
                            RADICAL BUDDHISM

                                   by
                             Leonard Price

                         Bodhi Leaves No. B 92


              Copyright 1982 Buddhist Publication Society

                      BUDDHIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY
                      KANDY              SRI LANKA

                                 * * *

                         DharmaNet Edition 1995


                     Transcription: Jim McLaughlin
                      Proofreading: Jane Yudelman
                        Formatting: John Bullitt

        This electronic edition is offered for free distribution
            via DharmaNet by arrangement with the publisher.

                        DharmaNet International
                 P.O. Box 4951, Berkeley CA 94704-4951

                                          
                            * * * * * * * * 



                            Radical Buddhism
  

  Buddhism comes West as a vast body of teaching, and we who receive it
  are often awed by its abundance, its complexity, and its subtlety.
  Where is the center, the real thing we should fix on? Or is there a
  real thing at all to be apprehended? History shows that Buddhism can
  and will accommodate itself to new cultures, and will flourish
  according to the perceptiveness and energy of its new adherents. Now
  in the West our perceptiveness and energy are put to the test to grasp
  the "real thing" by which this religion lives -- its radicalism.
  
      The Buddhas only point the way, and the way they point is a
  difficult one through the perfection of morality, concentration, and
  wisdom to the freedom from suffering called Nibbana. It is a way of
  action. A path is useless without the will to follow it, and good
  intentions alone are futile. To make the journey, the roots of mental
  defilement must be torn out entirely; the old illusions we live by
  must be shattered; the mind must seek the light. It is a radical way,
  because the Buddha enjoins us to give up what is before, give up what
  is behind, and give up what is in between. Then and only then will the
  wheel of birth-and-death be knocked from its axis.
  
      Those of us in the jaded and desperate West who hear the resonance
  of truth in the teachings of the Buddha must hear also that urging to
  //act//, to start an inner rebellion against our ancient sloth and
  stupidity. Yet the more we ponder the more we recognize the enormity
  of the task, and an understandable reaction is to set about
  re-defining just what has to be done and just how prudent it might be
  to fling ourselves into action. The danger here -- so typical in our
  comfortable and seductive society -- is to forget the radical
  imperative of suffering and try to make over Buddhism into a tame
  amalgam of platitudes suitable for pleasant contemplation --praising
  it in order to avoid practicing it. Indeed, Buddhism is rational,
  patient, deep in wisdom, but should we then just bask in its reflected
  light?
  
      Complacency is death. If, out of custom and timidity, Western
  Buddhists turn their religion into a museum piece, or worse, a hobby,
  they lose the essence. It is easy enough to settle for an undemanding
  status quo, a modicum of calm, a pleasant sense of harmonious living,
  and it is easy enough to postpone or forget any effort to break the
  shackles of old delusion, believing that one need not strain when the
  road will likely be long. But in accommodating too much to personal or
  societal expediency we cheapen our ideals and slide further from the
  disturbing implications of the Noble Truth of Suffering. We may even
  take the Buddhist vision of kamma as an indication that "everything is
  as it should be." But everything is //not// as it should be.
  Everything is in fact miserable. If we are complacent we blind
  ourselves, and there is no safety in blindness.
  
      In the radical view of the Buddha, Samsara is no cosmic
  merry-go-round, but a terrible juggernaut of birth and death dragging
  beings through endless cycles of woe. "Free yourselves!" says the
  Buddha. All lives and events are variations on the theme of suffering.
  All are without substance, endurance, permanence -- merely a web of
  emptiness, void upon void. The "self" that everyone spends so much
  time defending and nurturing is pure fiction. Dismiss it, says the
  Buddha. The world will not conform to our wishes and to presume
  otherwise is folly; the disciple must cease clinging to it and proceed
  along the path to the end of suffering. The root problem is craving,
  and the radical solution is the destruction of craving through wisdom.
  
      The sober truths taught by the Buddha, squarely faced, present us
  with problems and choices. Are we to assume that every Buddhist ought
  to be off grunting in a cave, sweating his way toward enlightenment?
  Is this the radical conclusion? Actually, the dilemma is not so
  formidable. The Buddha taught //gradually//, according to the capacity
  of his hearers to understand and practice. Every person should devote
  himself to the teaching as far as he is able. The goal is ultimately
  the same for all, though progress along the path depends on the
  individual. The Dhamma of the Buddha will lead us to the safety of
  Nibbana, and it will also sustain us along the way. What matters is
  always to bear in mind where we are and where we are headed.
  
      The radicalism of the Buddha is probably no more difficult for
  Westerners to comprehend than for anyone else, yet we are especially
  concerned with it now, because the teaching is only just now settling
  into our culture and its future direction is uncertain. It is a
  critical time for the religion. The fundamental teachings must not be
  neglected, lest we take to wearing our religion like warm slippers and
  doze into mediocrity. Understood rightly, the Noble Truths are
  profoundly disturbing. They compel us to act, to pursue the ideal of
  emancipation no matter how difficult the journey appears. Buddhism
  truly goes against the stream of the world and demands an uncommon
  vigor of the disciple. How well we respond depends on individual
  choice and ability, but what matters most is the recognition that a
  response is called for, that a path does exist, and that the goal
  //can// be achieved.
  
      Understanding the basic teachings, Western Buddhists should be
  wary of tendencies to turn Buddhism into an instrument of secular
  reform, or a philosophical playground, or an esoteric hobby. Before
  all else, there is suffering and the path to the end of suffering.
  There is no safety in faddishness, complacency, or the compulsive
  intellectualism that hungers for truth but eats the menu instead of
  the dinner.
  
      To reach the truth, to reach deliverance, we are told to give up
  what is before, give up what is behind, and give up what is in
  between. The essence of Buddhism is to let go of everything, to cease
  clinging desperately to transient, woeful, empty phenomena. The
  disciple who acts on this breathtaking advice may find the bottom
  dropping out of this fictitious world. So be it! Thus begins the
  journey.
  
                                 * * *



                            The Baited Hook
  

  Though seldom stated in so many words, a cherished belief of all human
  beings is that happiness lies in the satisfaction of our desires. All
  our actions are usually predicated on this seemingly self-evident
  fact. We are devoted to obtaining the objects of our desire; we
  consider it our right, our duty, and indeed our highest aspiration to
  get what we want, to obtain what we think will bring us enjoyment,
  satisfaction, or "fulfillment." We are accustomed to asking one
  another, "What do you want out of life?" believing that if we can
  settle on some clear vision of happiness, and go after it, then all
  will be well.
  
      Unfortunately, experience has a way of overturning our theories.
  Those manifold objects we yearn for prove troublesome to capture; when
  captured they yield less pleasure than expected; when held onto they
  decay and cause us grief. Then we are driven to turn for relief toward
  other enticements and thereby renew the cycle. Somehow we believe that
  if only this search for gratification is conducted correctly, if only
  the right objects are selected, if only we can have a little luck to
  add to our efforts, then we can certainly attain that permanent
  happiness that now eludes us. Badly thumped by fortune, we doggedly
  tell ourselves, "Yes, it's worth all the pain," and turn a swollen eye
  toward fresh delights.
  
      But is it worth all the pain? Consider a succulent worm bobbing
  just below the surface of a pond, attracting the attention of a hungry
  fish. In a flash the fish swallows the worm, only to discover the
  hidden hook, the barb that rips into its innards and causes it terror,
  suffering, and ultimately death. The worm is attractive, but it
  delivers little satisfaction to the fish. Such is the nature of
  sense-pleasures. Those objects of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and
  mind that we find so alluring are more likely to cause us misery than
  happiness, and the surprising truth is that it is not so much our
  choice of objects that is at fault, but the mere act of choosing in
  the first place, since all phenomena of this world are in reality
  flawed, connected to suffering, and unreliable.
  
      According to the Buddha, true happiness is not to be found in the
  deceptive sense-pleasures of the world -- not in wine or wealth or
  roses. No matter how hard we try, we can never reach security as long
  as we persist in wrong views of the desirability of this or that
  sensual object. Without a clear understanding of the nature of
  phenomena our search is doomed from the outset. Our first task must be
  to confront the facts that the universe does not exist for our
  amusement and that such pleasures as we customarily derive from it are
  false, impermanent, and unworthy of our interest. While the Buddha
  does not deny the existence of enjoyment in world, he points out that
  all worldly pleasure is bound up with suffering, inseparable from
  suffering, and sure to give way to suffering. Therefore in embracing
  the pleasant we cannot help but embrace the unpleasant. Our craving
  prevents us from realizing these facts by continually projecting a
  false appearance on the world, convincing us that the tempting objects
  around us can actually be possessed and squeezed dry of some
  satisfying essence. Without the intervention of wisdom, craving will
  keep us running from one disappointment to another. Though we have
  many times taken the bait of sense-pleasure and suffered the
  inevitable pull of the hook, each new worm that comes wiggling through
  the water excites the heedless man.
  
      The Buddha teaches that the solution to the terrible union of
  pleasure and pain is not to struggle hopelessly to split them apart,
  but to view the whole contaminated mass with detachment. All phenomena
  share the same characteristics of impermanence, unsatisfactoriness,
  and unsubstantiality, so it is futile to single out some objects for
  liking and others for loathing. The whole cast of mind that sees
  things in terms of liking-and-loathing must be abandoned in favor of
  the detached observation called "mindfulness." Clearly, if the bait
  hides a hook we do best to curb our appetites.
  
      Forsaking attachment to sense-pleasures is a logical application
  of the Four Noble Truths, yet even among those who subscribe to the
  teachings of the Buddha there can be found a deep-seated reluctance to
  move from theory to practice. The hold which craving has over our
  minds is so tenacious that we tend to straddle the abyss between truth
  arid illusion, hoping to live in both with some fast philosophical
  footwork. For example, may we not propose that sense-pleasures are not
  in themselves harmful and may therefore be enjoyed in moderation? We
  may propose it, but we are apt to justify thereby any craving that
  enters our heads. As long as one regards any experience as personal or
  desirable, one remains mired in ignorance. There are pleasant,
  unpleasant, and neutral feelings arising in the mind; they come and
  they go; they are to be observed, not sought after, because it is such
  seeking or craving that sustains the round of suffering. Another
  common notion is that Buddhism may be employed to beautify life by
  making the individual more appreciative of the "harmony" of the
  universe. This is false on two counts. The Buddha did not aim to put a
  pleasing, comforting face on things, but to educate the individual to
  the ultimate worthlessness of suffering-dominated, conditioned
  existence. Also, the only "harmony" discernible here and now is the
  implacable and impersonal law of cause and effect -- not the blissful
  oneness beloved of poets.
  
      A third erroneous notion is that sense-pleasures may be pursued
  full speed if they are part of worthy efforts and worthy goals. This
  is a self-serving rationalization. While mundane aspirations may be
  quite wholesome in conception, as long as they provide a surreptitious
  vehicle for craving they are flawed. For the proper development of
  insight one needs to get rid of the idea of an an ego or self that
  enjoys, possesses, and appropriates. The noble-minded man is detached
  from both ego and world. He acts for the welfare of himself and others
  without thought of reward or gratification. He is indifferent to
  results; he is not swayed by the pleasant and the unpleasant..
  
      In considering the lure and danger of sense-pleasures, it is not
  difficult to see that most of us will ultimately defend our
  indulgences, not from logic but from the blind urge, "I //want//."
  What harm, we reason, can there be in a little innocent delight? To
  clarify: the harm lies not in the //sensation// but in the deluded
  //mind// that fastens onto the sensation and clings to it obsessively.
  What behooves the diligent Buddhist is to get beyond the whole idea of
  liking and disliking, to set it aside, to cease entertaining it -- in
  order to advance to the fruitful fields of direct insight.
  
      Suppose then, that we acknowledge the danger of the baited hook
  and agree that the restless, craving mind is a source of suffering.
  What do we do about it? Often we complain, "I can't help myself! I
  know it's dangerous but I can't help it." Anyone who has tried to
  oppose his own ravenous appetites for pleasure, amusement, or
  gratification knows this sense of helplessness. A mind long accustomed
  to grasping is not dissuaded by mere rational arguments; it goes its
  own way, chewing up one experience after another in a hopeless search
  for happiness. So what is to be done? The trouble here, as is so often
  the case, is one of self-deception. Although we may say we understand
  the danger of sensual obsession and the advantage of restraint, our
  weakness shows that in fact we do not. Wisdom is simply incompatible
  with defilement. As long as we are willing to compromise with our
  obsessions we have not fully understood the Buddha's teaching about
  the nature of reality. We may-recognize intellectually that craving
  and clinging lead to suffering, but we have not penetrated to a direct
  experience of the truth. Much work remains to be done: we can't simply
  throw up our hands and plead weakness.
  
      If we truly recognize the hazards of succumbing to the baited
  hook, we must resist its enticements. Yet the Buddha does not
  recommend a stubborn, stoical self-abnegation. The disciple must deal
  with the problem intelligently. Escape from suffering does not depend
  on obliterating or denying sense-pleasures but on seeing them for what
  they are through the systematic practice of mindfulness. In ordinary
  life we are generally too caught up in gaining and losing to give
  sufficient attention to the elements and dynamics or the process. We
  are borne along on these ancient waves only because of compulsive
  habit. To stop our headlong career it is essential to develop and
  apply mindfulness, to cultivate scrupulous attention toward even the
  most mundane habits and desires. Steady mindfulness, intensified in
  meditation, reveals that the mind is a ceaseless torrent of thoughts,
  feelings, perceptions, and mental impressions -- never still for an
  instant, never stable enough to be considered substantial or enduring.
  What we loosely term the "external" world is likewise a blur of
  evanescent phenomena, all changing with incredible speed, arising and
  vanishing with no beginning or end in sight. Where then is the object
  that is truly desirable? Gone! Lost to view in the instant. Where is
  the one who desires? Gone! Thought succeeds thought, effect succeeds
  cause in a tumble of empty foam, with a desiring "self" nowhere to be
  found. Mindfulness discerns these truths directly, examining and
  breaking down experience until the "permanent" is understood as
  impermanent, until the "pleasant" is understood as unsatisfactory,
  until the "self" is understood as empty and unreal.
  
      As with all of the truths taught by the Buddha, these three
  characteristics of existence must be realized through direct insight
  -- not just through the ruminations of the intellect. The practice of
  mindfulness can lead us to such insight if we undertake the task with
  patience and impartiality. One who luxuriates in craving will remain
  twisting between misunderstood suffering and imagined pleasure, but
  one who recognizes danger will shun the baited hook and seek the bare
  facts of reality beneath the dazzling magic show of the senses.

      By avoiding the baited hook of sense-pleasures we do not, as is
  sometimes maintained, rob life of all its joy. On the contrary, we
  abandon false satisfaction and approach the true happiness that is
  born of freedom. We take worldly enjoyment in moderation keeping it in
  perspective. The wise disciple does not dwell in gloom and try to see
  the bad side of every experience. If it is pleasant, he notes it as
  pleasant; if it is unpleasant, he notes it as unpleasant; if it is
  neutral, he notes it as neutral. Whatever its appearance, he regards
  it with mindfulness and does not cling to it. He enjoys life simply as
  he finds it. In so doing, he escapes the peril of hook and line and
  sails freely toward the end of suffering.
  
      Again and again the Buddha exhorts his followers to be mindful,
  because the world is burning with greed, hatred, and delusion. Freedom
  can be won, but not by the careless, infatuated person. The one who
  attains freedom will be the one who has mindfulness, energy, and the
  courage to see the canker in the rose.
  

                                 * * *
  

             Meeting the Buddha, Alone, on the Empty Shore
  

  A veneer of credulity and feeble optimism covers the dark
  preoccupations of our lives. In an age marked everywhere with signs of
  spiritual decay, we somehow remain ever entranced by new toys, ever
  receptive to the latest balderdash from noisy charlatans, and ever
  ready to abandon the present moment for the lure of the next. Let it
  be rumored that "self-fulfillment" has been glimpsed in somebody's
  book or therapy or religion, and immediately a cloud of dust obscures
  the sun as we stampede into the new territory -- only to find
  ourselves, puzzlingly, still in the same dull company. Do we really
  want happiness, or only titillation? It's hard to say, because we
  rarely sit still long enough to examine the matter. Suspecting dimly
  that life is treacherous, we keep moving fast to avoid calamity.
  
      If we are credulous, we are no less skeptical. We are quick to
  believe but find belief intolerable. We topple today's idols and from
  their fragments eagerly assemble tomorrow's. We pace up and down the
  shores of doubt, rousing one another with shouts of encouragement, but
  stepping into the river we find the water cold, and promptly conclude
  there's a better crossing further down.
  
      The water is always cold. Somebody sees a vision over the horizon,
  and the chilled troops waste no more time at //this// spot. In our
  solitary reflections we may notice our inconstancy and regretfully
  wonder, "Has it always been thus?" If we are Buddhists we are bound to
  answer, "Yes." This endlessly mutable landscape of disappointment,
  this lurch and halt of conviction, is called Samsara.
  
      We are accustomed to regarding the "cycle of birth" and death as a
  remote, cosmic scheme of creation and dissolution. In fact, Samsara
  whirls with cyclonic force here in the prosaic moment, here in the
  wavering and furtive mind. If //this// is, //that// is. Out of
  ignorance rises craving; out of craving rises the whole mass of
  anxiety and suffering. We deceive ourselves even in our desire for
  happiness. Our pursuit of pleasure or "self-fulfillment" is also a
  flight from despair. Uneasy with the deteriorating present, we leap
  with unseemly greed toward the future, which, fictitious creature that
  it is, soon fails us and leaves us exactly where we were. The great
  wheel turns, and has turned, and will turn again.
  
      Freedom from Samsara does not spring from finding the right
  teacher or the right temple or the right style of meditations. We must
  instead begin by discarding false expedients, brief enthusiasms,
  fashions, platitudes, and most of all, excuses. Self-excuse is just
  grease for the wheel. Ah, we sigh, if only we had met the Buddha in
  person! Vain foolishness, this. The Buddha was never to be found in
  six feet of flesh. In his time and in ours he is only seen in the
  destruction of the defilements, in the giving up of excuses, evasions,
  and willful blindness. If we earnestly strive to distinguish between
  the false and the true, the shallow and the profound, the path of the
  Buddha takes shape before us.
  
      But after so many years of quick credulity and quicker doubt, of
  lukewarm and ambivalent effort, how can we make it across that cold,
  lonely river of ignorance? If we divest ourselves of false and trivial
  comforts shall we not be left naked? Indeed we shall. And it is in
  precisely that condition that we may encounter the Buddha. Buddhism
  is, after all, a religion of renunciation -- renunciation of wrong
  thoughts, wrong speech, and wrong deeds. When we give up our shabby
  illusions and the manifold hiding places of the mind we find ourselves
  naked and ready for the first time to see the world without
  distortion. Whereas before we may have nominally accepted the reality
  of impermanence, suffering, and non-self, now we may begin to discern
  these truths directly and realize our predicament. The old cliche,
  "The Buddhas only point the way," strikes us with fresh significance.
  Buddhism demands that we help ourselves, and here on the long, empty
  shore where we have so often wandered we may at last appreciate the
  task ahead.
  
      The world around us may be crass and wicked, but not so crass and
  wicked as our own deluded minds. We feast on the bones of cynicism and
  are not satisfied. We give new names to iniquity and pursue it in
  shadows. We mistake the pleasant for the good and perennially follow
  the easiest course. Then in our accidental nights of fear we stare in
  bafflement at the four walls and ask ourselves, "Haven't I tried?"
  Silence replies with silence, and there's nothing left for us but to
  blunder after a new ghost of happiness, and thereby give the wheel of
  Samsara another spin.
  
      Credulity is not faith, nor is skepticism wisdom. The noble
  follower of the Buddha proceeds with a balanced mind, considering the
  world as he finds it, shunning the harmful and welcoming the useful.
  He crosses the flood of Samsara on the raft of Dhamma, knowing that
  nobody will make the effort for him. What distinguishes such a person
  from; his fellows is not necessarily brilliance of mind, but plain and
  simple perseverance, the resolve to follow the true course no matter
  how long it may take. We can do likewise if we set ourselves firmly on
  the path.
  
      Delay is the luxury of ignorance. We commonly suppose Nibbana, the
  ultimate purity and freedom, to be something infinitely far away and
  terrifically difficult to reach. We think of the Buddha as long
  departed. But Nibbana is near for those who would have it near, and
  the Buddha is as close as true Dhamma truly observed. What is required
  of us is to let go of our crumbling, mortal toys and to come down,
  alone, to the long shore of renunciation. In that exhilarating
  solitude we may meet the Buddha, whose body is wisdom, whose face is
  compassion, and whose hand points out the waypoints directly to the
  deep and hidden purity in our hearts.
  

                                 * * *

  
                           April and November
  

  Early spring is a fitting time to consider death, though few of us,
  alas, appreciate this healthy practice. When the first crocuses and
  skunk cabbage blunder into the sunshine the conventional mind waxes
  bold and brave and salutes the regeneration of the world. We have won
  through once more, we've got another chance, we shall dawdle
  barefooted in gardens. Gone is the dark time, the emphatically dead
  winter of land and heart. We are, surely, about to participate in the
  general leafiness of things. The gurgling pigeons in the park --
  formerly wretched pests -- excite our fine feelings of sympathy. We
  are magnanimous at seventy degrees. We have great expectations.
  
      Legions of us swarm the sidewalks with uplifted chins, celebrating
  what we had no part in making. But there's a certain self-deception
  here. If the sun burns more beneficently these days is it any of our
  doing? If it shut down altogether would we be consulted? We may fancy
  ourselves philosophers improvising on the rhapsody of spring, but we
  display, in the main, scarcely more independence than the pigeons. We
  are seduced by the flowers April throws our way and esteem ourselves
  wise for having noted they are pretty. We find in the loveliness of
  the season not a theme for true reflection but only a license for
  yearning. We indulge without compunction, believing that we are in
  accord with the sacred law of the moment, when really we continue to
  //flee// the present moment and lust for the unborn fixture -- some
  garden of promise yet to bloom.
  
      Better we should turn our minds to dissolution and death -- right
  now in the brilliant season. Any fellow of sound faculties can stroll
  through late November and remark the transience of vital forces. Ah,
  withered grass, leaden skies, brief span of happiness! He is moved --
  having, as he thinks, come to terms with mortality. The same fellow,
  come the daffodils, is warbling about youth and beauty. But where is
  the brave heart who sees deeply in spring the bud dying to the flower,
  the flower to the fruit? Where is he who at close of the year regards
  the snow-bitten rose and is not cast down? Where is he who lives
  serenely in fair times and foul? All things shall pass not only in
  black November but in pastel April as well -- a lapsing without pause,
  a continual perishing of the dear, the unlovely, and the indifferent.
  Nature suffers no moratorium on decay; it unrolls itself in seasons
  that, we, with our predilections for warmth and light, habitually
  misunderstand, finding gloom this month and gaiety in that.
  
      To dote on April is to despise November. We are caught up in
  liking and disliking, taking a sip of truth when we can't avoid it and
  spitting it out at the first opportunity, living tentatively like
  wine-tasters. We ride the seasons on and ever on to the sweet, cruel
  music of hope, while the world burns because of //us//, because we've
  lit it with the torch of delusion. Should we not now starve the fire
  to coolness and let be the race of forms we call our life? Change
  sweeps all forms away, and no one can find peace in his time who does
  not attend to this universal moving-on.
  
      So then, it is spring and the bluebirds are twittering. Shall we
  pick our scabs and visit graveyards? Of course not. Let us go on
  breathing; if the air is sweet, why then, it is sweet. If the rain
  blows off and the sun slants warm through the willow tree, so be it.
  Let us sit on the porch and be alive. No need to scourge ourselves or
  sleep on gravel. No need to curse winter or praise spring. They come
  and go independently of us: dead grass, dragonflies, thunderstorms,
  and snow -- what scene should we prefer when all are flowing? Reality
  cannot be seized; it arises when the mind stops grasping. He who lets
  go is he who is established. He lives in all seasons but serves none.


                            * * * * * * * *



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                         DISTRIBUTION AGREEMENT
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 TITLE OF WORK: Radical Buddhism (Bodhi Leaves No. B92)
 FILENAME: BODHI092.ZIP
 AUTHOR: Leonard Price
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 DATE OF PUBLICATION: 1982
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