Dharma
Byte
from
the Abbot

Crisis
Last month we took a look at
the kind of crises that are often precipitated by sudden and
unanticipated death. Anecdotally, it seems that people tend to seek out
Zen during or just after such a crisis, even of a less traumatic
nature, effects their life.
Today, as in the past, there is
not, apparently, a typical age range when people tend to seek out the
spiritual. I’ve seen very young people who are very serious about
Zen. I’ve seen older people come to practice Zen for the first
time—and by older, I mean in their 60’s and 70’s. But generally,
I would guess that most Zen seekers are somewhere in the 30’s to 50’s,
people confronting midlife crises—marital problems; work-related
anxiety; their loved ones—parents, grandparents, children—experiencing
aging, sickness, or death. They are suddenly exposed to a more painful
and realistic worldview than that generally promulgated in our culture,
skewed as it is to social evasion of sickness, aging and death, or
virtually any kind if discomfort.
We often hear horror stories
about death: They made me go up and kiss Grandma in the coffin, and I
didn’t want to. The main reason we have such a traumatic problem with
death is that the entire society doesn’t deal with it. If a child is
traumatized by a close encounter with death, it is largely because the
adult culture is traumatized by it. In our culture, it probably takes
30 years or so to get to a point of maturity, where one is past the
typical extended adolescence, beginning to look around, and figuring
out what is going on. In other cultures, attitudes toward death differ
markedly.
Master Dogen was devastated by
his mother’s death, which occurred when he was only about eight years
old. His father was already deceased, and he had been very close to his
mother. I suppose she was the main attachment to life that he had at
that age. Thus, in Dogen’s formative years, his orientation toward life
was impacted immediately, effected profoundly, and changed spiritually.
There are many such cases in the history of Zen, where confrontation
with death triggers genuine spiritual awakening, or sets the stage for
it at a later time.
This kind of existential crisis
surpasses the more prosaic, midlife variety. It undercuts everything
one thought to be dependable. One is left “without a toe-hold,” and has
to start from scratch. Existential crisis can be brought on through
circumstance, most usually of a dire nature. Your family is wiped out
in an earthquake, or you find yourself in the middle of a war zone.
Events can conspire to bring about this confrontation.
It doesn’t always come through
a method of practice. But your reaction to dire circumstances at that
time is dependent upon your practice, upon the samadhi developed though
zazen. Beliefs that you may have held prior to the traumatic event may
not sustain you through it. Beliefs suffer a severe reality-check, and
are unlikely to survive, as they are only beliefs. Response to trauma
is usually very different for somebody who is coming from Zen practice,
whose focus from the beginning has been on life and death. This is not
a morbid obsession—quite the opposite.
Creative Problem-Solving
Crisis brings on a forced
exercise in problem-solving. Often we seek out help from individuals in
the helping professions, or join a support group. In doing so, one
thing we learn is that we are all in this same boat. Everyone is in
crisis of one sort or another.
In creative design circles, the
process by which a group solves a problem or arrives at a design
solution is very intentional. Various methods have been developed and
codified, and are taught in design departments at the university level.
These courses focus on methodology, the study of methods, as much as
upon the results. A principle that applies to daily life is that the
full definition of the problem will inherently reveal the solution.
Thus, the emphasis is on a process of defining a problem, rather than
jumping to any premature solutions.
One such process that I have
developed is related to that for solving mathematical equations,
captioned as “Excuse me, My Dear Aunt Sally” (XMDAS), is a mnemonic
that lists the arithmetical operations in the order they are performed
to assure a correct result: first one solves the Exponents; then does
the Multiplication; next Division; Addition; and finally Subtraction.
If not done in this order, the result will be incorrect.
As an analogy to the creative
process, whether of a group or an individual, the exponent, such as a
square root, is the raison d’etre for the project, in business or
psychology, the identified client’s definition of the problem. What is
under the radical? What is the root of the problem? Why are we doing
this? The process often redefines the problem in arriving at a
solution. So we have a project, a defined problem, and a process for
solving it.
Multiplication represents
uninhibited brainstorming of all potential solutions and sub-problems
related to a final solution. Division stands for the sorting out of the
multiple results of brainstorming into salient categories and
relationships between them. Addition is the fleshing out of the various
sets within the divided groups to ensure that they are as complete as
possible. And, finally, Subtraction is the editing process, removing or
setting aside all elements not considered to be priorities of the
problem definition or its solution.
This kind of process may be
seen to be characteristic of any creative endeavor, such as written
composition, where the exponent is the subject matter, multiplication
the mind-mapping process, division the development of an outline,
addition the writing of the first draft, subtraction the process of
editing and rewriting the final manuscript.
In daily life, the exponent
might be a metaphor for the root problem of existence. From birth, we
are faced with a series of problems to solve, and learn various methods
through direct experience, such as learning to walk and talk. We also
learn indirectly from parents, siblings, friends and mentors. But
the root problem of existence is rarely considered, let alone studied,
outside of philosophy class. And the process of learning various
methods is often left to chance, or trial and error. In problem-solving
professions such as design, the sciences and engineering,
methodology—the study alternative methods and of method itself—is much
more intentional and conscious than in normal life. But the process can
be seen as similar to XMDAS.
Multiplication is the geometric
expansion of knowledge as we grow from childhood to adulthood. Division
is the way we make sense of it by categorizing and cross-relating the
seemingly disparate and separate classes of information, perceptions
and concepts, as well as choices made in pursuing an education,
vocation or profession. Addition is the expansive investigation of
areas of specialization, such as law or medicine, secondary degrees,
and enhancing our skill sets and opportunities for deeper and broader
participation in desired roles in society. Subtraction is the
relinquishment of activities such as hobbies, or career choices for
which we cannot justify the required investment of time and resources.
Thus this same set of
arithmetic operations can be seen as characteristic of the dynamics of
everyday decisions, conscious as well as unconscious.
But at the end of the day, or
at the end of one’s life, this process, however diligently and
conscientiously pursued, may never result in our re-examining the
starting point, the question of what is under the radical: What is the
real problem?
Problem Definition
This is the point that the
historical Buddha reached, which led him to question the conventional
wisdom of his time, and the plan for his life that his parents
envisioned. He came to see that the societal concerns and resultant
norms of India of 2500 years ago, much like those of America today, do
not address the fundamental problem of existence.
In fact, much of the effect of
our social culture is to distract us from—and defer any serious
consideration of—the traits of existence that Buddhism defines as
important and deserving of our full attention. They are: impermanence,
imperfection, insubstantiality; as witnessed in the arising, abiding,
and decaying of everything in existence; and their personal dimension:
aging, sickness and death.
Any substantial emphasis on
these facts, in Western culture, is considered morbid, or at least
pessimistic. But awareness and acknowledgment of these inconvenient
truths is not pessimistic, but merely realistic. Avoidance of these
realities, and the consequent suppression of such thoughts, is not only
overly optimistic, but can readily turn neurotic.
Anyone who has witnessed the
deterioration of an aging parent can testify to the inevitability of
aging, sickness and death. The process harkens back to the XMDAS model
outlined above. Subtraction sets in as we lose control of the body, the
senses, and by extension, our environment.
If we survive long enough while
aging, we move from engagement in family and career, to retirement. We
progress from group to independent living, from which family has been
subtracted—through the natural process of children growing, going away
to school, establishing their careers and families elsewhere, then the
death of our spouse, siblings, and friends—all subtracted from our life.
Then comes the move to assisted
living, for which we downscale from our multiple possessions,
subtracting them from our home environment by re-sorting and giving
them to family and friends as heirlooms and keepsakes. Or if we can
afford in-home care, getting our affairs in order through our last will
and testament, bequeathing our possessions to others. Subtraction.
If we survive into our dotage,
we move into nursing home conditions, where the public rooms of our
dwelling space—living, parlor, dining, kitchen, family room—have been
subtracted, or at best combined as shared space with the other denizens
of the nursing home. Like it or not, we end up ensconced in the final,
essential room—the bedroom—with perhaps a toilet, private or shared
with a roommate, depending on ability to pay. In other words, the final
dwelling place is reduced to the bed, much like an inmate’s cell, or a
monk’s room.
R. Buckminster Fuller, inventor
famous for the Geodesic dome, who was also a great designer, engineer,
philosopher and mentor to a generation of designers, called what he did
“comprehensive anticipatory design science.” He saw his mission, and
that of his followers, to be the anticipation of problems before they
became urgent, and to develop solutions that would be comprehensive and
ready to implement exigently. As a designer, one would want to
anticipate the problem of aging, sickness and death, and perhaps design
one’s life differently in light of that eventuality, rather than live
in a way that ignores the truth as long as possible.
Zen constitutes an invitation
to engage in such a process of redesigning our life. We all redesign
our life day by day, and each of us is called upon to reinvent Zen in
that context. Hopefully, this message and our program of Zen meditation
and dharma study will act as an inspiration for you to initiate, and
sustain, that process.
If you would like Sensei to
write about a particular subject, please submit your request to:taiunmelliston@gmail.com
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