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Alan Watts (1915-1973)



Alan Watts

THE PHILOSOPHIES OF ASIA



CONTENTS

I. The Relevance of Oriental Philosophy

II. The Mythology of Hinduism

III. Eco-Zen

IV. Swallowing a Ball of Hot Iron

V. Intellectual Yoga

VI. Introduction to Buddhism

VII. The Taoist Way of Karma





THE RELEVANCE OF ORIENTAL PHILOSOPHY

CHAPTER ONE

When I was a small boy I used to haunt section of London around the h Museum, and one day I came across a shop that had a notice over the window which said: "Philosophical Instruments." Now even as a boy I knew something about philosophy, but I could not imagine what philosophical instruments might be. So I went up to the window and there displayed were chronometers, slide rules, scales, and all kinds of what we would now call scientific instruments, but they were philosophical instruments because science used to be called natural philosophy. Aristotle once said that "The beginning of philosophy is wonder." Philosophy is man's expression of curiosity about everything and his attempt to make sense of the world primarily through his intellect; that is to say, his faculty for thinking. Thinking, of course, is a word used in many ways and is a very vague word for most people. However, I use the word thinking in a very precise way. By thinking, as distinct from feeling or emoting or sensing, I mean the manipulation of symbols-whether they be words, numbers, or other signs such as triangles, squares, circles, astrological signs, or whatever. These are symbols, although sometimes symbols are a little bit more concrete and less abstract than that, as in the case of a mythological symbol, like a dragon. However, all these things are symbols, and the manipulation of symbols to represent events going on in the real world is what I call thinking.

Philosophy in the Western sense generally means an exercise of the intellect, and the manipulation of the symbols is very largely an exercise of the intellect, but it does sometimes go beyond that, as in the specific cases of poetry and music. Yet what philosophy has become today in the academic world is something that is extremely restricted. Philosophy in the United States, England, Germany, and France to some extent has fallen into the realm of two other disciplines: mathematical logic on the one hand, and linguistics on the other. The departments of philosophy throughout the academic world have bent over backwards to be as scientific as possible. As William Earl, who is professor of philosophy at Northwestern University, said in an essay called "Notes on the Death of a Culture," "An academic philosopher today must above all things avoid being edifying. He must never stoop to lying awake nights considering problems of the nature of the universe and the destiny of man, because these have largely been dismissed as metaphysical or meaningless questions. A scientific philosopher arrives at his office at nine o'clock in the morning dressed in a business suit carrying a briefcase. He does philosophy until five in the afternoon, at which point he goes home to cocktails and dinner and dismisses the whole matter from his head." Professor Earl adds, "He would wear a white coat to work if he could get away with it."

Of course this critique is a little exaggerated, but by and large this is what departmental academic philosophy has become, and Oriental philosophy is simply not philosophy in that sense. These things, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Taoism, are sometimes also called religions. I question the application of that word to them because I like to use the word religion rather strictly. Now I am not going to be so bold as to venture a definition of religion that is supposed to be true for all time. All I can do is tell you how I use the word, and I wish to use it in an exact sense from its Latin root which really means "a bond or rule of life." Therefore, the most correct use of the word religion is when we say of a man or woman that he or she has "gone into" religion; that is to say, has joined a religious or monastic order and is living under a rule of life or is living a life of obedience.

For if Christianity is a religion, if Judaism is a religion, and if Islam is a religion, they are based on the idea of man's obedient response to a divine revelation. Thus religion, as we understand it in these three forms of religion, consists really of three things we will call the three c's: the creed, the code, and the cult. The creed is the divinely revealed map of the universe or the nature of things. It is the revelation of the existence of God, of Allah, of Yahweh, or as we say, God, by His existence, by His will, and in His design of the universe. That is the creed. To this we add the second c, the code, and this is the divinely revealed law, or exemplar, which man is supposed to follow. In the case of Christianity there is a certain variation in this because the principal revelation of the code in Christianity, as well as the cult, is not so much a law as a person. In Christianity, God is said to be supremely revealed in the historic Jesus of Nazareth.. So the code here becomes really the following of Jesus of Nazareth, but not so much an obedience to a law as through the power of divine grace. Then, finally, there is the cult, and this is the divinely revealed method or way of worship by which man relates himself to God through prayers, rites, and sacraments. In these particular religions these methods are not supposed to be so much man's way of worshipping God, as God's way of loving Himself in which man is involved. So, in the Christian religion in the Mass we would say that we worship God with God's own worship, following the saying of that great German mystic, Meister Eckhardt: "The love with which I love God is the same love wherewith God loves me." So, too, when monks in a monastery recite the divine office, the psalms are supposed to be the songs of the Holy Spirit, and so in using the psalms the idea is that you worship God with God's own words, and thereby become a sort of flute through which the divine breath plays.

Now neither Hinduism, Buddhism, nor Taoism can possibly be called religions in this sense, because all three of them significantly lack the virtue of obedience. They do not concede the godhead as related to mankind or to the universe in a monarchical sense. There are various models of the universe which men have used from time to time, and the model that lies behind the judeoChristian tradition, if there really is such a thing, is a political model. It borrows the metaphor of the relation of an ancient Near Eastern monarch to his subjects, and he imposes his authority and his will upon his subjects from above by power, whether it be physical power or spiritual power. It is thus that in the Anglican Church, when the priest at morning prayer addresses the throne of grace he says, "Almighty and everlasting God, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the only ruler of princes, Who dost from Thy throne behold all the dwellers upon earth, most heartily we beseech Thee with Thy favor to behold our sovereign majesty, Elizabeth the Queen and all the royal family."

Now, what are these words? This is the language of court flattery, and the title "King of Kings," as a title of God, was borrowed from the Persian emperors. "Lord have mercy upon us," is an image drawn from things earthly and applied to things heavenly. God is the monarch, and therefore between the monarch and the subject there is a certain essential difference of kind, what we might call an ontological difference. God is God, and all those creatures, whether angels or men or other kinds of existence that God has created, are not God. There is this vast metaphysical gulf lying between these two domains. That gives us, as citizens of a democracy, some problems.

As a citizen of the United States you believe that a republic is the best form of government. Yet how can this be maintained if the government of the universe is a monarchy? Surely in that case a monarchy will be the best form of government. Many of the conflicts in our society arise from the fact that although we are running a republic, many of the members of this republic believe (or believe that they ought to believe) that the universe is a monarchy. Therefore, they are, above all, insistent upon obedience to law and order, and if there should be democracy in the Kingdom of God, that would seem to them the most subversive idea ever conceived. Now I am exaggerating this standpoint a little bit just for effect. There are some subtle modifications which one can introduce theologically, but I will not go into them at the moment.

There are at least two other models of the universe which have been highly influential in human history. One is dramatic, where God is not the skillful maker of the world standing above it as its artificer and King, but where God is the actor of the world as an actor of a stage play-the actor who is playing all the parts at once. In essence this is the Hindu model of the universe. Everybody is God in a mask, and of course our own word "person" is from the Latin, persona: "That through which comes sound." This word was used for the masks worn by actors in the Greco-Roman theater, which being an open-air theater required a projection of the voice. The word person has, however, in the course of time, come to mean "the real you." In Hindu thought, every individual as a person is a mask; fundamentally this is a mask of the godhead-a mask of a godhead that is the actor behind all parts and the player of all games. That is indefinable for the same reason that you cannot bite your own teeth. You can never get at it for the same reason that you cannot look straight into your own eyes: It is in the middle of everything, the circle whose center is everywhere, and whose circumference is nowhere.

A third model of the universe, which is characteristically Chinese, views the world as an organism, and a world which is an organism has no boss, and even no actor. This is because in any organism there is not really a boss or "top organ." In our culture we are accustomed,,of course, to think of our head as ruling the rest of the body, but there could well be an argument about this. I am going to put up a case that the stomach is chief because the stomach, the sort of alimentary tract with a digesting process in it, is surely anterior to brains. There may be some sort of rudimentary nervous system attached to a stomach organization, but the more primitive you are, the more you are a little creature that eats. It is a sort of tube, and in go things at one end and out the other, and because that wears the tube out the tube finds means of reproducing itself to make more tubes so that this process of in and out can be kept up. However, in the course of evolution, at one end of the tube developed a ganglion that eventually developed eyes and ears with a brain in it. So the stomach's point of view is that the brain is the servant of the stomach to help it scrounge around for food. The other argument is this: true, the brain is a later development than the alimentary tract, but the alimentary tract is to the brain as John the Baptist to Jesus Christ, the forerunner of the "big event," and the reason for all the scrounging around is eventually to evolve a brain. Eventually man shall live primarily for the concerns of the brain, that is, for art and science and all forms of culture, and the stomach shall be servant.

Now cynical people, like dialectical materialists, say that this is a lot of hogwash. Really, all history is a matter of economics, and that is a matter of the stomach. It is a big argument, and you cannot decide it because you cannot at this stage have a stomach without a brain or a brain without a stomach. They go together like a back and a front. So, the principle of organism is rather like this: an organism is a differentiated system, but it has no parts. That is to say, the heart is not a part of the body in the sense that a distributor is part of an automobile engine. These are not parts in the sense that they are screwed in. When the fetus arises in the womb there are not a lot of mechanics in there lugging in hearts and stomachs and so forth, and fitting them together and screwing them to each other. An organism develops like a crystal in solution or a photographic plate in chemicals. It develops all over at once, and there isn't a boss in it. It all acts together in a strange way and it is a kind of orderly anarchy.

Fundamentally, this is the Chinese view of the world, the principle of organic growth they call tao, pronounced "dow." This Chinese word is usually translated as "the course of nature," or "the way," meaning the way it does it, or the process of things. That is again really very different from the Western idea of God the Ruler. Of the tao Lao-tzu says, 'The great Tao flows everywhere, both to the left and to the right. It loves and nourishes all things, but does not ford it over them. When merits are accomplished, it lays no claim to them." And so, the Chinese expression for nature becomes a word that we will translate as "of itself so." It is what happens of itself, like when you have hiccoughs. You do not plan to have hiccoughs, it just happens. When your heart beats, you do not plan it; it happens of itself. When you breathe, you cannot pretend that you are breathing. Most of the time you are not thinking about it, and your lungs breathe of themselves. So the whole idea that nature is something happening of itself without a governor is the organic theory of the world.

So, these are the two other theories of nature that we are going to consider in the study of Oriental philosophy: the dramatic theory and the organic theory. I feel that ways of life that use these models are so unlike Christianity, Judaism, or Islam, that we cannot really use the word "religion" to describe these things. Now, what is there in Western culture that resembles the concerns of Buddhism, Hinduism, and Taoism? The trouble is, on the surface, they look alike. In other words, if you go into a Hindu temple or a special Japanese Buddhist temple you will be pretty convinced you are in church (in sort of a Catholic church, at that, because there is incense, chants, bowings, gongs, candles, rosaries, and all the things that one associates with a theistic, monarchical religion). Yet, that is not what is going on. Even though the image of Buddha may be sitting on a throne, covered with a canopy, and royal honors being done, there is no factor of obedience. Probably the nearest thing to these ways of life in the West is, perhaps, psychotherapy in some form, although not all forms of psychotherapy. The objective of psychotherapy is, as you might say, to change your state of consciousness. If you, in other words, are horribly depresse an you are terrified, or if you are having hallucinations, you see a "head shrinker" and he tries to change your state of consciousness.

Fundamentally, these Oriental disciplines are concerned basically with changing your state of consciousness. However, here we part company because psychotherapy is largely focused on the problems of the individual as such, the problems particular to this individual or that individual. Instead, these Asian ways of life are focused on certain problems peculiar to man as such, and to every individual on the understanding that the average human being (and the more civilized he is the more this is true) is hallucinating. The average human being has a delusive sense of his own existence, and it is thus that the very word "Buddha," in Buddhism, is from a root in Sanskrit, buddb, which means to awaken.

To awaken from the illusion is then to undergo a radical change of consciousness with regard to one's own existence. It is to cease being under the impression that you are just "poor little me," and to realize who you really are, or wbat you really are behind the mask. But there is a difficulty in this. You can never get to see what the basic self is. It is always and forever elusive.

And so, if I ask you, "Who are you really?" And you say, "Well, I am John Doe." "Oh? Ha-ha! You think so? John Doe, tell me: How do you happen to have blue eyes?" "Well," you say, "I do not know. I did not make my eyes." "Oh, you didn't? Who else?" "Well, I have no idea how it is done."

"You have to have an idea how it is done to be able to do it? After all, you can open and close your hand perfectly easily. And you say, 'I know how to open my hand. I know how to close my hand because I can do it.' But how do you do it?"

"I do not know. I am not a physiologist."

"A physiologist says he knows how he does it, but he cannot do it any better than you can. So, you are opening and closing your hand, are you not? Yet you do not know how you do it. Maybe you are 'blue-ing' your eyes, too! You do not know how you do it, because when you say 'I do not know how I do it,' all you are saying is, 'I do know bow to do it, but I cannot put it into words!"'

I cannot, in other words, translate the activity called "opening and closing my hand" into an exact system of symbols, that is, into thinking. If you actually could translate the opening and closing of your hand into an exact system of symbols, it would take forever because trying to understand the world purely by thinking about it is as clumsy a process as trying to drink the Pacific Ocean out of a one-pint beer mug. You can only take it one mug at a time, and in thinking about things you can only think one thought at a time. Like writing, thinking is a linear process, one thought after another in a series. You can only think of one thing at a time, but that is too slow for understanding anything at all and much too slow to understand everything. Our sensory input is much more than any kind of one thing at a time, and we respond with a certain aspect of our minds to the total sensory input that is coming in, only we are not consciously aware of it. Nevertheless, you are doing it, but what kind of "you" is this? It certainly is not John Doe. It is not that little ego freak.

There is a lot more to you than you think there is, and that is why the Hindu would say that the real you is the Self, (but with a capital S), the Self of the universe. At that level of one's existence one is not really separate from everything else that is going on. We have something here which I will not call philosophy except in the most ancient sense of basic curiosity. I prefer to call these disciplines ways of liberation. These are ways of liberation from maya, and the following of them does not depend on believing in anything, in obeying anything, or on doing any specific rituals (although rituals are included for certain purposes because it is a purely experimental approach to life). This is something like a person who has defective eyesight and is seeing spots and all sorts of illusions, and goes to an ophthalmologist to correct his vision. Buddhism is, therefore, a corrective of psychic vision. It is to be disenthralled by the game of maya. It is not, incidentally, to regard the maya as something evil, but to regard it as a good thing of which one can have too much, and therefore one gets psychic and spiritual indigestion-from which we all suffer.

Now then, I am going to go into the very fundamental guts of Hinduism and certain documents that are known as the Upanishads. These documents constitute what is called Vedanta, and that is compounded of two words, veda anta. Anta means "end," or completion or summation, and Veda is, of course, related to the Latin videre, to see. Veda is the fundamental revelation of the Hindu way of life contained in its earliest scriptural documents, which are generally dated in the period between 1500 and 1200 B.c. The Upanishads have been the summation of the Veda from over a long period of time, beginning perhaps as early as 800 B.C., although some of the Upanishads are much later than that. However, there is always a doubt in connection with the dating of any Hindu text because unlike the Hebrews, the Hindus have absolutely no sense of history. They view time as circular, as something that just goes round and round again and again, so that what happens today is on the whole very much like what happened yesterday, or a hundred years ago, or a thousand years ago. They view life as a repetitious process of cycles and so there is very little internal evidence in Hindu manuscripts to give us dates between which we can say it must have been written because they were not interested in references to contemporary events. In fact, until relatively recent times, history was little more than keeping chronicles, and the Hindus were less interested in keeping chronicles than the Chinese.

In all there is a great deal of vagueness, and this is compounded by the fact that many of these scriptures were for hundreds of years handed down orally and memorized before being committed to writing. So there is a great deal of vagueness as to how old the tradition is with which we are dealing and it may be earlier or later than the scholars generally suppose. However it seems there was a migration into the Indian subcontinent by peoples from the north who called themselves Aryans, which may have occurred somewhere in the neighborhood of 1500 to 1200 B.C., and they brought with them the faded tradition that merged with whatever aboriginal religions or ways of life that were existing on the subcontinent at that time, and produced the complex which today we call Hinduism. I am not going into the Vedas because they comprise a complicated piece of symbolical interpretation having to do with the rites, the hymns, and the myths of the various so-called gods of the Hindu pantheon. In the philosophy of the Upanishads these gods are seen simply as so many different manifestations of one basic principle, which is called brabman, derived from the root bra, which means to expand or to grow. Brahman is also called atman, or paramatman, the supreme self-the "which that which there is no whicher."

The basic position of the Upanishads is that the self is the one and only reality without another, and that all this universe is finally brahman. The universe appears to be a multiplicity of different things and different events only by reason of maya, which is illusion, magic, art, or creative power. Brahman is considered under two aspects: one is called nirguna, and the other saguna. The word una in each case, meaning quality or attribute, and nir, being a negative, nirguna is brahman considered without attribute, while saguna is brahman being considered as having attributes. In Christian theology there are exact equivalents to these terms, which you have probably never heard of. The former is called the apopbatic way of speaking, a Greek term, and the other is the catopbatic. When a Christian speaks of God as the father, he is speaking catophatically, that is to say by analogy. No theologian in his right mind thinks that God is a cosmic male parent. All a theologian intends to say is God is like a father. Even when it is said "God is light," that is still catophatic language. God is like light, but he is not light. The apophatic language states what God is not, so such terms as "eternal," which means nontemporal, infinite, or without limitation, are in this sense negative. When the Hindu speaks most deeply of the ultimate reality of the universe, he applies the phrase neti, neti, meaning approximately "no, no," or "not this, not this." In other words, reality-basic reality-eludes all positive conceptualization whatsoever for the very good reason that it is what you are most basically. That is why the Hindu describes in the Vedanta doctrine of the Upanishads the basic energy of the universe as "the unknown." It is never an object of knowledge, and so it is said in the Kena Upanisbad that if you think that you understand what brahman is, you do not understand. However if you do not understand, then you understand. For the way brahman is known is that brahman is unknown to those who know it, and known to those who know it not. Now that sounds completely illogical, but translated into familiar terms you would say that your head is effective only so long as it does not get in the way of your eyesight. If you see spots in front of your eyes, they interfere with vision. If you hear singing and humming in your ears, you are hearing your ears, and that interferes with hearing. An effective ear is inaudible to itself and then it hears everything else. That is just another way of saying the same thing, and when we translate it into sensory terms it is not all paradoxical.

It is basic to Vedanta that brahman, this intangible, nonobjective ground of everything that exists, is identical with the ground of you. This is put in the formula tat tvam asi. Tat is the same as our word "that." Tvam is the same as the Latin tuus, "thou;" asi is "at." We should translate that into a modern American idiom as "You're it." This, of course, is a doctrine that is very difficult for those brought up in the Judeo-Christian traditions to accept, because it is fundamental to Christian and Jewish theology that whatever you are, you are surely not the Lord God. Therefore, Christians feel that the Hindu doctrine-that we are all fundamentally masks of God-is pantheism, and that is a dirty word in Christian theological circles because of the feeling that if everything is God then all moral standards are blown to hell. It means everything is as good as everything else. Since everything that happens is really God, this must include the good things and the bad things, and that seems to them a very dangerous idea. Actually, when viewed from a social perspective, all religious doctrines contain very, very dangerous ideas. However, we will not worry about that for the moment because what the Hindu means by God, when he says Brahman, is not at all the same thing as what a Jew means by the Lord Adonai, because to the Jew and the Christian it means the boss, to whom divine honors are due as above all others. The Hindu, on the other hand, does not mean the boss. He does not mean the King or the Lord as the political ruler of the universe. He means the inmost energy, which, as it were, dances this whole universe without the idea of an authority of governing some intractable element that resists his or its power.

If a Christian or a person in a Christian culture announces that he has discovered that he is God, we put him in the loony bin because it is unfashionable to burn people for heresy anymore. However, in India if you announce that you are the Lord God, they say, "Well, of course! How nice that you found out," because everybody is. Why then does a great problem arise? Why does it appear that we are not? Why do we think? Why do we have the sensory impression that this whole universe consists of a vast multiplicity of different things, and we do not see it all as one? Consider though, what do you think it would be like to see it all as one? I know a lot of people who study Oriental philosophy and look into attaining these great states of consciousness, which the Hindus call nirvana, moksba, and what a Zen Buddhist would call liberation or satori (their word for enlightenment or awakening). Now what would it be like to have that? How would you feel if you saw everything as really one basic reality? Well, a lot of people think that it would be as if all the outlines and differentiations in the field of vision suddenly became vague and melted away and we saw only a kind of luminous sea of light.

However, rather advisedly, the Vedanta philosophy does not seriously use the word "one" of the supreme self because the word and idea "one" has its opposite "many" on one side, and another opposite, "none," on the other. It is fundamental to Vedanta that the supreme self is neither one nor many, but as they say, non-dual, and they express that in this word advita. A is a negative word like non. Dvita is from dva, same as the Latin duo, two. So advita is non-dual. At first this is a difficult conception because naturally, a Western logician would say, "But the non-dual is the opposite of the dual. Therefore, it has an opposite." This is true, but the Hindu is using this term in a special sense. On a flat surface I have only two dimensions in which to operate so that everything drawn in two dimensions has only two dimensions. How, therefore, on a two-dimensional level, can I draw in three dimensions? How, in logic, is it humanly rational to think in terms of a unity of opposites?

All rational discourse is talk about the classification of experiences, of sensations, of notions, and the nature of a class is that it is a box. If a box has an inside, it has to have an outside. "Is you is or is you ain't?" is fundamental to all classifications, and we cannot get out of it. We cannot talk about a class of all classes and make any sense of it. However, on this two-dimensional level, we can create, by using a convention of perspective, the understanding of a third dimension. If I draw a cube, you are trained to see it in three dimensions, but it is still in two. However, we have the understanding that the slanting lines are going out through the back to another square, which is behind the first one, even though we are still on two dimensions. The Hindu understands this term advita as distinct from the term @4 one' to refer to that dimension. So when you use the word advita, you are speaking about something beyond duality, as when you use those slanting lines you are understood to be indicating a third dimension which cannot really be reproduced on a two-dimensional surface. That is the trick.

It is almost as if whatever we see to be different is an explicit difference on the surface covering an implicit unity. Only it is very difficult to talk about what it is that unifies black and white. (Of course, in a way the eyes do. Sound and silence are unified by the cars). If you cannot have one without the other, it is like the north and south poles of a magnet. You cannot have a one-pole magnet. True, the poles are quite different; one is north and the other is south, but it is all one magnet. This is what the Hindu is moving into when he is speaking of the real basis or ground of the universe as being non-dual. Take, for example, the fundamental opposition that I suppose all of us feel, between self and other-I and thou-I and it. There is something that is me; there is an area of my experience that I call myself. And there is another area of my experience which I call not myself. But you will immediately see that neither one could be realized without the other. You would not know what you meant by self unless you experience something other than self. You would not know what you meant by other unless you understood self. They go together. They arise at the same time. You do not have first self and then other, or first other and then self; they come together. And this shows the sneaky conspiracy underneath the two, like the magnet between the two different poles. So it is more or less that sort of what-is-not-classifiable (that which lies between all classes). The class of elephants opposite the class of non-elephants has, as it were, the walls of the box joining the two together, just, as your skin is an osmotic membrane that joins you to the external world by virtue of all the tubes in it, and the nerve ends, and the way in which the external energies flow through your skin into your insides and vice versa.

But we do see and feel and sense-or at least we think we do-that the world is divided into a great multiplicity. A lot of people would think of it as a collection of different things, a kind of cosmic flotsam and jetsam washed together in this particular area of space, and prefer to take a pluralistic attitude and not see anything underlying. In fact, in contemporary logical philosophy, the notion of any basic ground or continuum in which all events occur would be considered meaningless for obvious reasons. if I say that every body in this universe-every star, every planet-is moving in a certain direction at a uniform speed, that will be saying nothing at all, unless I can point out some other object with respect to which they are so moving. But since I said the universe, that includes all objects whatsoever. Therefore, 1 cannot make a meaningful statement about the uniform behavior of everything that is going on. So in the same way that your eardrum is basic to all that you hear, the lens of the eye and retina are basic to all that you see. What is the color of the lens of the eye? We say it has no color; it is transparent in the same way that a mirror has no color of its own, but the mirror is very definitely there, colorless as it may be. The eardrum, unheard as it may be, is very definitely basic to hearing. The eye, transparent as it may be, is very definitely very basic to seeing. So therefore, if there were some continuum in which everything that is going on and everything that we experience occurs, we would not notice it. We would not be able, really, to say very much about it except, perhaps, that it was there. It would not make any difference to anything, except for the one all-important difference that if it was not there, there would not be any differences.

But, you see, philosophers these days do not like to think about things like that. It stretches their heads and they would rather preoccupy themselves with more pedestrian matters. But still, you cannot help it; if you are a human being you wonder about things like that. What is it in which everything is happening? What is the ground? Well, you say, "Obviously it is not a what because a thing that is a what is a classifiable thing." And so, very often the Hindu and the Buddhist will refer to the ultimate reality as no thing, not nothing, but no special thing, unclassifiable. You cannot put your finger on it, but it is you. It is what you basically are, what everything basically is, just as the sound of an automobile horn on the radio is in one way an automobile horn but basically it is the vibration of the speaker diaphragm. So we are all in the Hindu view "vibrations of the entire cosmic diaphragm." Of course, that is analogy, and I am using catophatic language from the point of Christianity.

The best language is to say nothing but to experience it. The nub of all these Oriental philosophies is not an idea, not a theory, not even a way of behaving, but it is basically a way of experiencing a transformation of everyday consciousness so that it becomes quite apparent to us that that is the way things are. When it happens to you it is very difficult to explain it. So in exactly the same way, when somebody has the sort of breakthrough that transforms his consciousness (and it happens all over the world, it is not just a Hindu phenomenon), somebody suddenly realizes it is all one, or technically non-dual, and really all this coming and going, all this frantic living and dying-grabbing and struggling, fighting and suffering-all this is like a fantastic phantasmagoria. He sees that, but when he tries to explain it he finds his mouth is not big enough because he cannot get the words out of their dualistic pattern to explain something non-dualistic.

But why is this so? Why are we under this great, magnificent hallucination? Well, the Hindus explain this in saguna language as follows. It is a very nice explanation; a child can understand it. The fact of the matter is the world is a game of hide-and-seek. Peek-a-boo! Now you see it, now you do not, because very obviously if you were the supreme self, what would you do? I mean, would you just sit there and be blissfully one for ever and ever and ever? No, obviously not. You would play games. You would, because the very nature of a no energy system is that it has no energy system unless it lets go of itself. So you would let go of yourself and you would get lost. You would get involved in all sorts of adventures and you would forget who you were, just as when you play a game. And although you are only playing for dimes or chips, you get absorbed in the game.

There is nothing really important to win, nothing really important to lose, and yet it becomes fantastically interesting, who wins and who loses. And so in the same way it is said that the supreme self gets absorbed through ever so many different channels which we call the different beings in the plot, just like an artist or a writer gets completely absorbed in the artistic creation that he is doing, or an actor gets absorbed in the part in the drama. At first we know it is a drama. We go to a play and we say, "It is only a play,' and the proscenium arch tells us that what happens behind that arch is not for real, just a show. But the great actor is going to make you forget it is just a show. He is going to have you sitting on the edge of your chair; he is going to have you crying; he is going to have you trembling because he almost persuades you that it is real. What would happen if the very best actor was confronted by the very best audience? Why, they would be taken in completely, and the one would confirm the other.

So, this is the idea of the universe as drama, that the fundamental self, the saguna brahman, plays this game, gets involved in being all of us, and does it so darn well, so superbly acted, that the thing appears to be real. And we are not only sitting on the edge of our chair, but we start to get up and throw things. We join in the drama and it all becomes whatever is going on here, you see? Then, of course, at the end of the drama, because all things have to have an end that have a beginning, the curtain goes down and the actors retire to the greenroom. And there the villain and the hero cease to be villain and hero, and they are just the actors. And then they come out in front of the curtain and they stand in a row, and the audience applauds the villain along with the hero, the villain as having been a good villain and the hero as having been a great hero. The play is over and everybody heaves a sigh of relief: "Well, that was a great show, wasn't it?" So the idea of the greenroom is the same as the nirguna brahman; that behind the whole show there are no differentiations of I and thou, subject and object, good and evil, light and darkness, life and death. But within the sphere of the saguna brahman all these differentiations appear because that is out in front that is on the stage, and no good actor when on the stage performs his own personality. That is what is wrong with movie stars. A person is cast to act a role that corresponds to his alleged personality. But a great actor can assume any personality, male or female, and suddenly convert himself right in front of the audience into somebody who takes you in entirely. But in the greenroom he is his usual self. So Hinduism has the idea that as all the conventions of drama go right along with it, that all this world is a big act, lila, the play of the supreme self, and is therefore compared to a dream-to a passing illusion, and you should not, therefore, take it seriously. You may take it sincerely, perhaps, as an actor may be sincere in his acting, but not seriously, because that means it throws you for a loop (although that, of course is involved). We do take it seriously. But, this is one of the great questions you have to ask yourself when you really get down to the nitty-gritty about your own inmost core: Are you serious, or do you know deep within you that you are a put-on?



THE MYTHOLOGY OF HINDUISM

CHAPTER TWO

I want to start out by explaining quite carefully what I mean by mythology. The word is very largely used to mean fantasy, or something that is definite6-ly not fact, and it's used therefore in a pejorative, or put-down, sense. So that when you call something a mythology or a myth, it means you don't think much of it. But the word is used by philosophers and scholars in quite another sense, where to speak in the language of myth is to speak in images rather than to speak in what you might call plain language, or descriptive language. You can sometimes say more things with images than you can say with concepts. As a matter of fact, images are really at the root of thinking. One of the basic waysin which we think is by analogy. We think that the life of human beings might be compared to the seasons of the year. Now, there are many important differences between a human life and the cycle of the seasons, but nevertheless, one talks about the winter of life and the spring of life, and so the image becomes something that is powerful in our thinking. Furthermore, when we try to think philosophically in abstract concepts about the nature of the universe, we often do some very weird things. It is considered nowadays naive to think of God as an old gentleman with a long white beard who sits on a golden throne and is surrounded with winged angels. We say, "Now, no sensible person could possibly believe that God is just like that." Therefore, if you become more sophisticated and you follow Saint Thomas Aquinas, you think of God as "necessary being." If you think with Buddhists you think of God as the undifferentiated void, or as the infinite essence. But actually, however rarefied those concepts sound, they are just as anthropomorphic, that is to say, just as human and in the form of the human mind, as the picture of God as the old gentleman with the white beard, or as d'Lord in the old television show Green Pastures, wearing a top hat and smoking a cigar.

All ideas about the world, whether they be religious, philosophical, or scientific, are translations of the physical world and of worlds beyond the physical into the terms and shapes of the human mind. There is no such thing as a nonanthropomorphic idea. The advantage of d'Lord in talking about these things is that nobody takes it quite seriously, whereas the undifferentiated aesthetic continuum could be taken seriously. That would be a great mistake, because you would think you understood what the ultimate reality is. So, I am going to use very largely naive mythological terms to discuss these matters. If you are a devout Christian, you must not be offended by this. You will naturally think that you have risen now to a more superior idea of these things than these very simple terms derived from the imagery of the Bible and the medieval church. I shall discuss Hinduism in the same way, and I am going to begin with Hinduism to give you a sort of fundamental account of what it is all about.

I imagine some of you were present at the lecture I gave in the university on religion and art, in which I discussed the view of the world as drama. Now I want to go more thoroughly into this, because the Hindu view of the universe is fundamentally based on the idea of drama, that is to say, of an actor playing parts. The basic actor in this drama is called Brahma, and this word comes from the Sanskrit root bra, which means 44 to swell or expand." The Hindu idea of Brahma, the Supreme Being, is linked with the idea of the self. In you, deep down you feel that there is what you call "I," and when you say "I am," that in Sanskrit is aham. And everybody, when asked what his name is, replies, "I am 1. I am 1, myself." So, there is the thought that in all life, the self is the fundamental thing; it means the center. The Brahma is looked upon as the self and the center of the whole universe, and the fundamental idea is that there is only one self. Each one of us is that self, only it radiates like a sun or a star. So, just as the sun has innumerable rays, or just as you can focus the whole sun through a magnifying glass and concentrate it on one point, or as an octopus has many tentacles, or as a sow has many tits, so, in these ways, Brahma is wearing all faces that exist, and they are all the masks of Brahma. They are not only human faces but also animal faces, insect faces, vegetable faces, and mineral faces; everything is the supreme self playing at being that.

The fundamental process of reality is, according to the Hindu myth, hide-and-seek, or lost and found. That is the basis of all games. When you start to play with a baby, you take out a book and you hide your face behind it. Then you peek out at the baby, and then you peek out the other way, and the baby begins to giggle, because a baby, being near to the origins of things, knows intuitively that hide-and-seek is the basis of it all. Children like to sit in a high chair, to have something on the tray, and "make it gone.' Then somebody picks it up and puts it back, and they make it gone again.

Now then, that is a very sensible arrangement. It is called in Sanskrit lila, and that means "sport" or "play 5 " but the play is hide-and-seek. Now, let's go a little bit into the nature of hide-and-seek. I don't want to insult your intelligence by telling you some of the most elementary things that exist, but, really, everything is a question of appearing and disappearing. For example, if I sit next to the object of my desire and I put my hand on the person's knee and leave it there, after a while they will cease to notice it. But if I gently pat them on the knee because now I'm there and now I'm not, it will be more noticeable. So, all reality is a matter of coming and going. It is vibration, like a wave of positive and negative electricity. It is up and down, and things like wood appear to be solid, much in the same way that the blades of a fastmoving electric fan appear to be solid. So, the vast agitation that is going on in the electrical structure of solid things is a terrific agitation that will not allow the agitation called my hand to go through it.

Other kinds of agitation, like X rays, are so constructed that they can get through. So, everything is basically coming and going. Take, for example, sound. If you listen to sound and slow the sound down, just as when you look with a magnifying glass you find that solid things are full of holes, when you magnify sound you find it is full of silences. Sound is sound-silence. There is no such thing as pure sound, just as there is no such thing as pure something-something always goes together with nothing. Solids are always found in spaces, and no spaces are found except where there are solids. You might imagine there being a space without any solid in it, but you will never, never encounter one, because you will be there in the form of a solid to find out about it. They go together, these things, solid and space. The positive and the negative and the "here we are and here we aren't" all go together in the same way, like the back and front of a coin. You can't have a coin that has a back and no front. The only thing that gets anywhere near that is a Mobius strip, which is a mathematical construct in which the back and the front are the same, but that only shows in a more vivid way how backs and fronts go together. So, the whole thing is based on that.

Now, once we have this game there are two different things, but they are really the same. The Brahma is what is basic, but the Brahma manifests itself in what are called the dvanva, and that makes the pairs of opposites (duality). Dva is the Sanskrit word for "two," which becomes duo in Latin and dual in English. Two is the basis, and you cannot go behind two, because one has an opposite: the opposite of one is none. Now, what is in common between one and none? No one can sayyou can't mention it. It is called Brahma, and it is sometimes called om. Yet you can't really think of what is in common between black and white, because there is obviously a conspiracy between black and white; they are always found together. Tweedledee and Tweedledum agreed to have a battle, and there is always an agreement underlying this difference; that is what we call implicit, but the difference is explicit. So, the first step in what

you might call the hide phase of the game of hide-andseek is to lose sight of the implicit unity between black and white, yes and no, and existence and nonexistence.

Losing sight of the fundamental unity is called Maya, a word that means many things, but primarily it means "creative power," or "magic," and also "illusion"-the illusion that the opposites are really separate from each other. Once you think that they are really separate from each other you can have a very thrilling game. The game is, "Oh dear, black might win," or "We must be quite sure that white wins." Now, which one ought to win? When you look at this page, you would say the reality here is the writing; that is what is significant. Yet there are many other patterns that you can find in which you are undecided in your mind as to which is the figure and which is the background. It could be a black design on a white sheet, or it could be a white design on a black sheet, and the universe is very much like that. Space, or the background of things, is not nothing, but people tend to be deceived about this. If I draw a circle, most people, when asked what I have drawn, will say that I have drawn a circle, or a disk, or a ball. Very few people will ever suggest that I have drawn a hole in a wall, because people think of the inside first, rather than thinking of the outside. But actually these two sides go together-you cannot have what is "in here" unless you have what is "out there."

All artists, architects, and people concerned with the organization of space think quite as much about the background behind things and containing things as they do about the things so contained. It is all significant and it is all important, but the game is "Let's pretend that this doesn't exist." So, this is the pretending: "Oh, black might win,' or "Oh, white might win." This is the foundation of all the great games that human beings play-ofcheckers, of chess, and of the simple children's games of hide-and-seek.

It is, of course, the tradition of chess that white gets the first move, because black is the side of the devil. All complications and all possibilities of life lie in this game of black and white. In the beginning of the game, the two pairs are divided, that is to say, dismemberedcut, to separate. In the end of the game, when everything comes together, they are re-membered. To dismember is to hide, or to lose. To remember is to seek and to find. In Hindu mythology, Brahma plays this game through periods of time called kalpas, and every kalpa is 4,320,000 years long. For one kalpa he forgets who he is and manifests himself as the great actor of all of us. Then, for another kalpa, he wakes up; he remembers who he is and is at peace. So, the period in which he manifests the worlds is called a manavantara, and the period in which he withdraws from the game is called a pralaya. These go on and on forever and ever, and it never becomes boring, because the forgetting period makes you forget everything that has happened before. For example, although it inherits genes from the most distant past, each time a baby is born it confronts the world anew and is astonished and surprised at everything. As you get old, you become heavy with memories, like a book that people have written on, as if you were to go on writing on a page and eventually the whole thing were to become black. Then, you would have to take out white chalk and start writing that way. Well, that would be like the change between life and death.

In popular Hinduism, it is believed that each of us contains not only the supreme self-the one ultimate reality, the Brahma, who looks out from all eyes and hears through all ears-but also an individualized self. This self reincarnates from life to life in a sort of progressive or a regressive way, according to your karinathe Sanskrit word that means "your doing," from the root kre, "to do." There is a time, then, in which we become involved and get more and more tied up in the toils of the world, and are more subject to desire and to passions and to getting ourselves hopelessly out on the limb. Then, there follows a later time when the individual is supposed to withdraw and gradually evolve until he becomes a completely enlightened man, a mukti. A mukti is a liberated person who has attained the state called moksha, or liberation, where he has found himself. He knows who he is. He knows that he, deep down in himself (and that you, deep down in yourself) are all the one central self, and that this whole apparent differentiation of the one from the other is an immense and glorious illusion.

Now, this is a dramatic idea. In drama, we have a convention of the proscenium arch on the stage and we have a convention of onstage and offstage. There is the curtain, or backdrop, in front of which the actors appear, and behind that there is a dressing room, called the greenroom. In the greenroom, they put on and take off their masks. in Latin the word for the masks worn by the players in classical drama is persona. The Latin word per means "through," and sona means "sound"-that through which the sound comes, because the mask had a megaphone-shaped mouth that would "throw" the sound in an open-air theater. So, dramatis personae, the list of the players in a play, is the list of masks that are going to be worn. Insofar as we now speak about the real self in any human being as the person by inquiring, "Are you a real person?" we have inverted the meaning of the word. We have made the "mask" word mean "the real player underneath," and that shows how deeply involved we are in the illusion. The whole point of aplay is for the actor to use his skill to persuade the audience, despite the fact that the audience knows it's at the play, and to have them sitting on the edge of their chairs, weeping or in terror because they think it is real. Of course, the Hindu idea is that the greatest of all players, the master player behind the whole scene, who is putting on the big act called existence, is so good an actor that he takes himself in. He is at once the actor and the audience, and he is enchanted by his playing. So, the word maya, or illusion, also means "to be enchanted." Do you know what to be enchanted is? It is to be listening to a chant and to be completely involved in it-or perhaps amazed. What is it to be amazed? It is to be caught in a maze, or spellbound. And how do you get spellbound and what do you spell? You spell words. So, by the ideas we have about the world and through our belief in the reality of different things and events, we are completely carried away and forget altogether who we are.

There is a story about a great sage, Narada, who came to Vishnu. Vishnu is one of the aspects of the godhead, Brahma. Brahma is usually the word given to the creator aspect, Vishnu to the preserving aspect, and Shiva to the destructive aspect. When Narada came to Vishnu and said, "What is the secret of your maya?" Vishnu took him and threw him into a pool. The moment he fell under the water he was born as a princess in a very great family, and went through all the experiences of childhood as a little girl. She finally married a prince from another kingdom and went to live with him in his kingdom. They lived there in tremendous prosperity, with palaces and peacocks, but suddenly there was a war and their kingdom was attacked and utterly destroyed. The prince himself was killed in battle, and he was cremated. As a dutiful wife, the princess was about to throw herself weeping on o the funeral pyre and burn herself in an act of suttee or self-sacrifice. But suddenly Narada woke to find himself being pulled out of the pool by his hair by Vishnu, who said, "For whom were you weeping?" So, that is the idea of the whole world being a magical illusion, but done so skillfullyby whom? By you, basically. Not "you" the empirical ego, not "you" who is just a kind of focus of conscious attention with memories that are strung together into what you call "my everyday self." Rather, it is the "you" that is responsible for growing your hair, coloring your eyes, arranging the shape of your bones. The deeply responsible "you" is what is responsible for all this.

So this, then, is in sum the Hindu dramatic idea of the cosmos as an endless hide-and-seek game: now you see it, now you don't. It is saying to everybody, "Of course you worry and are afraid of disease, death, pain, and all that sort of thing. But really, it is all an illusion, so there is nothing to be afraid of." And you think, "Well, but my goodness, supposing when I die there just won't be anything? It will be like going to sleep and never waking up." Isn't that awful, just terrible-nothing, forever? But that doesn't matter. When you go into that period called death, or forgetting, that's just so that you won't remember, because if you did always remember it, it would be a bore. But you are wiser than you know, because you arrange to forget and to die, and keep going in and out of the light. But underneath, at the basis of all this, between black and white, between life and death, is something unmentionable. That's the real you, that's the secret-only you don't give away the show. All of you are now privy to a secret; you are initiates. You know this neat little thing, but you may not have experienced it. You know about it, but you must not give the show away. Don't run out in the streets suddenly and say to everybody, "I'm God," because they won't understand you.

So then, there are people whom we will call farout. They are far out into the illusion, and they are really lost; they are deeply committed to the human situation. Opposite them are the far-in people, who are in touch with the center.

Now, the very far-out people are to be commended, because they are doing the most adventurous thing. They are lost-they are the explorers and are way out in the jungles. In all societies, in some way or other, the far-out people keep in touch with the far-in people. The far-in people are there-they may be monks, yogis, priests, or philosophers, but they remind the far-out people, "After all, you're not really lost, but it's a great thrill and very brave of you to think that you are." So then, some of the far-in people act as what is called a guru, and the function of a guru is to help you wake up from the dream when your time comes.

In the ordinary life of the primitive Hindu community, there are four castes: the caste of priests, of warriors, of merchants, and of laborers. Every man who belongs to the Hindu community belongs to one of the four castes, which he is born into. That seems to us rather restrictive, because if you were born the son of a university professor you might much prefer to be a waterskiing instructor, and that would mean a shift in caste from what is called the Brahmana because the professor in Hindu life would come under the priestly caste. But in a time when there were no schools and everybody received his education from his father, the father considered it a duty to educate the boys, the mother considered it her duty to educate the girls, and there was no choice of a boy being something other than his father. He was apprenticed to him while very young, and the child, as you know, naturally takes an interest in what the parents are doing and tends to want to do it, too.

So, it was based on that, and although it seemsprimitive to our way of thinking, that is the way it was. When a man attained the age of maturity in the middle of his life, and had raised a son old enough to take over the family business, he abandoned caste. He became an upper outcast, called a sannyasi and he went outside the village, back to the forest. So there are two stages of life: grihasta, or "householder," and vanaprastha, or "forest dweller." We came out of the forest and we formed civilized villages. The hunters settled down and started agriculture. Then they formed into castes, and every man, as it were, had a function: tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief-but those are all parts, those are big acts. Who are you really, behind your mask?

So, in the middle of life it is considered up to you to find out who you are. You are going to die in a few years. Before you die, wake up from the illusion so that you won't be afraid of death. When you become vanaprastha you go to a guru, and the guru teaches you yoga, which is the art of waking up. In other words, to remember, as distinct from dismember, is to find out again that our separateness is maya, or in "seeming" only-it is not the fundamental reality. We are all one. Now, how does the guru teach you that? He does it mostly by kidding you. He has a funny look in his eye, as if to say, "Brahma, old boy, you can't fool me." The basic question that all gurus ask their students is, "Who are you?" The great guru of modern times was Sri Ramana Maharshi. Wealthy philosophical ladies from the United States used to go to ask him, "Who was I in my former incarnation?" because they wanted to find out they were Cleopatra, or something like that. He would say, "Who asked the question? Who is it that wants to know? Find out who you are." Well, if you want to find out who you are, you get into a very funny mix-up because it is like trying to bite your teeth. "Who is it that wants to know who I am? If only I could catch that thing.' And the guru really says, "But now, let's get going on this, let's concentrate, you see and get that thing." So, he has people meditating on their own essence, and all the time he is looking at them with a funny look in his eye. They think, "Oh dear, that guru, he knows me through and through. He reads all my secret and impure thoughts. He realizes my desires and how badly I concentrate." But really, the guru is laughing himself silly inside, because he sees that this is the Brahma being quite unwilling to wake up, or not really ready. Suddenly there comes a shock-the moment when you realize the truth about that thumb you were catching. You say, "Oh dear, it's, after all, the same hand," and there is a shock of recognition. Suddenly you wake up and exclaim, "Of course!" Now, that moment is moksha, or liberation. We have many names for it, but no very clear names. In the West we call it mystical experience, cosmic consciousness, or something of that kind. We find it very difficult to express it in our religious language because we would have to say at that moment, "I have at last discovered that I am the Lord God." We put people in asylums who discover this, if this is the way they express it, because it really is for us the one sure sign of being completely out of your head. Whereas in India when somebody says "I am the Lord God," they say, "Well, naturally. Congratulations, at last you found out."

Our idea of the Lord God, as we shall see, is different from the Hindu idea. You notice that Hindu images of the divinities usually have many arms, and that is because they are conceived of as sort of cosmic centipedes. The centipede does not think how to use each leg, just as you don't think how to use every nerve cell in your nervous system. They just seem to use themselves; they work automatically. Well, many things working automatically together is the Hindu idea of omnipotence, whereas our idea is more technical. The person in supreme control would have to know how he does every single thing. You would ask, "God, how do you create rabbits?" as if he doesn't just pull them out of hats like a stage magician but actually knows in every detail down to the last molecule or subdivision thereof how it is done and could explain it.

Hindus would say that if you ask God, "How do you make a rabbit?" he would say, "That is no problem at all-I just become it." "Well, how do you become it?" "Well, you just do it, like you open your hand or close it. You just do it. You don't have to know how in words." What we mean by understanding and explaining things is being able to put them into words. We do that first by analyzing them into many bits. In the same way, when you want to measure the properties of a curve, which is complicated, in order to say how that curve is shaped, you have to reduce it to tiny points and measure them. So you put a grid of graph paper across, and by telling the position on the graph of where the curve is at every point, you get an accurate description of what that curve is, or how it is, in scientific terms. That is what we mean when we talk about understanding things, but obviously there is another sense of "to understand." You understand how to walk even if you can't explain it, because you can do it. Can you drive a car? Yes. How do you drive a car? If you could put it into words, it might be easier to teach people how to do it in the first place, but one understands and learns many things about driving a car that are never explained in words. You just watch somebody else do it, and you do the same thing.

In this way, then, the Hindu and the Western ideas of God are somewhat different. So, when the Hindu realizes that he is God, and that you are too, he sees the dance of God in everybody all around him in every direction. He does not assume certain things that a Western person might assume if they had the same experience. For example, you know the difference between what you do voluntarily and what happens to you involuntarily. When I see someone else move at the far end of the room, it comes to me with a signal attached to it; that experience is involuntary. When I move, it comes to me with a voluntary signal attached to it. Nevertheless, both experiences are states and changes in my nervous system, but we do not ordinarily realize that. When we see somebody else doing something, we think that it is outside our nervous system. It isn't at all; it is happening in our own brain. Now, if you should discover that it is happening inside you, it might just as well come to you with a voluntary signal attached to it. You could say, "I've got the feeling that I'm doing everything that everybody else is doing. Everything that I see and that I am aware of is my action."

Now, if you misunderstood that, you might think that you were able to control everything that everybody else does, and that you really were God in that kind of technical sense of God. You have to be careful what sort of interpretations you put on these experiences. It is one thing to have an authentic experience of the stars. It is quite another thing to be able to describe accurately their relative positions. It is one thing to have an experience of cosmic consciousness, or liberation, but quite another thing to give a philosophically or scientifically accurate account of it. Yet this experience is the basis of the whole Hindu philosophy. It is as if one comes into the world in the beginning having what Freud called the "oceanic consciousness" of a baby, but the baby does not distinguish, apparently, between experiences of itself and experiences of the external world. Therefore, to the baby, it is all one. Furthermore, a baby has for a long time been part of its mother and has floated in the ocean of the womb. So it has the sense from the beginning of what is really to an enlightened person totally obviousthat the universe is one single organism.

Our social way of bringing up children is to make them concentrate on the bits and to ignore the totality. We point at things, give them names, and say, "Look at that." But children very often ask you what things are, and you realize you do not have names for them. They point out backgrounds, and the shape of spaces between things, and say, "What's that?" You may brush it aside and say, "Well, that's not important. That doesn't have a name." You keep pointing out the significant things to them, and above all what everybody around the child does is to tell the child who he is, and what sort of part he is expected to play-what sort of mask he must wear. I remember very well as a child that I knew I had several different identities, but I knew that I would probably have to settle for one of them; the adult world was pushing me toward a choice. I was one person with my parents at home, another person altogether at my uncle's home, and still quite another person with my own peer group. But society was trying to say, "Now make up your mind as to who you really are." So I would imitate some other child whom I had admired. I would come home and my mother would say, "Alan, that's not you, that's Peter. Be yourself now." Otherwise, you are somehow phony, and the point is not to be phony but to be real.

However, this whole big act is phony, but it is a marvelous act. A genuine person is one who knows he is a big act and does it with complete zip. He is what we would call committed, and yet he is freed by becoming completely committed and knowing that the world is an act. There isn't anybody doing it. We like to think things stand behind processes, and that things "do" the processes, but that is just a convention of grammar. We have verbs and nouns, and every noun can obviously be described by a verb. We say "the mat." We can also say 14 the matting." Likewise, we can say "cating" for "cat." When we want to say, "The cating is sitting," however, we say, "The cat sits," using a noun and a verb-whereas it is all verb; it is all a big act. But remember, you mustn't give the show away.



ECO-ZEN

CHAPTER THREE



I remember a very wise man who used to give lectures like this, and when he came in he used to be silent. He would look at the audience, gaze at Leveryone there for a particularly long time, and everybody would begin feeling vaguely embarrassed. When he had gazed at them for a long time he would say, "WAKE UP, you're all asleep! And if you don't wake up, I won't give any lecture." Now, in what sense are we asleep? The Buddhist would say that almost all human beings have a phony sense of identity-a delusion, or a hallucination as to who they are. I am terribly interested in this problem of identity. I try to find out what people mean when they say the word 1. I think this is one of the most fascinating questions: "Who do you think you are?" Now, what seems to develop is this: most people think that I is a center of sensitivity somewhere inside their skin, and the majority of people feel that it is in their heads. Civilizations in different periods of history have differed about this-Some people feel that they exist in the solar plexus. Other people feel that they exist in the stomach. But in American culture today, and in the Western culture in general, most people feel that they exist in their heads. There is, as it were, a little man sitting inside the center of the skull who has a television screen in front of him that gives him all messages from the eyeballs. He has earphones on that give him all messages from the ears, and he has in front of him a control panel with various dials and buttons, which enable him to influence the arms and legs and to get all sorts of information from the nerve ends. And that is you. So, we say in popular speech, "I have a body," not "I am a body." I have one because I am the owner of the body in the same way as I own an automobile. I take the automobile to a mechanic and, occasionally, in the same way, I take my body to the mechanic-the surgeon, the dentist, and the doctor-and have it repaired. It belongs to me, it goes along with me, and I am in it.

For example, a child can ask its mother, "Mom, who would I have been if my father had been someone else?" That seems to be a perfectly simple and logical question for a child to ask, because of the presumption that your parents gave you your body and you were popped into it-maybe at the moment of conception or maybe at the moment of birth-from a repository of souls in Heaven, and your parents simply provided the physical vehicle. So, that age-old idea that is indigenous, especially to the Western world, is that I am something inside a body, and I am not quite sure whether I am or am not my body; there is some doubt about it. I say, "I think, I walk, I talk," but I don't say, "I beat my heart," "I shape my bones," and "I grow my hair." I feel that my heart beating, my hair growing, and my bones shaping is something that happens to me, and I don't know how it is done. But other things I do, and I feel quite surely that everything outside my body is quite definitely not me.

There are two kinds of things outside my body. Number one is other people, and they are the same sort of thing that I am, but also they are all little men locked up inside their skins. They are intelligent, have feelings and values, and are capable of love and virtue. Number two is the world that is nonhuman-we call it nature, and that is stupid. It has no mind, it has emotions maybe, like animals, but on the whole it's a pretty grim dog-eat-dog business. When it gets to the geological level, it is as dumb as dumb can be. It is a mechanism, and there is an awful lot of it. That is what we live in the middle of, and the purpose of being human is, we feel, to subjugate nature, and to make it obey our will. We arrived here, and we don't feel that we belong in this world-it is foreign to us: in the words of the poet A.E. Housman, "I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made." All around us today we see the signs of man's battle with nature. I am living at the moment in a marvelous house overlooking a lake, and on the other side of the lake the whole hill has suddenly been interrupted with a ghastly gash. They have made level lots for building tract homes of the kind you would build on a flat plain. This is called the conquest of nature, and these houses will eventually fall down the hill because the builders are causing soil erosion and they are being maximally stupid. The proper way to build a house on a hillside is to do it in such a way as to effect the minimum interference with the nature of the hill. After all, the whole point of living in the hills is to live in the hills. There is no point in converting the hills into something flat and then going and living there. You can do that already on the level ground. So, as more people live in the hills, the more they spoil the hills, and they are just the same as people living on the flat ground. How stupid can you get? Well, this is one of the symptoms of our phony sense of identity, of our phony feeling that we are something lonely, locked up in a bag of skin and confronted with a world, an external, alien, foreign world that is not us.

Now, according to certain of these great ancient philosophies, like Buddhism, this sensation of being a separate, lonely individual is a hallucination. It is a hallucination brought about by various causes, the way we are brought up being the chief of them, of course. For example, the main thing that we're all taught in childhood is that we must do that which will only be appreciated if we do it voluntarily. "Now darling, a dutiful child must love its mother. But now, I don't want you to do it because I say so, but because you really want to." Or "You must be free." This also is seen in politics"Everybody must vote." Imagine, you are members of a democracy, and you must be members of the democracy-you are ordered to. You see, this is crazy. Also "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God." Is that a commandment or a joke? However, if you suggest that the Lord is joking, most people in our culture are offended, because they have a very moronic conception of God as a person totally devoid of humor. But the Lord is highly capable of joking, because joking is one of the most constructive things you can do. So, when you are told who you are, and that you must be free, and furthermore that you must survive, that becomes a kind of compulsion, and you get mixed up. Of course, it is very simple to get mixed up if you think you must do something that will only be required of you if you do it freely.

These are the sort of influences, then, that cause human beings all over the world to feel isolated-to feel that they are centers of awareness locked up in bags of skin. Now, this sensation of our identity can be shown and demonstrated to be false by some of the disciplines of our own science. When we describe a human being or any other living organism from a scientific point of view, all that means is that we are describing it carefully. We are going to describe very carefully what a human being is and what a human being does. We find that as we go on with that description, we can't describe the human being without describing the environment. We cannot say what a human being is doing without also saying what the world around him is doing.

Just imagine for a moment that you couldn't see anything except me. You couldn't see the curtain behind me, or the microphone. You could only see me, and that is all you could see. What would you be looking at? You wouldn't see me at all, because you wouldn't see my edges, and my edges are rather important for seeing me. My edges would be identical with the edge of your eyesight, with that vague oval curve which is the field of vision. What you would be looking at would be my necktie, my nose, my eyes, and so on, but you wouldn't see my edges. You would be confronted with a very strange monster, and you wouldn't know it was a human being. To see me you need to see my background, and therein lies a clue of which we are mostly ignorant. In Buddhist theory, the cause of our phony sense of identity is called avidya, meaning "ignorance," although it is better to pronounce it "ignorance." Having a deluded sense of identity is the result of ignoring certain things. So, when you look at me, I cause you to ignore my background, because I concentrate attention on me, just like a conjurer or stage magician misdirects your attention in order to perform his tricks. He talks to you about his fingers and how empty they are, and he can pull something out of his pocket in plain sight and you don't notice it-and so magic happens. That's ignorance-selective attention-focusing your consciousness on one thing to the exclusion of many other things. In this way we concentrate on the thingsthe figures-and we ignore the background. So, we come to think that the figure exists independently of the background, but actually they go together. They go together just as inseparably as backs go with fronts, as positives go with negatives, as ups go with downs, and as life goes with death. You cannot separate it. So there is a sort of secret conspiracy between the figure and the background: They are really one, but they look different. They need each other, just as male needs female, and vice versa. But we are, ordinarily, completely unaware of this.

So then, when a scientist starts carefully paying attention to the behavior of people and things, he discovers that they go together, and that the behavior of the organism is inseparable from the behavior of its environment. So, if I am to describe what I am doing, am I just waving my legs back and forth? No, I am walking. In order to speak about walking, you have to speak about the space in which I am walking-about the floor, about the direction, left or right, in relation to what kind of room, stage, and situation. Obviously, if there isn't a ground underneath me, I cannot very well walk, so the description of what I am doing involves the description of the world. And so, the biologist comes to say that what he is describing is no longer merely the organism and its behavior. He is describing a field, which he now calls the organism/environment 5 and that field is what the individual actually is. Now, this is very clearly recognized in all sorts of sciences, but the average individual, and indeed the average scientist, does not feel in a way that corresponds to his theory. He still feels as if he were a center of sensitivity locked up inside a bag of skin.

The object of Buddhist discipline, or methods of psychological training, is, as it were, to turn that feeling inside out-to bring about a state of affairs in which the individual feels himself to be everything that there is. The whole cosmos is focused, expressing itself here, and you are the whole cosmos expressing itself there, and there, and there, and there, and so on. In other words, the reality of my self fundamentally is not something inside my skin but everything, and I mean everything, outside my skin, but doing what is my skin and what is inside it. In the same way, when the ocean has a wave on it, the wave is not separate from the ocean. Every wave on the ocean is the whole ocean waving. The ocean waves, and it says, "Yoo-hoo, I'm here. I can wave in many different ways-I can wave this way and that way." So, the ocean of being waves every one of us, and we are its waves, but the wave is fundamentally the ocean. Now, in that way, your sense of identity would be turned inside out. You wouldn't forget who you were-your name and address, your telephone number, your social security number, and what sort of role you are supposed to occupy in society. But you would know that this particular role that you play and this particular personality that you are is superficial, and the real you is all that there is.



SWALLOWING A BALL OF HOT IRON

CHAPTER FOUR

The inversion, or turning upside down, of the sense of identity, of the state of consciousness that the average person has, is the objective of Buddhistic disciplines. Now, perhaps I can make this clearer to you by going into a little detail as to how these disciplines work. The method of teaching something in Buddhism is rather different from methods of teaching that we use in the Western world. In the Western world, a good teacher is regarded as someone who makes the subject matter easy for the student, a person who explains things cleverly and clearly so you can take a course in mathematics without tears. In the Oriental world, they have an almost exactly opposite conception, and that is that a good teacher is a person who makes you find out something for yourself. In other words, learn to swim by throwing the baby into the water. There is a story used in Zen about how a burglar taught his child how to burgle. He took him one night on a burgling expedition, locked him up in a chest in the house that he was burgling, and left him. The poor little boy was all alone locked up in the chest, and he began to think, "How on earth am I going to get out?" So he suddenly called out, "Fire, fire," and everybody began running all over the place. They heard this shriek coming from inside the chest and they unlocked it, and he rushed out and shot out into the garden. Everybody was in hot pursuit, calling out, "Thief, thief," and as he went by a well he picked up a rock and dropped it into the well. Everybody thought the poor fellow had jumped into the well and committed suicide, and so he got away. He returned home and his father said, "Congratulations, you have learned the art."

William Blake once said, "A fool who persists in his folly will become wise." The method of teaching used by these great Eastern teachers is to make fools persist in their folly, but very rigorously, very consistently, and very hard. Now, having given you the analogy and image, let's go to the specific situation. Supposing you want to study Buddhism under a Zen master-what will happen to you? Well, first of all, let's ask why you would want to do this anyway. I can make the situation fairly universal. It might not be a Zen master that you go to-it might be a Methodist minister, a Catholic priest, or a psychoanalyst. But what's the matter with you? Why do you go? Surely the reason that we all would be seekers is that we feel some disquiet about ourselves. Many of us want to get rid of ourselves. We cannot stand ourselves and so we watch television, go to the movies, read mystery stories, and join churches in order to forget ourselves and to merge with something greater than ourselves. We want to get away from this ridiculous thing locked up in a bag of skin. You may say, "I have a problem. I hurt, I suffer, and I'm neurotic," or whatever it is. You go to the teacher and say, "My problem's me. Change me."

Now, if you go to a Zen teacher, he will say, "Well, I have nothing to teach. There is no problemeverything's perfectly clear." You think that one over, and you say, "He's probably being cagey. He's testing me out to see if I really want to be his student. I know, according to everybody else who's been through this, that in order to get this man to take me on I must persist." Do you know the saying, "Anybody who goes to a psychiatrist ought to have his head examined?" There is a double take in that saying.

So, in the same way, anybody who goes with a spiritual problem to a Zen master defines himself as a nut, and the teacher does everything possible to make him as nutty as possible. The teacher says, "Quite honestly, I haven't anything to tell you. I don't teach anything-I have no doctrine. I have nothing whatsoever to sell you." So the student thinks, "My, this is very deep," because this nothing that he is talking about, this nothing that he teaches, is what they call in Buddhism sunyata. Sunyata is Sanskrit for "nothingness," and it is supposed to be the ultimate reality. But if you know anything about these doctrines, this does not mean just ccnothing there at all" or just "blank," but it means "nothing-ness." It is the transcendental reality behind all separate and individual things, and that is something very deep and profound. So, he knows that when the teacher said, "I have nothing to teach," he meant this very esoteric no-thing. Well, he might also say then, "If you have nothing to teach, what are all these students doing around here?" And the teacher says, "They are not doing anything. They are just a lot of stupid people who live here."

He knows again this "stupid" does not mean just straight stupid, but the higher stupidity of people who are humble and do not have intellectual pride. Finally, the student, having gone out of his way to define himself as a damn fool in need of help, has absolutely worked himself into this situation. He has defined himself as a nut, and then the teacher accepts him. The teacher says, "Now, I am going to ask you a question. I want to know who you are before your mother and father conceived you. That is to say, you have come to me with a problem, and you have said, 'I have a problem. I want to get one up on this universe.' Now, who is it that wants to get one up? Who are you? Who is this thing called your ego, your soul, your 1, your identity, for whom your parents provided a body? Show me that. Furthermore, I'm from Missouri and I don't want any words and I want to be shown."

The student opens his mouth to answer, but the teacher says, "Uh-uh, not yet; you're not ready." Then he takes him back and introduces him to the chief student of all the so-called Zen monks who live there together, and the chief student says, "Now, what we do here is we have a discipline, but the main part of the discipline is meditation. We all sit cross-legged in a row and learn how to breathe and be still: in other words, to do nothing. Now, you mustn't go to sleep and you mustn't fall into a trance. You have to stay wide awake, not think anything, but perfectly do nothing." During meditation, there is a monk walking up and down all the time with a long flat stick, and if you go to sleep or fall into a trance, he hits you on the back. So instead of becoming dreamy, you stay quite clear, and wide awake, but still doing nothing. The idea is that out of the state of profoundly doing nothing, you will be able to tell the teacher who you really are.

In other words, the question "Who are you before your father and mother conceived you?" is a request for an act of perfect sincerity and spontaneity. It is as if I were to ask, "Look now, will you be absolutely genuine with me? No deception please. I want you to do something that expresses you without the slightest deception. No more role-acting, no more playing games with me; I want to see you!" Now, imagine, could you really be that honest with somebody else, especially a spiritual teacher, because you know he looks right through you and sees all your secret thoughts. He knows the very second you have been a little bit phony, and that bugs you. The same is true of a psychiatrist. You might be sitting in there discussing your problems with him and absentmindedly you start to pick your nose. The psychiatrist suddenly says to you, "Is your finger comfortable there? Do you like that?" And you know your Freudian slip is showing. What do fingers symbolize, and what do nostrils symbolize? Uh-oh. You quickly put your hand down and say, "Oh no, it is nothing, I was just picking my nose." But the analyst says, "Oh really? Then why are you justifying it? Why are you trying to explain it away?" He has you every way you turn. Well, that is the art of psychoanalysis, and in Zen it is the same thing.

When you are challenged to be perfectly genuine, it is like saying to a child, "Now darling, come out here and play, and don't be self-conscious." In other wor s I could say to you, "If any of you come here tonight at exactly midnight, and put your hands on this stage, you can have granted any wish you want to, provided you don't think of a green elephant." Of course, everybody will come, and they will put their hands here, and they will be very careful not to think about a green elephant. The point is that if we transfer this concept to the dimension of spirituality, where the highest ideal is to be unselfish and to let go of one's self, it is again trying to be unselfish for selfish reasons. You cannot be unselfish by a decision of the will any more than you can decide not to think of a green elephant. There is a story about Confucius, who one day met Lao-tzu, a great Chinese philosopher. Lao-tzu said, "Sir, what is your system?" And Confucius said, "It is charity, love of one's neighbor, and elimination of self-interest." Lao-tzu replied, "Stuff and nonsense. Your elimination of self is a positive manifestation of self. Look at the universe. The stars keep their order, the trees and plants grow upward without exception, and the waters flow. Be like this."

These are all examples of the tricks the master might be playing on you. You came to him with the idea in your mind that you are a separate, independent, isolated individual, and he is simply saying, "Show me this individual." I had a friend who was studying Zen in Japan, and he became pretty desperate to produce the answer of who he really is. On his way to an interview with the master to give an answer to the problem, he noticed a very common sight in Japan, a big bullfrog sitting around in the garden. He swooped this bullfrog up in his hand and dropped it in the sleeve of his kimono. Then he went to the master to give the answer of who he was. He suddenly produced the bullfrog, and the master said, "Mmmmm, too intellectual." In other words, this answer is too contrived. It is too much like Zen. "You have been reading too many books. It is not the genuine thing," the master said. So, after a while, what happens is the student finds that there is absolutely no way of being his true self. Not only is there no way of doing it, there is also no way of doing it by not doing it.

To make this clearer, allow me to put it into Christian terms: "Thou shalt love the Lord, thy God." What are you going to do about that? If you try very hard to love God you may ask yourself, "Why am I doing this?" You will find out you are doing it because you want to be right. After all, the Lord is the master of the universe, and if you don't love him, you're going to be in a pretty sad state. So, you realize you are loving him just because you are afraid of what will happen to you if you don't. And then you think, "That is pretty lousy love, isn't it? That's a bad motivation. I wish I could change that. I wish I could love the Lord out of a genuine heart." But, why do you want to change? You realize that the reason you want to have a different kind of motive is that you have the same motive. So, you say "Oh for heaven's sake, God, I'm a mess. Will you please help me out?" Then he reminds you, "Why are you doing that? Now, you are just giving up, aren't you? You are asking someone else to take over your problem. " Suddenly you find you are stuck.

What is called the Zen problem, or koan, is likened to a person who has swallowed a ball of red-hot iron. He cannot gulp it down and he cannot spit it out. Or it is like a mosquito biting an iron bull. It is the nature of a mosquito to bite and it is the nature of an iron bull to be unbiteable. Both go on doing what is their nature, and so, nothing can happen. Soon you realize you are absolutely up against it. There is absolutely no answer to this problem, and no way out. Now, what does that mean? If I cannot do the right thing by doing, and I cannot do the right thing by not doing, what does it mean? It means, of course, that I who essayed to do all this is a hallucination. There is no independent self to be produced. There is no way at all of showing it, because it is not there. When you recover from the illusion and you suddenly wake up, you think, "Whew, what a relief." That is called satori. When this kind of experience happens, you discover that what you are is no longer this sort of isolated center of action and experience locked up in your skin. The teacher has asked you to produce that thing, to show it to him genuine and naked, and you couldn't find it. So, it isn't there, and when you see clearly that it isn't there, you have a new sense of identity. You realize that what you are is the whole world of nature, doing this. Now, that is difficult for many Western people, because it suggests a kind of fatalism. It suggests that the individual is nothing more than the puppet of cosmic forces. However, when your own inner sense of identity changes from being the separate individual to being what the entire cosmos is doing at this place, you become not a puppet but more truly and more expressively an individual than ever. This is the same paradox that the Christian knows in the form, "Whosoever would save his soul shall lose it."

Now, I think that this is something of very great importance to the Western world today. We have developed an immensely powerful technology. We have stronger means of changing the physical universe than have ever existed before. How are we going to use it? A Chinese proverb says that if the wrong man uses the right means, the right means work in the wrong way. Let us assume that our technological knowledge is the right means. What kind of people are going to use this knowledge? Are they going to be people who hate nature and feel alienated from it, or people who love the physical world and feet that the physical world is their own personal body? The whole physical universe, right out to the galaxies, is simply one's extended body. Now, at the moment, the general attitude of our technologists who are exploring space is represented in the phrase "the conquest of space." They are building enormous, shelllike, phallic objects that blast into the sky. This is downright ridiculous, because no one is going to get anywhere in a rocket. It takes a terribly long time to even get to the moon, and it is going to take longer than anybody can live to get outside the solar system, just to begin with. The proper way to study space is not with rockets but with radio astronomy. Instead of exploding with a tough fist at the sky, become more sensitive and develop subtler senses, and everything will come to you. Be more open and be more receptive, and eventually you will develop an instrument that will examine a piece of rock on Mars with greater care than you could if you were holding it in your own hand. Let it come to you.

The whole attitude of using technology as a method of fighting the world will succeed only in destroying the world, as we are doing. We use absurd and uninformed and shortsighted methods of getting rid of insect pests, forcing our fruit and tomatoes to grow, stripping our hills of trees and so on, thinking that this is some kind of progress. Actually, it is turning everything into a junk heap. It is said that Americans, who are in the forefront of technological progress, are materialists. Nothing is further from the truth. American culture is dedicated to the hatred of material and to its transformation into junk. Look at our cities. Do they look as though they were made by people who love material? Everything is made out of ticky-tacky, which is a combination of plaster of paris, papier-mich6 and plastic glue, and it comes in any flavor. The important lesson is that technology and its powers must be handled by true materialists. True materialists are people who love material-who cherish wood and stone and wheat and eggs and animals and, above all, the earth-and treat it with a reverence that is due one's own body.



INTELLECTUAL YOGA

CHAPTER FIVE

The word yoga, as most of you doubtless know, is the same as our word yoke and the Latin word jungere, meaning "to join. " join, junction, yoke, and union-all these words are basically from the same root. So, likewise, when Jesus said, "My yoke is easy," he was really saying, "My yoga is easy." The word, therefore, basically denotes the state that would be the opposite of what our psychologists call alienation, or what Buddhists call sakyadrishti, the view of separateness or the feeling of separatenessthe feeling of being cut off from being. Most civilized people do in fact feel that way, because they have a kind of myopic attention focused on their own boundaries and what is inside those boundaries. They identify themselves with the inside and do not realize that you cannot have an inside without an outside. That would seem to be extremely elementary logic, wouldn't it? We could have no sense of being ourselves and of having a personal identity without the contrast of something that is not ourselves-that is to say, other.

However, the fact that we do not realize that self and other go together is the root of an enormous and terrifying anxiety, because what will happen when the inside disappears? What will happen when the so-called I comes to an end, as it seems to? Of course, if it didn't, and if things did not keep moving and changing, appearing and dissolving, the universe would be a colossal bore. Therefore, you are only aware that things are all right for the moment. I hope most of the people in this gathering have a sort of genial sense inside of them that for the time being things are going on more or less okay. Some of you may be very miserable, and then your problem may be just a little different, but it is essentially the same one. But you must realize that the sense of life being fairly all right is inconceivable and unfeelable unless there is way, way, way in the back of your mind the glimmer of a possibility that something absolutely, unspeakably awful might happen. It does not have to happen. Of course, you will die one day, but there always has to be the vague apprehension, the hintegedanka, that the awful awfuls are possible. It gives spice to life. Now, these observations are in line with what I am going to discuss: the intellectual approach to yoga.

There are certain basic principal forms of yoga Most people are familiar with batba yoga, which is a psychophysical exercise system, and this is the one you see demonstrated most on television, because it has visual value. You can see all these exercises 