Buddhism
Buddhism arose in the socio-political and religious context of
Brahmanic India. It accepted the Hindu worldview of intentional
action (karma) leading to rebirth and redeath in the cycle of samsara.
However, the Buddha rejected the orthodox belief of his time that
the eternal soul (atman) transmigrated from life to life taking on new
forms until it achieved final liberation. He claimed that no matter
how much one searched, no unchanging, eternal component of the
human personality could be found; human beings and, indeed, all
other existing things were composed of ever-changing phenomena.
His teaching on the subject, therefore, was that the human personality is without soul or unchanging essence (Skt: anatman/Pali: anatta).
Buddhist doctrine regarding the soul-less or essence-less nature of all
phenomena challenges notions of the individual self or soul shared
by other religions and raises the question – who or what continues? This chapter will examine the life of the Buddha and discuss
Buddhist beliefs regarding the continuation of the person over many lives, the worlds of rebirth, and eventual liberation from the cycle of
birth and death in relation to the teaching on “no-soul.”
The Life and Death of the Buddha
Firm historical evidence for a biography of the Buddha is scarce.
We cannot even establish with any certainty the exact dates of his
birth and death. For a long time western scholars accepted the dates
566–486 or 583–483 BCE, but recent research suggests a later date of
490–410 or 480–400 BCE (Prebish and Keown, 2006, p. 27). Looking for
the historical Buddha is much like looking for the historical Jesus –
the textual sources that we rely on were written by those who were
less interested in the facts of their lives and more interested in interpreting the meaning of their lives, sometimes for religious doctrinal
purposes, sometimes to serve socio-political ends. In seeking out the
events of the past, historians are aware that what may have been an
historical event is most often embedded in layers of meaning that
have been assigned to it, and vice versa; some events are “historical”
because meaning requires it. It is not our task, however, in this book
to disentangle history from pious legend; in order to discover the
meanings that have been assigned to death and deathlessness in the
founding days of Buddhism, we will explore the life of the Buddha
as it has been traditionally recorded. One of the earliest biographies
of the Buddha, called the Buddhacarita (Acts of the Buddha), was
written by Asvaghosha in the second century CE. It presents us with
the life story of the Buddha according to 12 archetypal acts or events.
This biography is not merely concerned with the life history of one
man; it intends to show the meaning of Buddhahood and how one
arrives at that state. The story, therefore, is cast in a cosmic context
in which karma and rebirth are operative.
In Asvaghosha’s work, after many eons of lifetimes of meritorious
action and training in the path of a Bodhisattva (Buddha-to-be), the
first act in the career of a Buddha is for him to be born into the heaven
world where he waits for the conditions to be right to enter into his
last birth. Having decided on the time, the place, and the family into
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which he will be born, the second act is the descent of the Bodhisattva
from the heaven world, and third, his entry into the womb. This is
described in terms of a conception dream had by Maya, the mother
of the present Buddha, who dreamed of a pure white elephant that
entered her from the right side. The dream interpreters are called
in and they proclaim that this dream means that she will give birth
to a son who will be as great among men as the elephant is among
beasts. The fourth act is birth. The Buddha is said to have been
born from the right side of his mother and upon leaving the womb
took seven steps, proclaimed himself supreme in heaven and earth,
and prophesied that this would be his last birth. His birth is said to
have taken place on the full moon of Vesak (April–May). Brahmin
soothsayers examined the child and pronounced that if he left the
palace for the life of a wondering ascetic (samana), he would become
an Awakened One, a Buddha, but if he remained in the worldly life
he would become a great king, a world ruler. Not surprisingly, his
father, who was himself a great chieftain, wished for his son to be
a world ruler rather than a wandering beggar. The young man was
named Siddhartha, his clan name was Gautama, and he belonged to
the Shakya tribe. He was born into wealth and privilege, the son of
a tribal chief in the warrior/ruling (kshatriya) class of sixth-century
BCE Brahmanic society. We are told that his father tried to shield him
from the ugliness of the world by confining him to the luxury of
the palaces and surrounding him with beauty; so the fifth act of a
Buddha is to live the palace life of luxury and learning.
However, this was not his destiny and, as the story goes, despite
his wealth and comfort, the young prince suffered from despondency. So, to raise his spirits, his father arranged a pleasure outing
through the town, the streets of which were first completely beautified and cleared of all beggars, the sick, and aged. The gods, however,
arranged for the prince to encounter the reality of the human condition in the form of four persons: a bent and aged man, a horribly
diseased man, a corpse, and a wandering samana (one who has renounced the household life to seek for liberation). In the sixth act,
then, the Bodhisattva, realizing the universal and inescapable nature
of suffering, experiences disgust and disenchantment not only with
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the frivolity of palace life, but with all that samsara has to offer. In
the seventh act, at age 29, he renounces his life as a prince, leaves
his parents, wife, and son behind, and becomes a wandering samana,
seeking the truth that frees a person from suffering and death.
After studying with a number of teachers whose doctrines and
practices he mastered, but which did not lead him to the liberating
knowledge he was seeking, Gautama, as he was known to the samana
community he joined, struck out on his own. In the eighth act, the
Bodhisattva enters into six years of the most severe austerities that
leave him completely emaciated and near death. After subjecting
himself to years of severe ascetic practices, however, he realized that
for what he was seeking, asceticism was also a dead end. Finally,
he settled himself beside a river, under a pipal tree at a place called
Bodhgaya, and embarked on the meditative path that led him to
knowledge and insight, the liberation (nirvana) he was seeking. On
the night of his liberation we are told that he was assailed by the
demon Mara, who represents desire, death, and all the outer and
inner obstacles to liberation. Mara tried to turn him from his course
through argument, seduction, and fear, but he was unsuccessful;
the ninth act, therefore, is the defeat of Mara, the defeat of death.
Following the defeat of Mara is the tenth act: full awakening or
nirvana. From this point on, Gautama becomes known as the Buddha,
the Awakened One.
According to Buddhist legend, the Buddha was not at all sure that
ordinary people who are driven by passions and prejudices would
understand what he had experienced or the insights that he had
gained; so, rather than go out and propagate any doctrine, his first
inclination was to keep silent and simply enjoy the bliss of nirvana.
However, the tradition says that one of the gods came to the Buddha
and urged him to teach, saying that there were indeed some people
with only a little dust in their eyes who would be able to understand
the dharma that the Buddha taught. And so out of compassion and
because he was asked, Gautama Buddha decided to teach. He made
his way on foot from Bodhgaya to the Deer Park at Sarnath where
he met up with five samanas who listened to his first teaching. And
so the Buddha performed the eleventh act, called “setting in motion
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the wheel of dharma,” by giving his first public sermon to these five
who became the first members of the Buddhist monastic order called
the sangha. For 45 years, the Buddha wandered all around the central
Gangetic plain in the kingdom of Magadha, teaching in towns, parks,
and villages, and ordaining those who wished to follow him as
monks. When he was 80 years old he set out on his last journey.
On that journey, it is said he ate a meal at the home of a low-caste
blacksmith that made him ill with food poisoning. He continued on
to the small and obscure village of Kushinagar (Kusinara) where
he could not go further and, after giving his final instructions to
his followers, passed away. Since one who has attained liberation
is not reborn, the death of a Buddha is referred to as parinirvana,
the attaining of nirvana with nothing remaining. The twelfth act of a
Buddha, then, is attaining parinirvana.
The Buddha’s death underscores one of the foremost elements in
Buddhist doctrine – the impermanence of all compounded phenomena. According to the Mahaparinibbana sutta, the Buddha’s last words
to his disciples reminded them of this simple fact: “Decay is inherent
in all component things! Work out your salvation with diligence!”
(Coward et al., 1988, p. 140). The Buddha’s body was cremated and
his relics divided among the local rulers, who interred them in a
special type of monument called a stupa. The stupa developed out
of what was originally a burial mound; by the time of the Buddha,
it had become a more elaborate structure intended to hold the relics
and commemorate the death of a great ruler or spiritual leader. The
preferred method of disposal of the body among Buddhists until
today is cremation, and the relics of great Buddhist masters are still
interred in stupas. They appear in many different cultural forms but
in all Buddhist countries, stupas are revered as symbols that recall
the Buddha’s enlightenment and victory over death.
The Noble Truths
The Buddha’s first teaching to a group of five samanas laid down
the foundational insights that inform all Buddhist traditions. In it,
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he rejects the pursuit of sense pleasures as one extreme and that of
self-mortification as another, both of which he had experienced. As
the middle way, the Buddha puts forward what he calls the noble
eightfold path leading to insight and liberation: right view, right
intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort,
right mindfulness, and right concentration. The eightfold path itself
is set in the context of the four noble truths, all focused on the nature
of suffering (dukkha).
1. The Noble Truth of Suffering
2. The Noble Truth of the Origin of Suffering
3. The Noble Truth of the Cessation of Suffering
4. The Noble Truth of the (eightfold) Path leading to the Cessation
of Suffering
This teaching is based on, and expresses, the overarching principle of
cause and effect, the doctrine of “dependent origination,” according
to which, whatever exists originates, and continues to exist, dependent on the specific causes and conditions that gave rise to it, and
ceases when those causes and conditions cease.
In order to understand the Buddhist view of death and liberation from death, we must analyze this word, dukkha. It covers a
wide range of meanings that are traditionally grouped under three
headings: (1) ordinary dukkha; (2) dukkha based on impermanence
and change; and (3) dukkha based on conditioned states. Ordinary
dukkha refers to what we normally regard as pain, either physical or
mental. From the merest feeling of discomfort to the severest suffering, it connotes dissatisfaction or dis-ease of any kind. Dukkha
produced by change refers to the distress that arises due to the loss
that we experience when things we desire end, whether that is the
loss of a happy physical or mental state, a desirable object, or a
beloved person. Dukkha produced by conditioned states refers to
the observation that anything composite and conditioned, like the
human personality, is subject to decay and destruction. So this is another meaning of dukkha – the inevitable decay, death, or destruction
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of anything and everything that exists dependent on causes and
conditions.
In Buddhist theory, dukkha is one of the three characteristics exhibited by all phenomena:
(1) The characteristic of impermanence (anicca) – all phenomena
exist in a state of constant flux and change. Although objects like
chairs and tables may appear solid and unchanging, upon analysis,
the reality is that from moment to moment the object is continually
undergoing change. With regard to persons, whether we consider
mental aspects such as thoughts, mind states, emotions, psychological states, or the physical body, every part and piece is changing at
every moment, coming into being and passing away.
(2) The characteristic of essencelessness or no-soul (anatta). This
concept correlates with the previous understanding of the radical
impermanence of all states of existence. With regard to the human
person, again, upon analysis, what is found is an ever-changing
series of mental and physical factors arising and ceasing in dependence on the presence or absence of specific causes and conditions.
Although it may seem that there is some unchanging core that is
“me,” that persists unchanged throughout my life and throughout
all the changes that occur to me, Buddhist theory claims that such
a feeling is exactly that, simply a feeling that arises dependent on
the functioning of the various mental and physical factors that comprise the personality. The reality is that no part of the body–mind
organism is unchanging; therefore, the human person, like all other
existents, is without any permanent unchanging, eternal essence
or soul.
(3) The characteristic of suffering (dukkha) follows on the impermanent, essenceless nature of existing things. We can consider
this in two ways, physically and emotionally. Physically, whatever
comes into existence dependent on changing causes and conditions
is bound to cease, to be destroyed when the causes and conditions
that support it change; therefore, since all things exist dependently
on other factors, all things are subject to dukkha in the sense of
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destruction. Mentally or emotionally, we are happy when things
that we fear or things that we do not want to exist end, but we suffer
when those things that we desire, or that we are attached to or want
to continue, end, and since all states end, then there is no escape
from the dukkha of loss so long as there is attachment to that which
is impermanent.
The first noble truth expresses the observation that dukkha is
present as an element in all human existence. The second noble
truth proposes that the primary cause of dukkha is unquenchable
thirst-like craving for self-satisfaction and attachment to whatever
we perceive as providing such self-satisfaction. Based on the law of
cause and effect, the third noble truth proposes that if self-oriented
craving is removed, then the effect, dukkha, will cease to arise. However, it is acknowledged that it is not a simple matter for human
beings to abandon their yearnings and attachments, and that to do
so requires an entire retraining of the personality. The fourth noble
truth, therefore, offers a path, a method by which the mind can be
trained to generate positive mental states, to become still and peaceful, and finally to gain the knowledge and insight that liberate one
from suffering and death.
Karma, Self, and the Wheel of Becoming
Since Buddhism accepts the doctrine of karma and rebirth, but not
the doctrine of a transmigrating soul, the question to investigate is,
who or what continues from birth to birth and how does that take
place? There is no simple or definitive answer to this question, which
has informed Buddhist philosophical discussion for centuries. However, we can aim to understand some of the main elements that any
answer must address. To understand how the personality continues
after death, it is first necessary to understand how Buddhism views
the continuing person in life. According to one analysis accepted by
all Buddhist schools, a person consists of five collections or aggregates called the five skandhas. Skandha means heap, like a heap of rice
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grains or wheat grains – it is often translated “aggregate” to indicate
the idea of compositeness.
(1) The aggregate of matter or form (i.e., physical elements –
solids, liquids, gases, and the element of heat represented in all
ancient systems by earth, water, air, and fire). With regard to personality, this aggregate includes the five physical sense organs and their
five corresponding objects – appearances, sounds, smells, tastes, tangibles. In Buddhist thought, the mind is also a sense organ or sense
faculty of a kind; it senses or comes into contact with thoughts, ideas,
and conceptions.
(2) The aggregate of sensations or feelings. Contact between any
one of the six sense organs and its corresponding object results in
some feeling or sensation, which can be pleasant, painful, or neutral.
(3) The aggregate of perceptions or cognition. Contact results not
only in sensation but also in perception or recognition, which is also
of six kinds based on the six senses. We can speak of perception/
cognition arising based on the activity of eyes coming into contact
with visible objects, or ears contacting audible objects, and so on.
(4) The aggregate of karmic formations or mental habit patterns.
The Theravada school identifies 52 possible mental states that come
under this heading, such as attentiveness, courage, confidence, will,
anger, hate, determination, energy, laziness, the idea of self. All these
are considered intentional, that is to say, they direct the mind towards wholesome, unwholesome, or neutral activity that manifests
in thought, speech, and action, producing effects. They are called
karmic formations because they are formed by past karma and they
inform present action, which will shape future mental states. This aggregate, then, is very important in the religious understanding of the
person because karma (self-oriented intentional action) is the driving
force in the cycle of birth and death; karma is the force that creates future conditions. It is understood that the present personality has been
shaped or formed by such intentional acts that took place in the past,
and also that the present person shapes their own future through
their own present intentions and actions. Karma is, therefore, nothing but the energy of these mental habit patterns that replicate
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themselves endlessly into the future, manifesting in actions of body,
speech, and mind that create further mental habit patterns on and
on. The crucial point is that intention or volition is not anything
fated, decreed, or ultimate in any sense. Intention is directed by the
mind and although mental habit patterns, like all habits, are difficult to break or change, still, they are nothing more than habitual
tendencies that, with effort, can be redirected by the mind.
Those not raised in a culture that accepts the idea of rebirth
often understand the principle of karma and the way past action
conditions future experiences as it applies to a single lifetime. Accepting that the same principle extends over many lifetimes is
much more difficult. Questions of just exactly how the individual continues from life to life so that it could be said that my
present life conditions are a result of my own past actions fuel
much debate in the Buddhist world, especially among western
Buddhists, many of whom, like Stephen Batchelor (1997), adopt
an agnostic approach. The twentieth-century German scholar-monk
Nyanatiloka Mahathera uses the analogy of a wave to explain the
Buddhist perspective on rebirth.
Nothing transmigrates from this moment to the next, nothing from
one life to another life. This process of continually producing and
being produced may best be compared with a wave on the ocean.
In the case of a wave there is not the smallest quantity of water that
actually travels over the surface of the sea. The wave-structure that
seems to hasten over the surface of the water, though creating the
appearance of one and the same mass of water, is in reality nothing
but a continued rising and falling of ever new masses of water. And the
rising and falling is produced by the transmission of force originally
generated by wind. Just so the Buddha did not teach that it is an
ego-entity, or a soul, that hastens through the ocean of rebirth, but
that it is in reality merely a life-wave which, according to its nature
and activities, appears here as man, there as animal, and elsewhere as
invisible being.1
For those who struggle with these concepts, it may be of some solace to know that even in the Buddha’s time, this doctrine raised
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questions. In one conversation with an ascetic the Buddha is asked
whether present suffering is self-created.2 He answers, “Don’t say
that.” In other words, that’s not the way to put it. The ascetic continues his questioning, asking then if present suffering is created by
another, by both self and other, or perhaps just arises by chance. In
each case the Buddha answers, “Don’t say that.” Finally, the exasperated man suggests that perhaps the Buddha is trying to tell him
that suffering simply does not exist, or perhaps the Buddha does not
know or does not see suffering, but the Buddha affirms that indeed
suffering exists and indeed he does know and see it. When pressed
to explain himself, the Buddha points out that if he were to agree that
“I” am now experiencing the results of “my” past action, that would
be one kind of extreme; it would imply that the person continues
essentially unchanged, that there is some permanent essence that
persists from life to life that is “me.” On the other hand, if he were to
agree that my past actions have nothing to do with my experiences
in the present, that would be another extreme; it would imply that
there is no continuity of the person. The Buddha refuses to be drawn
into questions of identity. He rejects both extremes, pointing out
that both are dead ends that do not lead to the cessation of suffering.
Finally, he offers his own teaching as the middle way between the
extremes of “I am” and “I am not,” the teaching of cause and effect.
Instead of focusing on the identity of the person who suffers, the
Buddha focuses on the experience of suffering and how that arises
and ceases dependent on causes and conditions.
(5) The aggregate of consciousness. Consciousness here does not
mean some kind of spirit or soul that is separable or distinct
from the person as a holistic entity. It refers to awareness that
arises and disappears, moment by moment, due to the contact of
the sense faculties with the external world. As with perception
above, there would be six kinds of consciousness based on the
six sense faculties. More accurately speaking, however, these are
not different types of consciousnesses; they simply refer to awareness arising due to different conditions. The Buddha compared
it to a fire that is called a wood fire if its fuel is wood or a straw
fire if its fuel is straw (Rahula, 1974, p. 24). Although consciousness
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is understood to manifest dependent on certain conditions, Buddhism does not accept that what is immaterial (i.e., consciousness)
can be produced solely through material processes. Therefore, consciousness is thought to be one of the preconditions necessary for
the development of a human being in the womb, and upon death, it
is thought that the gross material and mental aspects of the person
are destroyed but the stream of consciousness is not. It is propelled
through the subtle energy of the person’s past karmic habit patterns into a so-called new birth. “So-called” because in reality, there
is nothing but the movement of phenomena, like a wave traveling
across the ocean, driven by the wind, the wind of karma. Therefore,
the Pali tradition says, the person who is reborn is not the same as
the person who died, but not different (Rahula, 1974, p. 34). The fifthcentury commentator Buddhaghosa writes that although no single
thing (like a soul) passes over from one stream of ever-changing
aggregates to another, still, the present aggregates come into being
with past karma as their condition, and when they break up at death,
although no single thing passes into the future, other aggregates will
be formed with the karma of this life-stream as their condition.3 On
the notion of the self that acts and experiences, he writes that it is
merely convention, a figure of speech:
... the wise say “doer” when there is doing and “experiencer” when
there is experiencing [of the results of doing] simply as a mode of
common usage.
Hence the Ancients said:
“There is no doer of a deed
Or one who reaps the deed’s result;
Phenomena alone flow on – ” (Nanamoli, 1991, p. 623)
None of the five aggregates operates in isolation. They function
together in a web of mutual influence and conditionality – sensations are influenced by physical and mental factors; mental states
conditioned by sensations and perceptions; perceptions colored by
mental and physical factors. These five aggregates acting together
give rise to the feeling “I am,” and the idea of an ultimately separate
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individual self is a thought which Buddhist psychology simply lists
as one of the possible mental states that arise due to the functioning of the five aggregates. In one of the more famous explanations
of anatta, the monk Nagasena, in response to the questions of the
Bactrian king Milinda, uses the simile of a chariot to explain the
Buddhist view of personality. Just as no “chariot” is to be found
apart from the wheels, the axle, the yoke, the reins, and so on, yet we
use the name chariot to designate the collection of all these parts and
pieces organized in a particular way. Similarly, he says, “Nagasena”
is nothing more than a conventional name used to designate the five
aggregates of form, feeling, perception, and so on. In itself, the name
identifies nothing (Mendis, 2007, pp. 28–31).
In his first sermon, the Buddha identifies the entirety of the five
aggregates as dukkha. The dukkha-infused aggregates arise, like everything else, according to the principle of dependent origination.
To show how this takes place, Buddhism describes the wheel of birth
and death as a circular chain of dependencies with 12 links. In this
analysis, old age and death signify all the sufferings of samsara. Understanding the process begins with understanding death, the last
link in the chain.
12. Death. Dependent on what does death and all suffering arise?
The answer is:
11. Birth, which comes into being dependent on
10. “Becoming” (i.e., the orientation towards future goals, continuation, and existence), which arises dependent on
9. Clinging (attachment to desirable things and states), which
arises dependent on
8. Craving (for the fulfillment of self-oriented desires), which
arises dependent on
7. Feelings/Sensations (pleasurable feelings that inspire the desire
for more of the same, and painful feelings that inspire the desire
to escape them), which arise dependent on
6. Contact between the sense faculties and their objects, which
arises dependent on
5. The six sense faculties, which arise dependent on
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4. The body–mind organism, which arises dependent on
3. Consciousness, which arises dependent on
2. Karmic formations/mental habit patterns, which arise dependent on
1. Ignorance (of this very process, the way in which death and suffering arise and cease according to the principle of dependent
origination).
Stopping the process begins with eliminating ignorance, the first
link in the chain.
In the Buddhist context, any discussion of afterlife is really a
discussion of this life – in the samsaric cycle of birth and death,
this is the life after death. However, human life is not the only type
of life recognized in Buddhism. The tradition accepts the existence
of many other kinds of living beings, some that are available to
ordinary human perception, like animals, and others that are not.
According to karma, one takes birth in a world of our own making,
so traditional Buddhist cosmology identifies six possible worlds into
which beings can be born, each formed by certain mental habits: the
realm of the gods; titans or anti-gods; humans; animals; hungry
ghosts; and hell beings. In the Tibetan pictorial representation of
these various worlds of rebirth as the Wheel of Becoming, the 12
links above are distributed around the periphery of the circle and the
three forces that manipulate the personality are represented by three
animals at the center of the wheel: a rooster symbolizing attraction,
a serpent aversion, and a pig ego-delusion. The beings born into
each world share certain common characteristics. The mental habits
of those born into the realm of the gods are dominated by pride,
the titans by jealousy and aggression, humans by desire, animals by
ignorance, hungry ghosts by avarice and greed, and hell beings by
hatred and anger. The worlds of the gods, the titans, and humans
are called the three upper worlds, whereas the worlds of animals,
hungry ghosts, and hell beings are called the three lower worlds.
Beings cycle through these worlds, then, life after life, dwelling in
one or the other according to the merit or demerit (good or bad
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karma) that they have generated in the past, and when the karma
that has brought them to that birth is used up, then other karmic
conditions come into play, and they continue their journey rising or
falling in the wheel of life.
The religious goal of most ordinary Buddhists is to ensure that
one’s next rebirth is not in one of the three lower worlds, which
are regarded as places of suffering. Of the three upper worlds, if
one wishes to attain liberation, the best birth is said to be a human
birth; the gods are said to live totally distracted by their lives of
pleasure, and the beings of the lower realms are totally distracted
by their suffering, but among humans there is the possibility to experience sufficient suffering to inspire renunciation of samsara and
reorientation to nirvana, yet not so much as to make spiritual pursuits
impossible. The accumulation of merit (good karma), then, becomes
an important religious activity since it is merit that determines one’s
next birth. However, regardless of how much merit one is able to
generate, regardless of where one is reborn, all worlds are impermanent and all beings must face suffering and death. The Buddha,
however, claimed to have attained nirvana and put an end to his cycle of suffering and death. For such a person, the categories of birth
and death no longer apply because, having seen clearly the nature
of suffering, how it arises and how it ceases, one no longer generates
the mental habit patterns that are the causes and conditions for the
arising of samsara.
Nirvana: The Deathless
Nirvana, the ultimate spiritual goal set forth in the earliest Buddhist literature, is described through many synonyms: the uncompounded/unconditioned; cessation (of rebirth); extinction of thirst;
absence of desire; the highest happiness; the deathless; freedom.
The word means literally “blowing out” or “extinguishing” and although it is often portrayed as a state that one achieves, as Rupert
Gethin points out, rather than “he or she attained nirvana,” the word
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is more often used in the Pali texts as a verb – he or she nirvana-s
or parinirvana-s (Gethin, 1998, p. 75). This expression points to an
understanding of nirvana as action, the action or process of extinguishing – not the person’s identity or self or soul, which in
Buddhism is merely a convenient fiction, but what the tradition calls
the “defilements” or the three “poisons” pictured at the center of the
wheel of life: the samsara-perpetuating, nirvana-obstructing forces
of greed/attraction, hatred/aversion, and delusion/ignorance. The
mind-stream of the person who has experienced nirvana is free from
these defilements, but in life, the other mental and physical constituents of the person remain functioning, so this is known as
nirvana “with remainder.” The aggregates that constitute such a
person are, however, no longer “aggregates of clinging,” which the
Buddha defined as dukkha. The actions of such a person are no longer
motivated by greed, aversion, or ego-delusion but by generosity,
compassion, and wisdom. Furthermore, such a person no longer
creates new karma (which is the result of actions motivated by the
three poisons); therefore, upon death, when the aggregates (which
are the result of past karma) break up, no conditions are present for
rebirth – this is nirvana “without remainder” or parinirvana.
Gethin notes that nirvana is described in the Pali texts not only as
the event of extinguishing the defilements, but also as the experience
of a state that transcends the physical world of the elements as well
as the highest states of meditation. Regarding that experience, the
Buddha is reported to have said:
There is, monks, a domain where there is no earth, no water, no fire, no
wind, no sphere of infinite space, no sphere of nothingness, no sphere
of infinite consciousness, no sphere of neither awareness nor nonawareness; there is not this world, there is not another world, there is
no sun or moon. I do not call this coming or going, nor standing, nor
dying, nor being reborn; it is without support, without occurrence,
without object. Just this is the end of suffering. (Udana 80; quoted in
Gethin, 1998, pp. 76–77)
With such descriptions we enter into a realm beyond language and
concepts; a rarified state that ordinary people can hardly hope to
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relate to or understand. Yet, despite the accounts of nirvana as an
extra-ordinary, transcendental state or experience, Buddhist scriptures also contain examples of the process of liberation that resonate
with the simplest and most ordinary of experiences. In his explanation of the fruits of the spiritual life to the king of Magadha, the
Buddha points out that one who attains nirvana does not enter into
a state of trance or unconsciousness but is cognizant and aware that
the mind is freed of the defilements. He says:
It is as if, your majesty, there were a pool of water in a mountain
valley – bright, clear, and still. A person standing on the bank would
see, either moving about in it or remaining still, shellfish, sand and
pebbles, and shoals of fish. He would think, “This is a pool of water –
bright, clear, and still. Moving about in it or remaining still are shellfish, sand and pebbles, and shoals of fish.” (Gethin, 2008, p. 35)
In the life of the Buddha, liberation is linked with victory over
the forces of Mara, the mythological demon figure who symbolizes
death and all that perpetuates death; but is this a present or a future victory? It is one thing to understand nirvana as victory over
future death because the enlightened one is not reborn, but is there
a sense in which nirvana can be said to be victory over death in the
present, and what would that kind of deathlessness mean? In the
Samyutta Nikaya, Mara is identified with clinging and attachment to
the five aggregates. Where the body, feelings, perceptions, mental
habit patterns, and consciousness are identified as “me” or “mine,”
there is the domain of “my” death. Where the aggregates are realized to be not only impermanent and subject to destruction but
also self-less (anatta), then there is no me who dies. The Venerable
Nyanatiloka sums up the relationship between nirvana and no-self in
these words:
One cannot too often and too emphatically stress the fact that not
only for the actual realization of the goal of Nibbana, but also for a ¯
theoretical understanding of it, it is an indispensable preliminary
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condition to grasp fully the truth of Anatta, the egolessness and ¯
insubstantiality of all forms of existence, without such an understanding, one will necessarily misconceive Nibbana – according to ¯
one’s either materialistic or metaphysical leanings – either as annihilation of an ego, or as an eternal state of existence into which an
Ego or Self enters or with which it merges. (Quoted in Walshe, 1995,
p. 28)
The Buddha’s response to one who wishes to avoid death is somewhat simpler:
Mogharaja: How does one view the world so as not to be seen by
Death’s king?
The Buddha: View the world, Mogharaja, as empty – always mindful to
have removed any view about self. This way one is above and beyond
death. This is how one views the world so as not to be seen by Death’s
king.4
Death, karma, and rebirth pertain to the being that perceives itself as persisting in some essential way. However, this is mere delusion. Phenomena change momentarily. According to the Pali commentaries, “When the Aggregates arise, decay, and die, O bhikkhu
[monk], every moment you are born, decay, and die” (Rahula, 1974,
p. 33). In other words, death is not merely a future state of the person
but is an ongoing process throughout life. Similarly, deathlessness
is not a future state to be attained but is the property of a mind for
which every present moment is a moment of selfless, essenceless
awareness.
Rituals of Departure
The various life-cycle rites of passage through which societies mark
such occasions as birth, puberty, adulthood, marriage, and death
have no specific doctrinal basis in Buddhism. They are considered
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worldly conventions; lay people follow the norms of their culture
and community. Buddhist monks are usually invited to bring their
blessings and provide religious instruction on such occasions; their
presence also provides the opportunity for laity to gain merit by
making offerings to them, but otherwise no monastic duties are incumbent on them with regard to social rituals.5 That being said,
Buddhist monks and priests of all types are recognized as experts in
the intricacies of karma and how it impacts on the next life, the anxieties regarding which reach a peak at death, the point of transition.
Therefore, although they are not a strong presence in other life-cycle
rituals, funerals are quite another thing. Throughout Asian cultures,
Buddhism came to have an enduring association with death rituals
and has proved itself highly adaptive to the social customs and cultural needs of the countries in which it has been established. This
flexibility allows for a great variety in funeral rituals and has allowed
the lay populations to develop and adapt rituals to serve their needs.
For example, over the last 50 years in Japan, mizuko kuyo, a ceremony
for aborted, miscarried, or still-born children, has become increasingly popular. Although its roots are in Japanese folk religion with
no foundation in Buddhist text or practice, the Bodhisattva Jizo is
called on to comfort and protect the lost child. This ritual eases the
distress of parents, allows for acknowledgment rather than denial,
can function like a confession or memorial, and brings the child into
the Buddhist and the social framework. Whereas abortion creates
negative karma, this ritual creates merit.
In Buddhism, death is an inescapable and inevitable reality that
befalls every living being, enlightened or not. The following verses
are popularly chanted in the Theravada tradition at funeral ceremonies or death anniversaries or simply as an aspect of daily
meditation.
Like a flame blown out by the wind,
This life-continuum goes to destruction;
Recognizing one’s similarities to others,
One should develop mindfulness of death.
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Just as people who have achieved
Great success in the world have died,
So too I must certainly die.
Death is harassing me.
Death always comes along
Together with birth,
Searching for an opportunity
Like a murderer out to kill.
Not the least bit stoppable,
Always going forward,
Life rushes towards its end
Like the rising sun to its setting.
Like lightning, a bubble, dewdrops,
Or a line drawn in water, life cannot last;
Death is like a murderer after his foe,
Completely unrestrainable.
Death slays those great in glory,
In strength, merit, powers, and wisdom,
And even the two kinds of conquerors;
No need to speak about one like me.
Due to a lack of the necessities of life,
To some inner or outer misfortune,
I who am dying moment after moment
Can die in the blink of an eye. (Gunaratana, 1999, pp. 50–51)
Such contemplation on the frailty of human life and the inevitability of death is not considered morbid, nor is it intended to foster depression or hopelessness. It is meant to inspire the meditator
with a profound appreciation for the opportunity that life presents,
the opportunity to liberate oneself from suffering and death. This
chant belongs to a category of meditation called mindfulness of
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death (maranassati), which is one of ten subjects for recollection,
each of which, when developed and pursued, it is said can lead to
liberation.
The Blessed One said, “Mindfulness of death, when developed and
pursued, is of great fruit and great benefit. It gains a footing in the
Deathless, has the Deathless as its final end. Therefore you should
develop mindfulness of death.” (AN 6.19)6
Mindfulness of death is promoted in order to emphasize the inevitability of death – to overcome the human tendency to deny or
push death aside, and further, in order to emphasize the uncertainty
of the time of death, at which point the only help that one can rely on
for the future is one’s own good karma (merit). It is the uncertainty
of the time of death that underscores the immediate need for spiritual practice. In the Tibetan schools of Buddhism, there are many
stories of their contemplatives who lived with the thought of death
constantly in the forefront of their minds. Sogyal Rinpoche writes
of the master Jikme Lingpa, who refused to allow his disciples to
build a bridge over a pond near to his hermitage that daily gave
him great trouble to cross, saying: “What’s the use? Who knows if
I’ll even be alive to sleep here tomorrow night?” (Sogyal Rinpoche,
1994, p. 23). The implication being that the time spent in building
the bridge would be better spent in spiritual practice. However, the
lives of ordinary householders do not allow for such constant dedication to spiritual practice; for most, the goal of enlightenment is far
off and Buddhist lay religious practice is generally focused on the
accumulation of merit.
Merit is created through all positive acts of body, speech, and
mind, but the greatest amount of merit is created through such positive actions dedicated to the benefit and support of the Buddha’s
teaching and the monastic community – so feeding the monastics,
housing them, sponsoring their retreats, sponsoring the building of
temples and stupas or the creation of sacred art or translation of sacred texts would all be considered acts of great merit. Although each
person is thought to face death with their own store of merit and
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demerit leading to a future birth, Buddhism also has the equivalent
of what would be known in the monotheistic religions as intercession. In this case, however, it is not a person or angel who intercedes
to mitigate the future results for the dying or dead. In Buddhism,
the same effect is achieved through the sharing of merit. In one way,
the idea that good karma can somehow be transferred from one to
another goes against the Buddhist teaching that our own actions create our own future. In another way, the idea of hanging on to one’s
own good karma serves only to support and increase ego-oriented
mental states, so Buddhist rituals of all kinds generally end with the
dedication of merit to the welfare of all beings. The sick, the dying,
and the dead are thought to especially benefit from merit dedicated
in their name. In all Buddhist communities, sharing merit is considered to be a win-win situation because it is an act of selfless giving;
and since generosity is a prime source of merit, then not only do the
recipients benefit, but the donors also create further merit for themselves. These ideas are founded on a worldview that understands
that the way in which we live and die is primarily dependent on
our own karma, but our thoughts and actions are not isolated. We
are surrounded and influenced by the positive or negative actions
of others – we benefit or falter also because of that and we benefit
or harm others according to what we put into the world; hence the
thought of sharing merit.
With these ideas in mind, then, let us examine some rituals of
departure from the Tibetan Buddhist tradition. Tibetan Buddhism
belongs to the historical development in Buddhist theory that began
around the first century CE known as Mahayana (the Great Way).
One of the biggest differences between Mahayana and earlier forms
of Buddhism is the focus, alongside Gautama Buddha, on numerous
celestial Buddhas and Bodhisattvas dwelling in their “Pure Land”
paradises, to whom the faithful can appeal for spiritual guidance and
assistance. Among these transcendent figures, the Buddha Amitabha
dwelling in the western paradise called “Land of Great Bliss” (Tib.
Dewachen) became the object of a widespread devotional cult that
spread throughout Asia. His devotees pray that upon death, they
will be reborn in his paradise. In the Tibetan tradition, the Pure
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Land of Amitabha is the focus of the powa (consciousness transfer)
ritual performed shortly after death.
In all schools of Tibetan Buddhism, there are numerous rituals
intended to prolong life and avert untimely death due to negative
karma. Among them is the practice of purchasing an animal destined
for slaughter and releasing it. Around the world, on special days,
Buddhists release fish, birds, goats, and all manner of creatures that
would otherwise be killed for food. The merit gained from the act
of saving a life is considered efficacious in prolonging one’s own
life and the life of those to whom the merit is dedicated. However,
everyone has a natural lifespan and when that runs out, the Tibetans
say it is like a lamp that has run out of oil – there is nothing to be
done to avert death at that time. There is a firm belief that the state
of mind of a person at death is one of the strongest influences in
determining the conditions of the next life, so the most important
thing at the time of death is to help the dying one to maintain a
calm, clear mind focused only on Dharma and positive thoughts.
Last thoughts of anger, regret, or hatred would lead to rebirth in
the lower realms. Even after death, the family is discouraged from
loud weeping or wailing so that the consciousness of the person that
still lingers in the vicinity may not be disturbed. It is considered
auspicious to die in the same way as the Buddha did, lying in what
is called the “sleeping lion pose” on the right side with the head
towards the north, so the dying one is often placed in this position
shortly before or shortly after death.
In Tibetan Buddhism, the cessation of outer breath and physical functions does not signify death. The subtle inner consciousness
is still associated with the body and the person is regarded as unconscious rather than dead. Death takes place when consciousness
separates from the body. This is when decay sets in and the corpse
can be cremated. The period of time that it takes consciousness to
leave the body can range from immediately after the cessation of
breath and heartbeat to a week or more in the case of high spiritual
practitioners.7 Three days is sometimes reported as the time that
the body is kept before cremation, but Tibetans generally rely on
the services of an astrologer to cast the death horoscope, which will
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determine the correct date and time for disposal, as well as provide
various other indications such as the likely place of rebirth and what
the family can do to improve the conditions of the deceased’s rebirth
(Gouin, 2010, p. 19 ff.). Before continuing, it is important to note that,
like Buddhist death rituals elsewhere, Tibetan death rituals are as
diverse as the communities that support them. As Margaret Gouin
notes in the opening of her comprehensive study of this subject:
The material studied shows clearly that there is no such thing as a
“standard” form of funeral in the Buddhism of Tibet. There certainly
are common elements, but these common elements are not always
handled in the same (or even a similar) way, nor do all such elements
always appear. (Gouin, 2010, p. 1)
What is being described here, then, are some of the elements that
appear in the various constellations of rituals surrounding death in
Tibetan Buddhism.
One of the first rituals to be performed after death would be powa,
through which it is hoped that the person’s consciousness would
be transferred directly to Amitabha’s Pure Land without having to
journey through the intermediate state (bardo) between death and
rebirth. This is usually performed in the presence of the body but
can also be done without the body (Gouin, 2010, p. 16 ff.). As another
way of assisting the deceased, a lama might be requested to read from
various texts that remind the person of their spiritual instructions
and that help guide the consciousness through the intermediate
state to a good rebirth. One of those texts, called the Bardo Thodol,
has become popularly known in translation as The Tibetan Book of the
Dead; more accurately the title is translated as “Liberation Through
Hearing in the Bardo.” It is read preferably beginning in the presence
of the body, and then continuing after cremation for a period of
49 days, at the end of which time it is understood that consciousness
has found a new body and taken rebirth. The fourteenth Dalai Lama
explains the continued existence of the person in the state between
death and rebirth in terms of the strong attachment to a sense of self.
He says:
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At the time of death attitudes of long familiarity usually take precedence and direct the rebirth. For this same reason, strong attachment
is generated for the self, since one fears that one’s self is becoming
non-existent. This attachment serves as the connecting link to the intermediate state between lives, the liking for a body in turn acts as a
cause establishing the body of the intermediate (bardo) being. (Sogyal
Rinpoche, 1994, p. 224)
The bardo state does not only refer to the period between lives. All of
life is also an intermediate state between birth and death, dreaming
is a bardo state, as are deep states of meditation. There are three bardos
associated with death: the intermediate state of the dying process
(chikai bardo), the state of “Reality-as-it-is” (chonyid bardo), and the
state of the rebirth process (sipai bardo).
The dying process has two phases: the dissolution of the outer
elements of the body and gross mental activity; and the inner dissolution, which is not so much dissolution as the appearance of
subtler and subtler levels of mind as the grosser levels fall away
(Sogyal Rinpoche, 1994, p. 247 ff.). When breath, heartbeat, and
mental activity come to a stop, the person is not considered dead –
consciousness is still associated with the body, there is still internal
subtle energy present that supports consciousness. At this point
successively subtle levels of mind begin to manifest in the following
order:
1. When conceptual thought ceases, the mind is flooded with white
light.
2. When this mind dissolves then the mind is flooded with red
light.
3. Then blackness.
4. Finally, the subtlest level of consciousness manifests, filling the
mind with completely clear empty radiance.
This fourth level is called the Clear Light of Death. It is understood to
be a manifestation of Buddha mind, the absolute true nature of mind,
and if it is recognized as such, that is liberation. This is the mind
state of those high lamas and accomplished spiritual practitioners
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who are said to be resting in tukdam, an honorific word meaning
“meditation,” specifically the meditation on the subtlest level of
mind that arises at death. For most people, however, this moment
passes instantly; there is nothing to see, nothing to be aware of,
and so awareness itself goes unrecognized and the moment of death
arrives in a state of unconsciousness. After a few days the person
passes into the chonyid bardo, where he or she regains self-awareness
in the form of a thought-body and can hear the words of the Bardo
Thodol and perceive all that is going on. In the chonyid bardo, consciousness experiences all kinds of hallucinations, both beautiful and
horrifying. The words of the Bardo Thodol encourage the person to
recognize all these forms as nothing more than the display of one’s
own mind. At whatever point there is recognition, there is liberation,
but if the person is unable to recognize their own mind, then they
proceed on to the sipai bardo, where they experience the desire to
rest from the interminable hallucinations of the bardo, the desire to
have a material body. The Bardo Thodol urges caution at this stage
lest the person find themselves in the womb of some wild animal.
The person is told to let go of attraction for one place and aversion
to another and put all their faith in their guru and the triple gem (the
Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha).
When it comes to disposal of the corpse, many methods are practiced among Tibetan communities including disposal in earth, in
water, in fire, and in air. Among the diaspora Tibetan community,
cremation is practiced almost exclusively. High lamas are also always cremated and their relics interred in a stupa. In all cases, however, the disposal of the body is regarded as a compassionate act,
creating merit for the deceased by offering the body as nourishment
for other sentient life, whether worms or fish or birds. Cremation
is considered a burnt offering in which not only the body is burnt
but grains, oil, and various other substances, the scent of which is
nourishment for wandering spirits (Gouin, 2010, p. 46 ff.). One of the
more sensationalized Tibetan practices is the offering of the body to
the vultures, sometimes called “sky burial,” but which in Tibetan is
called jator, “scattering to the birds.” Again, this ritual is performed
according to a number of different methods ranging from simply
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abandoning the body on a high place to ritualistic dismemberment
by professional corpse-handlers (Gouin, 2010, pp. 64–65).
After the disposal of the body, according to the resources of the
family, prayers, rituals, and acts of merit are performed throughout
the 49 days for the purpose of benefiting the deceased and purifying
his or her negative karma. Among the rituals to benefit the deceased
is the burnt offering of food. It is believed that the spirit beings in
the bardo are nourished by the scent that is carried on the smoke.
Merit-making activity would include sponsoring religious art or
construction, giving alms or food to the poor, and making monetary
offerings to temples or the officiating lamas. The funeral rituals of
purification generally make use of an effigy or picture of the deceased
and a name-card. Gouin explains:
The idea is that the consciousness of the deceased is easily distracted
and flung about because of their disembodied state, so by giving them
a “body” (in the form of the name-card), they are enabled to stay in
one place and pay attention to the rituals being conducted for their
benefit, until the officiating lama tells them to leave. (Gouin, 2010,
p. 100)
The consciousness of the deceased is summoned into the name-card
and the rituals performed in the presence of the person. Family members are in some cases required to serve as proxy for the deceased,
for example, to offer the prostrations required as part of the ritual.
At the end, the consciousness is released from the name-card, which
is burned along with the picture, if there is one. The burning of the
name-card represents the separation of the living relatives from the
dead, the release of consciousness to find its way to its next birth,
or the attainment of the Pure Land (Gouin, 2010, p. 102). A final
ceremony marks the forty-ninth day and the end of the funeral rites.
The funeral rites are essentially dedicated to securing the future
welfare of the person. There is little that deals with the comfort of
those left behind except the knowledge that they have done all that
could be done to benefit the deceased. There are, however, other
rituals that are focused on the living – rituals of protection – and
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Understanding Death
here is where pre-Buddhist Tibetan folk beliefs regarding the soul
(la) are conjoined with Buddhist ideas of continuing consciousness.
Similar to many other cultures, there is the belief that an unhappy or
disturbed soul can linger around, bringing misfortune to the family
and community. The rituals are intended to comfort the confused
soul and persuade it that the body is gone, that it, too, should depart
because there is no further place for it among the living. As Gouin
notes, Tibetan funeral rites tend to cover all contingencies:
In fact, it is quite likely that at one and the same time (for example,
every seventh day after death), texts will be read to guide the deceased’s namshe´ [consciousness] through the bardo while other rituals
such as powa are performed to send their namshe´ directly to a pure land
(or even to the state of enlightenment), at the same time as food and
alms are being distributed to assist the deceased to a fortunate rebirth,
but also food offerings are being made to [the soul of] the deceased
at which they are told to eat up and leave because their continued
presence is unwanted, and indeed feared. (Gouin, 2010, p. 118)
Nevertheless, despite what may appear as confusion, Tibetan death
rituals are intended to achieve very clear goals related to the attainment of a good rebirth, the expression of compassion, and the
realization of wisdom. Through meritorious acts and purification
rituals, the living help the deceased to find the best rebirth possible; the motivation of compassion underlies the rituals of disposal
in which the body is offered to nourish others; and in hearing the
words of the Bardo Thodol, the deceased may recognize the clear light
of death and awaken to his own true nature:
O, Child of Buddha Nature, this radiant essence that is now your conscious awareness is a brilliant emptiness. It is beyond substance, beyond characteristics and beyond colour, completely empty of inherent
existence in any respect whatsoever... The essence of your own conscious awareness is emptiness. Yet, this is not a vacuous or nihilistic
emptiness; this, your very own conscious awareness, is unimpededly
radiant, brilliant and vibrant ... This intrinsic awareness, manifest in
a great mass of light, in which radiance and emptiness are indivisible,
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Buddhist Perspectives on Death
is the buddha [nature] of unchanging light, beyond birth or death.
Just to recognize this is enough! If you recognize this brilliant essence
of your own conscious awareness to be the buddha [nature], then to
gaze into intrinsic awareness is to abide in the enlightened intention
of all the buddhas. (Dorje, 2006, p. 231)
A Conversation on Understanding Death
With Izak Bouwer
Izak Bouwer is a retired professor of mathematics. He arrived in
Canada from his native South Africa in 1958 as a doctoral student
at the University of Toronto. At that time, he says, “I was a very uptight person and extremely unhappy.” However, Izak counts himself
fortunate to have encountered the teachings of Zen Buddhism that
were being popularized by writers of the time such as D.T. Suzuki,
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R.H. Blyth, and others. During our conversation, Izak shows me
three well-worn books that have guided his thoughts and life
through the years: The Zen Doctrine of No-Mind and Manual of Zen
Buddhism, both by D.T. Suzuki, and The Supreme Doctrine by Hubert
Benoit. It is this last that Izak says “introduced me to the way Zen
could resolve the important inner debate about one’s self-worth.”
When I ask Izak to share his thoughts on death with me, he recounts
a life-changing experience that resulted from his contemplation of
the teachings in these books.
In his words: “It happened in the summer of 1961. I was studying
late in Carruther’s Hall, the old Math building of Queen’s University
in Kingston, Ontario. It must have been after midnight and I was
alone in the cubicle area on the second floor. Besides mathematical
papers, I had two books open on my desk: Benoit’s Supreme Doctrine
and Suzuki’s Doctrine of No-Mind. Little green summer flies would
fly up to the neon light, get their wings singed, and fall back dazed
on my desk. I was at an absolutely critical stage trying to understand
the Zen readings, and thought that either everything was nonsense,
or it was true that everything was interconnected. I was looking at
one little fly on my desk, and tried to imagine that it was part of
myself looking at me. I tried to do this honestly and very hard. It
seemed to me that I saw a spark of my own human intelligence in
its eyes, and that was the trigger for a sudden and very profound
experience. Over my right shoulder shone a brilliant light, and an
oriental-looking man was sitting in my heart laughing. I experienced
a tremendous sense of relief. For weeks after, I was in a state of
euphoria. I was aware that I could perceive, with no intention of
doing so, what people were thinking. Everyone around me was my
brother or sister. This experience settled the debate about my selfworth, and still defines my attitude in all matters of life and death.
Meditation and contemplation on Buddhist ideas of impermanence
and emptiness helped me to realize that ‘self’ or ‘soul’ is a mental
fabrication and has no independent existence otherwise.”
Although he has practiced meditation and participated in many
rituals, Izak does not look either to meditation or to ritual prayer
to prepare him for death. As he puts it, “Life is the preparation for
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death. When life and death are a whole, then there is no need to
separate them one from the other.” When I asked what he thought
happens after death, his humorous response was, “This is a subject
on which I cannot form an informed opinion.” In his view, “There
was a time when I was not here, then I was, and then again there
will be a time that I am not here.” Izak’s illness has made it more
and more difficult for him to leave his home, but he makes it clear
that this is not a reason for discontent. He closes our conversation
with a quotation from Seccho, an eleventh-century Zen master:
What life can compare with this?
– Sitting alone quietly by the window,
I observe the leaves fall, the flowers bloom
as the seasons come and go. (Suzuki, 1960, p. 127)
I get the feeling that for Izak, dying will be much like the falling of
a leaf, a natural and necessary part of living.8