(Follow this link to see the May 2022 Priory Newsletter where this was recently published.)

– Rev. Master Daizui MacPhillamy

Today’s bit of Dharma is an excerpt from the book Buddhism From Within by Rev. Master Daizui MacPhillamy. It came to mind when I was thinking about the initial offering from this newsletter about Dr. Anna Lembke’s book Dopamine Nation. Like Dr. Lembke, Rev. Master Daizui was a clinical, as well as researching, psychologist and the chapter this excerpt comes from is called “Radical Sobriety.”

This book is an excellent introduction to Zen Buddhism (even suitable for sharing with non-Buddhists) and you can order a copy of Buddhism From Within on Lulu. The proceeds will help the Order of Buddhist Contemplatives.

April snow yields dogwood blossoms!

Some Buddhist teachings talk about ‘effortless effort’ or the ‘goal of goalessness,’ and sometimes this sounds as if the religion is saying that all we need to do is ‘do what comes naturally.’ And in a sense that is true. But what is needed is not doing what comes naturally to our selfish mind, for to do this would be simply to indulge impulsiveness, to go back to faster horses, wilder lovers, and more whiskey. Instead, Buddhists must find a way to do what comes naturally to something else within themselves. This ‘some- thing else’ is what some schools of Buddhism call ‘Buddha Nature’ or ‘the Mind that seeks the Way’. It is that within ourselves which has always been attuned to the truth, and it has already been mentioned in the section about right thought. Other forms of Buddhism refer to that which guides a person as ‘insight,’ the inner wisdom which is developed over time and training in the Path. Still others view it as a transcendental being and give It a name such as ‘Prajnaparamita,’ ‘Manjusri Bodhisattva,’ or ‘Amida Buddha.’ Whatever it may be called and however it may be viewed, finding it is one of the things which Buddhist training is all about. When a person discovers the existence of this ‘something else,’ the paradox of right effort can be solved, because it becomes apparent that there is more than one sort of effort.

The one which we are used to is the effort in which we are in control: I have a goal or ideal and direct my behavior in ways which I think will achieve it. This is the sort of effort which starts to cause difficulties over the course of Buddhist training. The problem with ideals has already been mentioned; an even more fundamental problem will be gone into later in the book—there is a real question as to whether or not ‘I’ even exist in the first place. Furthermore, just as ideals may be nice thoughts but are lousy descriptions of how the world really works, the same applies to our ideas about how to achieve the changes we desire. Whatever ‘we’ may be, we don’t seem to be wise enough to direct or control our lives in the long run: our best laid plans never seem to get us where we thought they would. With all of these difficulties, it is small wonder that this type of effort at reforming ourselves often goes awry.

However, there is another type of effort entirely, an effort which arises from the ‘something else.’ It is more a matter of willingness than of will. It is the willingness to let go of things moment-by-moment: ideas, opinions, wants, fears, ideals, judgments, …everything. It is the willingness at all times to learn, to be open to seeing in new ways. And it is the willingness to do whatever comes next. ‘Doing what comes next’ seems to come from honesty and courage rather than from will. The honesty is that of looking straight at what lies before us, at what is shown to us simply and clearly by the ‘something else.’ And this, in turn, involves trust: trust that wisdom and compassion really do exist somewhere within ourselves, trust that they can do their work without us having to control or direct anything, and trust that we can perceive their teachings directly from the experience of our senses without analyzing, fearing, judging, doubting, or worrying about what we discern. The courage involved in this type of effort is the courage to do what is obviously to be done and to abstain from what is obviously to be abstained from. This, then, is the ‘effortless effort.’ No ‘me’ is involved, no ideals, no thinking or planning, no control, no direction. The work is that of the ‘something else’; the direction appears naturally when we stop chattering to ourselves and let the ‘something else’ get a word in edgewise; the trust is placed in the wisdom of the ‘something else.’ For each individual, there are just things which are clearly to be done and things which are clearly not to be done: it’s that simple.

Since we are all human and likely to remain so, we have blind spots which get in the way of this process. For instance, our hidden wants and fears can get in the way of seeing clearly the simple fact of what comes next. We are also quite capable of mistaking our own desires for the wisdom of ‘something else.’ Recognizing this, Buddhism provides guidelines to make it safe to actually exercise the courage to do what must be done. Among these are the various precepts which have been mentioned in the previous three sections. The source of all of these precepts is the same ‘something else’ which we are trusting to make clear to us what is to be done. So, if we are seeing clearly, what we are shown cannot be in conflict with these precepts. In this way, the aspect of right effort gives the strength and courage to follow right speech, right action, and right livelihood, and those three aspects make it safe to engage without compromise in right effort.

In addition to the precepts, there are other checks and balances which make it safe for a follower of Buddhism to develop and trust his or her own spiritual intuition about the ‘something else.’ Chief among these is what is known as the ‘Three Refuges’ or ‘Three Treasures.’ In all matters of importance, the Buddhist religion calls upon its adherents to seek guidance from all three of these refuges simultaneously. The first of them is the Buddha, and in some schools this includes the personal spiritual intuition and discernment, which are regarded as a form of ‘inner Buddha Nature.’ However, even in these schools, the Buddha Refuge includes a lot more than this: it also involves respecting the enlightened nature of all people, following the example of the historical founder of Buddhism, and acknowledging a Truth within the universe that is far greater than oneself. At the same time that the individual seeks guidance from the Buddha Refuge, he or she also turns for advice to the totality of the Buddhist teachings, called the ‘Dharma,’ and to the community of Buddhist teachers and fellow students alive today, called the ‘Sangha.’ These three interlocking refuges, together with the precepts, act as a safe framework within which one’s own discernment and spiritual intuition may be viewed. Since Buddhism regards truth as being one and undivided, it holds that there cannot be real conflicts between a Buddhist’s own inner wisdom and either the precepts or the Triple Refuge.

This means that any apparent conflicts between these things, when they arise, cannot be what they seem. And, generally, such apparent conflicts indicate that there is a ‘piece of the puzzle’ which has yet to be seen. So, when these conflicts do appear, it is recommended that a Buddhist wait and take more refuge before acting, in the faith that things will become clear. For example, when what a person discerns is in conflict with what another trusted Sangha member perceives, the individual tries to avoid assuming that one of them must be right, the other wrong. Occasionally, of course, that may be true (each being human and having blind spots), but time and training will make this clear; arguing about it, whether inside an individual’s own head or with the other person, is not the best way to clarify it. More likely, how- ever, it is not a matter of right and wrong: it is a case of what I call the ‘pussycat problem.’ One person sees a whisker, and it is actu- ally there; the other sees an ear, and it is there, too. Argument as to whether it is really a whisker or an ear is not what is needed. Instead, further refuge taking and ongoing training in the Eightfold Path reveal a paw and a nose; it becomes apparent that what they were dealing with was something larger than just an ear or just a whisker: it was a pussycat. In a way, both were right and both were wrong. Of course, it might also be a skunk. So there might be some wisdom in waiting and training just a bit longer, until a tail appears, before a person reaches out and starts stroking that ear. Skunks are just as nice as pussycats, but they don’t take kindly to being touched: a different approach is called for! Then again, there are times when we cannot wait to act: we have to take up our courage, do the best we can, and be willing to take the consequences. All of this is part of right effort.

Putting this type of effort into practice requires a tolerance for not knowing things. Even when the next step is discerned in a simple and clear way, it isn’t really known. Perhaps it is seen, heard, felt, or intuitively sensed; but it is not known in the way one’s mind would like. This ‘not knowing’ seems to be characteristic of Buddhist training: the farther people get into it, the less they seem to ‘know,’ even as there is greater certainty about the simple things which appear right in front of them. This type of ‘not knowing’ is actually an aspect of wisdom, and strange as it may seem, it is far more useful than the knowing which we tend to want. In fact, it is usually ‘knowing’ which causes problems in the practice of right effort. When people ‘know’ how they should be living their lives, they are apt to judge themselves by that standard and try to use will power to force themselves to measure up. The standard, the judging, the forcing, and the measuring are all subtle forms of attachment or delusion, and so they inevitably lead to more suffering instead of to liberation. If, however, a person can simply go onward in honest unknowing, all of that is avoided.

Why, then, does an Eightfold Path exist? Isn’t its purpose to make known to Buddhists how to live and train effectively? At one level of meaning, of course it is; and at another level, that is not its purpose at all. It is not a list of things to be known and done, not a standard by which Buddhists are expected to measure themselves or others, not a set of tools with which to fix oneself. It is, instead, more like a doorway. It is to be walked through daily, with honesty and courage, in unknowing. Its true place is in the innermost heart, not in the knowing mind. It does its work by posing honest questions and by pointing to the simple next step. The Buddhist’s task is to ask those questions and to take that step, as best he or she can, at each moment. That is all that Buddhism ever requires.

(This excerpt is copyright Order of Buddhist Contemplatives and is used by permission.)