LaSpina.org

Cogito, ergo sum
I think, therefore I am.
—Descartes, Discourse on the Method

A rush of wind comes furiously now, down from the mountaintop. “The ancient Greeks,” I say, “who were the inventors of classical reason, knew better than to use it exclusively to foretell the future. They listened to the wind and predicted the future from that. That sounds insane now. But why should the inventors of reason sound insane?”
—Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

As I sit here, I hear a strong breeze outside blowing past and against the balcony window. It’s intermittent. It blows for about 20–30 second, then it lessens and the calm returns for a few minutes before it blows again. A coming spring storm? It seems like it should be too early in the year for that, but then again, with climate change who can tell what is normal these days.

Who is the I who is listening to this?

Descartes famously declared I think therefore I am. That would seem to settle it. I is me. But then the great doubter Hume smiled and replied “yes, but who is the I who is making that statement?” He proposed what if instead of one voice in our head that makes up I, what if it is instead several voices that combine and together make up who we think of as I. Jung later came along and organized these voices into archetypes that make up I, of which twelve are the most well-known, though he himself didn’t limit the number.

But I’m jumping ahead too far. Back from Jung to Hume. Kant later attempted to answer Hume’s questioning of the self, resulting in his famous book The Critique of Pure Reason, considered one of cornerstones of modern philosophy, in which he attempted to bridge this divide between Hume and Descartes.

Why do I bring all this up? …there we go again. Who is that I there?

Hume might have fit right in with Zen. He doubted the existence of a self behind all the thoughts, feelings, and perceptions of the mind. This is as good a summary of muga (無我) or anātman as any, and pretty interesting to find in an 18th century Scotsman. One might wonder where Western philosophy could have gone if Hume’s ideas had maintained prominence and not been overshadowed by Kant.

But this kind of musing is actually what Zen argues against. Trying to figure out reality and the self by thinking is like trying to taste by reading a recipe: while it might give you a hint or an idea, it’s going to leave you with more questions than answers and ultimately going to get in the way. The only way to understand, according to Zen, is to experience directly. Zen or the Tao or Reality or whatever we call this (and here if I were there I might clap my hands together and let the resulting noise reverberate around the room and fade) can only be experienced, not understood by any intellectual thought.

If you want to learn to swim, you can read all you want about how to move the body in a specific swimming form or the laws of flotation and buoyancy and whatever else you want, but none of these are going to help you actually understand swimming until you jump in the water and swim (ideally with an instructor so you don’t, you know, die).

The problem, then, lies in thinking, which distracts us and impedes our direct experience of the world. The solution, according to Zen, is to meditate. Zen meditation, however, is not quite what you might be familiar with from yoga classes, where you lie down listening to a track of flowing water or other pleasant noises, often falling asleep in the process. Such a “meditation” is viewed by Zen as contrary to our purpose. Instead, Zen advises sitting silently and listening to the world without contemplation or judgment, a style of meditation known as shikantaza.

When you sit long enough and watch as thoughts and feelings pop up unbidden, you start to wonder where these things come from. Zen would advise to resist the urge that Jung felt to classify and categorize all these things into different personas or archetypes, and rather just sit and watch. Don’t try to figure anything out: just observe, just watch, just experience.

There is a old Zen story:

A monk came to a new master. The master asked, “Who did you study with before?” and the monk answered, “Ch’ing-feng”.

“I see,” said the Master. “What did he teach you.”

“When I asked what is the meaning of Buddhism, he answered me ‘Ping-ting comes for fire’.”

“An excellent answer!” said the Master. “But I’m sure you didn’t understand it.”

“Sure I did.” explained the monk, “You see, Ping-ting is the god of fire. For him to be seeking for fire is like myself, seeking the Buddha. I’m the Buddha already, and no asking is needed.”

“Just as I thought!” laughed the Master. “You didn’t get it.”

The monk said, “Well, how would you answer?”

“Go ahead, ask me.”

“What is the meaning of Buddhism?” inquired the monk.

“Ping-ting comes for fire!”

The monk instantly achieved enlightenment.

Anātman is often translated simply as “no self”, but that doesn’t tell the whole story. At least not with the Zen interpretation of the idea, muga. Zen does deny there is an atman, a soul, that is traveling from life to life, changing bodies as easily as a sea crab changes shells. However, Zen does not deny that there is something moving from life to life. What is that thing? Is that the I that we’ve been looking for this entire post?

(Here is when I clap again)

Go sit and find out for yourself.

Misc: Title photo made by me from this photo by Kiều Trường from Pixabay

Special thanks to my friend Koto-art who put this topic in my head with her great art.