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I said I’d return to discuss a sutra that Khenpo Kalsang translated during the Tibetan monastery retreat I attended. Here’s the scoop:

The self is a delusion

Khenpo Kalsang translated a sutra called Advice to a king for the group of us who were staying at the monastery. The sutra told the story of a king who encountered the Buddha and wished to kill him. The Buddha asked the king, “Conflict and fighting and killing cause exhaustion and suffering in this life. Why would you enjoy this?” The king, considering this, responded that he enjoyed fighting because he always conquered his enemies. The Buddha said, “Great king, these are very minor enemies–insignificant! There are much greater enemies that you should fight.” He explained that the greatest enemy was not another man, or another country, but the clinging of self. He explained how one could fight this enemy with the six perfections and with selflessness. The king is convinced, and instead of killing the Buddha, becomes devoted to him.

The clinging of self, or self-cherishing, is one of the defilements. This means it is a cause of suffering (recall that if you manage to become free from suffering and the causes of suffering, you’ll eventually reach nirvana). Simply put, one develops an attachment to the five aggregates (body, mind, feeling, perceptions, activities), and one fears losing the parts of the self through death, illness, hunger, cold, and so on. This is a problem. The way to triumph over self-clinging is to realize that the self, the “I,” does not exist in reality.

The gist of the argument presented in this sutra is this: the self is a delusion because it is a construct based on the aggregates. We have names: names are labels, and so the name is not a self. The body is also not the self, because the flesh and blood are just like the walls of a house: that is, a combination of elements that are, if you break them down enough, no different than the elements that make up the walls of a house. The mind is not the self, because it has no matter form. Because self-clinging is based on these three things (name, body, mind), through this analysis, the personal self cannot be found. It’s a delusion.

Something is missing here. Simply being unable to pinpoint the exact location of the self doesn’t mean it’s entirely a delusion. I’d agree, based on other readings, that there is no one physical thing responsible for the sensation of selfhood. There is no single structure in the brain that we can point to and say this is where “I” am. This is the where consciousness happens. But that’s all the argument can say: that no one thing is responsible. The self could just be an amalgamation of things: the body, the mind, the interactions of these with the world. The five aggregates that compose a person. The agent and the environment. The self could just be the name we give this combination of things.

Other sutras and other pieces of the Tibetan Buddhist philosophy may better explain this delusion. But even if they do, I may still just fundamentally disagree with pieces of the philosophy. (E.g., that dualistic bit about the mind having no matter form.)

The take away message may be this: Whether or not the self is a delusion depends on your definition of “self.” Go figure.

Faded squares of fabric, strung together in repeating blue-white-red-green-yellow chains, crisscross the branches of bare-limbed trees. The gentle wind makes them flutter. Orange-gold light filters into the grassy meadow, touching a row of canvas tents and the temple house beyond. Tsechen Kunchab Ling: Temple of All-Encompassing Great Compassion. This is the seat of His Holiness the Sakya Trizin in the United States, a Tibetan Buddhist monastery established nine years ago.

I spent the past weekend there. The field work office at my college arranges this retreat every semester. Everyone I’ve talked to who has previously attended says wonderful things about it; this semester, one of my friends told me she was going: I should join her! I like learning new things, so I signed up. A good decision: I didn’t return all chill and zen, as one friend told me his roommate had, but I certainly gained a few new ideas and approaches to mull over, and dipped my hand into a previously unfamiliar piece of the world.

Medicine for one’s mind

The first evening, the twenty-something students–most from my college, four from another–gathered in the shrine room, sitting cross-legged on cushions as we listened to Khenpo Kalsang introduce Tibetan Buddhist philosophy. He began by telling us, “Do not take any of what I say on faith. Take it through analysis, if there is some benefit in it for you.” Religion, he said, is like a drugstore full of medicine. You do not go to the drugstore and buy everything in it–you just buy what would be beneficial to you now. You believe the other medicine may have just as much value, but in other situations, not this one.

We discussed the foundations: the Three Turnings of the Wheel of Dharma; the four noble truths; karma; defilements; the six perfections. When we talked about the giving, and how one should try to give what one could to other sentient beings (in the form of material items, kind words, protection, and so on), Khenpo Kalsang shared a story of the Buddha, and how the Buddha had given his flesh so that a family of hungry tigers could eat. “So,” a fellow student asked, “Giving one’s life for another being is the ultimate gift?”

Khenpo Kalsang, he smiled, and shook his head. “Only if you feel no regret,” he said. “If you feel regret, it destroys the merit.” Until then, preserve your own life, and do not give away anything that would cause you regret. This struck a chord. Self-preservation above all else, unless the right situation arises.

Knowing and understanding

Later, I talked to the resident nun, Ani Kunga, about psychology and cognitive science. She had studied psychology for a while in grad school, but now holds the view that psychologists are going about understanding the mind and understanding the knower and what knowing is the wrong way. “Psychologists,” she said, “study the brain and the self externally. Ever since the 1920s, their science has been about observation of behavior, questionnaires, recordings of electrical brain activity. But the mind can only be known by you, the person whose mind it is.” She said philosophy and epistemology were doing it right: looking at experiences from the inside.

A big overlap exists between Tibetan Buddhism, psychology and cognitive science. All three examine the distinction between the self and others, between the observer and the observed, between knowing and the knower. I agree with Ani Kunga to some extent–only so much can be known about the mind from external observation. But this doesn’t mean that there isn’t merit to such studies, nor that nothing of use can be learned in that way.

Tibetan Buddhist philosophy also approaches the mind and the self from the inside. During a second philsophy session, Khenpo Kalsang translated a sutra about a king who received advice from the Buddha. This sutra delved into some questions about the nature of the self, whether the self is a delusion, and how the clinging of self is a defilement. I intend to discuss it in more depth later, so stay tuned.

Compassion training and prayer flags

In the afternoon, a group of us gathered outside for a meditation session with Ani Kunga. Sunshine melted lazily through the tree branches above, a breeze animating the branches’ shadows so they danced between our cushions. Compassion and anger were the session’s topics. The key message:

“If there’s something you can do, why are you unhappy? Just do it. If there’s nothing you can do, why are you unhappy?”

Ani Kunga explained several off-session and one on-session technique for dealing with negative emotions (anger, hate, irritation, stress, jealousy, and so on). All the methods built off the idea that you are in control: anger is an emotion, and you can change your emotions. Stay tuned for a more in-depth post on the topic.

Another of the day’s activities was making prayer flags. As Ani Kunga explained, “Prayers, wishes, hopes, aspirations–someone, many people, may share those with you. Hanging the prayer flag shares your prayer with everyone else in the world. This may do no good at all, but it may–if everyone hopes and wishes and dreams and aspires, perhaps it will do good. It may not. But if no one shares their prayers, it will certainly do no good. So on the offchance that it will help, why not?”

Never done

This weekend reminded me that I’m not done learning. If I stay still long enough, if I’ve achieved a relatively constant level of happiness and satisfaction, I forget that I can and should continue to seek out new ideas and approaches, and incorporate beneficial ones into my life. A person is never “done,” and so, I’ll continue to observe and discuss and study, trying to pick the directions in which I’ll change, and trying to make tomorrow better than today.

Ever onward and ever upward.

Afraid of losing ourselves

You and me, as conscious beings, we’re special. We don’t just move in the world, acting and reacting–we know we’re here. We have selves (illusory as they may be). We are conscious of our existence. We also know we’re not here forever.

“Every creature has fear,” said Jared. “Even the non-conscious ones.”

“No,” said Boutin. “Every creature has a survival instinct. It looks like fear but it’s not the same thing. Fear isn’t the desire to avoid pain or death. Fear is rooted in the knowledge that what you recognize as yourself can cease to exist. Fear is existential.”

— from The Ghost Brigades by John Scalzi

You and me, as conscious beings, we’re special. We can be afraid.

Scene: One of the last episodes of Series 2 of the new Doctor Who (the 10th Doctor)

Characters:

• Rose Tyler, companion of the Doctor as he travels through time and space
• Jackie Tyler, Rose’s mother

Conversation:

Jackie: Do you think you’ll ever settle down?
Rose: The Doctor never will so I can’t. I’ll just keep on traveling.
Jackie: And you’ll keep on changing. And in forty years time, fifty, there’ll be this woman, this strange woman, walking through the marketplace on some planet a billion miles from Earth. She’s not Rose Tyler. Not any more. She’s not even human.

Except that’s not how it works. If Rose changes, she won’t be the same Rose her mother remembers (and perhaps this is what her mother is referring to). If Rose changes, she’s still Rose. She’s just progressing, changing, adapting, learning, growing, pick your favorite synonym, it’s what everyone does as they progress through life. Are you the same person you were ten years ago?

I thought not.

Beautiful and good to eat

Deep down, maybe we all know we are, every one of us, a unique snowflake. But a lot of people, they don’t want it to be true. They want all the snowflakes to melt together into one big puddle. They want to be able to share their subjective view of the world with everyone else. They want to be able to look at a sunset and know that what it’s like for me to see the sunset is the same as what it’s like for you to see the sunset.

Hey, we all want things we can’t have. And in this case, science says no! Here’s a piece of wisdom from David Brin’s sci-fi novel Kiln People:

“We may use similar terms to describe a sunset. Our subjective worlds often correspond, correlate, and map onto each other. That makes cooperation and relationships possible, even complex civilization. Yet a person’s actual sensations and feelings remain forever unique. Because a brain isn’t a computer and neurons aren’t transistors.

It’s why telepathy can’t happen. We are, each of us, singular and forever alien…”

The amazing thing about people is that this fact doesn’t deter us. We keep trying to share our sensations and feelings with each other. As Virginia Woolf writes in her book Orlando:

For it is a curious fact that though human beings have such imperfect means of communication, that they can only say “good to eat” when they mean “beautiful” and the other way about, they will yet endure ridicule and misunderstanding rather than keep any experience to themselves.

To be known and understood

Maybe we’re just stubborn. Maybe we’re clinging to a shred of hope that science is wrong and someday, instead of just overlapping with pieces of each other, we’ll be able to know what it’s like to experience the sunset the way someone else does. Here’s a passage from a favorite book of mine, Man Walks Into a Room by Nicole Krauss:

“When you’re young, you think it’s going to be solved by love. But it never is. Being close—as close as you can get—to another person only makes clear the impassable distance between you. . . .

“But see, the incredible thing about people is that we forgot,” Ray continued. “Time passes and somehow the hope creeps back and sooner or later someone else comes along and we think this is the one. And the whole thing starts all over again. We got through our lives like that, and either we just accept the lesser relationship—it may not be total understanding, but it’s pretty good—or we keep trying for that perfect union, trying and failing, leaving behind us a trail of broken hearts, our own included. In the end, we die as alone as we were born, having struggled to understand others, to make ourselves understood, but having failed in what we once imagined was possible.”

“People really want that, what did you say, merging souls? Total union?” [Samson]

“Yes. Or at least they think they do. Mostly what they want, I think, is to feel known.”

What do you think? Is the ultimate human goal to feel known and understood? And if that’s the case, is the illusion of feeling known enough to compensate for never truly being able to share one’s experiences with anyone else?

“What the work of art looks like isn’t too important. It has to look like something if it has physical form. No matter what form it may finally have it must begin with an idea.” — Sol LeWitt

I took a sculpture class this semester on a whim. I enjoy art, but I’ve never done much sculpture, and I haven’t taken an art class in years–so why not?

The first project I did was an exploration of mass. I sculpted a head from clay (the professor modeled, because he couldn’t get an actual model), made a plaster waste-mold from it, then did a plaster casting. Everyone else in the class did essentially the same thing–sure, there were variations in the way the heads were sculpted, but we all made heads.

The second project, however, was open-ended. We were given an introduction to a selection of sheet metals, wire, and tools; we were told to think about space rather than mass, and that we should include repetition and variation in the work. And that was it.

Do you want to know what I created? Take a look! I titled it “Selves.” I think it turned out pretty darn cool. (But I wouldn’t have created it if I thought otherwise.)