|
|
Dilatato Corde 6:1
January - June, 2016 
OPENING ONESELF TO THE INEXPRESSIBLE REALITY OF EACH MOMENT There exists, however, another kind of silence, one that the following pages will attempt to describe. We will see that several writers belonging to theistic religious traditions have sought to experience and describe this latter kind of silence, but that it is in the non-theistic religious tradition of Buddhism that this silence has generally been most greatly prized, and practiced in its purest form. The result of arduous effort to maintain continuous awareness of the present moment, this silence is maintained, in its stark simplicity, throughout the meditation period. The following story may help to give an idea of just what kind of self-discipline is required for it. The Silence of Sister R. In spring 1987, in the meditation center founded by the Jesuit priest Hugo Enomiya-Lassalle on the outskirts of Tokyo, a Zen retreat was being held, directed by Sister R., a Catholic nun. During such retreats, there is usually a daily talk to guide and encourage the retreatants in their sitting, and the teacher will often use this talk to comment on a particular dialogue or text taken from a classical Chinese or Japanese anthology. Instead, in the first talk she was to give, Sister R. suddenly announced that her sister and brother-in-law had just been murdered by their own son, who was suffering from severe mental illness. As a participant at this retreat, I wondered how Sister R. would then proceed to comment on this shocking tragedy. Would she attempt to extract religious significance from it and underline the necessity of surrendering ourselves to the Lord’s will? Would she invite those in attendance to pray for the souls of the victims, as well as for that of their murderer? Or would she in fact remain in alignment with the central insight of the Buddha that, during one’s meditation, one should not allow oneself to drift into thoughts and feelings, which the Buddha saw drag us away from the clarity and absolute truth of the Reality before us? What Sister R. did was relate stories of two well-known figures from two different religious traditions: Job and Vimalakirti. First, she described how Job inquired into the reasons for the severe sufferings he was undergoing. Finally incapable of understanding the mystery of suffering, he admitted his fundamental inability to judge the rightness or wrongness of his fate: “I am unworthy—how can I reply to you? I put my hand over my mouth. I spoke once, but I have no answer—twice, but I will say no more.” (Job 40:4-5, NIV) In giving up on his attempts to find out “why,” it was not that he lost faith in the existence of God, but rather that he simply accepted God’s Silence. Job’s search for self-justification and a rational explanation for his predicament had been causing him even greater suffering than the actual disasters which had originally befallen him. Now, suddenly, his quiet acceptance of the human condition brought him peace. The second figure Sister R. told us about was Vimalakirti, considered to have had one of the deepest understandings of the Buddha’s teaching during the Buddha’s own lifetime. One episode from the life of this Vimalakirti is given in Case 84 of the Blue Cliff Record, a tenth-century Chinese collection of sayings of masters and their disciples, later codified for use in the twelfth century to intensify and focus the meditation practice of Zen monks and lay followers. One had to find one’s own explanation for the strange sayings and doings of these masters, without attempting to give intellectualized reasons for them. This Blue Cliff Record collection is still widely used in the tradition known today in Japan as Rinzai Zen. At any rate, the story goes that once when Vimalakirti was gravely ill, many high-ranking bodhisattvas (personifications of wisdom and compassion) went to visit him and pay their respects to him. Vimalakirti therefore took advantage of the opportunity to test them, and asked, “What is a bodhisattva’s entry into the Dharma gate of non-duality?” After each bodhisattva had responded, the great bodhisattva Manjushri invited Vimalakirti himself to answer his own question, so Vimalakirti answered – by remaining silent. This silence was, however, more accurate than a thousand words could ever have been: it is only when we are willing to completely let go of words and concepts that we can truly enter into the Reality presenting itself to us each moment. As we sat listening to Sister R.’s talk, we could all feel how greatly her faith in God’s love must have been tested when she learned the terrible news of the senseless killing of two of the people she had loved most. However, she concluded her talk with a simple “Now, let’s go back to sitting.” Like Job and Vimalakirti, she had been faced with a situation that did not lend itself to rational explanation. As we continued to sit in silence, images and ideas related to the terrible tragedy she had just shared with us surely appeared in the minds of all those present, but we each endeavored to sit in silence and allow these thoughts to drift away as they had come. The Silence of the Buddha Although Buddhism is usually classified as a religion, a paradox sometimes ensues, in that the fundamental message of the Buddha did not particularly depend upon verbal explanations, and did not require its listeners to simply accept and believe a collection of established “truths.” Therefore, if “religion” is understood as requiring faith in a body of teachings and insisting that salvation can only be obtained by those who possess such faith, it might be admitted that Buddhism is not a “religion” in this sense; that in fact, it exists at a more fundamental, existential level than such verbalized expressions of religious beliefs. Among the many books of Raimon Panikkar is Le Silence du Bouddha.[1] Opening the book, we find this quotation from Saint John of the Cross: “Nothing is more necessary than keeping silence, in the presence of our Lord God, [a silence of] our desires and our thinking. The language He hears is the Language of silent Love.”[2] Panikkar emphasizes that the Buddha refused to answer any abstract questions about spirituality, because it was essential first to deal with the concrete problems facing us: we have no time to waste, debating abstract concepts unrelated to our life as we live it. The Buddha gave the following simile for this kind of problem: “A man has been hit by a poisoned arrow but before it is removed, he first insists on knowing who shot it, who made it, with what wood it was made and what feathers it was fletched, etc. This man would surely die without having obtained answers to each of his questions.”[3] We clearly see in this short fable the importance of first dealing with the real, concrete challenges we face as part of our human condition, and not getting caught up in debate about issues that are only of intellectual interest. The Zen Practice of Silence The silent practice of meditation done in Zen temples and meditation centers requires great physical and mental effort, when done in traditional retreats of five days. Each day there are usually ten sittings of forty minutes each, and the meditators are asked to sit in the full- or half-lotus whenever physically possible. The body is held upright in a natural, relaxed way—there should be no tension or rigidity—with the eyes half-open, and the gaze falling naturally downward. The practitioners focus on their breathing and its natural patterns, although they also remain clearly aware of their environment. Sounds arise in the silence: footsteps perhaps, or a door opening, or a bird suddenly bursting into song. For a long time, practitioners experience thoughts arising; random ideas and feelings coming and going, much like clouds in the sky. The practice consists only of noticing them, and then coming back to one’s breathing in the present moment: just like clouds, the thoughts and feelings will also evaporate into the blue sky of calm silence. The teacher who gives instructions based on koans asks the meditators to accompany their exhalations with the sound Mu. They are required to put everything they have into their practice in order to become completely one with that sound. Some feel the need to repeat this sound Mu quite loudly, in order to maintain their concentration. The meditators may come from quite different religious traditions, but when they have emptied themselves of all dualistic thoughts, judgmental attitudes, and verbalizations of their immediate experience, the silence they sit in is of the same nature. In the open spaciousness of the silence they share, they simply strive to pay careful attention to each passing moment and its potential for enlightenment. The Silence and Kenosis of Jesus In the Gospels, we see Jesus inviting people to follow him, to renounce their worldly attachments and possessions, and to give their lives for others. Only these things primarily concerned him; He was not interested in answering his followers’ questions if these questions were not directly related to their actions. For example, when someone asked Him, “Lord, are only a few people going to be saved?” He answered the questioner personally and directly: “Make every effort to enter through the narrow door” (Luke 13:23-24, NIV). The Gospel of John gives an account of the disciples meeting with Jesus after his resurrection. Peter, having been designated by Jesus as their leader, then looks at John and asks, “Lord, what about him?” As in the previous case, Jesus does not answer his question, but rather lets Peter know that he is not to preoccupy himself with John’s fate: this has nothing to do with Peter’s personal mission as a disciple, and hence is not relevant to his immediate concerns. He answers, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me” (John 21:21-22, NIV). In his encounter with Nicodemus, we again see Jesus’ affirmation of the need to first deal with concrete problems and issues. Nicodemus is a highly-educated Jew of some repute, so he comes to Jesus by night and acknowledges Jesus as Rabbi. However, Jesus presents him with a challenge which far outstrips his scriptural knowledge: Nicodemus must be reborn. He must die to himself, must divest himself completely of all his selfish desires and prideful parrot-learning, so he can open himself completely to being led by the Spirit—as by the wind—along paths he had never expected to follow and to places he had never expected to go (see John 3). Jesus prefigured his own death and resurrection with his baptism in the Jordan River: he allowed the waters to close over his head, and then came up again empowered by the Holy Spirit. In this light, his affirmations, which gave such scandal to the Jews, such as “I and the Father are One” (John 10:30, NIV) and “These words you hear are not my own; they belong to the Father who sent me” (John 14:24, NIV) simply reflect Jesus’ perfect unity with the Source of his Being. His passion and crucifixion then became the natural outcome of the commitment he had made at his baptism. In his letter to the Philippians, the apostle Paul points out clearly just what Jesus had undertaken with his mission: “. . . he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant . . . he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross” (Phil 2:7-8, NIV). Jesus so completely renounced everything that he seemed no longer to even have the constant vision of a loving God: on the cross he seems to cry despairingly, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt 27:46, NIV). He finally obtains, however, at the end of his struggle and prayers on the Mount of Olives, a vision of the inexorable Reality that theistic religions sometimes call the will of God: “ . . . not my will, but yours be done” (Luke 22:42, NIV). The Silence of Christian Monastics of the Past For a Christian who defines prayer as dialogue with God, the Buddhist practice of complete silence as a spiritual practice par excellence may seem difficult to understand and accept. Notably, Saint Francis de Sales and other writers have presented discursive and affective prayer (in which words and feelings play important roles) as the only “true” Christian forms of meditation. Basing ourselves on biblical texts or spiritual books, we are to generate feelings of gratefulness or of compunction, or perhaps make resolutions to change our ways and act in greater conformity with the teachings of the Church. However, historically this is not the only approach to prayer and meditation adopted by Christian monks and laypeople. In fact, it is only around the sixteenth century that the practice of pure, contemplative prayer – in which words and images do not play a part – began to disappear in the Christian West. For the first fifteen hundred years of the Christian tradition, such contemplation—involving no images or other objects for the mind to preoccupy itself with—was considered to be the natural fruit of a lifetime of authentic spiritual evolution. St. John Climacus wrote in the seventh century that “A small hair disturbs the eye, and a mere worry ruins solitude; because solitude (hesychia) is the banishment of thoughts and ideas, and the rejection of even laudable worries.”[4] It is even more interesting to note the statement in the medieval work called The Cloud of Unknowing, written anonymously during the fourteenth century, that [During contemplative prayer] a naked intent toward God, the desire for him alone, is enough. If you want to gather all your desire into one simple word that the mind can easily retain, choose a short word rather than a long one. A one-syllable word such as “God” or “love” is best. But choose one that is meaningful to you! Then fix it in your mind so that it will remain there come what may. This word will be your defense in conflict and in peace.[5] We can see how similar this suggestion, given by the anonymous author of the Cloud, is to the repetition of the single word Mu during the Zen meditation described above. Several Buddhist writers (D.T. Suzuki, for example, in his Mysticism: Christian and Buddhist) have commented that within the Christian tradition, Meister Eckhart’s teaching seems to most resemble that of Buddhist teachers, with respect to the spiritual attitude to be maintained during the course of one’s meditation. We read, for example, in Eckhart’s first German Sermon, This is how that person should be who wants to receive highest truth and dwell in it: without a before and after, and without being impeded by all the words and all the images which he ever was conscious of, empty and free in this “now”, receiving anew divine gifts and giving birth to them in return. . . . [6] The similarities are clearly visible, between Eckhart’s recommendations here to be “without . . . words and . . . images . . . empty and free in this ‘now,’” and the Buddhist practice of silent mediation described above. One may note, however, a few differences. One is that the Buddhist practice also overtly specifies a precise physical posture, considered most suitable for reducing problems with the body and mind during meditation. We also notice that (especially in contrast to the many sermons delivered by Eckhart!) Buddhist masters have had much less to say about the Reality that presents itself in—and as—the present moment. Is it that Buddhists see this Reality as transcending all verbal descriptions anyway, so one’s experience of it could only be cheapened by attempting to capture it in words? Conclusion It does not seem unreasonable to imagine that a meditation practice that essentially consists of remaining in complete silence—both external and internal—could not promise any kind of precise result, and certainly could not be of any great spiritual significance. However, this mistake would deprive us of engaging in an especially powerful technique available for putting us into direct, conscious contact with Reality in its truest, most ungraspable form. In our day, as we swim in oceans of information and are daily attacked by loud, aggressive advertising, how can we maintain our internal peace? Now that it has become more important than ever, how can we protect and even nurture an interior silence which “adds nothing, but changes everything”? Dare we learn from the wisdom of our Oriental brothers and sisters, and sow seeds of silence in our daily lives, healthful seeds of sanity and clarity that so many have sown before us? And might not these seeds, in the end, yield a wonderful harvest of greater openness and lightness in our own Western spiritual traditions? Notes [1] Published by Actes Sud in 2006. The English translation of this book, The Silence of God; The Answer of the Buddha was published by Orbis in 1989. An annotated bibliography of Panikkar’s works on the Panikkar website offers the following: “The journey of reading and study offered by The Silence of God starts with a number of preambles (prefaces and introduction) that reveal the long itinerary this text has travelled before reaching its current form. Developing from an article written four decades ago, “Buddhismo e Ateismo”, it became a book in the first Spanish edition (1970) and was progressively transformed and enriched, even changing its title, in its editions in Italian (1985), English (1989) and German (1992), reaching in 2006 its final version in Italian.” The French translation from which I quote was translated from the Italian. [2] Letter of November 22, 1587, to Anne de Jésus, a Carmelite nun of Béas, in Jean de la Croix, Œuvres complètes, trans. mère Marie du Saint Sacrement (Cerf, 2004), p. 1569. [3] Majjhima Nikaya, 63 [4] The Ladder of Divine Ascent (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1959), p. 116. [5] Image Books, 1973, p.56. [6] Meister Eckhart; Teacher and Preacher(Mahwah NJ: Paulist Press, 1986), p. 241. |
 |