the purposes of saints
In the Theragatha (in Sariputta’s Chapter of the Thirties) it is said that the enlightened practitioner wishes neither to live nor to die. This suggests a profound orientation to the Middle Way, in that the arahat is declared subject neither to bhāva-tanhā nor vibhāva-tanhā. Our most immediate response on reading this though might not be to make such an observation, but rather to be shocked or at least disturbed. How on earth would it be not to even wish to live or die? What sort of meaning would our lives have, or what could our purposes be if we didn’t mind what happened? Is not our sense of purpose bound up with living and dying?
This neutrality an arahat has about their continued existence thus not only challenges our ordinary wish to exist or continue, but also brings into question conclusions we may have come to previously about the purpose and meaning of our own existence, as these are often based in finding some value in staying alive. Indeed we tend to struggle with meaning in situations in which our life is under threat, and both sets of concerns are operative together. When we are living ‘under conditions that seem unpropitious’, such as chronic illness or a terminal diagnosis, we are either struggling with difficult circumstances (‘how can I be positive about wanting to remain alive, when it is so difficult?’), or are faced with meaninglessness upon our imminent demise (‘what is the significance of my individual existence, now that I am about to lose it?’).
This all motivates reflection upon the broader question of the purpose of our lives considered ideally (the topic indeed of spiritual practitioners and philosophers everywhere), when we are not taking into account particular difficulties such as serious illness: what is the meaning of our lives when we are not beset by trials and tribulations? What is the purpose of our lives that illness or death ‘goes against’? What is it indeed that we are living for, that can be meaningful even in our time of dying?
As we come into adulthood, we established our identity and sense of meaning with some difficulty, if we managed it at all. As we become established on the Path, these bases can be revealed by practice as all too fragile, and will begin to fall away within mindfulness. It is important therefore to discuss a subsequent and new sense of meaning and purpose that does justice to our growing dependence on the Dharma, in order that we don’t fall between two stools as we quite appropriately lose faith in our old reliances. Hopefully this can be more realistic than those old meanings which are uncomfortably dissolving, and cope better with the realities of old age, disease and death. As an aid to shedding better light on these new purposes, and to help us to appreciate the arahat’s perspective that we began with more fully, I shall take some time to disavow some Mahayana platitudes which are often offered as fluffy answers to these perfectly serious concerns.
the purposes of ordinary beings
Ordinarily human beings want to feel connected, seen, loved, appreciated; part of a family or group which motivates them to function. This is normally a somewhat small scale concern, even rather ‘us and them’, and doesn’t really acknowledge issues of mortality or the wider questions about our existence. Even so, it is ridiculously strong in most people, and only an idiot would try to dismiss it prematurely, or ‘in one go’, so to speak. People are often primarily concerned about the promotion of kindness in this family or local or social sphere, and even nominal Buddhists can see the bodhisattva as someone who simply universalises this behaviour as it is experienced in the everyday. Without the addition of some real wisdom though, this is very unlikely to happen – kindness as such cannot save you, in the nibbānic sense. Indeed, one can think one is in the way of becoming a bodhisattva through this mere extension of ordinary kindness (which is of course so valuable in human terms), but not essentially be going anywhere different from one’s pre-Buddhist days. One can essentially still be that which is subject to death pursuing that which is subject to death, as it is so baldly put in the Ariyapariyesana Sutta, while falsely believing that one is pursuing the deathless. If such kindness is the sum of one’s concerns, one might as well save one’s-self some trouble and become a humanist.
The Karaniya Metta Sutta (SN 1:8) might seem at first glance to be about just this easy extension of kindness; but a closer look at the text shows that the mother of an only child is an example of single-minded and continuous protective intention, rather than of ideal love. We need to cultivate a boundless mind with the same energy we normally put into family pursuits in order to obtain nibbāna – it needs to matter that much to us. True enough – and an appealing example of the double-take that the Buddha often used as a teaching method.
As a mother would risk her life
to protect her child, her only child,
even so should one cultivate a limitless heart
with regard to all beings.
Applying common-sense to kindness
This idolising of kindness is apparent in the old pseudo-Mahayana debate about the nature of the Pratyeka Buddha. Pacé the Mahayanists, a bodhisattva is by definition less spiritually mature than any sort of Buddha, even the lowly pratyeka buddha. Still believing rather too much in beings on their own terms, still perhaps conflating the activities of kindness with the specific offering of nibbāna which is the Buddha’s special purview. The myth of the shattering of Avilokiteshvara is endlessly relevant. One often has the impression of a subtext – that the bodhisattva is worthier of worship because they are so kind. The pratyeka buddha is downgraded as ‘selfish’ – they must somehow be lesser than the bodhisattva, even if this isn’t stated formally or explicitly.
If however we make the common-sense assumption that anyone established in śunyatā would want to find ways of offering the path of freedom to others, we can dismiss as some kind of crude misconstruction the notion that a pratyeka buddha is unwilling to teach in any shape or form – and is therefore ‘selfish’. Looking more deeply suggests to me that pratyeka buddhas are in this respect made by circumstance; a buddha that is prevented by their culture or circumstance from teaching. It is indeed quite possible that this situation might occur within what is nominally a buddhist Order. Confusion with regard to Right View can combine with the reactionary forces of the group; if nothing current occurs to you, then think of Hui Neng. Not a selfish buddha taking himself off, but an enlightened being forced into exile and silence temporarily, even within a culture you might think would be appreciative.
The same circumstance which could render an insightful being mute would also be relevant to a consideration of the other traditional characteristic of a pratyeka buddha – that they are enlightened without the help of a buddha. I would imagine that this, in such a simple form, is quite rare. It seems much more likely that this is really about the cultivation of Insight without clear guidance or the support of a personal teacher. Traditionally personal guidance is central to one’s spiritual development – this is so important, and yet so easily glossed over if it is not part of one’s experience. An information-based culture such as we have now in the West has made this mistake with the Dharma as it has come across to us from the East. If the necessary apprentice-based approach is diluted or lost, even within a nominally buddhist culture, one can be effectively going it alone – trying to find one’s way through the morass of personal experience with whatever one can make of the traditional teaching. [thanks to Aparimana for pointing out the importance of the apprentice-based approach in an article of his] This is naturally far more difficult, and less likely to be effective, and even if successful likely to be a mixed blessing when it came to actually passing on the fruits of practice.
This mixed blessing is partly because, although one has the vivid proof of one’s practice, one is by definition working with an ineffective tradition. One would not wish to pass on a tradition that is clearly ineffective, and so has to do one’s best within or around that. This may be difficult if one’s interest or skill in teaching is lacking, or if you struggle for other reasons to articulate your profound experience effectively. It may be difficult to be taken seriously if you are even implicitly criticising the tradition you are at least nominally a member of. You may also not be perfectly patient.
everyday bodhicitta
If the motive of kindness has become rather mixed up in the discussions of both pratyeka buddhas and bodhisattvas in these ways, it is worth considering what a more correct understanding of the motives of Enlightened beings would be, as well as of those who are yet to complete the Path.
It is only common sense that one can only genuinely offer what one actually knows for one’s-self. A bodhisattva simply cannot offer nibbāna, as they do not appreciate it or its fruits yet – something in them is as yet unready and unwilling. The notion of continually teaching beyond one’s practice is not really a sustainable position, except imaginatively or ‘magically’ – it is not honest or straightforward. Of course, one may ‘teach’ the Path in a more intellectual or suppositional way (which is what we would normally mean by teaching, in a non-Buddhist culture), but this will not do for the personal guidance which would actually count here. This all being the case, the everyday bodhisattva needs therefore be motivated to move toward nibbāna for themselves and so others, and in that order. If they tell us that it does not matter whether they themselves become free from suffering, and that they only wish to consider the suffering of others, why would it even matter whether others were freed from that same suffering? And this is setting aside their as yet imperfect grasp of the end of suffering that they are nominally offering… It can all sound quite sweet – but on closer investigation looks rather shallow, or even a bit pathological.
Part of the delusive mind-set that can be found in the motivations of poetic followers of the bodhisattva path is the ‘inspiring’ notion that one should and could convert all beings to the Dharma. It is going to be difficult to do this when one’s appreciation of the Dharma is still limited, even assuming a massive range of skills and an unthinkable amount of control over conditionality; but more, there is an unwise misapplication of energies in the assumption that the Dharma is in any realistic sense for everybody. Many are far from the Dharma, even if they of course have the equipment for it in principle; many are not willing to undergo the path and the difficulties that are involved, or have even the faintest belief that it would be of relevance to their concerns. Have you ever met my family ;-(? How about a militant fundamentalist? For some indeed, enforced pursuit of the Path might lead to some kind of breakdown, or unmanageable suffering, such that they are better off pursuing their previous way of life for now, which keeps things manageable for the time being. It is arrogant to insist upon these ideas, and suggests a kind of groupish insecurity. One can reasonably undertake to do the best one can in whatever circumstances present, and this becomes increasingly possible as one’s kleśas are purified – indeed, if everyone was to do just this, we’d all be fine – but one doesn’t need to make such a song-and-dance about ‘saving all beings’, as the shadow of Samsara still looms large even so.
So, the common-sense of the bodhisattva on the Path will motivate them to protect their life in order to follow through to nibbāna, so they can be a guide to it for others. There is inevitably something of bhāva-tanhā in that motivation. With Enlightenment though, the purposes are no longer the same, and that motivation is gone. There is after this point perhaps some deepening of non-communicable wisdom, some further assimilation – but the bonds of Samsara are broken, and the fruits of this victory are constantly available. What is left as a motivation for life, is that one is required to offer the path to nibbāna – those that can genuinely do this are few indeed. This is the only thing left that has sufficient meaning, as one is no longer fundamentally motivated to live for one’s-self. No longer living for one’s-self is perhaps a difficult enough adjustment for such a practitioner to make, even if it arises gradually, but it will be particularly so in a culture in which they cannot easily express their vision, or find a way of being adequately useful.
Perhaps we can hope in future for a genuine tradition and Order as at the time of the Buddha. Younger practitioners would not be ordained without the effective personal support they needed in order to negotiate the difficulties of Samsara, and thus progress more speedily and less painfully. The grasp of the true nature of the Dharma amongst the senior-most would be thorough enough, that new expressions by less established practitioners would be neither confusing nor threatening to them. Enlightened practitioners would take their place as exemplars and teachers quite naturally, each finding the particular aspect of the Dharma that their skills qualify them to offer most effectively. This would be a Sangha proper, a real jewel.