi’s reaction after his wife’s death offers a wonderful example of the power of Daoist insight to lead us to serenity. Zhuangzi says that his immediate reaction was to mourn his wife’s death, but he stopped when he thought about the parallel between the in¿ nite period before life and the in¿ nite period afterward and about the inevitability of death. Indeed, if we want somebody to exist, we want that person to die because existence in life without death isn’t even a coherent possibility.

Finally, the Zhuangzi gives us a dialogue between Confucius and Lao Tzu that ridicules the Confucian view. Confucius says that he has sought the dao for ¿ ve years “in measures and numbers,” that is, words, concepts, and rituals. Lao Tzu tells him that names are merely “tools for public use. Goodwill [ren] and duty [li] are the grass huts of the former kings. You may put up in them for a night, but do not settle in them for too long….” If we emphasize these things too much, they will become prisons rather than useful way stations. Lao Tzu closes with the words “To ramble without a destination is wu-wei.” Ŷ

====
Suggested Reading

Graham, Chuang-Tzu: The Inner Chapters.
———, Disputers of the Tao: Philosophical Argument in Ancient China.
Hansen, A Daoist Theory of Chinese Thought.
Ziporyn, trans., Zhuangzi: The Essential Writings with Selections from Traditional Commentaries.

Study Questions

1. What is the signi¿ cance of the butterÀ y dream? What does it suggest as an appropriate attitude to reality as we experience it?

2. What is the difference between a Confucian and a Daoist approach to death and mourning? What is the origin of this difference?






Types of Illusions

Types of Illusions

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Types of Illusions
  
Sarah Mae Sincero
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Illusions distort one's senses. Most illusions tend to deceive the eyes, ears and skin, while there are some illusions that may distort perception due to changes in internal body structures. The three main types of illusion include optical illusions, auditory illusions, and tactile illusions.


Optical Illusions
An optical or visual illusion is a kind of illusion in which the images perceived through the sense of sight tend to be misleading or deceptive, causing errors in perception. An optical illusion is based on the process through which the brain creates a visual world in one's mind using either or both these two sources: previous memory stored in it and the current presentation of the object in the environment.

In order for perception to occur, the brain tries to organize sensory information related to the object as gathered by the eye. This leads to the formation of a percept. If there are any gaps once the percept is created, the brain attempts to fill in such gaps. However, the percept may not represent or interpret the real, physical measurement of the stimulus. Thus, an optical illusion emerges. Here is a list of some amazing optical illusions:

Blivet – an undecipherable figure
Bezold effect – a color seems different due to its adjacent colors
Ebbinghaus illusion - an illusion related to relative size perception
Hermann Grid Illusion – ghost-like grey blobs appear in the middle of the black squares on a white background
Necker cube – an impossible cube with edges that are apparently solid beams

Auditory Illusions
While optical illusions deceive the eyes through visual images, auditory illusions mislead the ears through sounds. These sounds are usually those that are not really present in the physical stimulus, but is heard by the ears and perceived as a sound related to the stimulus in the environment. There are also auditory illusions that come from "impossible sounds", such as hearing a missing fundamental frequency, provided that there are other portions of the harmonic series, and different psychoacoustic tricks of lossy audio compression.

Tactile Illusion
While optical and auditory illusions are common manifestations of several psychological disorders such as schizophrenia and psychosis, tactile illusion is experienced by patients who have undergone amputation. The phantom limb is a tactile illusion wherein the patient still 'feels' pain on the leg, arm, or digit that has already been removed.

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[The Meaning of Life:Garfield - L30-31: Gandhi

Gandhi—SatyƗgraha and Holding Fast to Truth

Lecture 30

The narrative for Gandhi of Indian spirituality is both philosophical and religious. It’s aimed at the future, but it’s aimed at grounding the future in an Indian past that reaches back to the GƯtƗ. Gandhi’s critique of modernity and of British rule is not just a political critique; it’s a very deep cultural critique.

Like Nietzsche, Mohandas Gandhi was a critic of modernity, believing that modernity itself makes a meaningful life impossible. During his life, Gandhi lived in India, Britain, and South Africa and, as a philosopher, wove together ideas from many sources into an extraordinarily complex, multicultural vision of what human life is and ought to be. 

One idea that animates Gandhi’s thought is a deep sense of justice, a sense of the importance of human rights and the obligation of a nation to respect the rights of its citizens. As a young lawyer in South Africa, Gandhi’s political sensibility was galvanized by an act of personal injustice he experienced: He was deposited at a remote station in the middle of the night when a white South African demanded his berth on a train. In response, Gandhi mobilized a massive civil disobedience movement to liberalize race laws in South Africa. Later, he was invited to return to India to help lead the ¿ ght against colonial rule. 

Many of Gandhi’s ideas derived from reading the GƯtƗ and from Jainism, a religion with a strong emphasis on nonviolence embodied in the principle of ahimsa, meaning “non-harming.” Jainism also encompasses the idea that no single individual has a complete grasp of the truth; we must always act on our own conception of the truth but hold ourselves open to the fact that others may understand some things better than we do. From Tolstoy, Gandhi inherited an emphasis on personal spiritual development as essential to human life and a powerful critique of industrialism and modernity. He derived a sense of justice from his studies in Britain and an emphasis on civil disobedience from Henry David Thoreau. From the Indian leader Sri Aurobindo, Gandhi developed a sense of the importance of national identity and the need for a revolution in Indian culture, which he thought could be achieved through a union of svadharma and ahimsa. 

Recall that svadharma is the idea that we each have a particular duty in society and a meaningful life involves our discharge of that duty. For Gandhi, our svadharma derives from our  political circumstances, which Government could not be an institution that allows some to bene¿ t and others to suffer. entail public political duties. Gandhi diagnosed the primary disease of modernity as inconsistency with ahimsa; that is, modernity itself is harmful to individuals and causes us to lead our lives in ways that harm others. The only way to confront modernity is to do so publicly and representationally through civil disobedience. Our svadharma in the face of an unjust law is to defy it publicly.

Gandhi endorsed the liberal democratic ideals and fundamental freedoms of Mill, but he believed that they had become the foundation of industrial capitalism, which he saw as intrinsically harmful. The idea of liberal democracy should be reinterpreted to be consistent with ahimsa. Government could not be an institution that allows some to bene¿ t and others to suffer.

Another central construct for Gandhi is the idea of satyƗgraha, meaning a commitment to determining the truth and an insistence that truth prevails. This is a realization of the ideals of the GƯtƗ, speci¿ cally, the role of jñƗna yoga in understanding the nature of reality and karma yoga in acting so as to realize that understanding. Gandhi thought that satyƗgraha must be performed publicly, actively, and nonviolently and should be aimed at enabling others to see and act on the truth. Gandhi follows Thoreau in suggesting that such action always invites resistance and punishment, which one should accept publicly, again, because doing so educates others about injustice. 

The second important construct in Gandhi’s political thought is swaraj, literally meaning “self-rule,” a term that can be applied to both politics and the individual. Gandhi believed that political swaraj was impossible without personal swaraj, self-mastery. For Gandhi, swaraj and satyƗgraha are tightly connected. SatyƗgraha is the vehicle for obtaining political swaraj, but personal swaraj is the necessary condition of genuine satyƗgraha. We can’t grasp the truth without ¿ rst ruling ourselves. 

In Gandhi’s view, the individualism of Hume, Kant, and Mill was the foundation of capitalism, which inevitably resulted in industrialism and, in turn, the exploitation of workers, concentration of wealth in the hands of a few, and eventually, colonial expropriation of wealth from other countries. Gandhi also thought that secularism—the abandonment of religion in public life—had the effect of eliminating moral critique, which generally arises from religious roots. Gandhi urged a kind of swaraj that resisted modern ideas of liberality, individualism, and so on, replacing large-scale government and industry with a commitment to local production. He acknowledged that this commitment would involve the sacri¿ ce of many of the bene¿ ts of modernity—technology, medical advances, and so on—but he argued that it’s better to do without those bene¿ ts than to lose the human soul. Ŷ


Name to Know

Gandhi, Mohandas K. (1869–1948): Gandhi was born in Porbandar, then a small princely state, in the modern state of Gujarat. His father was diwan of that state. Gandhi’s parents were both devout Hindus, but much of the surrounding community was Jain; hence, he grew up in a context of great piety and commitment to nonviolence. 

Important Terms

ahimsa: Nonviolence, or refraining from harming others.

Jainism: An Indian religion in which nonviolence is the central value. satyƗgraha: A Gandhian term: holding on to, or insisting on, the truth. swaraj: Self-rule. 

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Suggested Reading

Gandhi, Hind Swaraj.
———, An Autobiography: The Story of My Experiments with Truth.



Study Questions

1. What are the roots of Gandhi’s account of satyƗgraha and swaraj? Are they consistent with one another?

2. How do the personal and political dimensions of swaraj ¿ t together? What aspects of the political program are plausible? Can they be disentangled from the less plausible aspects?

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Gandhi—The Call to a Supernormal Life
Lecture 31


Liberalism claims to be the way to make sense of human dignity, the way to encourage freedom, the way to encourage the development of knowledge and progress, but Gandhi argues, in fact, it subverts all of that.

Gandhi insisted that a meaningful life is a supernormal life, and his own was supernormal in a number of respects: his extreme asceticism, his practice of chastity, and his devotion to religion. His concept of satyƗgraha involved a willingness to sustain injury and deprivation at the hands of his adversaries, and he was imprisoned many times. He was also committed to the idea that every aspect of his life was representational, a potential lesson to others in the possibilities for human life. Of course, his life was also nonviolent in the extreme, and we might say that it was successful in the extreme. This one man mobilized a disuni¿ ed and largely impoverished subcontinent in rebellion against the most powerful military force in the world.

For Gandhi, a normal, ordinary life involves a rejection of autonomy. He believes that we all too often unreÀ ectively accept social norms, political structures, economic values, and so on. He argues that this abdication of responsibility for our lives is always an acquiescence to and a complicity in violence and oppression, because industrial capitalism and the existence of militaries are themselves inherently violent and oppressive. These entities always involve the concentration of wealth and power in the hands of the few and the impoverishment of many. Because so much of our lives is structured by capitalism and industrialism, we accept these outcomes as legitimate. For this reason, we live lives of bad faith, lives in which we are alienated from our own values and cannot take responsibility for our actions.

One possible justi¿ cation for living such an inauthentic life might be liberalism of the kind advanced by Mill or Kant, but Gandhi thinks that’s insuf¿ cient because it ignores the harms of capitalism and industrialism. According to Gandhi, Mill’s harm principle is violated by liberalism itself because liberalism is set up to make harm possible. It argues for freedom, but the freedom it makes possible for the few is bought at the cost of enslavement of the many.

For Gandhi, normality gives others authority over our actions and ideology, allows us to relinquish responsibility for the way we live, and involves a rejection of truth because it requires us to accept ideologies that we know to be false. Further, normality violates the Jain idea of ahimsa, because leading a normal life in the context of a system that is built on the legitimation of harm involves leading a life that itself causes harm, even if we don’t intend to harm directly. Thus, a normal life is a meaningless one.

Gandhi believes that the principles of liberalism— freedom of speech and of ideas—enable capitalism. People become free to sell their labor, accumulate wealth, and spend their Swaraj, a mastery of ourselves, calls upon us to be deeply self-reÀ ective, to be aware of our motivations and our values.


wealth freely. This smallscale capitalism quickly becomes large-scale industrialism; the resulting concentration of wealth and power among the few subverts democracy and encourages consumerism. Further, capitalism and political oppression are built on advertising and propaganda, the purpose of which is to convince us that values we don’t actually endorse are acceptable. The result is the replacement of knowledge with confusion and a reduction in autonomy. This critique of liberalism is based on the idea of svadharma in the BhagavadGƯtƗ. Gandhi argued that our membership in society gives us a collective svadharma of service, the duty to bring our societies in line with the values we endorse on reÀ ection.

Gandhi’s articulation of satyƗgraha, an insistence on truth, and of swaraj, self-mastery, place supernormal demands on us: the duty to engage in constant social and political activity and struggle and the obligation to live a life of relentless nonviolence, consistency of values, and austerity. Such a supernormal life is active in alleviating the suffering of others and in achieving political liberation for the oppressed. Any recognition of harm is an obligation to organize our lives in such a way as to avoid it or eliminate it. Finally, the supernormal life is one of local production and consumption, one in which we attempt to minimize our participation in global economic structures.

For Gandhi, anything less than the supernormal life is utterly meaningless. The kind of self-discipline involved in this life is what gives us freedom from unreÀ ective submission to mass values. Such a life is meaningful because it is the only one that reÀ ects the truth as we know it. Finally, a life led through discipline and service to others connects us to something broader than ourselves: our fellow human beings and genuine sources of values. It’s a life that actually serves the values we endorse: genuine freedom, not the arti¿ cial freedom of liberalism; genuine equity, not equality of opportunity to suppress others; and complete nonviolence. This is the kind of life that serves the highest good. Ŷ


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Suggested Reading


Gandhi, Hind Swaraj.
———, An Autobiography: The Story of My Experiments with Truth.


Study Questions


1. What aspects of the life Gandhi recommends seem reasonable? Which are unreasonable and why?

2. Do the principles that Gandhi uses to justify the life he recommends in fact entail that life? If so and if that life seems unreasonable, which of these principles might we reject?