UnMind 37. Metta Sutta Quartet 1: What Is Accomplished?

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“What is accomplished”
is not a question in Zen —
it is a statement.

It is the “what” of things that is accomplished through the practice of Zen and its meditation, not the “who, where, when, why,” or “how.” To some degree, of course, all of those journalistic questions must be addressed in the history of Zen’s provenance and propagation, from ancient India through China, Korea and Japan, and now, at long last, in the West. But this is the “what” of “What is it that thus comes?” the quintessential Zen question posed by Master Huineng, Sixth Ancestor in China, to his future successor. He could not answer until after eight years of zazen. His answer posed a question.

The brief poem called the Metta Sutta, or “Loving Kindness Sutra,” attributed to Buddha, outlines in both personal and social terms that which the sincere practitioner of Buddhism may reasonably expect to accomplish through this practice, message apparently intended for the householder, as well as “one who has gone forth from the household life,” as found in the First Sermon on the Middle Way:

This is what may be accomplished by the one who is wise
who seeks the good and has obtained peace:
Let one be strenuous upright and sincere
without pride easily contented and joyous
Let one not be submerged by the things of the world
Let one not take upon oneself the burden of riches
Let one’s senses be controlled
Let one be wise but not puffed up
Let one not desire great possessions even for one’s family
Let one do nothing that is mean or that the wise would reprove

In order to hear the rest of this charming and highly condensed teaching, which is about four times this long, you will have to listen to the entire quartet, or download one of our home practice manuals.

The backstory on this event is that so many monks, and perhaps nuns — unsure of the history here — had gathered in the woods around Buddha, that their sheer biomass apparently had begun to impact the forest. The trees were “unhappy,” as the story goes. So this relatively brief sutra may represent the first recorded sermon in history that deals directly with stewardship of the ecology.

The use of the word “accomplish” here is akin to the idea of “achieving enlightenment,” or some other such stated goal. These phrases conjure up expectations, which are generally to be avoided in Zen. We allow as to how we may safely nurture an aspiration to arouse Bodhi mind. Or to wake up, in the spiritual sense. But when it transmogrifies into an expectation, we are setting ourselves up for failure. An expectation is something definitive, whereas an aspiration is not. This distinction bears repetition.

So, “what may be accomplished” cannot actually be accomplished, in any sense that a definitive change in reality has been actuated. The only thing that we can change is our own mind — there is a regular “Change Your Mind Day” held outside St. Louis each year — but according to the Buddhist model of how the mind works, even that idea is questionable. What can change is our stubborn resistance to a world that is not centered around “I-me-mine,” or what we refer to as “monkey mind.”

Note that the accomplishments listed are predicated upon one’s seeking “the good” and already having “obtained peace.” This implies that unless we are already fairly content with our lot in life, we will not be able to realize the remaining items on the punchlist. This “good” would presumably be identical to the ultimate good debated in early Greek philosophy, where polarities were conceived of as contrasting the pursuit of pleasure with pursuit of knowledge, justice, and morality, et cetera. In both cases seeking the good would imply another duality, that between good for oneself and good for others, or for both. In Buddhism, the two “goods” cannot be separated. They come together in the bodhisattva vow. Doing good for others is tantamount to doing good for oneself.

Being “strenuous, upright and sincere, without pride, easily contented and joyous” may begin to sound like the Boy Scout’s code of honor. But here, such resolutions count as accomplishments, testifying to Buddhism’s healthy respect for the persuasive powers of our lesser angels. This kind of admonition might call forth a cynical reaction, pushback in today’s polarized political climate, as an appeal to maintain calm, law and order, i.e. in the face of social injustice. As Buddha continues, the exhortations become even more counter-intuitive, and counter-cultural, for his time or ours.

“Let one not be submerged by the things of the world” amounts to all-inclusive rejection of the slavish embrace of the pleasures of this corporeal existence, smacking of the theistic notion that our reward awaits us in a more perfect existence, once we have shuffled off this mortal coil. But the findings of Buddha contravened the prevalent notions of an afterlife — which in proto-Hindu India amounted to the embrace of reincarnation, including potentially finding oneself in better circumstances in the next life. So, against his teaching of “anatta” or “no self, no soul” — and thus, no reincarnation — it makes no sense that he would encourage non-attachment to the attractions of this world, in order to arrive in a better place. Unlike modern theism’s beliefs in an afterlife in heaven (or, God forbid, hell), avoidance of being “submerged” in the swamp must be interpreted as more immediate, and practical, in Zen.

“Let one not take upon oneself the burden of riches” goes even further to reject the specific context in which Siddhartha had grown up. As chief of the Shakya clan, the story goes, Buddha’s father enjoyed vast wealth by the standards of the day, which he had hoped that the young prince would inherit, along with the power accruing to his social-political position. But Buddha had other ideas.

“Let one’s senses be controlled” is another call to resist the blandishments of the pleasures on offer in the India of the time. These included seductive courtesans, who figure prominently in certain tales told of Buddha’s young followers, notably his cousin Ananda. Early versions of the Precepts include what may appear to us today as somewhat quaint, if familiar, warnings against socializing with the wrong crowd, staying away from places where there is laughter and music, and even sleeping on high beds. These days, controlling the senses may be magnified by an order of magnitude, based on the overchoice we suffer for every kind of sensory indulgence. But the meaning is the same. We cannot actually “control” the senses, of course. We can only control our reactions to their stimulations.

“Let one be wise but not puffed up” returns to a more introverted dimension of practice. It is entirely possible through Zen practice that as our worldview, conditioned by our thought or understanding, evolves to approximate the ideal of the Noble Eightfold Path — i.e. being “right” — that we will, indeed, mature in wisdom to that degree. However, if we take pride in that fact, that very assessment effaces any so-called wisdom we may have accrued. Nothing materially substantial changes through our practice. Any benefit to us is not at all tangible, as Master Dogen reminds us in Genjokoan:

The boundary of realization is not distinct, for the realization itself comes forth with the actualization of buddha-dharma. Although actualized immediately, the inconceivable may not be apparent. Its appearance is beyond your knowledge.

And so any effective change that may come about through our meditation and assimilation of Zen, and may positively affect us and those around us, transpires in such a way that we may not be fully aware of it. As Dogen also mentions, “When buddhas are truly buddhas they do not necessarily notice that they are buddhas.” This is not a false modesty, just reiterating the fact that awakening does not necessarily register as an event, or a change. We do not even know what we are, after all.

Shakyamuni Buddha’s address to his followers — in this paean to the cultivation and expression of loving kindness — seems to focus as much, or more, on the concerns of householders as it does of those who have become mendicants.

“Let one not desire great possessions even for one’s family” does not presume that the audience has taken up the way of the monastic, which was, in those days, to fully renounce family, and all that that implies. It makes one wonder if the audience for this homily was comprised only of his dedicated followers in the woods that day. Or did it also include members of the lay community, for whom he was known to have developed special takes on his message for householders, and which definitely did not try to persuade them to leave home.

“Let one do nothing that is mean or that the wise would reprove,” the next, and last, of the seven admonitions, is again a generalized message of wisdom to bring to heel our lesser angels. But not necessarily for the typical reasons of avoiding social ridicule and derision. More for personal reasons of developing character or wisdom. “Mean” implies being selfish, small of mind, petty, insensitive, my bad, etc. Master Dogen’s famous maxim, “Fall down seven times, get up eight!” comes to mind here.

The “wise” who may reprove any such actions may refer to the tribal elders (who of course are not always so wise), but may also be interpreted to refer to oneself, as a potential sage. Do nothing for which you, in all your wisdom, would chastise yourself, even though you might forgive others for the same infraction. Matsuoka Roshi used to say, “Be careful of that one little thing you allow yourself.” That is what will get you in the end, or get in your way of realizing your true nature. You are always “Oh, so good, and oh, so kind” that surely one little indulgence will not tip the balance against you. Someone said that your character or morality consists of what you do when no one is looking. On the other hand, we are told to dance like no one is watching.

According to the Buddhist repentance verse, we repent all of our past karmic actions, which stem from “beginningless greed, hate and delusion,” and are born of “body, mouth and mind,” and avow this recognition and repentance three times over for good measure. At least we don’t have to spell out the embarrassing specifics. The body, mouth and mind part is not a cop-out, but it reminds us that we did not make this up — we are not God, and therefore not 100% responsible for the corporeal conundrum in which we find ourselves. But we do feel 100% responsible for what we do, or fail to do, with the opportunity.

Note that the “let one’s” alternate between the intensely personal — the first, fourth and fifth; and the painfully social — the second and third, sixth and seventh; though the personal dimension obviously conditions the social, and vice-versa. It might be worthwhile to try to write your own version.

The construction — “Let one” do this or avoid doing that — is rather curious, implying that in the act of “letting,” one is allowing this or that to happen, or not. Not as an obiter dictum, or a commandment from on high. Rather more like the Buddhist Precepts, which are taken voluntarily, are sometimes introduced as “I take up the way of…” not killing, not stealing, not lying, et cetera. This approach to reformation recognizes that it is a lot easier to identify and address contrary or negative behavior that is getting in our way, than to vow on the positive side, as in, “Let one immediately attain unsurpassed, perfect, complete enlightenment.” Humility goeth before a fall-up.

That last phrase has a word in Japanese, no kidding, that Matsuoka Roshi taught me: “cho-da.” Fall up. It identifies what may be accomplished, if we persevere when plateauing in our practice of zazen. If we do not give up — when nothing seems to be happening in any positive sort of way — we will eventually “fall up.” Some chodas can be small, some large. No preference. But, alas, we fall up to the next plateau. Oh, well.