PERFECTING THE PARAMITAS PRECEPTS 2010.3

Today we will review the second, Sila Paramita, or Precepts. We will touch on the

Repentance and Refuges, and the Three Pure Precepts, which, along with the Ten Grave

or Prohibitory Precepts, constitute the Sixteen Precepts that comprise Soto Zen’s current

ceremonial practice. Within the limitations of time we will review only the first five of

the Ten Grave Precepts, and continue with the latter five, in the next segment. In the

words of Matsuoka-roshi:

The second Paramita asks us to observe the precepts handed down to us by

the Historical or Sakyamuni Buddha. The eight-fold Path of Right Views

and Behavior; and the Ten Prohibitory Precepts which prohibit behavior

which would harm others, are all given to us an example of a moral life.

Now here, it should be said that morality in Buddhism is not the same as it is in other

philosophical or religious systems. Leading a moral life is regarded as a natural

consequence of insight in meditation. During Initiation into Soto Zen, or Jukai, in

Japanese, the Three Pure Precepts follow acknowledgment of Repentance:

All my past and harmful karma born from beginningless greed hate and

delusion through body speech and mind I now fully avow

Then we take the Three Refuges:

I take refuge in buddha I take refuge in dharma I take refuge in sangha

I take refuge in Buddha the fully awakened one

I take refuge in dharma the compassionate teaching

I take refuge in sangha the harmonious community

I have completely taken refuge in buddha

I have completely taken refuge in dharma

I have completely taken refuge in sangha

After this, preparatory to formally receiving the Precepts, we repeat:

I have taken refuge in the Buddha — the Dharma — the Sangha

The Tathagata realized true enlightenment and is my Great Teacher

I have taken refuge in the Tathagata

Please look with compassion upon my humble vows

For those who do not already know, Tathagata is an honorific title referring to

Shakyamuni Buddha, meaning the “thus come one.” Next, the Three Pure Precepts are

received:

First Pure Precept — not creating evil — Do no harm

Second Pure Precept — practicing good — Do only good

Third Pure Precept — purifying intentions — Do good for others

This first of the Pure Precepts, do no harm, is shared with the medical profession, and is

the root Precept of Buddhism, from which flow all of the others. All are variations on the

theme of do no harm. Finally, we receive the Five Grave or Prohibitory Precepts, as

precepts of buddhas and bodhisattvas; they are the natural way of enlightened living:

Affirm life — Do not kill

Be giving — Do not take what is not freely given

Honor the body — Do not engage in sexual misconduct

Manifest truth — Do not speak falsely

Proceed clearly — Do not cloud the mind with intoxicants

After each, we are asked, repeatedly:

Will you observe this Precept until you realize Buddhahood?

And we respond: Yes, Sensei. (Sensei is Japanese for teacher.)

Precepts are guidelines, intended to support us in our efforts as baby bodhisattvas,

vowing to live the life of an awakened one. The Precepts received in Soto Zen today are

based on those interpreted and transmitted by Master Dogen, after returning to Japan

from China about 1225. Scholars tell us that they are not the same as he would have

received in China, as Ch’an Buddhism did not offer Precepts in the same form. Precepts

have been modified frequently in history, and have evolved to fit their time and location.

The essence of their meaning, however, has been preserved and transmitted to us today.

Precepts are now stated in the affirmative first, and then in the prohibitive, or negative,

form. In the later Discipleship ceremony, an additional five round out the Ten Grave

Precepts, which we will look into in the next segment.

We usually regard the Precepts as prohibitions against harming others, that is, our fellow human beings, again primarily in a social context. But Precepts, like all of the Paramitas, are meaningful on several levels. For example, from a literal point of view, it is impossible not to kill, and still be alive. Our body is constantly killing in order to survive.

Let’s take a look at the five Grave Precepts one at a time. A question you may ask, is why they are called grave precepts, as if they have great gravity. The first, Affirm life — Do not kill, as mentioned, is impossible on the strictly literal level. Even if we commit suicide, so that we, personally, are no longer capable of killing anything else, suicide is also killing. So even suicide offers no escape from this dilemma. Those who would argue that since it is their life, they have the right to take it, will not get an argument from Zen. We would only caution that there are still karmic consequences of the act, even if one kills oneself. Again, karmic consequences may be regarded as positive, negative, or neutral. Sacrificing one’s life to save others, for example is different from suicide to avoid suffering. The consequences will be driven by the intent, not the act, per se.

Killing a fellow human being, according to the law, is called murder, which is a crime, and regarded as far worse than killing an animal. But in Zen, killing even an insect is linked to karmic consequence. Knowing that there is a consequence does not necessarily mean that we know what it is, specifically. It is part of the price of doing business in this existence. So it is better to be open to karma. The most dependable consequence of death is rebirth, according to Buddhism, into a future life that will have some karmic entanglement with the prior life and death. But this is another story, for another time.

So, how do we affirm life, how do we avoid killing? Of course, in the relative sense, we can minimize the amount of killing that takes place owing to our living. For instance, if we eat meat, we can do so less than at every meal, or even once a week; it is a matter of degree. If we are mostly vegetarian, we may eat fish, dairy, and eggs, along with plants. Some don’t eat anything with a face. A vegan restricts diet strictly to plants and minerals. So, the relative degree to which we avoid killing can be increased, through these various strategies. However, we can never totally avoid killing. Nor our complicity in it. Buddhism is often associated with vegetarianism, but it is not clear that Buddha prohibited the eating of meat, as such. The admonition to those going out begging for food was to eat whatever was put in their bowls. In other words, not to be picky about diet. Of course, the diet in those days was largely vegetarian. But in Tibet, for example, it would have been impossible to survive on a diet limited to plant foods. The Tibetan diet is highly dependent upon their herds of yak. Buddha himself was said to have taken ghee, a dairy product, which was prohibited in the sect he had joined, before his awakening. One of many legends of his death is that he died of tainted pork.

There are many Zen stories wherein monks would or would not eat meat prepared or given to them by patrons. These were sometimes recorded as Koans, or anecdotes in the lives of great masters, and a source for considerable debate and clarification of this point. This is still the focus of a robust debate, impelled by the modern day horrors of factory farming. Zen may not offer a comprehensive and satisfying resolution to this dilemma. Suffice it to say that affirming life, the positive side of this precept, is what we emphasize in Zen. In spite of the fact that we cannot live up to this Precept literally, we can affirm life in the midst of life and death.

In one story, Ikkyu, a famous Japanese Zen priest and poet, responding to a junior monk, admitted that, while he relished fish soup, pointed out that he also saw himself as food. He would leave one leg sticking out from under the mosquito netting at night, so that the insects could feed on him. This was one of his ways of resolving the dilemma. All of our bodies will eventually become food, recycled back into the great maw of life.

If we take a more abstract or absolute approach to not killing, how do we not kill our own life, kill our own potential? How do we find the way to stop our self-destructive behaviors, and self-limiting attitudes, that prevent us from achieving our potential?

Our greatest potential in Buddhism, of course, is that of waking up to the buddha nature. In Zen, the prescription for fulfilling this potential is essentially zazen, time on the cushion. And secondarily following the Precepts, perfecting the Paramitas, and so on. These are guidelines given to us by Ancestors, individuals who managed to achieve their potential of awakening to the truth of Buddha’s dharma, in zazen. From that standpoint, they were able to actualize the Precepts. This same source of wisdom informs the other Paramitas, and the Eightfold Path, all provisional teachings, intended to guide us to this same point of awakening. Following insight, such questions as that of diet will resolve themselves.

From a concrete perspective, it is impossible, actually, to kill. This is bound to be a controversial, or seemingly nonsensical, statement, so let me hasten to explain what I mean. It does not mean that we can avoid responsibility for killing, but is, instead, a statement of humility. What determines life, birth, and death, is not really within our power. We can set in motion a process by which someone, or something, dies, including ourselves, intentionally or accidentally. We can participate in the slaughter of others, such as livestock, but the actual life and death of those beings is not something that we can touch, in any final sense.

The principle of rebirth suggests this. In battle, for instance, where one tribe kills off members of another tribe, according to this principle, the deaths of those killed result in rebirths. And so, we have not really ended life, any more than we can create it. Life creates itself. And, life ends itself. We have only marginal control over it.

A recent tragic incident brings this point home with great poignancy. A mother was posing for a photograph in New York’s Central Park, when a branch fell from a tree and injured her, killing the baby in her arms. A letter to the editor later blamed the agency responsible for taking care of the park. It is typical that we try to place blame for such inexplicable tragedies as this, but the parks people could not have found every branch of every tree that might be ready to fall. The mother will probably blame herself for the rest of her life, as may the husband or friend taking the picture. It is more difficult to accept that no one single person is fully responsible for the death of this child. It is not simply chalked up to karma, either, nor to the will of God. The entanglement of the parent with the child cannot be denied. But that does not establish a cause-effect relationship in this event. The parents are, likewise, only partially responsible for the birth of the child. Each person’s life and death are uniquely, even sacredly, owned only by that person.

Whether we like it or not, we cannot prevent our own life from coming to an end, any more than we can cause birth on our own. And so this idea, that we have the power of life and death over others, is a profound delusion, according to this teaching. Again, this is on the concrete level, outside of human ken. On the relative level, we have to say, yes, political rulers, the military, do wield life-and-death power over people. But it is really only on a relative, if fatal, scale. This idea does not excuse genocide, or any other atrocity, nor any violations of the principle of compassion. It just points out the futility, and stupidity, of this power-mad view of life — that I would have power over your life and death is, finally, absurd. I certainly have no power over your rebirth.

This same one-sided idea underlies the increasing use of rape as a weapon waged in ethnic conflicts around the globe. Ethnic cleansing by inter-breeding, by controlling the parentage of the next generation. This short-sighted tactic does not recognize the principle of rebirth as balancing the scales of karma. If the perpetrators recognized this principle, it might give them pause to reconsider what kind of effects their predations may actually have on the future, and on their future. A saying I cannot attribute, other than that it is from a Native American chieftain, asserted that the members of the indigenous tribes, those killed by the invading Europeans, would be reborn as their, the invaders’, own children. A chilling concept for anyone who is a parent.

The second Precept, stealing, may be a little easier than the one about killing. Be giving—do not take what is not freely given may be a little less touchy. Of course, it seems that we can own things; that we can steal things; it seems that other people own things that we do not own, and so forth. But, as Karl Marx pointed out, this kind of ownership is really a form of utility, or usage of the object. And by definition, this ownership is impermanent, temporary.

Even if we amass great wealth — not one of my problems — it is difficult to make the case that we actually own it. What we own is the usage of it. Bill Gates and Warren Buffet make headlines by contributing half of their wealth to charity, and encouraging others to do the same. This is taken as a remarkable frame of mind, standing out in a context wherein most do not share much of their wealth, and it is remarkable. But in light of the billions of dollars that these gentlemen are said to earn every year — giving us pause to reconsider the meaning of the term earn — half of their fortune still leaves them immensely wealthy, beyond the wildest dreams and fantasies of most people who have ever lived, and who will ever live.

So what seems an unbelievably generous act of charity may simply be a reasonable decision, considering, really, what else are they going to do with that kind of wealth? You can’t take it with you, as we say. And do you really want to leave billions and billions of dollars to only your family members? Some wealthy people decide not to leave anything to their children, in order that they may have a more normal life, having to make their own way, at least to some degree.

So Be giving; do not take what is not freely given may not be so obvious as it seems. It may be a zero-sum game. We can be giving, but whenever we give anything to anyone, we take something away. If the wealthy give their children their fortune, they take away the potential for them to earn their own fortune. Many people may say, Well, I would gladly take that deal! But the possession of great wealth can be a great burden, as well.

On the other hand, if we take something away from someone, at the same time we give them something. If something is taken away, it gives us the opportunity to see the true value of whatever was taken, and in fact we may find that we do not need it at all. In fact, it could possibly have been a barrier that has been interfering with our life.

So this giving and taking is not so simple as it may seem. On the absolute level, we cannot own anything, actually.

Remember, Buddhist teachings are not meant to hold up to criticize others, but mainly to point back at ourselves, to educate ourselves as to the reality that we live in. So to be giving — how can I, even if I am living alone, in a cave by myself or on a desert island. How can I be generous, giving, and avoid taking what is not freely given, both personally and socially?

Most of what we need to sustain life — air, water, food — appears to be freely given. But in dire straits, such as famine; or trapped in a cave, with only so much air remaining; then whatever portion we take in breathing, or eating, is definitely taken from others. And, as we have seen from certain ghastly incidents in history, in these situations, it is not freely given. People turn on each other in order to survive. So we have to be careful about a limited, social interpretation of this Precept.

On the concrete level, nothing can be taken from anyone else. We cannot own anything, and neither can they. This is not a license to steal; it simply says that if someone takes something from you, you may think they stole it, and they may think that they stole it, but again, it is a temporary situation at best. They may have the utilization of whatever the item is, for the rest of their life, but that is not going to be for very long. And you, who thought of this item as belonging to you, have learned a valuable lesson — that actually, nothing belongs to you. And, possibly, good riddance. This also may apply to having your lover, or spouse, rather than an object, stolen by another.

We want to look at this from an unsentimental viewpoint, that sees reality for what it is. Even our own body is ours, only in the sense of being able to use it for a brief time. This leads us to the third Precept: honor the body — do not engage in sexual misconduct.

Again, conventionally speaking, we generally know what this means. Sometimes, in situations, especially when we are younger, just beginning to develop hormones —preadolescence through adolescence and post-adolescence — we don’t have very good judgment. We make mistakes. Even later in life, we get involved in sexual peccadilloes, which can lead to suffering — divorce, rage, even killing — over this so-called sexuality. So it is serious, something that needs to be thoroughly investigated in one’s own life. We each have to come to our own personal resolution of what is a very difficult dilemma. But what sexual misconduct is, exactly, is difficult to define. Especially in nature.

In human terms it is usually defined legally; adultery, rape, and other sex-based behaviors are labeled crimes. But it depends on the society. It is culturally driven. In some societies, attitudes are very different than they are in others. And, they evolve over time.

So it is better, perhaps, to come at this from more of an absolute, and less of a relative, perspective, to allow that any sexual conduct may actually be a form of misconduct. If we are not willing to be responsible for the consequences, then it is misconduct. If we have children that we don’t want to take care of; if we have multiple serial relationships, in which we are only seeking our own gratification, and have no real commitment to the other person; these are forms of what we might call sexual misconduct on the social level.

But honoring the body implies something more. For instance, taking good care of the body, taking care of all of its needs. After all, sexuality is a need of the body. The body needs sex just as it needs food, it needs water, it needs air. As we chant in the Repentance, born of this body mouth and mind. Most cravings that we experience in life are, to that extent, not really our fault. They come with the territory, of being a human being. A mammal, essentially, in a mammal’s body. All other forms of life experience some degree of this same kind of craving. But people make it worse, through intent. This is one reason why the history of Buddhism has emphasized celibacy. It is so much simpler.

Honoring the body is seeing beyond its limitations, the negative downside, through to the positive side, that through this body and mind we have the ability to hear the teachings of Buddhism. We have a rare opportunity to awaken in the same way that Buddha did. In Dogen’s Vow, Eihei Koso Hotsuganmon, he quotes an ancient Chinese Master’s poem, which includes the line In this life save the body; it is the fruit of many lives. The value of this life is partially owing to its provenance as the cumulative result of our karmic history, which is one overriding positive consequence. It augers well for our chances.

According to Buddhism, even other animals potentially have this capability. They share the buddha nature to a degree, and through rebirth may be reborn as a human being. This gets into an area of very fuzzy logic, no pun intended, which is not important to our point here. Suffice it to say that honoring the body means that we do not abuse it in any number of ways, and not only sexually. Nor do we abuse others. Again, there is no separation of self and other in these precepts. What’s solace for the goose is solace for the gander.

The fourth, manifest truth — do not speak falsely; is another good example of the nonliteral truth of the Precepts. Jumping directly to the concrete level, it is actually impossible to speak the truth. No matter what we say, it is speaking falsely. That is, we cannot express the whole truth. At best, what we have to say can express only one side of the truth, in that our language, perception, and conceptions, are all dualistic.

Manifesting truth, however, indicates that even in speaking, even if we don’t basically know what we are talking about, the actual speaking, our physical presence, is already manifesting the truth. We may not know it; and certainly those who listen to us speaking, especially about Buddhism, may get confused, and may not know it. But, inevitably, according to Zen, we, and everything else, are all manifesting the truth at all times. So our task is to wake up to that truth, that we already manifest. Then the ability to express it becomes more possible.

When it comes to speaking the truth on the relative level, intent is the big question for motivating practice. We can lie, intentionally. You can lie to others, but in lying to others, you first have to lie to yourself, in order to convince yourself that it is okay to lie to others. In some cases, socially speaking, a little white lie is going to cause less suffering, less damage to others, than blurting out the naked truth, warts and all. Especially when your idea of the truth may also be mistaken.

Manifest truth, do not speak falsely was illustrated by Buddha himself, by what was called his golden silence. When people would ask questions, sometimes he would just sit there, in an intense silence. He wasn’t ignoring the question; he wasn’t turning away. But in some cases, whether he answered in the positive or the negative, the answer was bound to be misconstrued. Neither dualistic answer would have been correct for the questioner. In absolute silence he was expressing, and manifesting, the absolute truth. It was up to the listener to enter into that same silence; to enter into that same absolute truth the Buddha inhabited, wherein he would find the real answer to the question.

So even though we cannot but speak falsely, we can manifest truth. Hopefully we can train ourselves to the point, that what we have to say at least does not contradict the truth.

So this teaching has to be balanced with compassion and wisdom, and skillful means in knowing how far to go with it, in social situations. Again, if we lie with intent, then we first have to lie to ourselves, and actually believe our own lie. This is where it may become corrupt, where it begins to become a barrier to our own apprehension of the truth. If we are accustomed to lying to ourselves, and lying to others, about various things, then how are we ever to apprehend the actual truth, short of some terrible crisis or debacle? So, manifest the truth. Silence is golden. But it is not a hiding place.

This brings us to the fifth and final Precept for this segment, Proceed clearly — do not cloud the mind with intoxicants. Master Dogen said, somewhere in the Shobogenzo Zuimonki, that when we take the tonsure, that is, when the monk or nun has their head shaved, we are already intoxicated. This broad view of intoxication permeates Zen. That we are intoxicated with existence, with life itself. That we are not proceeding clearly.

The very air we breathe, the food we eat, the creature comforts that we pursue. Even mental or psychological comforts; reading the newspaper (you remember newspapers), reading books (you remember books); and studying. The kind of pleasure that we get from poetry, philosophy, mathematics, aesthetics; these are all intoxicants, to one degree or another.

The American Medical Association identifies addictive substances as having certain attributes. They do not contribute to nutrition, for instance. They are toxic in that to some degree they poison the body; the effects of intoxication that we feel, and crave, are the result of self-poisoning. Similar kinds of effects can be brought about by other means, such as physical exhaustion, shamanistic practices, dancing, running, and so forth. People experience highs in sports; these are all forms of intoxication. The body becomes toxic to itself.

Identification of what are called addictive substances often becomes a political issue. Should be a medical issue, perhaps, but it becomes involved with politics. We now see a greater movement to legalize marijuana for medical purposes, starting in California and sweeping the nation, as so many trends do.

So what is an intoxicant, and what is not, is not all that clear. The definition of an addictive substance includes that it results in a significant degree of discomfort, if it is withdrawn. We can apply this standard to air — if we deprive somebody of air, they begin suffocating immediately, and die within five minutes or so. If we withdraw water, it takes a bit longer to die from thirst, a matter of days. If we withdraw food, it takes longer to die of starvation, a matter of weeks.

The view in Zen, that we are already intoxicated, indicates that the process of zazen is largely one of withdrawal. We withdraw from the senses, withdraw from attachments, from our habits, from our intoxications and infatuations, from pleasure-seeking. We can think of Zen as a profound sobering up. But we become sober not just in the social sense of avoiding intoxicants that everybody agrees are intoxicating or addictive, but also in regard to the more subtle aspects — of power, prestige, or wealth — as intoxicating. This is not necessarily accessible to logic, and cannot be overcome by a mere change of heart.

Precepts, like the rest of the Paramitas, are not self-explanatory, and in fact are logically contradictory. They encourage us to achieve a kind of cognitive dissonance, if you will; it is not necessary that they make sense. Cognitive dissonance is defined as holding two contrary concepts in mind at the same time, so that they cancel each other out.

We can look at the teachings of Zen this way. The fundamental formula for example: form is emptiness, emptiness is form. If we can hold these two seeming opposites in mind simultaneously, to see them from the outside, as mutually defining, then there is no contradiction. Form has meaning only in the context of emptiness, and vice-versa. Taking a conceptual step backward, we extract ourselves from the dualistic entanglement of irreconcilable opposites, form and emptiness. They are seen, not as one, but as not-two. The same may be said for all the Paramitas.

Exploring awareness to such ambiguity, and to the dynamic reality of the Paramitas, as functioning vitally in our daily lives. By combining this study with meditation time on the cushion, the depth and breadth of the meaning of the Paramitas will become clear, in a way that is natural to you.

Please join us for the next segment in the series, on the latter five of the Ten Grave

Precepts.

© 2010 Zenkai Taiun Michael Joseph Elliston

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