Zen-Brain Horizons

Two Old Men Consult the Buddha

When there is no self, you have absolute freedom. Because you have a silly idea of self, you have a lot of problems.

Shunryu Suzuki-Roshi (1904–1971)¹

People often asked the Buddha, “What is the best way for me to proceed on the spiritual Path?” On separate occasions, he gave similar advice to each of two elderly men. Each man was driven by a sense of urgency. Each understood that his sands of time were fast running out.

After sizing the men up, the Buddha chose to give them a brief strategic answer. Two simple words stand out in his reply. They remain relevant today not only for Buddhist practitioners of any age but also for readers in general and for contemplative neuroscientists as well.

The Venerable Malunkya

One sutra informs us that Malunkya is already an ardent and resolute person.² Why does he ask the Buddha to give him a condensed “Dharma in brief”? He wants it so he can remain more mindful when he goes into his next solitary meditative retreat. The Buddha does not give him a quick answer. Instead, he asks a sequence of six probing questions: “Are you still passionately attached to the things that you see . . . that you hear . . . smell . . . taste . . . touch . . . or think about?”

“No,” says Malunkya, to each question.

But the Buddha does not accept at face value Malunkya’s claim that he has given up all desires that cling to his sensations and attach to his thoughts. For he then says, “You should train yourself to give up such attachments. Because when no attachment remains, then no you is in there. When absolutely no [agency of] you is in there, all sense of personalized space and time disappears. This, just this, ends all suffering.” Just this.

Malunkya replies, “I fully understand that the condition you just briefly described is completely dispassionate in its nature.” But do his actions then confirm that he fully understands the selfless basis of nonattachment? No. Instead, he goes on to verbalize a very long series of wordy verses. This behavior informs us that he has not yet deeply realized how “just this” distills the Buddha’s message, how it points to the selfless state which ends all suffering. [ZBR: 33–37; SI: 11–13, 199; MS: 8, 66–69, 98, 119, 132, 183–184]

The two men meet on another occasion.^3, ⁴ Although Malunkya had since been meditating elsewhere in seclusion, his overactive mind, which had initially raised our doubts, is still unsettled. Now his thoughts are driven by the big unanswered questions about Self, and he is preoccupied with metaphysical concepts about soul, immortality, and eternity. His ruminations include this question: “Why hasn’t the Buddha declared, for certain, that He and the cosmos are infinite or finite?” And his thoughts stray so far that he concludes “if the Buddha doesn’t clarify these grievous oversights, I’ll renounce my training as a monk.” Indeed, at their next meeting, he pressures the Buddha finally to declare, once and for all, where he stands on these deep existential questions.

The Buddha again begins his reply with a question: “Did I ever promise you that if you follow me I will declare that the cosmos, the soul, the body, or the Awakened One are either finite or deathless?”

“No,” says Malunkya.

Then, says the Buddha, “your attitude resembles that of a man just wounded by an arrow smeared with poison,” a man who insists that “I won’t let any surgeon remove this arrow until I first know for certain every last personal detail about which man shot me, learn what kind of bow and bowstring he used, learn which kind of feather was on the arrow, etc., etc.! This wounded man would die before he verified all these minor details. And so would anybody else die if they too insisted on waiting until the Buddha had clarified every last detail about whether the cosmos or existence in general is finite or infinite.”

The Buddha continues, “You can live the holy life without needing to have all these conceptual questions resolved. Whether such issues are valid or not—this is not fundamental to our practice of the spiritual Path. Right now, what really matters is that each one of us still continues to be subject to birth and death, to aging, pain, and sorrow. In fact, I have already given you the prescription you need to relieve these urgent causes of your everyday suffering.” Here, he knows that Malunkya is already familiar with the four fundamental truths that are the basic prescription for everyone on the spiritual Path: (1) Life is full of dissatisfactions. (2) Our passions and delusions cause these sorrows. (3) The way out of this suffering is to extinguish Self-centered desires and aversions. (4) A practical, eightfold Path exists for doing this.

The Buddha then closes by saying, “When you follow this prescription it will lead to dispassion, to direct knowledge, to insight-wisdom and Nirvana. So, remember what I have specified. And also note something else: I choose not to dwell on other issues that are only of minor practical importance.”

Malunkya was gratified to hear these words. The sutras inform us that he ultimately went on to realize a more advanced ongoing stage on the enlightened Way of life. Yet he still had to continue to practice in seclusion in order to drop his clinging attachments to all five of the fetters.⁵

Aspects of Interest in This Story about Malunkya

Malunkya may be older, ardent, and resolute. But he’s a talker. Given his earlier need to verbalize a long series of verses, we are not surprised to hear that his discursive mind did not settle down. Not only does he pester the Buddha with questions about the cosmos and afterlife, he even considers renouncing his training if he cannot get straight answers! The Buddha seeks no frothy eloquent words from his trainees. He is alert for simple, convincing evidence that they have deconditioned their old unwholesome ways of thinking and acting. He is waiting to see them transfigured by graceful behaviors that rise instantly and flow freely. He wants to be shown. [SI: 217–218]

In the earlier part of this narrative, we observe how the Buddha responded to this elderly man’s request for a “Dharma in brief.” He replied by pointing briefly to the root of all human problems: our overconditioned Self and its resulting emotional attachments to every I-Me-Mine subjectivity.

Bahiya, the Elderly Sage

The Pali word Udana can be translated as the “inspired utterances” of the Buddha. One collection of these is called the Udana sutras. The style and content of many pithy utterances suggest that these sutras are of great antiquity.⁶ One of the early discourses in Udana 1.10 is a tale about an elderly man, called Bahiya, who wore simple clothes made out of bark cloth.⁷ He was venerated in his small seashore community, given alms for his food and lodging, and cared for when he was sick.

Wiser than others his age, Bahiya finally started to wonder, “Have I already entered on the path of wisdom? Is it possible that I’ve even become somewhat enlightened?” One of his relatives, knowing that the Buddha was then teaching up north in a city called Savatthi,⁸ suggested that Bahiya resolve his question by consulting such an authentically enlightened person.

When Bahiya arrived there, he found the Buddha out walking for alms. In the Buddha, he saw a man poised in the ultimate sense, his mind thoroughly at peace, and obviously a fully enlightened person. Bahiya threw himself at the Buddha’s feet, imploring him, saying, “Teach me the Dharma, for my own welfare and bliss.”

But the Buddha said, “This isn’t the time, Bahiya. We are now on our way to gather alms.” When Bahiya then repeated his earnest request to the Buddha for the second time, he added that time was of the essence, saying “Given all the dangers, who knows for sure how long either you or I will still be alive?” Again the Buddha explained why this was not an appropriate time.

Bahiya repeated the same concerns about death in his third request. And now the Buddha yielded, having observed something unusual in this old man’s three entreaties. He stopped and said, “Well, Bahiya, you should train yourself in the following manner.”

We note, at this point, that his advice distills into the very same words as those recorded in the Buddha’s separate discourse to Malunkya. In English, their translation from the Pali unfolds into two short sentences: “When for you there will be only the seen in reference to the seen, only the heard in reference to the heard, only the sensed in reference to the sensed, and only the cognized in reference to what is cognized, then, Bahiya, there will be no you therein. When no you remains therein, then this, just this, will be the end of your suffering.”

What happened to Bahiya the moment he heard these words? We are told that this brief distillation of the Dharma immediately released his mind from every last clinging concern. This was indeed fortunate because soon afterward Bahiya was killed in an accident, a possibility he had just foreseen. When monks asked the Buddha what would be Bahiya’s state after he died, he replied, saying, “Bahiya was a very wise person. He had actually been practicing the Dharma for a long time. He did not pester me with minor issues.⁹ In this degree of sage wisdom, Bahiya has since become liberated, free both from bliss and from all pain.”

Salient Points in This Story about Bahiya

Bahiya had not pursued a formal spiritual Path in an organized manner. Even so, his sage wisdom was greatly appreciated by his community. It was also of a kind discernible by the Buddha’s keen “Dharma-eye.” [ZB: 123] Even then, we observe how Bahiya’s sincere requests for help are deferred three times before they are responded to. These delays are reminiscent of an ancient custom—that of declining a beginner’s request for Dharma instruction at least three times. Each delay is a test. It helps to establish that the beginner is sufficiently motivated to at least begin the long process of training. [ZB: 65]

Yet in Bahiya’s demeanor the Buddha discerned no rank beginner. This was an old man already tested by long experience, someone who understood that he might not have much longer to live. Because the Buddha had been interrupted while he was out walking for alms, his brief words to this man could not describe the whole long training procedure.¹⁰ Instead, how did he distill its essence? He began by describing how the results of the training process could manifest themselves. This state of consciousness would be shorn of every excessive passionate attachment to the egocentric Self. Only at this point—only when “no you remains in there”—will the liberated brain awaken into the deep insight-wisdom that directly perceives the intimate reality of “just this” present moment. [ZBR: 545–572]

The Buddha then added that all Bahiya’s suffering would stop when his mental processing dropped off its Self-centered overemotionalized intrusions: “This, just this, is the end of suffering.” We are next informed that this is what actually happened. Indeed, the sutra says that “Right then and there” Bahiya’s mind was suddenly released from every last clinging attachment.¹¹

Psychological Implications

The Buddha’s words are straightforward: “When no you remains therein”—when the world is experienced directly, in a matter-of-fact manner—“this, just this, is the end of your suffering.” Once neural processing lets go of its subjective distortions and wordy complexities, it starts opening up into its more objective, intuitive dimensions. Further refinements unfold during such an awakening: all perceptions enter experience in the form of existential insight-wisdom. “Just this” appears to unveil the Real Reality. All things are experienced as “just so”—directly, succinctly, and obviously.

Of course, nothing about the brain itself is this simple. When we start to meditate, everyone faces the immediate problem: our discursive monkey-mind. Unfruitful mind wandering warps the sharp clarity of our perceptions. Sticky cobwebs clutter our mental space, impede the scope and efficiency of our cognitive efforts at problem solving. When we try to understand how meditative practices might transform the brain and reverse these attachments, a series of questions helps focus the discussion.

• What does it mean when there is absolutely “no you,” when no remnants of the clinging Self remain in cognition?

It does not mean that you have lost all consciousness. You are not in coma. You have not lost all mental competence. Instead, it means that the usual automatic pilot in your cognition has abandoned its standard, inturned frame of reference. It has shifted beyond all prior maladaptive references to I-Me-Mine. Now consciousness is left free to drop into its other-referential dimension—a refined category of pure, advanced insight.

Can you recall having experienced lesser moments of insight in the past? Weren’t they often accompanied by some absence of your Self? If you do not recall such a subjective vacancy, perhaps these moments were too brief, or the insights were of a more ordinary kind. Yet some may have prompted you to wonder, “Why didn’t I think of that before?” (And as soon as you insert I and think, this question provides its own answer.) However, during the extraordinary advanced states of kensho and satori, selflessness lasts much longer. Now insights can penetrate to deep existential levels. [SI: 123–146]

• What happens after these more ordinary forms of lesser mini-insight?

Some will be further refined, ripened, and actualized during each of your live-and-learn confrontations with reality in ordinary daily life. [SI: 154–155] Careful introspection of your emotional resistance to each real-world lesson helps you appreciate how valuable it can be to gradually let go of your unfruitful, clinging attachments. The Buddha’s closing remarks in the sutra remind us that letting go is a twofold liberation. Indeed, the gradual ripening of equanimity means being liberated from both kinds of impassioned excesses: those that cause you to cling to your bliss, not only your major resistances to unpleasant events that cause unwarranted suffering.

Fast forward into the next millennium, when the Sino-Japanese Zen traditions began to employ the word mushin to describe various levels of no clinging. Mu translates as “no”; shin refers to both heart and mind. Therefore, the term suggests that during the state of “no you,” no word-thoughts or emotionalized concepts cling to one’s perceptions and contaminate them. Unfettered clarity is the salient impression when the lightning strike of kensho awakens insight-wisdom in the depths of the brain. [ZB: 542-544]

Shodo Harada-Roshi is the highly regarded abbot of Shogen-ji in Okayama, Japan. He condenses the empty-full qualities of kensho’s selfless emptiness in one sentence: “This emptiness is not something you can conceptualize; it is a state empty of ego, full of what can come through when that ego has been let go of.”¹² Such an emptiness-fullness is incomprehensible to ordinary consciousness. Only deep, direct experience will resolve its paradoxes. [ZB: 570–572; ZBR: 384–386]

How did D. T. Suzuki convey the fact that meditators also undergo a long-term gradual ripening of wisdom? He chose a special picture for the frontispiece of the book he entitled Zen and Sino-Japanese Culture.¹³ The artist of this classic thirteenth century painting shows six persimmons, each in various stages of ripening. Spiritual ripening takes decades, not months.

This first chapter began by looking back many centuries at the Buddha’s early discourses. In the ancient Pali sutras, the phrase, “just this” points toward an ineffable state, a blend of selfless, wordless fullness. We will now turn to look forward. Subsequent chapters will take a brief leap toward research in this twenty-first century. We will be asking: What newer implications of “just this” will be arising out there, above the horizon?