Oct 26, 2023·edited Oct 26, 2023Liked by Addison Hodges Hart
The influence of Taoism on Zen I think cannot be understated. The focus upon practice and the encounter or experience of the oneness of all things or the mystical sight beyond the eyes. Is most foundational not only to thoses in Japan but many Buddist and Daoists across China (as well as the seemingly Hindu monistic influence On Gautimas thinking in the early Buddhists Pali texts ''I am now beyond gods and men'') Sunyata being a key concept to many Buddhists and the interpretations widely varying and ofcourse interlocking. It's not even mediation in the traditional sense of the word as contemplation. If anything its Unmentation or Uncontemplation. The blowing out and exhaling. A recollection similar to that used by Shankra, Eckhart and other platonic teachers. Dölpopa even used Atma/Atman(self/spirit) for referring to Buddha natures luminosity which shows the emptiness of all things and there emersion and inter dependence within it. There is a silence and a rest that can be seen by vision which is non optical. Looking forward to your notes on Jung.
Oct 25, 2023·edited Oct 25, 2023Liked by Addison Hodges Hart
This is beautiful.
Would it be incorrect to describe God as both changeless and perfectly dynamic?
It seems to me that there are two pleasures in life, and two alone: the pleasure of growth (say, the thrill of a race or the quiet enjoyment of learning) and the pleasure of stable, deep enjoyment (say, enjoying a glass of wine with loved ones on a warm summer’s night). Epektasis combines both: one is ever-ceasingly borne up and strives up to new heights of glory while ever more deeply sinking into the satisfaction of fulfilling communion with God and others.
How do you balance liturgical prayer and contemplation? What are some good manuals for Christian contemplation?
I could come up with a few titles, but let me suggest the two volumes by Maggie Ross mentioned in the article. They're an excellent start.
Liturgy and the daily offices feed my contemplative prayer. They're profoundly integrated. The "Anglican rule" is Eucharist, Offices, and private/mental (meditative/contemplative) prayer.
When I attend public liturgy, I don't try to practice contemplative prayer. One should attend to the liturgy itself. I pray the daily offices with the intention of letting the texts speak to me as I speak them to God. Silent prayer (using, usually, the Jesus Prayer to get started) is something I do either after the morning and evening office, or as soon thereafter as I can. They're connected, certainly, but not necessarily juxtaposed.
I’m reading through the Ross volumes right now. While they are genuinely good—why is she so opposed to the Church (and why make a new Eucharistic rite)? “Institutional Christianity,” if she means bishops, presbyters, deacons, and councils, are not late developments. Dogma is not necessarily a bad thing. Does she just mean Christendom?
She's an Anglican, so I don't believe she sees herself as opposed to the Church. In some areas, I don't agree with her (I'm not as enamored with the second volume as I am with the first -- and one thing we don't need is a "new" Eucharistic rite; if anything, I look backwards, not forwards, where liturgics are concerned). I agree that dogma isn't a bad thing at all, but I distinguish it from "dogmatism" -- the former is an indicator, a signpost, of where the truth is to be found; the latter is rigid, quick to condemn and exclude, and concerned with conformity. I also uphold the need for bishops, priests, and deacons, and believe that councils are appropriate means for resolving issues in the Church. I think she does mean "Christendom" when she takes jabs at the "institutional church"; my only opinion about Christendom is that it's no longer a reality and we need to adapt to that significant fact. A great deal of the developments in the Church after Constantine is good, just, and holy, and God forbid it should be thrown away. In short, I'm not a "liberal"; I'm a traditionalist, but quick to qualify what I mean by that. Anyway, with Ross (as with any other writer), eat the fish and spit out the bones.
I remember first reading the Tao Te Ching, the Dhammapada, and a variety of Zen texts and found that what was most surprising was how Christian they all sounded in their approach to the ethical and contemplative life. In particular the TTC was something I could have seen written by a 4th century desert Father. I found that as a Christian diving more into modern Zen and Taoism that it devolved into this bland materialism that substituted transcendence for clarity of mind, relaxation, and anxiety reduction. I was terribly disappointed, but it makes sense. Like the good western capitalists we are we want the "benefits" of religion" with none of the corresponding responsibilities associated with living a spiritual way of life. The fleshly man darkens us from living in the freedom of the spiritual man. Although I will say that it explains why so many people who become Christians later in life after spending a decade in Zen describe this process of a gradual sense of alienation. Most people can only stomach the materialism and nihilism of pop-Sam-Harris-secular-buddhist-Zen for so long before they need something to turn their gaze upwards towards. It's sad to see so many modern Buddhists fully assume the status of being "atheistic" which seems to be totally a Western attribution to a tradition that is vast and while most certainly refrains from naming it, is obviously about God, the existing One.
I'll be rereading this a few times, so thank you! Having recently worked my way through 5 different versions of the Tao Te Ching, as well as some of David Hinton's writing on Chan, I've found myself wondering about the place for Sophia in any comparing/contrasting of Taoism and Christian mysticism, vis a vis the divine feminine. Would be interested to hear your thoughts on that topic, as well as on specific Taoist/Christian meditation/contemplative prayer techniques. I've been bouncing back and forth between a kind of shikantaza and the Jesus Prayer and wondering if I just need to commit to one or the other. This post makes me think that perhaps both are fine. (Anglican here, by the way, with a practice history including Zen and vipassana.)
I think both are fine, although in my practice what I have taken from Zen has become thoroughly integrated with the Jesus Prayer and mental prayer. In fact, The Philokalia and other Christian sources give us techniques for prayer that come remarkably close to Zen discipline (without all the thwacking, of course).
Oct 30, 2023·edited Oct 30, 2023Liked by Addison Hodges Hart
While there is a focus on the heart area in some hesychast recitation of the Jesus Prayer, there are Orthodox who suggest some caution and oversight under spiritual guidance, although I am not sure any dangerous outcome is guaranteed if one proceeds on one’s own.
Are you familiar with Karl Graf von Durckheim? He studied with zen masters in Japan in the 50s, and bringing the zazen practice back with him to Europe, emphasized a focus on the hara (lower dantien). He apprarently recommended to Fr. Alphonse Goettmann, a French Orthodox priest (and featured in his book Prayer of the Heart), that the recitation of the Jesus Prayer be done at the hara level, as that is the real seat of power and actual center of the body, as well as being ‘safer’ than the heart-focused version of the practice.
Durckheim was the subject of one of my earlier posts, so, yes, I am familiar with him. I think there is wisdom, certainly, in proceeding with caution (and, if available, guidance) if a Christian takes up Zen practice. Not because there's anything in classical Zen itself or in the classical texts that are insurmountable obstacles, but because of the compromised modern and Westernized versions of Zen I described briefly above. For similar reasons, I would caution Christians exploring their own spiritual tradition to steer clear of current trends to politicize (skewed either to Right or Left) or to "deconstruct" their faith. One can't know a tradition and be shaped by it if one is constantly being invited to consider outside concerns at the same time. With Zen, being sidetracked by scientism, atheism, physicalism, etc. is to lose touch with what it's really about. At our core, we aren't physicalists or atheists or even political beings. What are we? Who are we? Whose are we? Those are the crucial questions.
Many thanks for your response, and I will look for your post on Durckheim. I appreciate and agree with your comments, to the extent that I have become aware of the issues you point out. As a long-lapsed Catholic who only after a mid-life crisis decades ago, and seeing the necessity of rediscovering one’s “vertical orientation,” did I embark on a way that encompassed many involvements, not least including Sufism, Taoism, Tibetan Buddhism, and Rudolf Steiner’s anthroposophy. Although I tried several times but was unable to reenter the Catholic church, even by way of the traditional Latin mass of my youth, I remain unchurched, and have found throughout my participation in those other paths that I have difficulty being in community. Over time I have been trying to fashion a solitary practice that best fits me, with Evagrius and Philokalia fathers as guides, but also with wisdom from sources such as Durckheim and Steiner. And while my devotional and lectio practice makes use of Orthodox office books, there are also other times when I still engage certain elements of dzogchen practice (from my last teacher) keeping it as a quite separate activity, and so there is no mixing of paths in terms of my practice. Meanwhile, attaining a meaningful outlook and view seems to be what I am working towards — whether I can actually take Christ as he is meant for a Christian to be taken, or as the incarnate Logos of the neoplatonists (which is already moving towards Steiner)… or whether I finally have to accept Christ as the force that works through all traditions, including dzogchen. In short, I will have to see what, among all these elements will transcend the others, and if it will, what I will receive as my wisdom to follow.
I will leave off with an interesting anecdote. Fr. Francis Tiso, a canon of the Catholic church who has degrees in asian religions and Tibetan Buddhism, and who wrote the fascinating book “Resurrection and Rainbow Body,” once mentioned hearing from many people who were trying to reconcile the arising of Christian impulses after practicing in eastern traditions. One such person had the experience in which, during his visualization of the refuge tree (in Tibetan vajrayana one takes refuge in the lineage tree by visualizing a field of previous masters and enlightened beings), instead of certain masters appearing, the figures of Jesus and Mary began to arise. Tiso didn’t openly say what he advised the practitioner specifically, but asserted that these types of occurences did happen, yet were individual in nature and needed to be resolved in ways appropriate to the individual.
And so I have no choice but to see where my particular path leads and how, or perhaps what on that path, resolves. As it doesn’t seem possible to take any kind of inner decision that would “clear the table” of all else but the decided upon, I am keeping an open mind and allowing myself to encounter the spiritual studies and offerings from those such as yourself, for reflection and discernment — for which, many thanks.
Addison thanks for this critical reflection, very helpful. Over the years, I have felt drawn to Zen, but I also end up feeling, nowadays more than ever, that Zen is incomplete, mainly because it doesn't have God as its object. I can't shake the feeling that Zen can be nihilistic as the concepts of no self, nothingness, suchness, and nirvana leave me empty and not fulfilled in the end. I'm sure the misunderstanding is mine regarding such things, but for me, even though I want to understand Zen, I have found as recent a pull (call?) to let it go and return to the One whose name is Love and who gives meaning and a source to our being and existence.
A true saying, at least as far as my experience goes. Although I have remained a Christian my entire life, I spent many years fascinated by, occasionally obsessed with, Buddhism and Zen in particular. I felt there was something deeply lacking in my own tradition that I could only find in Zen, and at times felt like maybe I should give up on Christianity. At some point in the last decade though, I looked up and realized that I just didn't feel the same need to look to Zen anymore. I had found wellsprings within the Christian tradition that were deep, rich and provided all the lovely playful paradoxes and contemplative wisdom that had so drawn me to Zen. Recently I've found a renewed, but I think (hope) more mature appreciation of Zen, Taoism and Advaita, but my approach has changed. I'm not looking to fill some lack left by Christianity. When we come to other people expecting them to fill in some deep seated lack in ourselves, the relationship tends to be disappointing; I think the same holds with other traditions. When we can approach another religious tradition from a place of contentment, with a wholesome disinterest, then we are ironically more able to receive the gifts they actually offer. And I think Zen would back me up on that.
I have a maddening tendency to want to conceptually embrace and prioritize systems of thought as the most accurate or the most true - thus, I vacillate between systems depending on my mood, thinking quality, or book that I'm reading. It's a flaw I'm aware of (thankfully) and working with (but it's deeply ingrained in my brain), and I fully agree with what you say, especially: "When we can approach another religious tradition from a place of contentment, with a wholesome disinterest, then we are ironically more able to receive the gifts they actually offer."
It’s rather striking that in most Buddhist statuary, Siddhartha, a man, looks like a god, while Jesus, God Himself, suffers as a man on the crosses we hang. The scriptural depictions are also markedly different — Jesus grows angry, weeps, speaks darkly of apocalypse; Buddha is placid as an ornamental pool. Strange that the one who was merely human feels so much more beyond my reach than the other.
I found this absolutely beautiful, and very true. And Maggie Ross's "Silence" is a transformative work - or, perhaps she would prefer I say 'transfiguring.'
Yes, maybe that finely calibrated melancholy is a spiritual as well as aesthetic achievement. How to keep it from tipping into numbness or despair? Beauty itself must be involved in the answer somehow.
Thank you for this clear-sighted reflection. It all rings true.
I am very much a beginner in this field, so I offer this observation tentatively — was it not also the case that within the ancient practice of Taoism itself there lurked the possibility, if not of nihilism, then at least of a muted despair at the transience of human values? And would this despair always be a sign of spiritual immaturity, or, absent a Redeemer, might it not be apposite in some respects? The poetry of Meng Chiao is a clear though perhaps overly neurotic example, so I will append this selection from T’ao Ch’ien, who often writes from a place of wisdom right at the center of the Chinese tradition. It is from “Home Again Among Fields and Gardens” as translated by David Hinton.
There is often a poignant and melancholic quality in both Taoist and Zen poetry. Much of its beauty is linked to the sense of the impermanence of things.
It might be interesting to compare the lineaments of spiritual melancholy/poignancy in Zen poetry to its manifestation in the Christian tradition. To me a kind of twilight yearning -- or Sehnsucht -- is among the most important instigations to spiritual thought. The nihilistic move, I think, would be to see the yearning as pointing quite literally at nothing and so dissolve it in a regimen of emptiness.
I agree, I think a comparison could be helpful, as I tend to see the "spiritual melancholy/poignancy" in Zen as, well, depressing. How is despair, nothingness, etc. in the end hopeful? In Christianity there is a presentation of a 'happy ending' and I don't see this in Zen (again, not saying there isn't something like this, just my limited experience with the tradition).
Well, Zen (and Buddhism in general) certainly doesn't accept any idea of "hope" -- meaning literally, expectation or assurance or conviction -- regarding the ultimate reconciliation of all things, eternal life, resurrection, etc. In fact, they sometimes make a big deal about rejecting the concept of "hope," as if it's for the gullible or religious/philosophical weaklings. That, in my opinion, is a grave loss for them and reason enough for me not to adopt their understanding of ultimate things. At the end of the day, my Christian convictions are intact and unflinching.
Oct 26, 2023·edited Oct 26, 2023Liked by Addison Hodges Hart
Thanks Addison - a good reminder, and helpful. My attraction to Zen has always been its simplified message of 'now' and staying with what shows up in reality. I tend to migrate to Zen when I get tired, exhausted of metaphysical speculations about ultimately reality. Though as already mentioned, I do find the lack of a 'happy ending' for humanity in Zen problematic - mainly because I don't want their version of ultimate things to be true. I long for goodness, truth, beauty to 'win' in the end, which to me must include some eschatological hope that suffering, death, and injustice will not have the last word.
Your comments here echo my own experience. One thing to note is that in the actual practice of laypeople (and many monks as well!) the austerer forms of Buddhism are almost always supplemented by a colorful accretion of folk belief -- those who believe they follow the “pure” teaching (westerners often enough) often look down on all these spirits and demons as manifestations of mere superstition: hope is certainly a daily feature of most believers’ actual practice though, and it’s usually for a better rebirth in one of the heavens (or in a more comfortable station on earth) -- those who want to make a beeline toward emptiness are relatively few...
I think there might be a place where the absence of hope is appropriate. For myself, at the seeming bottom of despair, I turned to Zen, where my despair only ripened further. Ultimately, I had to confront in myself the most feared outcome, that maybe life was meaningless. This was very difficult, but I felt I had to live by truth wherever it might take me. Devastated, I lived in a grey meaninglessness for a good period of time. And then slowly, meaninglessness began to reveal itself to me in little ways. A little plant growing in a crack, a movement of wind, a bird chirping from a branch as I walked by, a momentary expression on the face of a friend. These brief, unique appearance in the world suddenly touched me. During a meditation retreat this all became clear, the world is what it is. I dont have to add on any meaning. It has a face, it is revealing itself, and it is looking out. And I can look back, too, and see. Somewhere, in that meeting, all meaning (physical, metaphysical, mundane, transcendent) takes place , is already here. Its just me that doesn't understand. But I do, I just dont know that I do.
The influence of Taoism on Zen I think cannot be understated. The focus upon practice and the encounter or experience of the oneness of all things or the mystical sight beyond the eyes. Is most foundational not only to thoses in Japan but many Buddist and Daoists across China (as well as the seemingly Hindu monistic influence On Gautimas thinking in the early Buddhists Pali texts ''I am now beyond gods and men'') Sunyata being a key concept to many Buddhists and the interpretations widely varying and ofcourse interlocking. It's not even mediation in the traditional sense of the word as contemplation. If anything its Unmentation or Uncontemplation. The blowing out and exhaling. A recollection similar to that used by Shankra, Eckhart and other platonic teachers. Dölpopa even used Atma/Atman(self/spirit) for referring to Buddha natures luminosity which shows the emptiness of all things and there emersion and inter dependence within it. There is a silence and a rest that can be seen by vision which is non optical. Looking forward to your notes on Jung.
This is beautiful.
Would it be incorrect to describe God as both changeless and perfectly dynamic?
It seems to me that there are two pleasures in life, and two alone: the pleasure of growth (say, the thrill of a race or the quiet enjoyment of learning) and the pleasure of stable, deep enjoyment (say, enjoying a glass of wine with loved ones on a warm summer’s night). Epektasis combines both: one is ever-ceasingly borne up and strives up to new heights of glory while ever more deeply sinking into the satisfaction of fulfilling communion with God and others.
How do you balance liturgical prayer and contemplation? What are some good manuals for Christian contemplation?
I could come up with a few titles, but let me suggest the two volumes by Maggie Ross mentioned in the article. They're an excellent start.
Liturgy and the daily offices feed my contemplative prayer. They're profoundly integrated. The "Anglican rule" is Eucharist, Offices, and private/mental (meditative/contemplative) prayer.
Thank you! That sounds like the Orthodox rule; maybe it’s just the Christian rule :)
How do you functionally do this (i.e. how do you schedule it? do you juxtapose it to the Office?)
When I attend public liturgy, I don't try to practice contemplative prayer. One should attend to the liturgy itself. I pray the daily offices with the intention of letting the texts speak to me as I speak them to God. Silent prayer (using, usually, the Jesus Prayer to get started) is something I do either after the morning and evening office, or as soon thereafter as I can. They're connected, certainly, but not necessarily juxtaposed.
Fr. Hart,
I’m reading through the Ross volumes right now. While they are genuinely good—why is she so opposed to the Church (and why make a new Eucharistic rite)? “Institutional Christianity,” if she means bishops, presbyters, deacons, and councils, are not late developments. Dogma is not necessarily a bad thing. Does she just mean Christendom?
She's an Anglican, so I don't believe she sees herself as opposed to the Church. In some areas, I don't agree with her (I'm not as enamored with the second volume as I am with the first -- and one thing we don't need is a "new" Eucharistic rite; if anything, I look backwards, not forwards, where liturgics are concerned). I agree that dogma isn't a bad thing at all, but I distinguish it from "dogmatism" -- the former is an indicator, a signpost, of where the truth is to be found; the latter is rigid, quick to condemn and exclude, and concerned with conformity. I also uphold the need for bishops, priests, and deacons, and believe that councils are appropriate means for resolving issues in the Church. I think she does mean "Christendom" when she takes jabs at the "institutional church"; my only opinion about Christendom is that it's no longer a reality and we need to adapt to that significant fact. A great deal of the developments in the Church after Constantine is good, just, and holy, and God forbid it should be thrown away. In short, I'm not a "liberal"; I'm a traditionalist, but quick to qualify what I mean by that. Anyway, with Ross (as with any other writer), eat the fish and spit out the bones.
I remember first reading the Tao Te Ching, the Dhammapada, and a variety of Zen texts and found that what was most surprising was how Christian they all sounded in their approach to the ethical and contemplative life. In particular the TTC was something I could have seen written by a 4th century desert Father. I found that as a Christian diving more into modern Zen and Taoism that it devolved into this bland materialism that substituted transcendence for clarity of mind, relaxation, and anxiety reduction. I was terribly disappointed, but it makes sense. Like the good western capitalists we are we want the "benefits" of religion" with none of the corresponding responsibilities associated with living a spiritual way of life. The fleshly man darkens us from living in the freedom of the spiritual man. Although I will say that it explains why so many people who become Christians later in life after spending a decade in Zen describe this process of a gradual sense of alienation. Most people can only stomach the materialism and nihilism of pop-Sam-Harris-secular-buddhist-Zen for so long before they need something to turn their gaze upwards towards. It's sad to see so many modern Buddhists fully assume the status of being "atheistic" which seems to be totally a Western attribution to a tradition that is vast and while most certainly refrains from naming it, is obviously about God, the existing One.
I'll be rereading this a few times, so thank you! Having recently worked my way through 5 different versions of the Tao Te Ching, as well as some of David Hinton's writing on Chan, I've found myself wondering about the place for Sophia in any comparing/contrasting of Taoism and Christian mysticism, vis a vis the divine feminine. Would be interested to hear your thoughts on that topic, as well as on specific Taoist/Christian meditation/contemplative prayer techniques. I've been bouncing back and forth between a kind of shikantaza and the Jesus Prayer and wondering if I just need to commit to one or the other. This post makes me think that perhaps both are fine. (Anglican here, by the way, with a practice history including Zen and vipassana.)
I think both are fine, although in my practice what I have taken from Zen has become thoroughly integrated with the Jesus Prayer and mental prayer. In fact, The Philokalia and other Christian sources give us techniques for prayer that come remarkably close to Zen discipline (without all the thwacking, of course).
While there is a focus on the heart area in some hesychast recitation of the Jesus Prayer, there are Orthodox who suggest some caution and oversight under spiritual guidance, although I am not sure any dangerous outcome is guaranteed if one proceeds on one’s own.
Are you familiar with Karl Graf von Durckheim? He studied with zen masters in Japan in the 50s, and bringing the zazen practice back with him to Europe, emphasized a focus on the hara (lower dantien). He apprarently recommended to Fr. Alphonse Goettmann, a French Orthodox priest (and featured in his book Prayer of the Heart), that the recitation of the Jesus Prayer be done at the hara level, as that is the real seat of power and actual center of the body, as well as being ‘safer’ than the heart-focused version of the practice.
Durckheim was the subject of one of my earlier posts, so, yes, I am familiar with him. I think there is wisdom, certainly, in proceeding with caution (and, if available, guidance) if a Christian takes up Zen practice. Not because there's anything in classical Zen itself or in the classical texts that are insurmountable obstacles, but because of the compromised modern and Westernized versions of Zen I described briefly above. For similar reasons, I would caution Christians exploring their own spiritual tradition to steer clear of current trends to politicize (skewed either to Right or Left) or to "deconstruct" their faith. One can't know a tradition and be shaped by it if one is constantly being invited to consider outside concerns at the same time. With Zen, being sidetracked by scientism, atheism, physicalism, etc. is to lose touch with what it's really about. At our core, we aren't physicalists or atheists or even political beings. What are we? Who are we? Whose are we? Those are the crucial questions.
Many thanks for your response, and I will look for your post on Durckheim. I appreciate and agree with your comments, to the extent that I have become aware of the issues you point out. As a long-lapsed Catholic who only after a mid-life crisis decades ago, and seeing the necessity of rediscovering one’s “vertical orientation,” did I embark on a way that encompassed many involvements, not least including Sufism, Taoism, Tibetan Buddhism, and Rudolf Steiner’s anthroposophy. Although I tried several times but was unable to reenter the Catholic church, even by way of the traditional Latin mass of my youth, I remain unchurched, and have found throughout my participation in those other paths that I have difficulty being in community. Over time I have been trying to fashion a solitary practice that best fits me, with Evagrius and Philokalia fathers as guides, but also with wisdom from sources such as Durckheim and Steiner. And while my devotional and lectio practice makes use of Orthodox office books, there are also other times when I still engage certain elements of dzogchen practice (from my last teacher) keeping it as a quite separate activity, and so there is no mixing of paths in terms of my practice. Meanwhile, attaining a meaningful outlook and view seems to be what I am working towards — whether I can actually take Christ as he is meant for a Christian to be taken, or as the incarnate Logos of the neoplatonists (which is already moving towards Steiner)… or whether I finally have to accept Christ as the force that works through all traditions, including dzogchen. In short, I will have to see what, among all these elements will transcend the others, and if it will, what I will receive as my wisdom to follow.
I will leave off with an interesting anecdote. Fr. Francis Tiso, a canon of the Catholic church who has degrees in asian religions and Tibetan Buddhism, and who wrote the fascinating book “Resurrection and Rainbow Body,” once mentioned hearing from many people who were trying to reconcile the arising of Christian impulses after practicing in eastern traditions. One such person had the experience in which, during his visualization of the refuge tree (in Tibetan vajrayana one takes refuge in the lineage tree by visualizing a field of previous masters and enlightened beings), instead of certain masters appearing, the figures of Jesus and Mary began to arise. Tiso didn’t openly say what he advised the practitioner specifically, but asserted that these types of occurences did happen, yet were individual in nature and needed to be resolved in ways appropriate to the individual.
And so I have no choice but to see where my particular path leads and how, or perhaps what on that path, resolves. As it doesn’t seem possible to take any kind of inner decision that would “clear the table” of all else but the decided upon, I am keeping an open mind and allowing myself to encounter the spiritual studies and offerings from those such as yourself, for reflection and discernment — for which, many thanks.
Addison thanks for this critical reflection, very helpful. Over the years, I have felt drawn to Zen, but I also end up feeling, nowadays more than ever, that Zen is incomplete, mainly because it doesn't have God as its object. I can't shake the feeling that Zen can be nihilistic as the concepts of no self, nothingness, suchness, and nirvana leave me empty and not fulfilled in the end. I'm sure the misunderstanding is mine regarding such things, but for me, even though I want to understand Zen, I have found as recent a pull (call?) to let it go and return to the One whose name is Love and who gives meaning and a source to our being and existence.
Frankly, you won't find anything in Zen that you can't find in the Christian spiritual tradition. You just need to know where to look.
A true saying, at least as far as my experience goes. Although I have remained a Christian my entire life, I spent many years fascinated by, occasionally obsessed with, Buddhism and Zen in particular. I felt there was something deeply lacking in my own tradition that I could only find in Zen, and at times felt like maybe I should give up on Christianity. At some point in the last decade though, I looked up and realized that I just didn't feel the same need to look to Zen anymore. I had found wellsprings within the Christian tradition that were deep, rich and provided all the lovely playful paradoxes and contemplative wisdom that had so drawn me to Zen. Recently I've found a renewed, but I think (hope) more mature appreciation of Zen, Taoism and Advaita, but my approach has changed. I'm not looking to fill some lack left by Christianity. When we come to other people expecting them to fill in some deep seated lack in ourselves, the relationship tends to be disappointing; I think the same holds with other traditions. When we can approach another religious tradition from a place of contentment, with a wholesome disinterest, then we are ironically more able to receive the gifts they actually offer. And I think Zen would back me up on that.
I have a maddening tendency to want to conceptually embrace and prioritize systems of thought as the most accurate or the most true - thus, I vacillate between systems depending on my mood, thinking quality, or book that I'm reading. It's a flaw I'm aware of (thankfully) and working with (but it's deeply ingrained in my brain), and I fully agree with what you say, especially: "When we can approach another religious tradition from a place of contentment, with a wholesome disinterest, then we are ironically more able to receive the gifts they actually offer."
Well said.
And interpret; as God isn’t central in Zen or Buddhism, thus you have to read him back into their system.
Whenever "Buddha nature" is mentioned, I hear "God."
It’s rather striking that in most Buddhist statuary, Siddhartha, a man, looks like a god, while Jesus, God Himself, suffers as a man on the crosses we hang. The scriptural depictions are also markedly different — Jesus grows angry, weeps, speaks darkly of apocalypse; Buddha is placid as an ornamental pool. Strange that the one who was merely human feels so much more beyond my reach than the other.
Being merely human is, after all, a great complement—I have it on good authority that they image the Divine.
I found this absolutely beautiful, and very true. And Maggie Ross's "Silence" is a transformative work - or, perhaps she would prefer I say 'transfiguring.'
Love it. Shared. Should be widely read.
And mandatory in California. 😂
In California, WWJD stands for "What Would Jeff (Bridges) Do?"
Yes, maybe that finely calibrated melancholy is a spiritual as well as aesthetic achievement. How to keep it from tipping into numbness or despair? Beauty itself must be involved in the answer somehow.
Thank you for this clear-sighted reflection. It all rings true.
I am very much a beginner in this field, so I offer this observation tentatively — was it not also the case that within the ancient practice of Taoism itself there lurked the possibility, if not of nihilism, then at least of a muted despair at the transience of human values? And would this despair always be a sign of spiritual immaturity, or, absent a Redeemer, might it not be apposite in some respects? The poetry of Meng Chiao is a clear though perhaps overly neurotic example, so I will append this selection from T’ao Ch’ien, who often writes from a place of wisdom right at the center of the Chinese tradition. It is from “Home Again Among Fields and Gardens” as translated by David Hinton.
Years never walking mountains and lakes
gone, elated again among forests and fields,
I take our children by the hand and set out
through woods and abandoned farmlands.
Soon, we’re walking around aimlessly amid
gravemounds and houses deserted long ago,
their wells and kitchen stoves still standing
among broken-down bamboo and mulberry.
Someone’s out gathering firewood, so I ask
where these people, all these people, went.
Turning toward me, he says: “Nothing’s left
once you’re dead and gone, nothing. Wait
a single generation and, court or market,
every last face is new.” It’s true, of course.
Life’s its own mirage of change. And it ends
returned into all empty absence. What else?
There is often a poignant and melancholic quality in both Taoist and Zen poetry. Much of its beauty is linked to the sense of the impermanence of things.
It might be interesting to compare the lineaments of spiritual melancholy/poignancy in Zen poetry to its manifestation in the Christian tradition. To me a kind of twilight yearning -- or Sehnsucht -- is among the most important instigations to spiritual thought. The nihilistic move, I think, would be to see the yearning as pointing quite literally at nothing and so dissolve it in a regimen of emptiness.
I agree, I think a comparison could be helpful, as I tend to see the "spiritual melancholy/poignancy" in Zen as, well, depressing. How is despair, nothingness, etc. in the end hopeful? In Christianity there is a presentation of a 'happy ending' and I don't see this in Zen (again, not saying there isn't something like this, just my limited experience with the tradition).
Well, Zen (and Buddhism in general) certainly doesn't accept any idea of "hope" -- meaning literally, expectation or assurance or conviction -- regarding the ultimate reconciliation of all things, eternal life, resurrection, etc. In fact, they sometimes make a big deal about rejecting the concept of "hope," as if it's for the gullible or religious/philosophical weaklings. That, in my opinion, is a grave loss for them and reason enough for me not to adopt their understanding of ultimate things. At the end of the day, my Christian convictions are intact and unflinching.
Thanks Addison - a good reminder, and helpful. My attraction to Zen has always been its simplified message of 'now' and staying with what shows up in reality. I tend to migrate to Zen when I get tired, exhausted of metaphysical speculations about ultimately reality. Though as already mentioned, I do find the lack of a 'happy ending' for humanity in Zen problematic - mainly because I don't want their version of ultimate things to be true. I long for goodness, truth, beauty to 'win' in the end, which to me must include some eschatological hope that suffering, death, and injustice will not have the last word.
Your comments here echo my own experience. One thing to note is that in the actual practice of laypeople (and many monks as well!) the austerer forms of Buddhism are almost always supplemented by a colorful accretion of folk belief -- those who believe they follow the “pure” teaching (westerners often enough) often look down on all these spirits and demons as manifestations of mere superstition: hope is certainly a daily feature of most believers’ actual practice though, and it’s usually for a better rebirth in one of the heavens (or in a more comfortable station on earth) -- those who want to make a beeline toward emptiness are relatively few...
I think there might be a place where the absence of hope is appropriate. For myself, at the seeming bottom of despair, I turned to Zen, where my despair only ripened further. Ultimately, I had to confront in myself the most feared outcome, that maybe life was meaningless. This was very difficult, but I felt I had to live by truth wherever it might take me. Devastated, I lived in a grey meaninglessness for a good period of time. And then slowly, meaninglessness began to reveal itself to me in little ways. A little plant growing in a crack, a movement of wind, a bird chirping from a branch as I walked by, a momentary expression on the face of a friend. These brief, unique appearance in the world suddenly touched me. During a meditation retreat this all became clear, the world is what it is. I dont have to add on any meaning. It has a face, it is revealing itself, and it is looking out. And I can look back, too, and see. Somewhere, in that meeting, all meaning (physical, metaphysical, mundane, transcendent) takes place , is already here. Its just me that doesn't understand. But I do, I just dont know that I do.
This is incredibly helpful to me. All of it. Thank you, Addison.