A talk given at a weekend retreat 28th April 2013
Bodhidharma’s no dependence1
Bodhidharma, the 28th Patriarch in India, lived around a thousand years after the Buddha. He brought Chan to China, establishing the Chan tradition and becoming known as the First Patriarch of Chan. He was not the first to bring Buddhism to China; Buddhism was already there, as represented in the famous story of Bodhidharma’s encounter with the Emperor asking how much merit he had gained by building and supporting temples – Bodhidharma replied, ‘None.’ 2
A form of Buddhism was already present in China, and the Emperor was actively supporting it, but Bodhidharma brought a different perspective; he was not interested in the traditional external forms, and this is the basis of the well-known verse from Bodhidharma:
A special transmission outside the scriptures,
No dependence on words or letters,
Direct pointing to the human heart,
Seeing into one’s own nature.
No dependence on words or letters, including scriptures. We can extend that to no dependence on any sort of forms: temples; ceremonial; practices; anything. He was pointing out that these forms are not the essence of Chan. Can the essence of Chan be conveyed in words? It can be talked about somewhat indirectly, pointed towards, but can it be conveyed, can it be transmitted in words? No. We can talk about the taste of a lemon cake for example. We can talk about the taste as much as we like, but it is not the same as tasting it. We can talk about cake, but it is not the same as cake itself.
In this verse, Bodhidharma is pointing out the dangers in being trapped in particular forms, in specific descriptions. Yet we have lots written about Chan and we have forms such as statues and the structure of a retreat. We have a liturgy; we have all this type of activity. We talk about not depending on it and yet we make use of it – so what’s going on here? Why talk about not talking? Why keep talking on and on about not talking? Why write books about not using words? It’s all a bit strange, isn’t it?
It is not that the words and the forms do not have any use; for someone who can’t find the way these can be quite helpful to give them a pointer. But do not trick them (or yourself) into believing that you are giving them the destination; you are only giving them a hint, a pointer. These various writings, these various external forms, ceremonials, all this activity, has its use so long as we do not fall into the trap of believing it is the thing itself. It is useful, it is a skilful means, but it is not the thing itself.
Different people have different affinities for different types of supports for their practice. For some people words are very useful – they can engage with words and they can grasp the concepts. They can turn them over in their mind and make that intuitive jump away from being stuck in a concept into allowing an experience. Those words can be very useful for that person. For another person, those same words might be a trap: they might get tangled up in them; they might spend too much time trying to understand them; they might actually believe them. Similarly for other types of forms such as ritual or statues or whatever it might be; certain people have an affinity for these and it touches them in a certain way which opens the heart and they respond, ‘Aah, now I see…’ Meantime someone else may see a Buddha statue as something like a garden ornament and have no interest in it. It touches different people in different ways.
Bodhidharma’s verse is not denying the usefulness of various forms and words, and indeed his verse is itself formed of words! It is about having a correct relationship to them, it is about realising our propensity to grasp, to believe ‘I’ve got the words, so I have the thing’ or ‘I’m near to the thing, I must hold onto these words – they’re getting me closer.’ If you’re careless the words can take you further away; the forms can get you further away. Use them skilfully, take them as pointers, as hints, as nudges. The real place to be looking, as Bodhidharma tells us in the phrase ‘direct pointing to the human heart, seeing into your own nature’, is into your own experience, into your own being, looking into your own first-hand experience of being. Rather than grasping at words, or the concepts conveyed by words, look at the phenomenon of grasping itself, look at your grasping mind.
Looking into second-hand words that someone else has spouted, perhaps even third or fourth-hand recycled words (someone talking about somebody else’s words) - these might give you a nudge to look into your own mind, but take care that at some point you actually drop the words and investigate your own mind. Here ‘mind’ refers to the Chinese word xin, heart-mind: direct pointing to xin, heart-mind – look at your whole being.
Forms of Practice
Over history and in different countries, different forms have emerged. It is well-known that as Buddhism entered China, it mingled with the pre-existing Daoist forms, and consequently there is a certain amount of Daoist expression in Chinese Buddhism. As Buddhism entered Tibet, it mingled with the pre-existing Bon religious forms and so there is a certain amount of Bon in Tibetan Buddhism. Indeed, you could say that in his time the Buddhism of the Buddha mingled with Indian culture, the Vedic Hindu culture, and certain expressions relate to that. Buddhism, by way of using skilful means, uses the language of the culture it encounters and finds means of expression which can make contact with people of that culture, using a language or a form that they already know or have some understanding of.
We are practising Buddhism in the West. Although some people may have some interest in Daoism and in Bon or whatever, they are not of our native culture. These forms may seem somewhat alien – perhaps that makes them more interesting, more mysterious, exotic, but they are not of our culture. So it begs the question, if the presentation of Buddhism changed as it entered China, and as it entered Tibet and other countries, what way might it change or does it need to change as it enters the West? Should we be adopting it wholesale, copying it, or should we be finding our own expression – and what might that be? How are we sure we are finding authentic expression? We need to be careful not to throw out the baby with the bath water. There is a potential problem here because we are making our choices somewhat egotistically; we are choosing what we believe might be best (or easiest) for me.
This is not a simple matter and it is something which, in some ways, just evolves on its own over time. However, the reason I am expressing it this way is because we can narrow it down. Rather than just saying ‘Buddhism in the West’ or ‘Buddhism in Europe’ or ‘Buddhism in Britain’, we could be saying ‘What’s the appropriate expression of Buddhism in you, in your life?’ How might you absorb the teachings in a way which is meaningful to you, how might you express them in your own life?
You may find it supportive to adopt forms which have come from the East – in a sense that is the default starting position, since those are the forms we are offered. But you may also discover other forms which are helpful to you. If they help support your practice, there is no problem with that. Find ways in which you can support your practice.
There can be difficulties about simply adopting an Eastern model for it is not only an East-West difficulty as there are also other cultural differences. There is ancient versus modern – a lot of Buddhist culture is of course old, which is fine, but it also means it may not fit with the way we live today.
Another big difference is the question of lay versus monastic. Buddhism in the East has been centred around monasticism – the monastics run the temples, the monastics do the teaching. The role of the lay people, who are the majority, has largely been to be supportive of the monastics. This is not the model that has been developing in the West for even though there are monastics they are much fewer than lay practitioners. Also even though there are established Western monasteries, some of them are not thriving so well as they are finding that those who established the monastery are still there, getting older, but there are not so many people interested in joining them. It might even be that some examples of Western monasticism last only one or two generations. Most of us are not interested in monasticism; it may not be available to us for practical reasons, as for example, we have families and other commitments which mean that even if we were interested it would not be available to us.
A Western model
There is a different sort of model emerging in the West which is not centred around traditional monasticism. I am not making a value judgment on monasticism, saying it is good or bad. It is simply an observation; a well-established observation that in the West the main interest in Buddhism is amongst lay people who may practise at least as seriously as monastics have done in the past in the East. Westerners tend to practise differently from historic and current-day practice in the East. In large parts of the world Buddhism is practised by both lay and monastic as what we might consider a ‘folk religion’, with Buddha and Bodhisattvas being worshipped very much as the gods of other religions. This is not the predominant form in the West, so we are already finding a different expression.
Western Buddhism has been characterised as being ‘Meditation Buddhism’. From the range of practices in Buddhism, of which there are many, Westerners tend to focus on meditation practice, ‘because I can get enlightened by doing my meditation, can’t I? Hmm… so I’ll focus on that please, yeah…’ It is wonderful that people do intensive meditation; that has always been an important part of practice, but it is worth noting that in many ways it is not the dominant form of practice in worldwide Buddhism.
There is an interesting book on Chinese Buddhism3 which surveys how the monasteries functioned. You could hardly call them formless as they had become large institutions; they had large buildings, and landholdings for which they took tithes from the people who farmed the land. If you were a monk arriving at or living in a monastery, your hope was to get a good job, such as to be in charge of the office. If you could not be in charge you could hope to get a reasonable post such as kitchen worker. The worst was to be left without a job because then you were not allowed to do anything except go and sit in the meditation hall all day, and that was the lowest of the low!
Many Westerners have the idea that being a monastic means you get to practise sitting meditation all the time. It does not quite work like that. Monastics may never even get an opportunity to sit on a retreat – they are too busy working, too busy looking after the institution. Many monastics work more hours per day than many lay people, just fitting in time for a morning and evening sit and service and otherwise working 5am to 10pm.
There is an ideal in some people’s minds that ‘to be a monastic and to practise all the time and do all that non-stop meditation, it’s really wonderful, it’s really the real thing’. But then… ‘I’m a failure because I can’t do that. I’ll go on a retreat sometimes and I’ll sit on my cushion as often as I can, so I’ll do my best.. But it won’t be enough… Oh…’ This attitude to practice can get in the way, especially when thinking about how we can practise as lay people. It is not helpful if we hold this particular image of practice as an ideal, thinking that the ‘real thing’ is practising on retreat nearly all the time. It is not helpful if we think that what we should do is practise sitting meditation all the time, all day, permanent silent retreat, and that being a monastic would enable us to do that the whole of our life. If we think like this then we are setting ourselves up for failure because that is not going to happen (whether we are monastic or lay). We have various responsibilities in our lives, we have things to do, we have people to relate to, we need to earn money, and all the rest of it. To carry that sort of model in our mind is actually dysfunctional; it disturbs us; it sets us up for failure.
Practice in our lives
In terms of how we practise in our lives, we need to consider what is the appropriate form for us as lay people? We need to be aware that we may have unknowingly internalised some model about how it should be done if it is to be done properly. The important question is: what is your way of living your practice?
Hopefully it does involve spending some time on intensive retreat, because retreat has a certain quality of experience which is hard to find in everyday life. The cumulative effect of serial periods of undistracted meditation is not easily found except on retreat. There is value in spending some time on retreat away from everyday life, where you discover that it is possible to settle more deeply than usual. The value in settling is not so that you can grasp the experience of being settled - the value in settling is that you create a better opportunity to notice your bad habits, your tendencies, your preconceptions. As the mind settles, you tend to find these things sieving out – you are left with certain things which do not go away so easily and you are left with certain things running around the mind. It is not a problem that these issues do not settle down easily as this is actually the point of the practice - to highlight to you what you are carrying. You are carrying various fixed ideas; you are carrying various attitudes. On retreat, the mind settles to a certain extent but then you find it plateauing and not settling completely. You find certain matters become highlighted by being present in what is by now a clearer mind, and you realise that you are carrying these obstructions and this gives you a chance to work through them, to release them.
Part of the value of an intensive retreat is that it brings to the surface things which may otherwise be hidden in the noise of everyday life. They are hidden, but they are still affecting you. If you are carrying habits of attitude, prejudices, preconceptions, fixed views, then these are affecting the way you live your life; they are affecting your choices in your life. They are not always doing so at a conscious level; they are working at you below the surface. With intensive meditation on retreat, as you drain out the mind, it is as though the surface goes lower - it is a bit like draining out a pond and you suddenly see an old pram sticking up: ‘Oh, I forgot that was there. Bit of work needs doing in this pond of mine.’ So we can see that retreat has this quality of going deeper and digging away at stuff which might otherwise be left untouched but which is still affecting you and contributing to your actions from underneath.
But what about practice when you are not on retreat? There are still issues that can be worked through when you are not on retreat. Some of this only gets triggered in specific circumstances in everyday life so you are hardly likely to notice it and work through it on retreat. You need to cultivate the skill of continuing your practice in any circumstance; Chan is not a retreat-only practice. Do the arithmetic. If you attend retreat, shall we say two weeks a year, it is something like four per cent of your life you are spending on retreat. So ninety-six per cent of your life you are not on retreat – you had better find a way of practising during that ninety-six per cent. The corresponding figures for those who sit half an hour on the cushion (to whom I ask, ‘what about the other twenty three and a half hours a day’), is only about another two per cent of your life. For an awful lot of the time you are not on retreat, and you are not on a cushion. You need to find a form of practice, a form of investigating the mind, which is applicable to all circumstances. We can call this mindfulness practice.
Be aware of the situation you are in; be aware of your environment and those around you. Be aware of your contribution to the situation, such as your own actions and speech. Especially be aware of the self arising and reacting; the self-concern possibly distorting what might otherwise have become a more appropriate action. Self-concern arises in the moment, triggered perhaps by certain circumstances, certain stresses, certain people, certain demands. If you are paying attention then you can notice this happening even in the midst of life. You need to cultivate the skill of watching the mind, perhaps by training on the cushion whether at home or on retreat, but then make it a continuous activity which carries on throughout your life.
Meditation as a formal practice of sitting on a cushion has great value; do not misunderstand and think that I am disparaging that. What I am talking about is the importance of extending your practice beyond the cushion so that it becomes a part of your life, because most of your life you are not on the cushion. Continue your cultivation so that it becomes automatic in all circumstances, so that your default state becomes one of being aware; your default state is to notice when self-concern is arising and beginning to distort your actions. If you can be aware at this point then you have an opportunity to retune the action before it happens, to make an adjustment, to refrain from saying what you are about to say or not to do what you would nearly always otherwise have done. This is different to regretting something afterwards; this is influencing it before it happens, which becomes possible as a result of training the mind to be present and attentive in a continuous way.
What I am pointing towards here is how you can practise in your life. We do not need to call it Western or Eastern, monastic or lay, ancient or modern. Maybe there is no need a name for it. It is pointing you towards continuing your cultivation whatever the circumstances you find yourself in. Do not wait for quiet, relaxed surroundings saying, ‘I’ll only practise then; it’s too hard until I get there.’ No, practise in every situation. Of course, there are distractions, and the mind wanders and you will find it difficult and you will have lapses – but treat those as reminders to redouble your efforts. Throughout the day, just catch yourself – the mind has wandered. Throughout the day, catch yourself – self-concern distorting your actions, and you realise ‘Oh, I’ve done it again.’
Find your way
Find a way of living your life; find a way of living your practice, and if you find some of the traditional supports that others have developed are useful for you, good, use them. For example, some people find that liturgy can be very helpful, and some not. Some find forms such as altars helpful and some not. Some find reading helpful and some not. Some find listening to teachings helpful and some not. With a certain amount of trial and error, you can discover what seems helpful to you. If you find them not so useful, maybe there is no need to use them – but it is still useful to know about them, even though they are not your prime method, and then you will be ready for circumstances when they could be useful to you. For example, some people never usually recite mantras, but perhaps one day their mind is particularly disturbed, maybe due to a particularly stressful situation, and in this case reciting a mantra may be ideal – picking up a mantra recitation gives a stronger focus and can capture the wandering attention in a way which other practices do not. This just one example of how it can be useful to have several different practices available to you, even if you rarely use some of them.
Bodhidharma pointed out that we are not dependent on any of these forms, methods, words; none of these is the thing itself, but potentially they are all useful in various ways. Indeed, Bodhidharma did not make this statement and then shut up and stay silent, did he? He is known for sitting facing the wall for about nine years… but he did some teaching as well. There are some other writings of his; he just did not give up at that point. This verse of his is itself a pointer and it is a useful one – it is often quoted and I am quoting it now, and others will quote it. So even the words which tell us there is no dependence on words, they are useful.
Be open-minded and exploratory and discover what is useful for you to support your practice in different circumstances, particularly in the busyness of your everyday life. If you do not find a way to support your practice during your life then practice can become rather disjointed – a retreat once or twice a year, sitting on the cushion maybe most days but perhaps somewhat dreamily and sleepy because you are tired after a busy day at work. If that is the extent of your practice then it loses its continuity. If you can make your practice continuous - on-going - then it develops a power.
This power may not be immediately apparent because, especially in everyday life when there are distractions, you can tend to pass judgement on yourself and become disheartened. ‘I’m not doing very well; I’m not getting as settled as I did on that five/seven/forty-nine day retreat, so I’m wasting my time.’ No, that is not correct. That you are noticing you are not settled is already good practice; it means that you are noticing the state of your mind; it means that you are noticing your tendency to wander. If you are aware of not practising very well, then you are already doing good practice! When you are not even aware of not practising very well, because you are not actually bothering to practise, because you have given up – that is not so good.
Having an orientation to practise, having an intention to practise, and noticing that it is quite tricky, difficult and that you get distracted then noticing that you have dull patches and that you have patches when you are blank and out of it and forget to practise - noticing this is itself a key part of practice. If you keep on picking yourself up, then you can establish an ongoing practice as a lay person in the modern West. This is how people practise; you find a way to cultivate an attention which continues to be available outside of the formal practices. It becomes part of your life. You accept that it has its own qualities which are different to sitting on the cushion; you do not make a comparison and judge it better or worse. You just let it flow, and when it has a hiccup you pick it up and continue.
Occasional intensive practice such as on a short retreat like this, or on a longer one, gives you a taste of the depths to which your mind can settle, and it also gives you an opportunity to cultivate some skill in working through what you discover when it does settle. Then those practice skills are carried through to your everyday life; to the extent the mind can settle, you let it, accepting that it won’t necessarily be so deep; to the extent that you can notice your obstructions arising and work through them, you do that. In this way practice continues throughout the whole day, throughout the whole week and throughout your life.
Notes
- Transcribed by Jeanine Woodward
- See the First Case in Thomas Cleary, (trans). The Blue Cliff Record. Shambhala. Boston, MA, USA. 2005
- Holmes Welch: The Practice of Chinese Buddhism: 1900-1950. Harvard University Press. Harvard, MA, USA 1967
