Thursday, May 13, 2010

My Muse

I have this idea for a collection of stories with a frame story inspired by 1001 Arabian Nights. The main character of the frame story is a writer on a date with a woman. One of the things that attracts the woman to him is the fact that he's a writer. She wants him to tell her a story. He agrees, with one condition: he leaves out the ending. If she wants to know how it ends, she has to agree to go on another date, at which time he finishes one story and tells her another without an ending. And so forth... Their love grows and the stories relate in some way to their relationship. Right now I generally know how the frame story progresses but I don't know any of the stories he tells her. My Muse, at the moment, is silent. I don't know why; this is Her story because the frame story is somewhat of a metaphor for my relationship with Her.

If you've never really written or done anything especially creative, you may not get it. The creative process often does feel like some external agent is telling you what to do. And often you feel like a slave to it. Like this essay. I had an idea to write it and so now I'm compelled to write it. Of course, modern science disdains the idea of muses or daemons or geniuses or whatever you want to call them. It's simply electro-chemical reactions in the brain. But is this idea of an external agent too quaint for our modern age? Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, thinks not:



If your life is just so rushed that you simply can't carve out enough time to watch an eighteen minute TED talk, then the summary in brief. A "genius" (as she calls it) takes responsibility away from the writer. The writer no longer has to feel as pressured to create THE NEXT GREATER THING. A writer could even have fun with it, as she relates Tom Waits telling his muse he's stuck in traffic. While I like the idea, my Muse is telling me to disagree somewhat.

Rationally, muses or geniuses don't make sense. And I'm not sure if perpetuating a myth solves the problem of the writer's (or any creator's) torment. It's something that comes with the territory. Right now, the most I've made from a story is $25. There's a fear that I've already hit my peak. I know a guy who got paid professional rates for a story. That was a year ago and I know he wonders the same thing. I know a well published author who just had her play produced in her small hometown. "But," she's said, "despite my hometown really liking it, it's just a small hometown. Who cares?" Yes, playing the schizophrenic game that little fairy geniuses exist does shift the blame: "Well, it's my Muses' fault I peaked so early!" But I fear it may also be a crutch. Elizabeth Gilbert says that she'll do her part, she'll show up even if her genius doesn't. Again, it seems like a crutch. Yet, paradoxically, I do like the idea of an external agent guiding a creator.

It means the creator doesn't have an ego; he's just following directions. He's not writing for himself, but for the world. And if you think about it, a creator cannot take total credit for anything he creates. The world imposes the ideas that may become a novel or a painting or whatever: a snippet of conversation, the way a car looks, the smell of rain after a storm... This blog entry started because of a conversation I had with a larger writers' group about why we write. The Elizabeth Gilbert talk I found in my aimless searchings on the web. Perhaps the causes and conditions were ripe so that I was able to serendipitously find that talk. Or, more poetically, maybe my Muse told me where to look. Maybe my idea of genius is a little more mystical than Gilbert's.

I don't think the problem of the tortured creator is because we've switched from "having a genius" to "being a genius." I'm sure there were tortured creators when people truly believed in muses and daemons and geniuses. The problem, I think, is that creating something is a bit of an ego boost. Personally, even with my limited success, I feel good that I'm published. I've done something that few people have. But it becomes a competition with myself, with my own ego. It's healthy to step away and reflect that where I am now as a writer is due to so many other factors throughout my life. And upon that reflection, the competition among self and other evaporates. I write just because. It's not a childish answer; it's just what my Muse told me to do.

So what is my Muse? I can tell you Her name. I can even give you a physical description. But seriously, that's just a character in a story collection I may never write. What She really is, is the world, the universe, everything, especially in how it relates to my creativity. She's always awake (even and especially in my dreams), always there. And when I don't feel like writing, yes, that's Her fault too. I'm just a tiny speck in Her massive cosmos. It's not metaphysics. It's poetic expression (Her fault). And it is humbling.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Why Buddhism is a Science

Anatman
It was Easter Sunday. I wasn't at any Easter dinner or picnic or whatnot. Christianity isn't my religion; why should I celebrate it? My family is a sort-of holiday Christian--the kind that doesn't believe in God--so we were going to have Easter dinner on Monday instead. But I had another obligation--I had a Buddhist class. On the day where Christians celebrate the supposed resurrection of their man-god, the class went over, in part, the Buddhist concept of anatman. In Sanskrit, atman means soul or self and an a or an before often means its negation. So anatman means selflessness or soullessness. "Wait a minute!" you might say. "Don't Buddhists believe in reincarnation?" Not really. We (or at least I) believe there is no transmigration of souls. How could we, if we do not believe in a soul? There is rebirth as a metaphor of getting wrapped up in the cyclic existence of suffering. And the Buddha's teachings tell us to stop the suffering, stop the cyclic existence, stop the "rebirth." Yes, I know there are thirteen Dalai Lamas but how many popes are there? I do have conflict with this. I don't quite believe it when I'm told that the Dalai Lama is just an office like the pope or the President. It seems like much more than that. There's also The Tibetan Book of the Dead, which describes in detail your transition from one life to the next. How does that fit into no reincarnation, no transmigration of souls? I don't know. It seems like Buddhism tries to hedge its bets, sometimes towards the "maybe, possibly, reincarnation really does exist." But what I am sure about is that this whole anatman philosophy is not something that was made up recently, something to accomodate the Western mind, a sort of "Westernized" Buddhism. It's ancient; it's in the original so-called Pali Cannon (there it's anatta, but same word, different language). Nor would Buddhism need to Westernize itself, at least not with respect to anatman.

We live in a very irrational society. Easter is about as irrational as it gets. You have a resurrecting man-god and a rabbit that lays either chocolate or colored eggs. True, the rabbit is a lie kids only believe, but we set kids up from an early age to be duped by the irrational. As adults, in addition to the "mainstream" religions, some people believe we're descended from aliens chained to a volcano (Scientology). Some seriously follow their horoscopes, go in for their tarot card readings, see their acupuncturist or chiropractor for what ails them, and avoid vaccinations but instead try unproven herbal remedies. I'll admit, I've tried some of that so-called New Age stuff (I'm a Buddhist, after all) but I try to be rational about it. I try to ask: does it work? And if it doesn't, I stop doing it. Regardless of whether it's Mainstream or New Age, belief systems are often irrational. So do I think a doctrine that we do not have a soul is a Western tradition, and thus, Buddhism needed to adopt it for us Westerns? Hell no. I think most Westerns, especially of the religious persuasion, believe they have a soul. Death is a very scary thing. Perhaps the scariest. Wouldn't it be cool if we lived on and on and on and.... It's perhaps not surprising that reincarnation persists among Buddhists, even though the Buddha refused to answer what happens after we die.

There are some who choose to think a little more rationally. The skeptics, the humanists, the freethinkers, the brights (an actual term for a rational thinker). I consider myself among this crowd. When it pertains to religion, we are often labeled "atheist" (there's that negation" a", like in anatman). We would be the ones most likely to believe in a soulless existence, we would be the ones who would embrace the philosophy of anatman. Yet, we don't seem to be the ones flocking to Buddhism. I know this is totally unscientific--based entirely upon my own experience--but this is the impression I get: rational secularists don't make up too significant a portion of Buddhist practitioners. In fact, I often feel alone, like I am between two worlds that don't really like each other. In the secular world, there are people who disdain anything that calls itself "religious" as being irrational. In the spiritual world, science is distrusted, the creator of the atom bomb and pollution. Things like vaccines or renewable energy conveniently are forgotten. There is another science the spiritualists forget, which I will get to very shortly.

Why should secularists follow Buddhism? Buddhism, after all, is a "religion." And at least to me, it's a greater insult to be called "religious" than it is to be called derogatory word. I will touch only briefly later on as to what defines the word "religion," and if Buddhism fits that category. What I will go into in detail, however, is to say this: we should follow Buddhism because it is a science.

Why Buddhism is a Science
I came to Buddhism via science. Several years ago, while still in college, I had one of the worst summers of my life. I was living with my parents, commuting to Boulder to a peanuts-paying job, and trying to learn Ancient Greek. A grown man living with his parents, well, that's never fun. I commuted to Boulder in a car on its last legs. And why would I try to learn Ancient Greek? Because my latest "dream" was to become a Classics professor. Why? Well, that has a much greater back-story, but for the purposes of this blog essay, I'll just say that was just "the latest great idea." And learning Greek wasn't going too well. So after such a rotten summer I resolved that when I got back to classes in that fall, I'd check out the psychological intern counseling services my student fees cover. Now, I wasn't a big fan of psychology in general--there seems to be something a bit off kilter in a profession whose founder talked about "Oedipus Complexes" and "penis envy." But I like to think I can keep an open mind, so I tried it out. My first sessions made me think that I wish I hadn't. When the intern told me that my problems aren't really a problem, that nothing's wrong with me, I wanted to ask for my money back. Just cut out that portion of my student fees and give me a refund for this crap. Toward the end of our sessions, I did soften up and I asked him what kind of "ism" he was peddling. "Buddhism," he told me. I hardened. I wasn't about to go to a religion. But the organization that he referred me to was secular enough that it didn't feel too religious. Over time, I was forced to acknowledge that Buddhism was indeed helpful in my life. Despite the label of being a religion, Buddhism I had to conclude was a science.

It is important to say what exactly is meant by "science." It is NOT the body of knowledge that science produces, like nuclear weapons and pollution. What it IS, is anything that follows the scientific method. In modern terms the scientific method is the process of collecting data to form (or reinforce) a hypothesis. The hypothesis is again tested and retested by various means. If the hypothesis is sound enough, it is often called a theory. And if that theory passes full muster, we eventually call it fact (though a "fact" can sometimes still be overturned by further evidence). That's the modern definition of the scientific method. But there are others with a similar meaning but formulated differently. One such definition comes from an Ancient Indian text. Paraphrased, it says: "Believe nothing, no matter where you read it or who has said it, not even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense." A full translated version of this Indic text can be found here:

http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/an/an03/an03.065.than.html

Notice who this is by? Yes, it is purported to have been said by the Buddha. If you read the translator's note, you will notice that he too believes the Kalama Sutta is much more than figuring out right from wrong. He believes that "any view or belief must be tested by the results it yields when put into practice." Sounds very much like the scientific method to me. And remember, this was totally independent of the Greek thinkers to the West from where we get our modern notions of science. And actually, the Ancient Greeks--as far as I could find--never said anything this strong about the scientific method. The West had to wait for people like William of Ockam and Francis Bacon--about 2000 years after the Buddha--to state anything like the scientific method explicitly. But is this really the scientific method? After all, though I think it strongly implies it, this Kalama Sutta never states a "repeat" clause that is central to the scientific method. It never states that you should retest until you get something workable. For that, I think it's helpful to examine the Buddha's life.

The man we call the "Buddha" was born a royal prince named Siddhartha Gautama. For the first 29 years of his life he lived lavishly, with all the excesses his small kingdom could allow. It is said that his father isolated his son with this lifestyle in part because he feared his son might become a wise teacher. This was part of a prophecy that was made when Siddhartha was born. This "prophecy story" may have been added later on to make the Buddha's life more mystical. Or it could have a root in something many a father fears: the son doesn't grow up to be a part of his "family business." Despite his father's isolation, Siddhartha did manage to wander beyond the palace walls. He saw poverty. He saw old age. And sickness. And death. Clearly, those he saw suffered. And, as the prince reflected, so did he. Despite all his excesses, it was never enough to make him truly happy. There was still a wanting, a dissatisfaction. So he formed what a scientist calls a axiom: "Suffering exists." It is self-evident, an a priori argument, a big "Duh!" Now, maybe there's someone out there who disagrees with this. Maybe there is someone out there who wouldn't suffer if they literally shot themselves in the foot or watch their dearest beloved die a violent death right before their eyes. So if you are that person and you don't feel a wanting, a dissatisfaction, a yearning for the world to be different from the way it is, then you are either 1) enlightened, or 2) a philosophical nuisance. If you're 1), then you probably know everything else I'm going to write and can clearly see this is just the ramblings of my ego. If you're 2), you can stop reading now. Buddhism is a practical philosophy, not an armchair one. So while you can sit around debating whether suffering really does exist, the rest of us will agree that often we find ourselves in situations we really don't want to be in; that is Buddhism's definition of suffering. The axiom: "Suffering exists," is known today as The First Noble Truth. And the definition of suffering as a wanting or dissatisfaction is known as The Second Noble Truth. He probably didn't know the definition or cause of suffering yet; that would come later. But he knew that something was not quite right and he sought out a way to end that feeling, at least in himself.

While young Siddhartha saw old age, sickness, and death, he also saw a mendicant. There was a measure of peace in that person Siddhartha wanted. So the prince decided to leave royalty, leave his wife and kid (yes, he wasn't the best of role models at that age), and become a beggar. He was basically a rebellious youth, defying his father. He sought out teachers to alleviate his suffering. He tried at least three different groups--as the texts say--and came up still wanting, still suffering. There's that retesting part of science. Each school offered their own hypothesis, but each didn't pass upon examination. Siddhartha still suffered. So, dejected and malnourished (he'd been starving himself trying to achieve enlightenment), he sat under a fig tree and eventually found a system that worked. Siddhartha had become a Buddha, an enlightened one. And he did it by applying the scientific method.

What did Siddhartha--henceforth in his life known as the Buddha--find under that fig tree? He found that if we stopped the wanting, the craving of things other than what they are, suffering would cease. Again, that wanting is known as the Second Noble Truth. And the Cessation is known as the Third Noble truth, which is also known as nirvana. So nirvana is not a place like heaven, but a state of mind. And the path for getting to nirvana? That is the Fourth Noble Truth.

The Buddha's philosophy may seem obvious, like a sort of greeting card philosophy. That is part of its strength, I think. A good science uncovers the obvious by looking at the evidence in a new light. Charles Darwin did it with biology. Isaac Newton did it with Physics. And though "Stop Craving!" may seem obvious, it is not easy. Otherwise, we'd all be Buddhas. So the Buddha provided a roadmap. This goes beyond some pithy saying you'd find on a Hallmark card. And though you can find echoes of Buddhism in other philosophies (independent verification is another mark of a science), none of them plumb the depths of how to end suffering the way Buddhism does.

Enough on the crash course on the Buddha and Buddhism. Now I would like to discuss language and the power it has on how we perceive the world. When I was a kid, there were nine planets. One of the earliest memories I have was memorizing all of them, before I knew my alphabet, I think. Yes, I'm an astronomy geek like that. Then, in 2006, we lost one: Pluto was no longer a planet. The Death Star didn't blow it up or anything; the International Astronomical Union had determined that Pluto shared some of the characteristics of the other eight planets, but not all. What does this have to do with Buddhism? It's meant to illustrate the importance of definitions. If you're an astronomer and you're writing about planetary formation, prior to 2006, you'd have to account for Pluto. Now, post 2006, you can describe planetary formation and treat the formation of Pluto separately. Similarly, if you're a Buddhist and you're trying to describe Buddhism as something other than a religion, you have to describe in much detail why it is something other than a religion. I personally do not like the "religion" label for Buddhism. But I don't have the power to make that change. There will probably never be an International Religious Union to set the definition of a religion and not include Buddhism as part of that definition. Both Pluto and Buddhism attained their labels because of historical circumstances. In Pluto's case, Clyde Tombaugh was looking for a planet beyond Neptune and found Pluto in the process. Therefore, Pluto was named a planet. When we in the West began interacting with people in the East, we had to call the system of the teachings of the Buddha, so we called it a religion. (Quick note: the terms "West" and "East" are also historical definitions that make no literal sense on a spherical planet.) So, while I have to live with Buddhism as religion, I think it's helpful to ask what Buddhism calls itself.

Buddhism is a dharma, which is a Sanskrit word which means "teaching." Combine "Buddha" with "dharma" and you get the compound word, Buddhadharma. That's what Buddhism calls itself, the Buddhadharma, the teachings of the Buddha. Going back to just the word dharma alone, it can also mean "phenomena," or even "truth." Dharma seems to share much the same functionality as the Greek word logos, which is usually translated as "word." But it too sometimes means "truth." Thus, in John 1:1: "In the beginning was the Word..." doesn't make much sense to me in modern English. Logos is where we get the suffix "logy" as in "biology" or "geology."

"Wait a minute, Sean!" you may be saying. "I know where this is going. You're going to say that Buddhism is a 'logy' like other sciences and therefore must be a science. What about Scientology and astrology. Aren't you saying that they're sciences too?" No, I'm not. And I'm not saying Buddhism is a science if it were "Buddhology." What I am saying is that "study of the Buddha" or "teachings of the Buddha" has different connotations than "religion of the Buddha." Words are important. People who dislike anything labeled a religion will have a difficult time getting through the door simply because Buddhism is labeled such.

Is Buddhism a religion at all, then? It has no god or gods. It should have no blind faith, no dogma (that's the whole point of this essay!). Yes, it has many rituals, but a birthday party is a ritual. Is "birthday party" a religion? I think not. So, as Pluto shares many characteristics with the planets, Buddhism shares many characteristics with other religions. Some of those characteristics are rather irksome to me. As I've said before, there is the whole reincarnation issue. There are other things, such as how Buddhism seems to become the replacement religion for many, with new dogmas replacing old. There are chants I've said during retreats about historical events I know little to nothing about. Yet, I get the impression of: "you say these, because they are a part of your religion." Or else what? The Buddha is going to sit judgment upon me and make me a dung beetle in the next life?

I could go on and on, but this essay is already verbose, for a blog entry. Railing against how the Internet is forcing us to communicate in 140 character bits is a subject for another time. What I've said here is nothing new; the debate over what exactly is Buddhism is an old one. But it seems the debate always ends as just an interesting tidbit. No one--as far as I'm aware--has ever developed a "Scientific Buddhist" community. Yes, it is redundant, like calling a clear sky blue. But, just as you say "clear blue sky" to emphasize its blueness, a "Scientific Buddhist" community would emphasize Buddhism's scientific outlook. I don't know how such a community would come about. Often I've had the thought that that would be my contribution to Buddhism. Maybe this essay is a beginning. Maybe it's just another interesting tidbit among interesting tidbits. I really do think the skeptics and scientifically minded are an untapped demographic. But many never consider Buddhism because of its "religion" label. If only targeted marketing could find a way to get to them. It's not proselytizing. I'm not trying to save their soul. It doesn't exist anyway. But--to borrow religious language--I think a Scientific Buddhist would be a very devout follower. And such a community would set Buddhism in a new light, a consciously rational light. That would be a very great thing.

I hope that--regardless of how many or how few read it--this essay will contribute something toward a greater sanity in our world. Thanks for reading.

"The religion of the future will be a cosmic religion. It should transcend a personal God and avoid dogma and theology. Covering both the natural and the spiritual, it should be based on a religious sense arising from the experience of all things natural and spiritual as a meaningful unity. Buddhism answers this description. If there is any religion that could cope with modern scientific needs it would be Buddhism."
--Anonymous, but often attributed to Albert Einstein