Over the past decade I tend to turn to books on buddhism whenever I feel down. I wouldn’t consider myself religious or a buddhist, and I don’t really fully agree wth much of buddhism especially the religious aspects, but I like parts of the underlying philosophy. I appreciate that it acknowledges the suffering that is part of living, the impermanence, and a huge part of its practice is to cultivate compassion.
Unlike many people I personally don’t believe in morals and kindness just because someone said so. Because I am an excessive overthinker I tend to question everything, including why is goodness good? Why is being “good” important for human beings? From my point of view, it is unfair and unrealistic to expect human beings to simply be “good” when we are thrown into such harsh conditions for living. The cost of survival for human beings has often come with violence, suffering and the oppression of others. With such collective trauma in our history, isn’t it too dismissive of our suffering to ask of us to ignore our fundamental insecurity in order to be good?
But later on I realised that when the buddha taught: there is suffering and impermanence in this world, therefore practice compassion – he kind of went from zero to one. He saw that the world exists as an interdependent system, there are systemic causes for suffering, hence it is only logical to understand why there are negative outcomes. It is only with compassion that we can actually see the entire picture and address the root causes, and when we understand the root causes it invokes more compassion. We hate because we only see what is happening now, but if we look back over the course of human history and the conditions that surrounded us, can there be an alternate histories with different outcomes? What provokes a choice? How much control do we have over our brains?
Compassion is not a moral choice but a logical one. Interconnectedness is not some woo-woo term but it is rooted in reality. We have to practice compassion, not to be kind and good, but it is the only way out of our own self-induced suffering. Compassion works even in our self-interest. It is only through understanding the other that we can truly solve our existential issues, not through more violence. Violence can only beget more violence. To me this is logic, not morals.
I think this is something buddhism tries to explain, but it doesn’t do it well as far as I know. I mean, I would probably have to understand sanskrit to even know what the original Buddha was teaching. And even so, the teachings are passed down by oral transmission for 500 years. Buddhism tries to appeal to our morals and conscience, and to an extent, fear by incorporating concepts of karma and punishment (there are differing views on what the Buddha had originally taught). But in my opinion the best way to appeal to human beings is through self-interest. We have to meet people where they are. Be compassionate not for being kind, but it is necessary to reduce our own suffering.
I guess this is a long way to explain why I turn to buddhist literature every time I feel like I am suffering. It is the only school of thought that goes so deeply into the realities of living and the psychology of human beings: suffering, impermanence, the over-fixation of a fixed identity, clinging. Sometimes what we need is not advice or positivity, but rather acknowledgment. It also doesn’t paint human beings as a species that has done something wrong to deserve this suffering — instead it says human existence is a fortunate thing, because we have the consciousness to work towards enlightenment.
I am also drawn to the contemplative nature of buddhism. It is not uncommon to read of buddhist monastics going to a cave alone and meditate for years. Some express their spiritual realisation through art and poetry. I’ve been reading Matthieu Ricard‘s autobiography, and it was astounding how he undertook writing and archival projects that spanned years or decades in order to preserve Tibetan buddhism’s literature. One single translation project took 10 years, even with a team of people. The person in charge only took a break for one afternoon every two week for 10 years. In these times when everything is fast, fast, fast, and AI-generated, it is comforting to read of such work.
Ever since I was young I had thought I would some day become a nun. But maybe what I was attracted to was not the religion, community or role, but rather what it symbolised. I wanted to leave the secular world, let go of all my attachments, and the idea of leading a contemplative life appealed to me. It still does, till today.
But like the Buddha preached the middle way, I wonder if I can incorporate some parts of that monastic life into my life. I feel like I’ve never taken my contemplative activity seriously —in fact my Singaporean-capitalist-upbringing makes me feel like I am not being “productive” and I am wasting my time. At an age when I am nearing menopause, I feel like I do not have a good enough grasp of my self and the life I truly wish to lead. I am still imprisoned by my conditioning.
Which is another reason why I appreciate buddhism, because it tells us we can achieve inner freedom through practice. I have barely scratched the surface, but after many years of reading mostly contemporary books on buddhism I feel like at the very least I know there is a tiny seed planted in my consciousness, and there have been moments when I caught myself being more mindful than usual, something that is more challenging for me than the average person because of my adhd mind.
I am going nowhere with this post. I guess recent events made me feel like it is time to turn inwards again. I’ve been thinking deeply on what it means to lead a contemplative life for me, and how much of it is already in-built within my nature but I have been trying to reject it because it doesn’t feel productive. I think what I am currently struggling with is that I want to share my output somewhat, but it is difficult to put myself into that state of mind since I am constantly craving stimuli. A contradiction I know. So much of me is contemplating, yet so much of me is also wanting to be out there and let the colours of life wash over me. Maybe they are not in opposition: exposure can lead to inner enrichment.
I feel like I am constantly in flux, just like my writing here. There is no point to my writing or my existence, just an ongoing process documented as faithfully as possible.
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Buddhism & Zen
books that informed and shaped my understanding of buddhist and zen philosophy
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