Zen Buddhism - Encyclopedia of Buddhism. Spiritual crisis and the meaning of psychoanalysis. Overcoming repression and enlightenment

Dance of Liberation You can hear about Roman Viktyuk’s performances: “This is eclecticism! He’s doing a show, this is not theater!” As you might guess, all these bursts of amazing intellectual activity mostly relate to the choreographic part of his productions. Remains

Sense Flashes in Buddhism Readers familiar with meditation will ask: “Who meditates?”, “When does the self appear in the general situation of observation?”, “Where is the ego in sense observation?” An answer based on at least twenty-five centuries of study

Psychoanalysis represents a typical manifestation of the spiritual crisis of Western man and at the same time shows the possibility of a way out of this crisis. Modern directions of psychoanalysis - “humanistic” and “existential” - serve as a striking example of this. However, before considering my “humanistic” concept, I would like to emphasize that the system developed by Freud himself is not limited, despite widespread belief, to the concepts of “illness” and “cure”. It represents primarily the concept of saving a person, rather than treating mentally ill people. With a superficial approach, one gets the feeling that Freud simply invented new way treatment of mental illnesses and that this was precisely the main subject of his research, eventually becoming the scientist’s life’s work. However, upon closer examination, it turns out that medical approaches to the treatment of neuroses conceal an entirely different idea, one that Freud himself rarely formulated explicitly and may not have always been aware of. What kind of idea is this? What is Freud's concept of the "psychoanalytic movement" and what was the starting point of this movement?

We can say that Freud's words: “Where the It was, the I must become,” give us the clearest answer to this question. Freud's goal was to subordinate irrational and unconscious passions to reason. According to his thoughts, a person, in accordance with his capabilities, must free himself from the yoke of the unconscious. In order to subjugate the raging internal unconscious forces to his will and subsequently exercise control over them, he must first of all realize the very fact of their existence. Freud's main postulate, which he always followed, was optimal knowledge of truth, and therefore knowledge of reality. This idea was traditionally characteristic of rationalism, Enlightenment philosophy and Puritan ethics. However, Freud became the first (or, at least, he believed so) who not only proclaimed the idea of ​​self-control as a goal, as Western religion and philosophy did, but, based on the study of the unconscious on a scientific basis, was able to propose a way to realize this goal.

With his teaching, Freud marked the flowering of rationalism in the West. Nevertheless, with his genius he managed not only to overcome the false and superficial optimism of rationalism, but also to combine the latter with the romantic concept that opposed it in the 19th century. Freud's deep personal interest in studying the irrational and sensual aspects of the human personality allowed him to carry out this synthesis.

Freud was largely interested in the philosophical and ethical aspects of the problem of personality. In his Lectures on Introduction to Psychoanalysis, Freud refers to the profound changes in personality that various mystical practices try to bring about, and goes on to say: “We still recognize that the therapeutic efforts of psychoanalysis have chosen a similar point of application. After all, their goal is to strengthen the “I”, make it more independent of the “super-ego”, expand the field of perception and rebuild its organization so that it can master new parts of the Id. Where It was, I must become. This is about the same cultural work as draining the Zuider Zee. According to Freud, “the liberation of a person from neurotic symptoms, inhibitions and character abnormalities” is the main goal of psychoanalytic therapy. The role of the analyst, according to Freud, is not limited to the fact that the doctor “treats” his patient: “The analyst who strives in a given analytic situation to be a model for his patient and play the role of his mentor must have a certain superiority over the latter.” Freud further writes: “We must remember that the relationship between analyst and patient must be based on the love of truth, which means the recognition of reality. At the same time, any falsehood and deception become impossible.”

Freud's concept of psychoanalysis has other characteristic features that do not fit into the framework of the concepts of illness and treatment. To people who have an understanding of Eastern thinking, and primarily of Zen Buddhism, it will become obvious that the features that I will talk about resonate with them in a certain way. First, Freud's principle, according to which knowledge transforms a person, deserves mention. Theory and practice are inseparable: by knowing oneself, a person is transformed every time. There is no need to say to what extent such a thought is alien to the principles of scientific psychology both in Freud's time and in our days. According to these generally accepted concepts, knowledge always lies in the realm of theory and is not capable of transforming the knower.

There is one more feature that brings Freud’s approach closer to Eastern thought, and primarily to Zen Buddhism. Freud never placed conscious thinking at the forefront, critically assessing the capabilities of modern man. He considered the main ones in the mental process occurring in a person to be the strongest sources of hitherto unknown unconscious and irrational forces, in comparison with which conscious thinking is practically insignificant and incomparable in importance. By developing the method of free association, Freud attempted to break through the veil of conscious thought and reveal the true nature of man. The principle of free association was intended to become an alternative to logical, conscious and formal thinking, to open new sources in a person, originating in the unconscious. Despite all the critical attacks to which Freud's concept of the unconscious has been subjected, it is absolutely indisputable that Freud, with his principle of free association as an alternative to logical thinking, significantly changed the conventional rationalist way of thinking in the West, moving closer in his research to Eastern thought, where similar ideas were developed in to a much greater extent.

Finally, let us note one more aspect that distinguishes Freud's method: when conducting his analysis, Freud could work with a person for a year, two, three, four, five, or even more years, which caused severe criticism from his opponents. It is not worth discussing here whether the analysis needed more efficiency. I just want to point out that Freud had the courage to recognize the possibility of working with one patient for several years, helping him understand himself. From the standpoint of the usefulness and social significance of the changes occurring in a person, we can say that such an approach did not make much sense and that such a lengthy analysis did not justify the time investment. Freud's method makes sense only if modern categories of value are abandoned, traditional ideas about the relationship between goals and means spent, and recognition of the uniqueness of human life, with which no thing can be compared in its significance. Guided by the idea that liberation, happiness, enlightenment of a person (no matter what we call it) is a primary task, we will come to the conclusion that no amount of time and money will be comparable to its solution. Freud's foresight, the radical nature of his methodology, expressed primarily in the duration of contact with one person, revealed an approach that is fundamentally opposed to the limited thinking of the Western world.

Despite the above facts, it cannot be argued that Eastern thought in general, and Zen Buddhism in particular, served as a support for Freud in the development of his method. The features we are considering for the most part have an implicit rather than an explicit origin, that is, they are obviously unconscious rather than conscious. Freud himself was largely a product of Western civilization, mainly Western thought

XVIII and XIX centuries. As a consequence, it is difficult to imagine that, even with a deep knowledge of Zen Buddhism as one of the expressions of Eastern thought, he would base his system on it. Man, in Freud's view, was endowed with basically the same characteristic features, as with economists and philosophers of the 19th century: a natural tendency to competition, alienation, a desire for contact with other individuals solely in order to satisfy their own economic needs and instincts. Freud viewed man as a machine controlled by libido and existing according to the law of minimizing libidinal stimulation. Freud's man is selfish by nature; He is connected with the people around him only by a mutual desire to satisfy needs dictated by instincts. Freud defines pleasure not as a feeling of happiness, but as a release of tension. With all this, a person, in his view, experiences a conflict between reason and feelings; he is not integral by nature, but is the embodiment of intelligence in the spirit of the philosophers of the Enlightenment. Love for one's neighbor is contrary to reality; mystical experience marks a return to primary narcissism. Taking into account these unconditional differences from principles of zen buddhism However, I try to demonstrate that Freud's system has features that contributed to the development of psychoanalysis as a whole and, as a result, bring it closer to Zen Buddhism. These features do not fit into the framework of conventional ideas about illness and treatment and the traditional interpretation of consciousness from the position of rationalism.

But before proceeding to compare this “humanistic” psychoanalysis and Zen Buddhism, I want to draw attention to one fact that is of utmost importance for understanding the evolution of psychoanalysis. These days there have been significant changes in the type of patients who come to see a psychoanalyst and the problems they share with him.

People who consulted a psychiatrist at the beginning of the century complained mainly of certain symptoms, such as arm paralysis, excessive hand washing syndrome, or obsessive thoughts. In a word, they were sick in the traditional sense of the word, since there was a specific circumstance that prevented their normal functioning. Since the obvious cause of their suffering was specific symptoms, the process of treating such patients was precisely to rid them of the latter. These people wanted to suffer and be unhappy no more than an ordinary person in society.

Nowadays, such patients still come to see a psychoanalyst. For them, psychoanalysis still serves as a therapy that helps them get rid of certain symptoms and returns them the opportunity to be full-fledged members of society. At one time, the psychoanalyst had to deal with just such patients in most cases, but today they constitute a minority. At the same time, it is difficult to say that their absolute number has decreased, while at the same time a huge number of “patients” of a new type have appeared, who in the generally accepted sense cannot be called sick, but who have become victims of the “maladie du siucle” (disease of the century - French) , depression and apathy - everything that was discussed at the beginning of the article. When visiting a psychoanalyst, these patients cannot formulate and clearly define the true cause of their suffering, talking about depression, insomnia, an unhappy marriage, dissatisfaction with their work and many other things. As a rule, they are convinced that the root of their illness lies in some specific symptom and that getting rid of this symptom would bring them recovery. These people fail to realize that their condition is not actually caused by depression, insomnia, or problems at work. All these complaints are in fact only an outer shell that allows a person in conditions modern world declare a problem that has much deeper roots than those that a particular disease could have. The misfortune of modern man lies in his alienation from himself and from his own kind, from nature. A person realizes that his life is wasted and that he will die without truly living life. He lives in abundance, but lacks the joy of life.

How can psychoanalysis help patients with “maladie du siucle”? In this case, we are not (and cannot be) talking about “treatment” that relieves a person of symptoms and returns him to normal functioning. The cure for a person suffering from alienation does not consist in ridding him of the symptoms of the disease, but in mental healing and finding well-being.

Unfortunately, speaking about mental healing, we will find it difficult to define it specifically. Operating with the categories of Freud's system, we would have to consider well-being through the prism of libido theory, i.e., define well-being as the possibility of normal sexual functions and recognition of the hidden Oedipus complex. However, in my opinion, such an interpretation only answers the question of human well-being to a small extent. Trying to define the concept of human mental healing, we will inevitably cross the boundaries of the Freudian system. At the same time, we will be forced to delve into an a priori incapable of exhaustive consideration of the very basis of “humanistic” psychoanalysis, namely: the concept of human existence. Only in this way will the comparison of psychoanalysis and Zen Buddhism have a real basis.

Hello, dear readers! This article will examine the basics of such a widespread Eastern teaching as Zen Buddhism. This is an independent religion, the purpose of which is to comprehend the nature of the mind and wisdom. We will look at its basic principles and how in practice you can comprehend the truth using this ancient knowledge.

Zen originated in China at the dawn of the 6th century. However, only after reaching Japan did the teaching become widespread. This happened only in VII-VIII. The main founder of this direction is considered to be Bodhidharma, who also personifies Buddhist wisdom.

The main formula for understanding the nature of the mind is meditation, which allows you to achieve a completely new level of self-awareness and enlightenment.

Briefly about the teaching

Zen Buddhism is a symbiosis of Chinese and Indian beliefs, multiplied by the Japanese tradition. It contains the following elements:

• Jingtu (Pure Land Buddhism);
• Madhyamakas and Mahasanghikas;
• Tendai, Shingon and Kegon (Japanese teachings).

Despite the mixture of styles and different schools, Bodhidharma's teaching has its own differences. For this religious movement characterized by a “light” attitude towards sacred texts. Constant practice comes first, which is why it is so popular, unlike other beliefs.

Daisetsu Teitaro Suzuki (10/18/1870-07/12/1966). Japanese philosopher and chief popularizer of Zen Buddhism

“Satori is the soul of Zen and without it nothing exists.” (D.T. Suzuki)

The central essence of the teaching is the comprehension of satori. It is characterized by the following features:

• irrationality, inexplicability;
• intuitive feeling of nature around;
• a feeling of delight, euphoria as a consequence of the realization of something elusive;
• brevity and suddenness.

Principles

Zen Buddhism cannot be subsumed under any formality. This is the path of liberation, but not philosophy, psychology or science. Zen manifests itself in everything that surrounds a person. This makes it similar to Taoism, yoga and some other eastern knowledge.

The basic principles of Zen Buddhism can be formulated as follows:

1. Becoming a "Buddha" through contemplation of one's nature.
2. Human consciousness is the pinnacle of everything.
3. Unacceptability of sacred texts, their special interpretation.
4. Refusal of words and texts used as a knowledge base.

These four ideas describe the philosophy of religion in the world tradition and clearly limit the teachings from other areas of Buddhism.

First principle

This position involves contemplating one’s own nature in order to achieve a special level of consciousness. Based on the sacred texts, a person who practices this principle does not strive to become a Buddha, since this is not the ultimate goal of the teaching.

However, Buddha is not perceived by the higher mind, like the Lord or Allah, he does not stand above man, he is “scattered throughout the world.” A piece of it is found in every living person, plant, animal and any surrounding object.

Zen Buddhism calls for seeing nature with an “open mind”, perceiving oneself and the surrounding space as part of a great whole organism. The main goal is achievement satori, as a special state of mind, through meditation.

Second principle

Inner harmony and a calm state of mind are constant individual work on your mind. Zen teaches that each person has his own path of salvation and his own road, through which one can achieve enlightened consciousness.

Getting rid of internal conflicts and contradictions, the follower gradually acquires the gift of distinguishing “wheat from chaff” and stops worrying about little things, lives more consciously, contemplating the world around and within himself.

Third principle

Texts and books are used only at the first stage of a follower's training. They help to learn the main intellectual points of Buddhist philosophy. Further in-depth study of specialized literature, according to teachers, on the contrary, will prevent the student from comprehending knowledge.

Fourth principle

Zen is a branch. It is highly practical, which is why communication between student and teacher is so important. The concept claims to be connected with Buddhism, however, its followers do not study the sutras and shastras, considering them nothing more than unnecessary papers.

True consciousness is achieved through the "direct transmission of dharma" from teacher to student and is the highest manifestation of the "patriarchal chan" (lineage). It is very important that Zen does not practice withdrawal from the world, but helps to live and interact with others.

Practical Application

Spiritual experience and growth in Zen Buddhism is not tied to the study of specialized literature. Practice in this religion is the basis of all changes in human consciousness. This is why Zen is so popular all over the world, because in order to become a follower of this teaching, the country of residence is not important, Political Views and social status.

The teaching can be practiced by both lawyers and lawyers from the United States, as well as poor fishermen in Vietnam. And each of them has every chance to achieve enlightenment and harmony.

As psychological training, teachers often offer followers stories from the lives of famous patriarchs (koans). Their goal is to question the rationality of thinking, thereby making the mind more flexible.

Meditation- a leading practice in Zen Buddhism, a true symbol of liberation. These classes help solve the following problems:

1. Get rid of anger and hatred. A person learns not to do bad things by succumbing to negative emotions. Meditation allows you to eradicate the source of evil within yourself and remain calm in any situation.
2. . Target practical classes– come to terms with the current state of affairs and accept all the circumstances that happen to a person. This approach allows you to more competently “work out” your karma.
3. Refusal of excess. Most surrounding things, objects, people, based on the concept of Zen Buddhism, certainly bring suffering, so the goal of every follower of the teaching is to achieve independence from all this.
4. Harmony with your Tao. The path that is destined for man higher power, the student in Zen Buddhism perceives it as inevitable. It is part of spiritual growth and its rejection will make it much more difficult to achieve satori.

Daily practice, carried out under the unobtrusive guidance of a teacher, as well as the lack of emphasis on studying special literature, allows Zen Buddhism to confidently walk around the globe.

Zen Buddhism in the Modern World

The increased interest of the West in Japanese culture after the Second World War opened up the mysterious and alluring world of the East for Americans and Europeans. The influence of this religion can be traced in the film industry, music, sculpture and art.

The world community, devastated by wars and the rapid development of technology, sought to find an island of freedom and serenity. This is what Zen Buddhism teaches. Westerners are also attracted by the quick results of enlightenment, the absence of grueling training and many years of studying special literature.

Conclusion

Zen Buddhism is not a religion in the classical sense of the word. This is spontaneity, naturalness and harmony, which is achieved by working with one’s own consciousness. Looking inside yourself is what is sorely missing to modern man in order to stop the senseless race for things and realize the true value of the world around us.

If the information in the article, dear readers, seemed interesting to you, share it on social networks. Zen Buddhism is multifaceted and everyone can find themselves by following this knowledge.

Words can only express a small fragment of human knowledge, since what we say and think only closely reflects our experiences. The reason for this is not only that there are always several descriptions of an event, none of which are exhaustive - just as an inch can be divided into parts in many different ways. The reason is also that there are experiences that cannot be expressed in language due to its very structure, just as water cannot be carried in a sieve. Meanwhile, an intellectual, a person who knows how to skillfully handle words, always runs the risk of mistaking a description for the whole of reality. Such a person is distrustful of people who resort to ordinary language in order to describe experiences that destroy logic itself, because in such descriptions words can convey something to us only at the cost of losing their own meaning. Such a person is suspicious of all lax, logically inconsistent statements that suggest that no experience corresponds to these seemingly meaningless words. This is especially true of an idea that crops up every now and then in the history of philosophy and religion. This idea is that the apparent diversity of facts, things and events actually forms a unity or, more correctly, non-duality. Usually this idea is not an expression of a philosophical theory, but of an actual experience of unity, which can also be described as the realization that everything that happens and is possible is so correct and natural that it can well be called divine. Here's how Shinjinmei talks about it:

One is everything

Everything is one.

If so,

Why worry about imperfection!

For a logician, this statement is meaningless, a moralist will see evil intent in it, and even a psychologist may wonder whether a feeling or state of consciousness corresponding to these words is possible. After all, the psychologist knows that sensations and feelings are understandable thanks to contrast, just as we see white against a black background. Therefore, the psychologist believes that the experience of non-distinction or absolute unity is impossible. At best, it will be like seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. At first, a person will be aware of pink clouds in contrast to white clouds, but over time the contrast will be forgotten and the single omnipresent color will disappear from consciousness. However, the literature of Zen Buddhism does not suggest that the awareness of unity, or non-duality, occurs only temporarily, in contrast to the previous experience of multiplicity. Zen masters testify that this ongoing awareness does not become habitual over time. We can best understand it if we follow, as far as possible, the internal process leading to this kind of experience. This means, first of all, that we must consider the process from a psychological point of view in order to find out whether there is at least some psychological reality corresponding to descriptions that are devoid of logical and moral meaning.

It can be assumed that the starting point on the path to this kind of experience is the conflict of an ordinary person with his environment, the discrepancy between his desires and the harsh realities of the world, between his will and the infringed interests of other people. The desire of the common man to replace this conflict with a sense of harmony echoes the centuries-old attempts of philosophers and scientists to understand nature as a whole beyond the dualism and constant worries of the human mind. We will soon see that in many respects this starting point does not allow us to understand the problem clearly enough. The very attempt to explain the experience of unity based on the state of conflict is reminiscent of the case of how a peasant was once asked the way to a distant village. The man scratched his head and replied: “Yes, I know how to get there, but if I were you, I wouldn’t start from here.” Unfortunately, this is exactly the situation we find ourselves in.

Let us see how the Zen masters dealt with this problem. Their answers, as a first approximation, can be classified into four categories. Here they are.

1. To say that all things are in reality One.

2. To say that all things are in reality Nothing, Emptiness.

3. To say that all things are originally perfect and harmonious in their natural state.

4. Say that the answer is the question or the questioner himself.

The question asked of a Zen master can take many forms, but essentially it is a problem of liberation from the contradictions of dualism - in other words, from what Buddhism calls samsara, or the vicious circle of birth-and-death.

1. As an example of an answer of the first category, that is, as a statement that all things are one, we can cite the words of Master Eco:

The great truth is the principle of global identity.

Among the misconceptions, the mani gem can be mistaken for a tile,

But to the enlightened eye it is a true gem.

Ignorance and wisdom cannot be separated,

Because ten thousand things are one Suchness.

Only out of pity for those who believe in dualism,

I write down these words and send this message.

If we know that the body and the Buddha are not different or separate,

Why should we look for what we have never lost?

The meaning of these words is that liberation from dualism does not require changing something by force. Man has only to understand that every experience is inseparable from the One, the Tao or Buddha nature, and then the problem simply disappears for him. Here's another example.

– Joshu asked Nansen:

– What is Tao?

“Your everyday consciousness is Tao,” answered Nansen.

– How can you regain your sense of harmony with him? asked Joshu.

“By trying to return it, you immediately lose the Tao,” answered Nansen.

The psychological reaction to this kind of statement is an attempt to feel that every experience, every thought, every feeling and sensation is Tao; that good and bad, pleasant and unpleasant are inseparable. This may take the form of attempting to attach the symbolic thought “This is the Tao” to every experience that arises. Meanwhile, it is clear that if such a statement applies equally to everything, it does not make sense. However, when the lack of meaning leads to disappointment, it is argued that disappointment is also Tao, as a result of which the comprehension of unity continues to elude us.

2. So another, and perhaps better, way to answer the original question is to say that everything is really Nothing or Emptiness (sunyata). This statement corresponds to the statement from the Prajna Paramita Hridaya Sutra: “Form is exactly the same as emptiness; emptiness is exactly the same as form.” Such an answer does not give reason to look for the content or meaning of the idea of ​​a single reality. In Buddhism, the word shunyata (Emptiness) implies incomprehensibility rather than the absence of anything at all. The psychological response to the assertion that all are One can be described as an attempt to say “Yes” to every experience that arises, as a desire to accept life in all its manifestations. On the contrary, the psychological meaning of the statement that everything is Emptiness is to say “No” to every experience, to deny all manifestations of life.

A similar approach can also be found in the teachings of Vedanta, where the formula neti, neti(“not this, not that”) is used to achieve the understanding that no single experience is the ultimate reality. In Zen the word is used in a similar way mu. This word may be koan, or a problem that beginners have to practice meditation. Working with this koan, a person constantly and under any conditions says “No.” Now we can understand why the question: “What will happen if I come to you without a single thing?” Joshu replied: “Throw it away!”

3. In addition, an approach is possible according to which you do not need to do anything - you do not need to say either “yes” or “no”. The point here is to leave experiences and consciousness alone, allowing them to be what they are. Here, for example, is Rinzai's statement:

The consequences of past karma can only be eliminated moment by moment. When it's time to get dressed, get dressed. When you have to go, go. When you need to sit, sit. Forget about realizing Buddha. After all, the ancients taught: “If you consciously seek the Buddha, your Buddha is just samsara.” Followers of the Tao, know that in Buddhism there is no place for effort. Be ordinary people, without any ambitions. Perform natural necessities, put on clothes, eat and drink. When you are tired, go to bed. The ignorant will laugh at me, but the wise will understand... The ancients said: “To meet a Tao man on the way, you don’t need to look for him.” Therefore, if a person practices the Tao, it will not work.

Another example. The monk asked Bokuju:

– We dress and eat every day. How can we avoid having to dress and eat?

“We dress, we eat,” answered the master.

- I don't understand.

“If you don’t understand, get dressed and eat,” said Bokuju.

In other cases, the state of non-duality appears to us as a state beyond heat and cold, but when the master is asked to explain this, he says:

When we are cold, we gather around a warm fire; When we are hot, we sit in a bamboo grove on the bank of a stream .

Here the psychological meaning is most likely to respond to circumstances in accordance with inclinations - and not try to resist the summer heat and winter cold. You can also add: don’t try to fight your desire to fight anything! This means that any person’s experience is correct and that a deep conflict with life and with himself arises when he tries to change his current experiences or get rid of them. However, this very desire to feel somehow differently may be a current experience that does not need to be gotten rid of.

4. Finally, there is a fourth type of answer, which reduces the question to the question itself, in other words, turns the question against the questioner. Eco said to Bodhidharma:

“There is no peace in my mind.” Please calm him down.

– Give me your consciousness here, and I will calm it down! - said Bodhidharma.

“But when I look for my consciousness, I cannot find it,” Eco replied.

“Where you can’t find him, I’ve already calmed him down!” - was Bodhidharma's answer.

Another example. Dosin said to Sosan.

– How to achieve liberation?

-Who keeps you in slavery? - asked the master.

- Nobody.

“Then why do you need to seek liberation?”

There are many other examples of Zen masters responding by repeating a question, or of them saying something like the following: “It's obvious. Why are you asking me?”

Answers of this kind seem to be intended to draw attention to the state of consciousness from which the question arises. They seem to say to a person: “If something is bothering you, find out who is worried and why.” Therefore, the psychological reaction in this case will be an attempt to feel the feeler and know the knower - in other words, to make the subject an object. However, as Obaku said: “No matter how much Buddha searches for Buddha, no matter how much the mind tries to grasp itself, nothing will come of it until the end of time.”. Ekai said: “The one who rides it looks for the bull in the same way.”. A poem from Zenrin Kushu says:

This is the sword that wounds but cannot wound itself, This is the eye that sees but cannot see itself.

An old Chinese proverb says: "It's impossible to clap with one hand". However, Hakuin always began introducing Zen to his students by asking them to hear the clap of one hand!

It is easy to see that all these answers have one thing in common - they are cyclical. If things form a unity, then my sensation of conflict between opposites expresses this unity as well as my opposition to this sensation. If all things are Emptiness, the thought of this is also empty, and it seems to me as if I am being asked to fall into a hole and slam it shut behind me. If what happens is right and natural, then what is false and unnatural is also natural. If I have to let things take their course, what should I do if part of what happens is my desire to interfere with the course of events? And finally, if the problem is based on insufficient self-knowledge, how can I know myself who is trying to know myself? In short, in each case the source of the problem lies in the question itself. If you don't ask questions, there are no problems. In other words, conflict avoidance is conflict that a person is trying to avoid.

If such answers do not help in practice, this means that it is impossible to help the person. Every cure for suffering is like changing the position of the body of a person sleeping on a hard bed. Every success in managing the environment makes it even more uncontrollable. However, the futility of such reflections allows us to draw at least two important conclusions. The first is that if we didn't try to help ourselves, we would never know how helpless we are. Only by asking questions do we begin to understand the limits, and therefore the possibilities, of the human mind. The second important lesson is that when we finally understand the depth of our helplessness, we find peace. We have no choice but to lose ourselves, give up, sacrifice ourselves.

Perhaps these considerations shed light on the Buddhist teaching of Emptiness, which states that in reality everything is empty and futile. After all, if I try with all my might to get rid of a conflict, which is essentially determined by my desire to get rid of it; if, in another way, the very structure of my personality, my ego, is an attempt to do the impossible, then I am futility and emptiness to the core. I am a scabies that has nothing to scratch itself on. This inability makes scabies even worse, because scabies is the desire to scratch!

Therefore Zen tries to bring to us a clear awareness of the isolation, helplessness and futility of the situation in which we find ourselves; the very desire to achieve harmony in which is the source of conflict and at the same time constitutes the very essence of our desire to live. Zen would be a masochistic teaching about complete hopelessness, if not for one very curious and, at first glance, paradoxical consequence. When it becomes clear to us beyond any doubt that scabies cannot be scratched, it stops scratching. When we realize that our desire involves us in a vicious circle, it stops on its own. However, this can only happen when we see more clearly that we cannot stop it in any way.

Attempt force to do or not to do something implies, of course, a division of the mind into two parts, an internal dualism that paralyzes our actions. Therefore, the statement that all things are One and One is all things expresses the end of this division, the realization of the original unity and independence of the mind. In some ways, it is similar to acquiring the ability to do some kind of movement - when you intend to do it and unexpectedly for you it turns out, although all attempts to achieve this before have not led to success. Experiences of this kind are quite vivid, but it is almost impossible to describe them.

We must not forget that this experience of unity arises from a state of complete hopelessness. In Zen, this hopelessness is likened to a mosquito trying to bite an iron bull. Here is another verse from Zenrin Kushu:

To frolic in the Great Void, the Iron Bull must sweat.

But how can an iron bull sweat? This question is no different from asking, “How can I avoid conflict?” or “How can I grab my hand with the same hand?”

In the intense awareness of hopelessness, we realize that our ego is completely powerless to do anything, and we realize that - no matter what - life goes on. “I stand or sit. I get dressed or eat... The wind moves the branches of the trees, and the noise of cars can be heard from afar.” When my daily self is perceived as a completely useless tension, I realize that my real action is everything that happens, that the hard line between me and everything else has completely disappeared. All events, whatever they may be, be it the movement of my hand or the singing of birds on the street, happen on their own, automatically - but not mechanically, but shizen (spontaneously, naturally).

The Blue Mountains are themselves blue mountains;

White clouds are themselves white clouds.

Hand movement, thinking, decision making - everything happens this way. It becomes obvious that this is exactly how things have always been, and therefore all my attempts to move myself or control myself are inappropriate - I need them only to prove to myself that this is impossible. The very idea of ​​self-control is flawed, because we cannot force relax yourself or force yourself to do something - for example, open your mouth with just mental effort. No matter what volitional efforts we make, no matter how much we concentrate our attention, the mouth will remain motionless until it opens on its own. It is this feeling of spontaneity of what is happening that is sung by the poet Ho Koji:

Miraculous power and amazing action - I carry water, chop wood!

This state of consciousness is psychologically quite real. It may even become more or less permanent. At the same time, throughout life, most people almost always clearly distinguish the ego from its environment. Freeing yourself from this feeling is like being cured of a chronic illness. Along with it comes a feeling of lightness and peace, which can be compared to the relief after removing a heavy plaster cast. Naturally, the euphoria and ecstasy gradually pass, but the permanent absence of a rigid boundary between the ego and its environment continues to change the structure of the experience. The end of ecstasy does not seem tragic because there is no longer an obsessive desire to experience ecstasy, which previously existed as compensation for the chronic disappointment of life in a closed circle.

In a sense, the rigid distinction between ego and environment corresponds to the distinction between mind and body, or between the voluntary and involuntary actions of the organism. Perhaps this is why yogic and zen practices place so much emphasis on breathing and observing the breath ( anapanasmriti), because with the example of this organic function it is easiest for us to see the deep unity of the voluntary and involuntary aspects of our experiences.

Thus, we cannot help but breathe, and yet it seems to us that breathing is under our control. We can equally say that we are breathing or that we are breathing. Thus, the distinction between voluntary and involuntary makes sense only when considered within some framework. Strictly speaking, I make volitional efforts and make decisions also involuntarily. If this were not so, I would always have to not only make a decision, but also make a decision to make a decision, etc. ad infinitum. At the same time, it seems that involuntary processes occurring in the body - for example, the heartbeat - are in principle no different from involuntary processes occurring outside the body. All of them are determined by many reasons. Therefore, when the distinction between the voluntary and involuntary aspects is no longer felt within the body, this feeling extends to the world outside it.

Thus, when a person has realized that the distinctions between ego and environment, between intentional and unintentional, are arbitrary and valid only to a limited extent, his experience can be expressed in the words: “One is all, all is One.” This comprehension implies the disappearance of internal differentiation, rigid dualism. However, this is in no way “uniformity”, not a kind of pantheism or monism, which claims that all so-called things are illusory manifestations of a single homogenized “substance”. The feeling of liberation from dualism should not be understood as the sudden disappearance of mountains and trees, houses and people, as the transformation of all this into a homogeneous mass of luminous, transparent emptiness.

Therefore, Zen masters have always understood that “One” is a bit of a misnomer. The Zen treatise Shinjinmei says:

Two exists thanks to One,

However, do not get attached to this One...

In the world of true Suchness

There is neither “me” nor “other”.

If there is something to be said about this world,

We will only say “not two.”

Hence the koan: “When multiplicity is reduced to One, to what is this One reduced?” To this question, Joshu replied: “When I was in the province of Seishu, they made me a linen robe that weighed seven pounds.” No matter how strange this statement may seem, this is exactly how Zen talks about comprehending reality - using direct language without symbols and concepts. We tend to forget that we are talking about an experience, not an idea or an opinion. Zen speaks from within the experience, and not standing apart from it - like a person talking about life. It is impossible to achieve deep understanding by standing on the sidelines, just as it is impossible to move the muscles with a verbal command alone, no matter how persistently we pronounce it.

There is great meaning in standing apart from life and talking about it; is to draw conclusions about existence and thereby have psychological feedback that allows us to criticize and improve our performance. However, systems of this kind have limitations, and looking at the feedback analogy shows us what they are. Perhaps the most common example of a closed-loop device is the electric thermostat that regulates the temperature in a home. If you set the upper and lower temperature limits, the thermostat turns off when the water in it heats up to the upper limit, and turns on when it cools down to the lower limit. Thus, the temperature in the room is maintained within the desired limits. In addition, we can say that the thermostat is a kind of sensitive organ with which the heater is equipped so that it can regulate its behavior. Thus, we can say that the thermostat illustrates a rudimentary form of self-awareness.

But if we created a self-regulating heater, why don't we create a self-regulating thermostat by analogy? We know that the thermostat can have a more complex design if we insert into it a second level of feedback that will control what is already there. The question then becomes how far in this direction we can go. By continuing to complicate our device, we can create an endless sequence of feedback systems that cannot function due to their complexity. To avoid this, somewhere at the very end of this chain there must be a thermostat, human intelligence or other source of information that should be unconditionally trusted. The only alternative to such trust would be a very long sequence of control devices, which is very slow and therefore impractical. It might seem that there is another alternative, namely, round-robin control, in which citizens are monitored by police officers, who are monitored by the mayor of the city, who is monitored by citizens. However, this system only works when people trust each other, or, in other words, when the system trusts itself - and does not try to move away from itself in order to improve itself.

This gives us a good idea of ​​the person's situation. Our life consists of actions, but we can also check our actions through reflection. Too much thinking overwhelms and paralyzes action, but since in action we sometimes have to choose between life and death, how much thinking can we afford? Zen characterizes its position as musin And munen. He may therefore appear to be advocating action without reflection.

When you walk, just walk; When you sit, just sit. The main thing is don’t doubt it!

Joshu's answer to the question of unity and plurality was an example of an uncontrived action, an unintentional statement. “When I was in Seishu Province, they made me a linen robe that weighed seven pounds.”

However, thinking is also action, and Zen might as well say: “When you act, just act; when you think, just think. The main thing is don’t doubt it.” In other words, if you are going to think or reason, do it without thinking about your thinking. But Zen will also agree that thinking about thinking is also action, if in thinking about thinking we do only that and do not slip into an endless sequence of trying to always stand above the level at which we are now thinking. In short, Zen is liberation from the dualism of thought and action, because it thinks as it acts - with the same dedication, willingness and faith. Therefore the attitude musin does not imply suppression of thinking. Musin- this is action on any level - physical or psychological - without trying at the same time observe or check an action. In other words, musin is action without doubt or concern.

Everything we have said here about the relationship of thinking to action is also true of feelings, since our feelings and emotions are feedback just like thoughts. Feelings block not only actions, but also themselves as a type of action. This happens when we have a tendency to observe and feel ad infinitum. Thus, for example, while experiencing pleasure, I can at the same time observe myself in order to get the maximum out of it. Not content with tasting food, I may try to taste my tongue. And when it’s not enough for me to just be happy, I want to be sure that I feel happy, so that I don’t miss anything.

Obviously, it is not possible in any given situation to determine the point at which reasoning should turn into action - at which we can know that we have thought enough about the situation and will not later regret what we did. This point is determined by sensitivity and experience. But in practice it always turns out that no matter how deeply we think through everything, we can never be completely sure of our conclusions. By and large, every action is a leap into the unknown. We know only one thing with complete certainty about our future - that there awaits us an unknown called death. Death seems to us to be a symbol of everything in our lives that we cannot control. In other words, human life is essentially uncontrollable and incomprehensible. Buddhists call this global basis of life sunyata, or Emptiness; is based on it musin, or Zen non-consciousness. But in addition, Zen comprehends not only that a person stands on the unknown or sails on the ocean of uncertainty in the fragile boat of his body; Zen realizes that this unknown is myself.

From the point of view of vision, my head is an empty space among experiences - an invisible and incomprehensible emptiness in which there is neither light nor darkness. The same emptiness lies behind each of our senses - both external and internal experiences. She was present even before my life began, before I was conceived in my mother’s womb. It is located inside all the atoms from which my body is built. And when the physicist tries to penetrate deep into this structure, he discovers that the very act of observing it does not allow him to see what interests him most. This is an example of the same principle that we have talked about so many times: when looking into yourself, the eyes see nothing. This is why Zen practice usually begins with one of many koans, such as “Who are you?”, “Who were you before you had a father and mother?” or “Who is dragging this body of yours around?”

In this way the practitioner discovers that his true nature swabhava there is no-nature that his true consciousness ( syn) is non-consciousness ( musin). If we comprehend this unknown and incomprehensible principle of our true nature, it will no longer threaten us. It no longer seems like an abyss into which we fall; rather it is the source of our actions and life, thinking and feeling.

This is further evidence in favor of language that emphasizes unity, since the dualism of thought and action has no basis in reality. But more importantly, there is no longer a division between the knower on the one hand and the unknown on the other. Thinking is action, and the knower is the known. We can also see the relevance of statements like Ekay's: “Act as you know; live as you want, only without a second thought - this is the incomparable Path.” This kind of statement does not condemn ordinary thinking, judgment and limitation. Their meaning is not on the surface, but in depth.

Ultimately, we must act and think, live and die, relying on a source that we can neither comprehend nor control. If we are not happy with this, no amount of care and doubt, reflection and analysis of our motivations will help us improve the situation. Therefore, we are forced to choose between fear and indecision, on the one hand, and jumping into action regardless of the consequences, on the other. On the surface level, from a relative point of view, our actions can be right or wrong. However, no matter what we do on the surface level, we must have a deep conviction that all our actions and everything that happens is, by and large, correct. This means that we must enter into it without looking back, without doubt, regret and self-recrimination. Thus, when Ummon was asked what the Tao was, he simply replied: “Move on!” . However, acting without a second thought is by no means a commandment that we should imitate. In fact, we cannot act in this way until we have realized that we have no other alternatives - until we have realized within ourselves the source of incomprehensibility and uncontrollability.

In Zen this realization is just the first step in a long course of study. After all, we must not forget that Zen is a variety of Mahayana Buddhism, in which nirvana - liberation from the vicious circle of samsara - is not so much a goal as the beginning of the life of a bodhisattva. Actions of a Bodhisattva - fallen or hoben- are the application of this comprehension to various aspects of life for the “liberation of all living beings,” not only people and animals, but trees, grass and even dust.

However, in Zen the idea of ​​samsara as a cyclical process of incarnation is not taken literally, and therefore Zen offers its own interpretation of the role of the bodhisattva in saving living beings from birth and death. On the one hand, the cycle of birth and death is repeated from moment to moment, and a person remains in samsara to the extent that he identifies himself with the ego, whose existence continues through time. Thus, it can be said that the true Zen life begins only when the individual has completely stopped trying to improve himself. This seems to us a contradiction because we have only a vague idea of ​​non-violent effort, of tension without conflict, and of concentration without tension.

In Zen it is believed that a person who tries to improve himself, who strives to become something more than he is, cannot act creatively. Let us remember the words of Rinzai: “If you consciously strive to become a Buddha, your Buddha is only samsara.” Or: “If a person seeks the Tao, he loses it.” The reason is that trying to improve or improve ourselves continues to keep us in a vicious circle, like a person trying to bite his own teeth with those same teeth. Liberation from this idiotic situation comes at the very beginning of Zen practice, when a person understands that “he himself, in his present state, is the Buddha.” After all, the goal of Zen is not to become a Buddha, but rather to act like a Buddha. Therefore, a bodhisattva will not achieve anything in his life if he has even the slightest concern or desire to become something that he is not at the moment. In the same way, a person who solves a problem and thinks about the end result forgets about the task because the end result is the focus of his attention.

The irrelevance of self-improvement is expressed in two verses from Zenrin Kushu:

The long thing is the long body of Buddha;

The short thing is the short body of the Buddha.

In the spring landscape there is no place for measurement and evaluation -

Flowering branches grow naturally:

one is longer, the other is shorter.

Here is a poem by the Zen master Goso:

Trying to find Buddha, you do not find him;

Trying to see the Patriarch, you do not see him.

Sweet melon has sweetness even in the stem;

Bitter gourd is bitter right down to the root.

Some Buddhas are short, others are long. Some students are beginners, others are more advanced, but each of them is “correct” in their current state. After all, if a person tries to make himself better, he falls into a vicious circle of selfishness. It may be difficult for Westerners to understand that each of us grows involuntarily, and not through conscious self-improvement, and that neither body nor mind can grow when they are stretched. Just as a seed becomes a tree, a short Buddha becomes a long Buddha. This process is not self-improvement, because a tree cannot be called an improved seed. Moreover, many seeds never become trees - and this is quite consistent with nature or Tao. Seeds give rise to plants, and plants give birth to new seeds. Moreover, nothing is better or worse, higher or lower, because the final goal of development is achieved at every moment of existence.

The philosophy of non-striving, or mui, always raises the problem of motivation, because it seems to us that if people are perfect, or Buddhas, in their present state, this may deprive them of the desire to act creatively. The answer is that motivated actions do not produce creative results because such actions are not free, but conditioned. True creativity is always aimless. It does not imply any external motives. Therefore, they say that a true artist imitates nature in his work and thereby learns the true meaning of “art for art’s sake.” Kojisei wrote in his collection of short sayings, Seikontan:

If your true nature has the creative power of Nature itself, wherever you go you will admire the frolicking fish and the flying wild geese.

Notes:

“Ummon-roku” (Chinese: “Yun-men-lu”).

“Goso-roku” (Chinese: “Wu-tzu-lu”).

In Chinese, wu-zy (non-action, natural cultivation).