XPost: alt.philosophy.taoism, alt.philosophy.zen, alt.religion.buddhism.tibetan   
   XPost: alt.zen   
   From: peter@dharma.dyndns.info   
      
   The Integrity of Emptiness   
   by   
   Thanissaro Bhikkhu   
   © 2006–2011   
      
   For all the subtlety of his teachings, the Buddha had a simple test for   
   measuring wisdom. You're wise, he said, to the   
   extent that you can get yourself to do things you don't like doing but know   
   will result in happiness, and to refrain from   
   things you like doing but know will result in pain and harm.   
      
   He derived this standard for wisdom from his insight into the radical   
   importance of intentional action in shaping our   
   experience of happiness and sorrow, pleasure and pain. With action so   
   important and yet so frequently misguided,   
   wisdom has to be tactical, strategic, in fostering actions that are truly   
   beneficial. It has to outwit short-sighted   
   preferences to yield a happiness that lasts.   
      
   Because the Buddha viewed all issues of experience, from the gross to the   
   subtle, in terms of intentional actions and   
   their results, his tactical standard for wisdom applies to all levels as well,   
   from the wisdom of simple generosity to the   
   wisdom of emptiness and ultimate Awakening. Wisdom on all levels is wise   
   because it works. It makes a difference in   
   what you do and the happiness that results. And to work, it requires   
   integrity: the willingness to look honestly at the   
   results of your actions, to admit when you've caused harm, and to change your   
   ways so that you won't make the same   
   mistake again.   
      
   What's striking about this standard for wisdom is how direct and down to earth   
   it is. This might come as a surprise, for   
   most of us don't think of Buddhist wisdom as so commonsensical and   
   straightforward. Instead, the phrase "Buddhist   
   wisdom" conjures up teachings more abstract and paradoxical, flying in the   
   face of common sense — emptiness being a   
   prime example. Emptiness, we're told, means that nothing has any inherent   
   existence. In other words, on an ultimate   
   level, things aren't what we conventionally think of as "things." They're   
   processes that are in no way separate from all   
   the other processes on which they depend. This is a philosophically   
   sophisticated idea that's fascinating to ponder, but it   
   doesn't provide much obvious help in getting you up early on a cold morning to   
   meditate nor in convincing you to give   
   up a destructive addiction.   
      
   For example, if you're addicted to alcohol, it's not because you feel that the   
   alcohol has any inherent existence. It's   
   because, in your calculation, the immediate pleasure derived from the alcohol   
   outweighs the long-term damage it's   
   doing to your life. This is a general principle: attachment and addiction are   
   not metaphysical problems. They're tactical   
   ones. We're attached to things and actions, not because of what we think they   
   are, but because of what we think they   
   can do for our happiness. If we keep overestimating the pleasure and   
   underestimating the pain they bring, we stay   
   attached to them regardless of what, in an ultimate sense, we understand them   
   to be.   
      
   Because the problem is tactical, the solution has to be tactical as well. The   
   cure for addiction and attachment lies in   
   retraining your imagination and your intentions through expanding your sense   
   of the power of your actions and the   
   possible happiness you can achieve. This means learning to become more honest   
   and sensitive to your actions and their   
   consequences, at the same time allowing yourself to imagine and master   
   alternative routes to greater happiness with   
   fewer drawbacks. Metaphysical views may sometimes enter into the equation, but   
   at most they're only secondary. Many   
   times they're irrelevant. Even if you were to see the alcohol and its pleasure   
   as lacking inherent existence, you'd still go   
   for the pleasure as long as you saw it as outweighing the damage. Sometimes   
   ideas of metaphysical emptiness can   
   actually be harmful. If you start focusing on how the damage of drinking —   
   and the people damaged by your drinking —   
   are empty of inherent existence, you could develop a rationale for continuing   
   to   
   drink. So the teaching on metaphysical emptiness wouldn't seem to pass the   
   Buddha's own test for wisdom.   
      
   The irony here is that the idea of emptiness as lack of inherent existence has   
   very little to do with what the Buddha   
   himself said about emptiness. His teachings on emptiness — as reported in   
   the earliest Buddhist texts, the Pali Canon —   
   deal directly with actions and their results, with issues of pleasure and   
   pain. To understand and experience emptiness in   
   line with these teachings requires not philosophical sophistication, but a   
   personal integrity willing to admit the actual   
   motivations behind your actions and the actual benefits and harm they cause.   
   For these reasons, this version of   
   emptiness is very relevant in developing the sort of wisdom that would pass   
   the Buddha's commonsensical test for   
   measuring how wise you are.   
      
   The Buddha's teachings on emptiness — contained in two major discourses and   
   several smaller ones — define it in three   
   distinct ways: as an approach to meditation, as an attribute of the senses and   
   their objects, and as a state of   
   concentration. Although these forms of emptiness differ in their definitions,   
   they ultimately converge on the same   
   route to release from suffering. To see how this happens, we will need to   
   examine the three meanings of emptiness   
   one by one. In doing so, we'll find that each of them applies the Buddha's   
   commonsensical test for wisdom to subtle   
   actions of the mind. But to understand how this test applies to this subtle   
   level, we first have to see how it applies to   
   actions on a more obvious level. For that, there's no better introduction than   
   the Buddha's advice to his son, Rahula, on   
   how to cultivate wisdom while engaging in the activities of everyday life.   
      
   Observing Everyday Actions   
   The Buddha told Rahula — who was seven at the time — to use his thoughts,   
   words, and deeds as a mirror. In other   
   words, just as you would use a mirror to check for any dirt on your face,   
   Rahula was to use his actions as a means of   
   learning where there was still anything impure in his mind. Before he acted,   
   he should try to anticipate the results of   
   the action. If he saw that they'd be harmful to himself or to others, he   
   shouldn't follow through with the action. If he   
   foresaw no harm, he could go ahead and act. If, in the course of doing the   
   action, he saw it causing unexpected harm,   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)