In Whom Shall We Trust? part three
Hello everyone,
This is my last essay for a few weeks. I will be traveling in Europe visiting Prague, Budapest, Vienna and Seville. Talk about food for the soul! While I am away, Andrew Reitsma will post “A Letter from Crete” in four sections. If you kindly enter your email address below this essay, you will receive a notice when Andrew has posted each part of the Letter.
Blessings and many thanks, VB
In whom do you trust? It’s a skillful question. If you were to ask that of a friend or partner, what would she or he say? It occurs to me that my mother would have said, “God,” without hesitation. But a close second, if seconds were to be allowed, would be,“my children.” I wondered what would my father say, and immediately “instincts” came to mind. I think he trusted his instincts more than anything. What would Jung say? Perhaps he would say “Psyche” but a close second would be “Self,” something numinous and beyond words, beyond the ego or small self, something that is part of us, but greater than us, existing within and without. Also, over the years, as his vision of Archetypal Psychology evolved, James Hillman would perhaps say that he trusts “Soul,” again, something numinous and beyond words. I suspect Mary Oliver, like other wonderful poets would say that she trusts in Soul. Not to be demeaning at all, but I suspect that Sigmund Freud would have said that he trusts in the rational mind, as have so many of us since Aristotle! So you see why I think this would be an illuminating question to ask of yourself and of others.
In part one of this series, I said that I would share my answer to “in whom shall we trust,” and will do so at the end of this essay, but first I have another story about Bodhidharma:
Supposedly, after he arrived in China by sea, he was escorted to meet Emperor Wu, who, among other things, was a devoted Buddhist scholar and practitioner. It was he who issued orders to build Buddhist temples throughout his realm and to ordain many monks. As Bodhidharma stood before him, the emperor asked, “Who is facing me?” While Emily Dickinson advises us to “tell all the truth but tell it slant,” Bodhidhama’s answer was pure slant with no spice. He replied,
“I don’t know.”
Can you imagine? Standing there before this brilliant Chinese Emperor and responding in such a way? Of course Emperor Wu was speechless. How can someone not know who he or she is? I have read that Nisargadatta would ask visitors who came to sit with him, “where are you from?” “I’m from Long Beach California!” the visitor might say, never knowing that the fish had already been caught on Nisargadatta’s hook. So, if Emperor Wu was already an advanced Buddhist practitioner, isn’t it more than likely that his question, “who is facing me?” was a very subtle hook or, if you prefer, a test of Bodhidharma’s enlightenment? More than likely, Bodhidharma saw through the Emperor’s test instantly and responded by saying, “I don’t know.”
Emperor Wu was speechless and did not have a response, so Bodhidharma silently left the palace. Legend says that he crossed the Yangtse River to the kingdom of Wei, and sat in silent meditation at the Shaolin Temple for the next nine years.
Shortly after Bodhidharma left, Emperor Wu asked “Who the hell was that guy?” (VB humor, dear readers.) Actually one of Wu’s most trusted monks told him that it was Bodhidharma, an esteemed Indian Patriarch who had been facing him, but it was too late to call him back. In a sense, Emperor Wu’s moment had come and gone. When he learned years later of Bodhidharma’s death, Emperor Wu wrote this inscription to be carved on a monument :
“Alas! I saw him without seeing him,
I encountered him without encountering him,
Now as before I regret this deeply. ”
I don’t know about you, but I have loved more than one person without ever seeing who he or she really was, and, yes, I have some regrets. Perhaps you do as well.
There is a zen saying that goes,” As soon as judgement and comparison arise, the falcon has flown past Korea.” Such a powerful teaching! We read it in many of the marvelous zen stories. “The falcon has already flown past Korea.” It means that we hesitated! Rather than a leap of faith, daring to come forth with our own unique, authentic response, daring rejection, daring a negative judgment on us, we pause to “think about it,” analyze it, weigh it carefully, and offer an “appropriate” answer that fits the persona or mask we show the world. By the time emperor Wu had time to think about a response, the falcon had already flown past Korea.
Bodhidharma did not “think about it,.” He did not need to say, “Why, I am Bodhidharma, an Indian prince who renounced his privileged life, took on the robe and bowl of the Buddha, and was chosen by Prajnatara, the Twenty Seventh Indian Patriarch, to bring Buddhism to China.” Bodhidharma knew who he was, and, responded straight from his heart with, “I don’t know.”
To be honest, I am not sure that any living creature on earth could truly answer the question “Who is facing me?” in words. “Who am I?” is the hidden questions of so many people who come into therapy or analysis, seeking a sense of identity that has always escaped them. The answer can only be known in the place where words do not exist and where wisdom lives. Who would presume to verbalize silence? The best one can come up with is “I don’t know,” and perhaps offer a smile or a hug.
For the past twenty five years, I have attempted (with obvious and minimal success) to live in the paradox of holding tight to two separate healing paths simultaneously, Of course, on its face, such a thing is literally impossible. Like a trapeze artist, sans artiste, I have swung back and forth between Buddhism and Psychology, teaching Vipassana Mediation for nearly twenty five years and, at the same time, sitting close with dear clients who carry the burden of deep psychic wounds. I wonder if “close “is not a particularly western approach? Although we in the West have discovered that “close” can open the door to unskillful behavior, sometimes including awful abuse, I believe that the question of skillful boundaries is a gift that comes from Psychology. At the same time, no one can describe the intimacy of a group of people sitting together on separate cushions for an hour. So let me give up on comparisons for the moment and continue!
Approximately 150 years ago, Western Psychology, slowly began to create itself from the rich soil of philosophy stretching all the way back to Socrates and the Greeks; from science beginning with the early alchemists leading to the amazing scientific discoveries of the last 200 years; and finally from the profound enrichment to our culture by our Christian-Judaic religion. I mentioned that when Bodhidharma came to China in the fifth century C.E, the Buddhist Church in India was already one thousand years old. Psychology has somehow created itself in approximately 150 years! How can we comprehend its youth? Carl Jung, depth psychology’s grandfather, died in 1961!
How is is possible that Psychology created itself? I believe self-creation comes from a deep recognition or sensing that something is sorely lacking. Perhaps that recognition is archetypal - so profoundly unconscious that we could never quite put it into words. Reformation in religion is always based on that sense of lack. And, by the way, Bodhidharama was basically a reformer of what had become sorely lacking, as Buddhism had become top heavy, scholastic and philosophical. In a sense, James Hillman would say (I suspect with approbation) that I am “personalizing” psychology by capitalizing it as “Psychology," and suggesting that “it” recognized that something was sorely lacking in our western culture by the time of the Victorian era and the following decades preceding World War I. What did “it” recognize? Neither science nor religion seemed capable of addressing something new that was emerging in our culture. We needed a way to treat and heal something called “the wounded self.” But where was one to go? The priest? A philosopher? A brain surgeon? As politically incorrect as it obviously is, I do not believe that Buddhism has begun to to conceptualize something called “the wounded self.” How can it do so if it insists that such a thing is not real?
Slowly, as this trapeze guy has swung back and forth between these two great Paths: East and West, I have begun to call Psychology the “growing up path, a path that strives toward creating an “adult,” one who can nurture a psychic child within as well as the child in others. An adult is what Jung actually imagined by what he called individuation, although he did not have an opportunity to ask my opinion! This “growing up” healing path feels utterly real to me. At the same time, Buddhism and the path of meditation strive toward creating an enlightened being, one who has experienced the Reality of anicca, anatta and dukkha. As mentioned in part two, its aim is to provide us with tools such as the Fundamental Triad, to help us literally pry this imaginary self out of its socket. Unfortunately for us, atta vada (self belief) is fastened in our brain by an Elmer’s glue of unimaginable strength, and a release from this ancient ghost in our brain, I call the “getting well path.” This path also seems utterly real to me.
Which path is real? Which path is higher? One of Bodhidharma’s wonderful responses to such a question was, “Empty without holiness.” To put it differently, if we make a golden idol out of Psychology or out of Buddhism, making either path “holy” or superior, we have missed the mark by a country mile.
I fear that I have not come close to the mark here, but hopefully, you will continue to ponder how remarkable it is that two completely opposite things can both be real and true; honoring the one does not necessitate dishonoring the other. Perhaps you will also remember that truth is a fragile presence existing only in the midst of paradox. Or if that is too high-toned for you, just try “its a mighty thin plank that ain’t got two sides.”
I said in part one that I would share what I have come to trust through the decades of my life. For one thing, I think the question “In whom shall we trust” throws us off course. We have grown up with a relentless program, so pervasive it is now written on our American one dollar bill: “In God We Trust.” The non-verbal part of that program is: “In God You Better Trust, or I’ll Call You a Heathen!” I believe the “whom” part of shall we trust is the wrong word. I prefer “what “ shall I trust? And the answer for me is not very sexy at all. It’s just the miracle of process. Even though Nisargadatta was correct in doubting that nature allows for exceptions when it comes to miracles, I believe that nature does allow for the miracle of a thing to bloom in its unique way. Actually, “allow it,” is not correct. I believe that process is intrinsic to what nature is and to what nature does. Perhaps process is nature’s greatest mystery. And al la James Hillman, I will spell it “Process.”
Jung believed that there is an urge to wholeness in every living thing, and I have never doubted his vision of meaningfulness as part of existence, even in the darkest days of private despair. Everything has an urge to reach its fullest potential. But, dear friends, no one ever promised us a rose garden, in spite or our inner child’s dearest fantasies. Reaching our fullest potential is not a destination, it is the journey itself, and every journey must include bitter disappointment. I think Bodhidharma knew this, which is why he said “trust in things.” Perhaps his “not in self,” was not quite as skillful. Although it has been enormously helpful as it has knocked me off my high horse, landing me on the level ground of reality, many times, I suspect that it remains a little too “Buddhist” for our western ears, and perhaps it needs to be reframed, which is what we psychotherapists have learned to do. We learn to tell things slant. Perhaps, eventually, we will learn how to do that with trust not in self.
“Trust in things” is what one does naturally when she or he trusts in the miracle of process, in the miracle of this inexplicable capacity to flower of self blessing (as Galway Kinnell perfectly writes in “St. Frances and the Sow”). Process is the way Psychology has created itself from the stagnation that eventually happened in religion and science. It is the the way Bodhidharma brought Zen to China as a reformation of a church that had become crystalized and it is the way Martin Luther brought reformation to a Roman Catholic Church that had become increasingly separated from its roots. The miracle is that we humans somehow and inexplicably manage to melt ourselves from a form that had become stagnant and crystalized, just marking time, and living out its days, to daring beyond all reason to love again, with no expectation of return. That is what I trust.
