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L e t t e r s
Perking Your Brain
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Regarding the July-August Frontispiece: In discussing how people come to know that God exists, Karl Keating speaks variously of knowledge, belief, and intuition, all contrasted with "syllogistic reasoning."
I think St. Thomas would say that people can come to believe in the existence of God through supernatural faith—an act of the intellect moved by the will—but they also can come to it on the natural level by intellectual reasoning alone. Keating provides several examples of that intellectual process. The structure of a baby’s ear implies the argument from design: Beauty is a quality that a sunset obviously cannot give itself, so it must come from outside it. I know that I exist, yet I am also aware that I am not the cause of my own being: I am not at this second maintaining myself in existence, so something (Someone) else must be.
These processes can be called intuition, but Thomas would say that intuition is nothing but a rapid reasoning process: Steps may be skipped or ignored, but if they are written out, they would form a kind of syllogism—just the intellect perking along, doing its job and coming to know its most important object.
Diane Moczar
Via e-mail
Too Attached to Words
Regarding "Are Jesus and Buddha Brothers?" (May-June 2005): I agree that many people do have misconceptions about Buddhism and little understanding of its differences from Christianity. And certainly the parallel-sayings idea and the idea of a Zen Jesus can be superficial and misleading.
Unfortunately, the lack of a deep understanding of Buddhism appears to extend to the writers of this article, who seem to have derived their information in general from secondary sources and certainly have not troubled to think through what Buddhism is really about.
I guess the inherent limitation of the article derives from its polemical intent: a defense of the faith. This is tipped off on page 9 with the suggestion that one religion must be more "true" than another. As is usual in such efforts, we get a misleadingly narrow view of Buddhism contrasted with a fulsome, more nuanced view of Christianity.
In the introduction to the table on page 10, for example, the authors refer to the question put to the Buddha, "What are you?" They have him answering, "I’m a man." But if they’d bothered to check the sutra where this appears, they would have found the correct answer: "I am awake." They accuse Buddhism of demanding that "individuality perish" and teaching the "loss of desire and personality"; they charge it with being "deliberately ambiguous" and "relativistic" and with "refusing to articulate dharma in logical ways."
If the authors had taken a bit more trouble, they could have learned that Buddhist dharma simply operates differently from Catholic doctrine. The famous parable of the raft makes that very clear. Adharma (non-wisdom, non-virtue) should be rejected, but even dharma is only a raft to get to the other shore of enlightenment. Once there, does it make any sense to carry the raft any further on your back?
In the Catholic tradition—built on Hebrew revelation, Greek philosophy, and creeds—the letter as well as the spirit is thought to be essential, and doctrinal statements carry huge weight. In Buddhism, all doctrine/dharma is provisional and instrumental; it is there to serve the purpose of enlightenment. To Catholics, talking to Buddhists may seem like nailing Jell-O to the wall, but it’s not because Buddhists are deceptive. It’s only that they follow what you would call a negative theology: They have the radical belief that the assertion of any metaphysical concept against direct experience is evidence of egotism, of Mara (or evil, as you might call it). They employ instrumental concepts like "emptiness" or "non-self" not to make any literal statement, not to assert some idea of the void, but as an aid to meditation and for encouraging the clinging ego to let go. So according to the tradition, when the Buddha says, "I am awake," he’s referring to a state of consciousness that doesn’t fit your categories, for his loss of desire, individuality and personality apparently didn’t hamper his living, traveling, teaching, and making a personal impact for the next forty-five years.
In addition to this jaundiced view of Buddhist basics, the article completely ignores the Bodhisattva ideal and the rise of the Mahayana. I understand that an article of this length can do only so much justice to a 2,500-year-old tradition that extends across numerous cultures, but it’s critical to at least mention the Mahayana, for here Buddhism becomes much more of a popular as opposed to a monastic religion and approaches most closely to Christianity. Here the emphasis shifts from the mere escape from suffering to the positive ideal of enlightenment; the Buddha (or at least the Buddha Nature) becomes eternal, and bodhisattvas do not escape into nirvana but remain in the world to serve others.
All the great religious and ethical traditions start with—and constantly return to—a basic existential/ethical choice between wisdom and power. Wisdom is made up of intellect and love, or, as the Buddhists say, prajna (insight) and karuna (compassion), or, as Bertrand Russell said, disinterested intelligence and universal sympathy, or simply thinking and feeling. In the synthesis of wisdom, both thinking and feeling provide the same evidence: that the world is complex, extraordinary, interdependent; that many other beings exist with equal claims to one’s own; that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts; that the whole may be called God.
On this evidence, you may construct different theologies or philosophies with innumerable nuances, but it all adds up to the truth that life is sacred. Power, on the other hand, has access to only one kind of evidence: the pressing needs of a single isolated consciousness. To choose power is to choose war, because inevitably you find yourself in struggle with others who also have chosen power. To choose wisdom is to choose the taming, the transformation or transcendence of (egoistic) power.
By this scenario, every great spiritual tradition chooses wisdom, but that doesn’t mean that all succeed or do equally well at different times or in all senses. Here, I think, is the proper place to distinguish an Abrahamic religion such as Christianity from an Indian religion such as Buddhism. In the broadest sense, the two religions base their transformative work on two quite different models: for Buddhism, it’s yoga; for Christianity, it’s the kingdom of God.
Each model brings its own strengths and weaknesses. The tradition of yoga brings Buddhism great psychological insight, a pragmatic approach to human suffering, openness, and a lack of dogmatism. But yoga by definition makes for a detached spirituality that only weakly encourages engagement with others in living, cultural realities, and effective social action. In this sense, Christianity is almost the mirror opposite. As a historically rooted religion and one deeply engaged in the dilemmas of life, it has been the engine that has driven Western culture and has been the inspiration for numerous humanitarian works and associations. But Christianity also has been the pretext for terrible abuses and intolerance and, though not directly responsible, has been the unfortunate template for a whole series of European absolutisms—systems that left out the love but kept the fervor.
The upshot? Christianity is fundamentally different from Buddhism, has a fundamentally different appeal, and has nothing to fear from the competition. Rather than telling Catholics that Buddhism may have some good teachings but is inherently defective, the Church should affirm Buddhism and let it fully reveal itself. Let them pick up a copy of the Lotus Sutra to read beside the Gospels: They’ll immediately see the different orientation, and if they are genuinely attached to the Christian life, they’ll remain so. Full, free, and unbiased disclosure will bring out the true, critical differences between the two traditions.
I feel that the Church historically has put an inordinate weight on often divisive metaphysical distinctions when the true core strength of Christianity is in its practice, its warmth, and its engagement with human concerns. Buddhism can learn from Christian warmth but can hardly replace it. Similarly, Christianity has things to learn from Buddhism, among which I would name a less strenuous attachment to mere words.
Michael
Via e-mail
Anthony Clark replies:
Thank you for your cordial response to our article, and I am indeed grateful for your criticisms, several of which suggest to me that a longer and more sophisticated study is necessary—a task to which Carl Olson and I intend to turn to later. I will not respond to all of your remarks but will limit myself to what I discern to be the most germane to your assertions.
First, allow me to assuage your concerns that we lack "any deep understanding of Buddhism" and "seemed to have derived [our] information in general from secondary sources." We did consult original sources, referring to the Sutras/Sutta/Jing in their original languages. I admit that my Pali and Sanskrit are somewhat limited, but I comfortably navigate through Japanese and Chinese. As I’m sure you’re aware, my colleagues at the Association for Asian Studies and the American Oriental Society have done much philological and etymological work recently to explicate the genuine implications of the Sutras—work that you have seen reflected in our article. In addition, my own research has included several years in China, Taiwan, Inner-Mongolia, and Tibetan Yellow Hat sect monasteries. Thus, both the theory and praxis of Buddhism are quite familiar to me. That said, let me answer a few of your quibbles. I don’t have our article handy, so I’ll simply respond to your communication.
First, you take umbrage with our assertion that that one religion is necessarily more true than another. Yes, this is and always has been the position of Christianity; the Gospels state this clearly.
But let me remind you of what Buddhism contends about truth. The Chan tradition, which is of course derivative from the Mahayana tradition you have mentioned in your note, holds that all objects of the world are manifestations of the mind (see the " Lankavatara Sutra" transmitted to Da Mo/Bodhidharma). Of course, this ontological solipsism is further nuanced in Da Mo’s famous assertion that "not relying on written word, transmitted especially outside the Sutras, pointing directly to a man’s heart/mind, to see your own nature is to become a Buddha" (in Chinese: " Bu li wen zi; Jiao wai bie zhuan; Zhi zhi ren xin; Jian xing cheng fo") As you know, what Da Mo suggests here is that becoming a Bhudda is to attain "Buddha mind/Fo xin"—that is, to realize our lack of ego/self. Surely you know that in higher levels of Buddhist discourse, especially in the Chan (or Zen) tradition, to become enlightened is to realize that we already do not exist. An ontological conundrum, no?
Here is where we Catholics step in and say that Buddhist "philosophy" could be strengthened by the intellectual rigor of metaphysics, a brand of inquiry you find so unpalatable. Where does this take us? Well, the Buddhist assertion here is that existence (and truth) are relative and, ultimately, they do not even exist. This, according to Catholic belief, is spiritually sophomoric. I rather like how the medieval Chinese Confucian scholars typically refuted Buddhist discourse: The Confucians simply asked, "How do you know what reality is if you do not believe it exists?" A good question indeed!
Buddha stating "I’m a man"—the Japanese translation of the Sutra (Zen tradition), "hon"—can mean only "man." If here you are referring to his epithet as "Buddha" (awakened one) or " Tathagata" (thus-come-one), I’m afraid that you are the one who will need to return to the original Sutras we consulted.
Yes, Buddhist discourse and "doctrinal" formulations are unlike Catholic articulations of its doctrinal beliefs; I agree with you most wholeheartedly. The Lotus Sutra (Pragna-paramita-hridaya sutra), as you know, posits that all phenomenal actualities are "empty" and that even the Samgha (Buddhist church) is in essence " upaya" ("provisional," as you appear to translate the term).
Again, Buddhism nudges us into an ontological understanding that nothing exists. Pursue this discussion with Tibetan, Chinese, and Japanese Buddhists, as I have, and you will be told precisely what I have just intimated.
You have suggested that Buddhism and Christianity are quite different, and you are correct. But you are wrong in believing (for such a statement can be only belief, not a philosophical conclusion) that all religious assertions add up to the same "truth that life is sacred." I fear that Christ’s teachings were much more clear and, to use your word, nuanced: Follow him and him alone.
This is the one and only way to the truth. Christianity is much more demanding than Buddhism because it is a religion of boundaries. I encourage you to read Aristotle and St. Thomas Aquinas and compare their ideas to the Sutras that you and I have spent so much time perusing. Then, read again the words of Jesus the Nazarene, who died for us so that we may spend eternity with him who is the only truth.
It’s Been Said Before
Concerning Russell Shaw’s article "Do You Have a Vocation?" (April 2005): It was not Pope John Paul II but Pope Paul VI who first said that "every life is a vocation." In his 1967 encyclical Populorum Progressio, he wrote: "In the design of God, every man is called upon to develop and fulfill himself, for every life is a vocation" (PP 15).
Sal Ciranni
Sanger, California
Rocked Her World
Your magazine was very helpful when I "reverted" from unenthusiastic cradle Catholic to excited Catholic. Thank you. At first, I read most of the magazine and understood little but loved it anyway. Then I grew to understand more about the truths of the faith and could understand more of what was written in the articles. Of course, the conversion stories, the letters, and the snippets in front are what I go for first. Bless you!
Bunny Wage
Lowell, Arkansas
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