Is Shin Buddhism a more Evolved Form of Spirituality?

I have been reading an article by Galen Amstutz about Shinran’s thought.[i] Amstutz argues that far from Shinran presenting a simplified, populist version of Buddhist doctrine and practice, his approach represents a more sophisticated, evolved spirituality than is found in early mainstream Buddhism and even in general Mahayana Buddhism. Moreover, he suggests, notwithstanding the fact that Shin spirituality has had virtually no impact upon Westerners who are drawn to Buddhism, it is in fact of greater relevance to contemporary culture because it expresses a more ‘evolved interiority’ than is found in earlier forms of Buddhism.

I have been inspired by Shinran’s teaching for many years and so Amstutz’s high valuation of Shinran’s contribution comes as no surprise to me. However, Amstutz’s conclusion rests on some interesting considerations. One of these is that, as he argues, early Buddhism shows very little awareness of unconscious processes, whereas Shin Buddhism recognises that a great deal of what moves and drives us is beyond our conscious awareness and even control. Early Buddhism emphasises self-mastery and is committed to the view that the conscious mind can transform the entire self over time to the point of eradicating all negative impulses.

Drawing on some contemporary psychological and neurological research, Amstutz argues that one of Shinran’s insights is that we cannot direct all our impulses/moods/thoughts because they arise from the unconscious. Some of the implications of contemporary psychology suggest that we cannot become fully conscious since our unconscious, to a significant degree, remains beyond our immediate awareness. This appears to suggest that the extent to which we can transform our volitions and basic dispositions is limited. This does not mean though that we are bound to act according to these.

Of greatest interest to me is Amstutz’s claim that our experience of inwardness – or interiority – has evolved as human culture has evolved and, consequently, we have a more complex and rich experience of interiority than did the early Buddhists. A key factor in this development is the emergence of writing (and reading). Walter Ong has argued that writing restructures consciousness by introducing a new form of discourse. According to Ong, ‘writing makes possible increasingly articulate introspectivity, opening the psyche as never before not only to the external objective world quite distinct from itself but also to the interior self against whom the objective world is set.’[ii] In short, writing allows for a more complex way of being, enabling us to develop more sophisticated inner selves. This has resulted in an evolution of human consciousness.

I am often rather resistant to the notion that human consciousness has evolved significantly in the last 2000 or years but this may just be my prejudice. I think it is easy to dismiss early cultures as primitive and present ourselves as more sophisticated and evolved. However, maybe we are more evolved – at least in relation to our experience of inner complexity. It is important to note that this does not necessarily mean we are more ethical than earlier cultures, simply that our experience of ourselves is more complicated.

Amstutz argues that Shin Buddhism is a product of the complexity introduced by literacy and that, in fact, much of Shinran’s reflection arose directly in relation to his study of texts. Rather than being in dialogue with a master, he was in dialogue with texts and this allowed him to engage in complex, individual thought which resulted in a unique approach to Buddhist practice. According to Amstutz, ‘Shinran's contribution was to focus in a newly coherent manner on the unconscious principle in Buddhist transformation’.[iii] This involves an awareness of the need for receptivity to this principle which in doctrinal terms is articulated in terms of tariki (Other power). Amstutz concludes by wondering whether the contemporary interest in Buddhism, which often focuses on the early forms rather than the later ones, is misplaced. He suggests that because Shin Buddhism embeds a more complex understanding of interiority it is, as a consequence, more relevant to our spiritual needs today.

These are complex claims and I am initially resistant to the notion that later forms of Buddhism represent a higher or more sophisticated from. I find many of the insights and emphases of early Buddhism continue to resonate for me. At the same time, I benefit significantly from reading Shinran’s thought since it emphasises different aspects of spiritual experience from those highlighted in early Buddhism.

In the most general terms, reading the article provoked me to think further about the goal of Buddhism: Nirvana. The early Buddhist model suggests that we can attain complete mastery of our inner drives and fully eradicate our greed, hatred, and delusion. Notions of the unconscious indicate that a good deal of what informs our lives is beyond our conscious control. Given this, is it possible to transform our unconscious impulses? If it is not possible, what does this say about Nirvana? Shinran’s fundamental insight was that the person who has realised shinjin (deep entrusting) both is aware that they are identical with Amida’s mind (that is with Buddha Mind) and, at the same time, an ignorant being. This paradox seems to me to touch on something fundamental about the nature of personal experience and of spiritual transformation.

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[i] Amstutz, Galen. 2008. ‘Shinran's "Evolved Interiority" in Outline’ in Japanese Studies Around the World, 2008, Scholars of Buddhism in Japan: Buddhist Studies in the 21" Century, The Ninth Annual Symposium for Scholars Resident in Japan, edited by James Baskind, International Research Center for Japanese Studies: 21-47.

[ii] Walter J. Ong. 2000. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. London: Routledge, 1982, 2002: 145.

[iii]  Amstutz, 2008: 37.

Update on Wednesday, January 13, 2010 at 02:44PM by Nagapriya

In relation to my post on Shin Buddhism, a correspondent wrote:

'What really interests me is your recognition of your resistance to the idea that something about human consciousness has changed. I don't mean to challenge you impolitely, but isn't this a kind of "fundamentalism of the archaic?"'

I don't have a problem recognising that human beings have changed over even a short period of time in the way that they think and act. However, I am less sure that we are now somehow improved. The use of the terms 'evolution' and 'complexity' are obviously highly ambiguous. While I think strictly speaking evolution is not an ascent, it is often understood this way; hence 'evolved' often means 'has become better'. In addition, 'complexity' is often associated with greater intelligence, sophistication, and understanding.

So I do have a problem with the notion that we are more spiritually advanced or sophisticated than, say, the Buddha. I certainly don't feel able to assert that I am. This may be a 'fundamentalism of the archaic', I don't know. However, how about the fundamentalism of the modern, which seems just as common? We may readily dismiss earlier cultural moments as primitive and unsophisticated but according to what criteria? From my perspective, the values which prevail in the contemporary world do not seem more advanced than those the Buddha espoused.

I am generally committed to the view that the Buddha was a special human being who had powerful insight into human nature and even life in general. This entails that I am keen to learn and understand the teachings found in the Pali Canon since, to a significant degree, they link back to him. I also believe that many of these insights continue to have relevance today, although I am also aware that the form in which they are expressed does not always fit with contemporary modes of thinking. The Buddha's teachings were historically and culturally conditioned and not freestanding eternal truths. However, within his teachings are, I think, many enduring insights.

The question arises, was the Buddha inattentive to the unconscious and, as a consequence, was his teaching of Nirvana naive or limited? I don't really know the answer but I am willing to acknowledge  - as previously stated - that I have doubts about whether human beings can fully transcend greed, hatred, and delusion. One reason why they might not could be explained in terms of the unconscious.

To follow up on one point Amstutz makes in his article, he seems to equate the mind of Amida, which gifts shinjin, with the unconscious. While I thought this a bold move, which I had not previously considered, I am not necessarily sure this is right. After all, in his descriptions of the unconscious, it sounds nothing like the unlimited compassion that is the force of tariki.

Is it possible that a greater development of interiority has resulted in a greater degree of screwed-upness? Is our very complexity the reason why we now suffer so much from our psychic states? I don't know.

I am interested to explore this notion of tariki in relation to the unconscious further; is this a reliable equation? Second, I am interested in the implications of early Buddhism's, including seemingly the Buddha's, lack of awarness of the unconscious and whether this results in a naive model of change. In your article, you write quite a bit about how the unconscious is not necessarily responsive to the conscious and this raises the question of how far we can transform our underlying drives.

Saigoku Pilgrimage

It is such a long time since I posted a proper blog. I have been trying to find the time to get back to Dharma reflections but time has been taken up with other things.

For the next few months the focus of my attention is likely to be on my Saigoku Pilgrimage blog, which you may be intersted to read.

You can read it by clicking here.

Risk-free Life

A new government proposal will require every parent who volunteers to drive children to a sports or cultural event on behalf of their local school or club to be CRB checked. Apparently, this means that as many as 11 ½ million parents may require CRB clearance in order to continue doing what they have  no doubt been doing for decades – generously offering their time and resources to enable kids to enjoy themselves. The rationale given for the legislation is that it will help protect children against sexual predators.

Given that I am not a parent, this new legislation is unlikely to affect me but, nevertheless, I find it a thoroughly depressing development. Why? There are two main reasons. The first is that it seems to further erode the assumption of trust upon which a healthy culture operates and the second is that it is further evidence of the mistaken belief that we can legislate risk out of life.

Our culture – and I think positive human relations in general – assumes that we are trustworthy until we show ourselves to be otherwise. This seems a crucial platform for a healthy society since without it we are left with a culture of suspicion, which inevitably corrodes social cohesion and even basic interaction. The new legislation treats every parent as a potential paedophile and it is up to them to prove that they are not through producing their CRB check. While I understand the desire to protect children and condemn those who exploit them sexually, nevertheless it seems a disproportionate response to the scale of the problem. One commentator claimed that even if it stopped one paedophile from carrying out an attack on children then the legislation would be worth it. I am not so sure: after all, at what cost?

You may think that I am over-reacting – it is just a CRB check, what is wrong with that? Better safe than sorry. However, part of the issue is that it feeds into an increasingly prevalent culture in which people are distrusted until they prove themselves not to be a risk. To create a culture where we are encouraged to see one another as potential threats seems to me very destructive of social relations. After all, what next? If I have a child who wants to visit his or her friend’s house, should I demand a CRB check of the child’s parents? This is certainly the direction in which we are heading.

My second concern about the legislation is that it seems to buy into the delusion that we can legislate risk out of life. This belief seems to underpin a gathering wave of regulation and legislation. So, for instance, when a child gets hurt playing a sport there is an immediate call for the sport to be banned. Or when someone is attacked by a dog, there is a call for all dogs to be banned, or for all dogs to be muzzled in public. In this case, the fear of a potential child sex attacker is so hysterical that every parent must be vetted to avoid this risk. But of course it won’t prevent it from happening. It is not possible to remove risk from life altogether, however hard we try. Seemingly, most sex attacks on children are carried out by relatives and trusted friends anyway – this legislation will do nothing to address this situation.

To believe that we can create a world in which no one is ever vulnerable, in which nothing bad will ever happen flies in the face of reality. Human life is fundamentally fragile; we could easily trip down the stairs and break our necks and people do. Should we ban staircases? Perhaps the more insidious dimension of believing that we can legislate risk away is that it produces a false sense of security. We believe that we have removed a risk when, in reality, we may have simply moved it elsewhere. Moreover, greater legislation brings further constrains upon personal liberty. Where will it stop?

Entering the world requires us to make ongoing acts of trust every day and to take risks each time we venture from our homes – and even when we are in them. Trust and calculated risk-taking are necessary elements in any expansive human life and the more we legislate against them, while we may protect ourselves from some threats we also erode the joy of living. Every situation becomes fraught with risk and danger rather than with opportunity and possibility, every encounter raises suspicion rather than interest and enthusiasm. I am not saying that risk cannot be reduced or that we should never take precautions against danger, only that we need to be realistic about how far we can reduce risk and that our precautions against it should be in line with the scale of the danger. Moreover, in introducing additional precautions we need to consider their broader implications in relation to the kind of culture we are creating.

Moaning Flu

Moaning is a highly destructive and infectious negative habit. No doubt most of us fall into it from time to time but moaning is also something that readily spreads, infecting those around us and even sowing the seeds for a culture of grumbling, complaining, and negativity. When we are with a moaner, almost as a means of showing our human solidarity, we can begin to find ourselves drawn into the moaning pit. We can end up egging each other on to greater and greater levels of moaning. It really is an insidious habit that draws us in. Why is this?

Moaning MyrtleIt seems to me that all – or at least most – of us have a certain quantum of negativity (as my teacher once called it) which seeks some form of expression. Moaning is an outlet for this negativity. Moreover, when we are talking to a moaner, this sparks off the negativity within us – the resentments, injustices, and frustrations that we feel can begin to rise to the surface. Before we know it, we are embroiled in a full-scale moanfest. But more than this, if this carries on unchecked we can begin to find ourselves participating in a culture of moaning where our primary means of relating to others is on the basis of our shared resentments.

It is evident that organisations of various types readily become the focus for our moaning tendency. It is far easier to escalate the vehemence of our complaints about an organisation than it is about an individual. First, in moaning about an organisation there is no single person held responsible and so there is no danger of thinking that we may be being mean or vindictive. It may not seem that we are causing any harm. Second, organisations often appear to have a great deal of power and we may feel relatively powerless; consequently it seems natural to kick against the power economy that we feel impoverished by. Third, no individual is held ultimately responsible for the organisation – it is a faceless bureaucracy and cannot answer back. We are not faced directly with the upset that our moaning may cause because it is not directed at a single individual. Finally, by displacing our problems on to an organisation we may evade our personal responsibility for resolving them.

None of this is to suggest that criticism and complaint is never legitimate; it is more a matter of the context and the spirit in which this is expressed. A moaner is not usually interested in improving or resolving issues; in fact, when faced with this opportunity they will usually moan that it won’t do any good, or won’t make any difference! A moaner just wants to moan. If we recognise that our communication affects others then we will see that our moaning will have a negative impact upon them; we will drag others down into our moaning pit. This underlines for me how we need to take care of our communication and ensure that we communicate on a skilful basis, rather than allow our unskilful tendencies free rein. It is important not only for ourselves but because our negativity ripples outwards, setting off other negative reactions and contributing towards an overall atmosphere in which we feel powerless, resentful, and embittered. Learning to recognise the moaner within – and without - and to resist colluding with him or her is a crucial aspect of developing more positive mental states and more creative human relations.

Update on Sunday, January 10, 2010 at 03:08PM by Nagapriya

Response to Comment about Moaning in Yoga Classes

I dont have an easy solution for you. At the same time, I certainly can't (sorry my apostrophe key seems not to be working) agree that struggling with moaning is the imposition of a male perspective. After all, men moan a lot too and that's just as bad!

I am not in your Yoga classes and so can't judge exactly what happens but, I think, in general terms moaning brings everyone down, even when this is not consciously noticed and perhaps even when one thinks it is establishing a bond. Can one establish a positive bond on the basis of complaint and moaning? The problem with this is that if the bond is based on moaning then to sustain it one needs to continue to engage in more moaning - which is what we do much of the time. It is hard to change the rules of the relationship.

I had a minor insight into moaning and complaint this week, which was that moaning is often displaced anxiety or anger. I noticed this clearly this week in relation to the train service. I was at Manchester Victoria station in the depths of the cold snap waiting for a train home. The previous train was cancelled and so there were many more people than usual trying to cram into what turned out to be only two carriages. I managed to get on but many others didn't. For various reasons, the train remained in the station for 25 minutes or so and the passengers around me started up an ininterupted line in moaning. "Why aren't there more carriages?" "Why can't the transport service cope with bad weather? Whey aren't they telling us what is happening?" "This many people on a train is dangerous.", Why should I pay £5.20 for this level of service?" And so it went on.

I have to confess that at times I wanted to chime in but resisted. At other times, I wanted to tell everyone to shut up moaning but I kept my own counsel. As it went on, I realised that passengers' moans expressed underlying anxiety about being asked to leave the train, about the train not getting to their destination, and about general insecurity in relation to the weather conditions and travel. However, rather than say "I feel anxious that I may not get home," we generally prefer to moan. After all, it is much easier to externalise the problem - it is someone else who is at fault - rather than admit; actually I feel really anxious and insecure.

To address your specific problem, given that you are teaching about mindfulness, I would suggest trying to bring in more awareness about mindfulness of emotions and of speech within the yoga class itself. You could even announce that this was a theme that you specifically want to develop over a period of time as an extension of mindfulness (you dont specifically need to mention the moaning). You could encourage students to become aware of how they might feel uncomfortable in and around the class and to become aware of how they respond to this discomfort. You could also encourage them to become  aware of what they are looking for when engaging with other people in the class. For instance, are they looking for connection? If so, what is the best way of bringing this about?

It sounds like you have quite a developed culture there so I think it will take some shifting but I think it can be done over time. After all, mindfulness touches every aspect of our lives, not just our bodies.

Entering a Mahayana Scripture - the Gandhavyuha Sutra

In previous posts, I have commented on my developing interest in how to read a Mahayana scripture, or sutra as they are known. Most recently, my attention has been drawn to the Gandavyuha Sutra and I have begun to explore some of its key themes.

Sudhana at the Feet of ManjushriWhile the Gandavyuha is not as well known as the Lotus Sutra or the Vimalakirti Sutra – at least in the West - it is nevertheless one of the great vaipulya sutras. Vaipulya means extensive and the Gandavyuha certainly is that: it runs to around 400 pages. Not just that but it forms the final chapter of an even larger text, the Avatamsaka Sutra, which in total is more than 1600 pages long.

Like most Mahayana sutras, the Gandavyuha began life in India and scholars believe that its core elements were composed between the 1^st and 3^rd centuries CE. Essentially, the Gandavyuha tells the story of a pilgrimage – that of the young man Sudhana who is on a quest for Awakening. Through the course of the text, Sudhana encounters a series of spiritual benefactors who each offer him a clue to help him on his journey. Ultimately, Sudhana approaches a mysterious and magical structure known as Vairochana’s Tower, which he enters to be transported into a mystical dimension, one in which all things mutually interpenetrate while, at the same time, maintaining their distinct individuality. This vision is at the heart of the Gandavyuha’s message and communicates the essential spiritual insight of Mahayana Buddhism – that all things are ultimately interconnected. The Gandavyuha, as many Mahayana sutras do, consolidates doctrine into image and this is key to its transformative power.

As we ‘read’ the text we are led along a visionary itinerary in the context of which miraculous scenes are disclosed. One scholar has suggested – I think persuasively – that these scenes prefigure the later visualisation exercises characteristic of Tantric Buddhism. In many of these practices, the meditator identifies him or herself with the visualised Buddha or bodhisattva figure. This pattern is seen in the Gandavyuha sutra where Sudhana resolves to cultivate a vision of the great bodhisattva Samantabhadra (Universally Worthy). He engages in some version of Recollecting the Deity and is ultimately blessed with a vision of the bodhisattva. As Sudhana contemplates this vision, clouds of light rays emanate from all the pores of Samantabhadra’s body, illuminating all worlds throughout the cosmos, relieving the pain of all beings.

Sudhana then sees in every pore of Samantabhadra’s body untold numbers of buddha lands, each filled with buddhas. He then enters Samantabhadra’s body, which contains infinite worlds, in the context of which he leads innumerable beings towards awakening. Ultimately, he attains equality with the bodhisattva as he fulfils his quest. This final phase – entering and becoming equal to Samantabhadra – may be compared with the self-identification with the deity characteristic of some Tantric visualisations.

In the Gandavyuha, as in many Tantric practices, transformation is accomplished through a process of imaginative identification. Reading the text then is a matter of opening up to its magical universe, soaking in its visionary atmosphere, even entering the text as an active participant. Through this visionary immersion, our own universe is reconfigured as we begin to see our seemingly humdrum lives framed within an infinitely greater spiritual drama.

Read my Visions of Mahayana Buddhism.

Update on Thursday, September 3, 2009 at 01:05PM by Nagapriya

The scholar who I was referring to here was David McMahan. This topic has also been considered by Douglas Osto in "‘Proto-Tantric’ Elements in the Gandavyuha Sutra," Journal of Religious History 33.2 (June 2009): 165-177

McMahan's article can be accessed via this link:
http://www.shin-ibs.edu/academics/_pwj/three.six.php