By the Rev. John Paraskevopoulos
We cannot hold on forever to those whom we love, to things we want, to the fame and fortune we have; in the end, we must part from all these. How empty the years seem as our life dwindles to a close. Think it through for yourself: even world-conquering kings cannot hold on to their high status and many treasures forever… Although we confront this kind of truth, we only pretend to understand it. Inured to a life hemmed in by desires, the ordinary person is not in the least astonished by the law of impermanence. Ah, how empty we ordinary persons are!
Zonkaku
The Dharma exists to shed light on the nature of life and to afford a true refuge amidst the many difficulties we face. If things always went smoothly and we felt no unease, the Buddha would have little to say to us. The many trials he underwent would have been in vain and his Enlightenment would have meant nothing. The Buddhist teachings, therefore, are presented as a strong remedy for what ails our hearts and minds.
So, what is the nature of our illness that requires such radical intervention? As much as we’re compelled to find fault in others, and the world generally, it’s important to see that the root of our troubled existence actually lies in ourselves. In other words, what we regard as ‘the problems of the world’ actually have their root in all of us. The human predicament is such that we are driven, at our core, by fear and dissatisfaction. As Shinran says:
Our desires are countless, and anger, wrath, jealousy and envy are overwhelming, arising without pause; to the very last moment of life they do not cease, or disappear, or exhaust themselves.
Confronted with this stark realisation, people look for ways to suppress the acute anxiety to which it gives rise. In seeking to protect ourselves from emotional vulnerability and discomfort in the face of threats to our well-being or self-regard, we often succumb to misguided reactions. When unhappy, we may project feelings of anger or inadequacy onto others, blaming them for what are — in truth — our own shortcomings. In doing so, we try to feel better about ourselves rather than take responsibility for honestly coming to grips with our lack of awareness. This is, indeed, what determines the unenlightened life of everyday people (bombu) “whose greed is profound, whose anger is fierce and whose ignorance smoulders” as Kakunyo reminds us.
Shinran spoke of the ‘snakes and scorpions’ we harbour deep within, which are part and parcel of what he referred to as bonno (disordered desires that bind us). These can be very painful so, in the absence of an enduring solution, we may attempt to anaesthetize ourselves from such feelings by seeking relief through an excessive preoccupation with food, alcohol, sex, gambling or reckless behaviours that may become addictive.
And yet, trying to ‘cauterize’ the wounds of our heart in this way does not lead to true healing. It only causes further trauma in which we continue to hurt both ourselves and others. This is because, as Shinran says, we are “possessed of defilements and wrong views”; being bereft of wisdom, we lack “a true mind and a heart of purity”. This can have tragic consequences for us and, because we often like to think that we’re successful, intelligent and ‘have it together’ (more so than others whom we then judge accordingly) we fail to see, as Zonkaku observed, that:
Common hearts of the defiled world, possessed of both the clever and fools alike, cannot be said to be very different … There are the noble and the lowly, but suffering is something that afflicts both in ample quantity. The poor and the wealthy cannot be said to be the same, but they are identical as far as not being free from distress.
The other difficulty we face is a deeper problem of which the others are but manifestations. The transient nature of life is a constant reminder that everything we know of this world will end. In the poignant words of Rennyo:
Existence is as ephemeral as a flash of lightning or the morning dew, and the wind of impermanence may blow even now. Yet we think only of prolonging this life for as long as possible, without ever aspiring for the afterlife. This is inexpressibly deplorable.
We appear to suffer from a kind of amnesia when it comes to death, as if it will never tap us on the shoulder, especially if we’re young, healthy and seemingly invulnerable. But Zonkaku observed that:
Living to do the things we plan for the day and for the morrow, attached to life’s pleasures and refusing to look suffering in the eye, we never notice the demon of Death encroaching. Busied with everything else, we never even notice the days and nights passing by in a blur.
When you think about it, it’s rather strange that we fear our own demise more than anything. If what certain secular thinkers say is true, and we’re simply made for a life that’s determined by meaningless random flux, then why are we so disturbed by its dissolution? If this is, indeed, our true nature, then why do we shudder at the ‘winds of impermanence’ when they strike us? If there is nothing left to us but having to endure what the Tannishō describes as this ‘fleeting world’, a ‘burning house’ where “all matters without exception are totally without truth and sincerity”, then why this visceral aversion to our annihilation?
This has nothing to do with with simply lamenting the loss of those things we’re attached to in our lives. Rather, it reveals that we don’t know what we really are as human beings, whose essence is deathless — an ignorance that is merely superficial as it can only mask, but never erase, our deep immortal longings which spurn the notion that our true self can ever die. This is why we sometimes feel that we’re not entirely at ease here; that we are haunted by an obscure memory of our true home, which is not of this world.
The Dharma has always recognised the precarious nature of human existence but it has never been content to simply let matters rest at that; after all, an alert child could surmise as much about the realities of life. Despite its sobering assessment of our condition, Shin Buddhism goes further. It offers a teaching of joy and illumination that can radically transform our existential plight if we surrender our inflamed hearts to its soothing waters.
Though we must suffer hardships that are inevitable given the limitations of this sorrowful world, there is always help at hand. The consolation of Amida’s compassionate embrace — that never abandons us — is a very great comfort in the midst of loss and bewilderment. The assurance that we are completely known and loved unconditionally is one that no political theory or technological marvel can ever replace.
In the next part, we’ll explore how the Buddha’s ‘medicine’ can yield great benefit, thanks to its emancipating insights that help us to finally resolve the problem of birth-and-death. When this renewal takes place in our lives, we may come to declare, as Shinran did, that:
Although my defiled life is filled with all kinds of desires and delusions, my mind is playing in the Pure Land.
Go to Part Three ▶