Религиите и вярата

[Люба]

Беседа в "Къща за птици" - София. Участници: Мариян Стоядинов, Горан Благоев. Модератор: Костадин Нушев

За "автентичната" и "фанатичната" вяра - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HjyWpLxYMY8

В беседата има доста аспекти на общочовешки (взаимо)отношения, разбирания.
Не е ограничено до чисто християнски ценности и разбирания.

[Кал]

Христо Блажев: Човек търси Бог, намира само себе си

Напомни ми някои сладки цитати. И ме насочи към отзива на Анна Димова в „Жената днес“.

Знаете, че чужд език се учи най-лесно в контекст – като съставяте изречения с всяка нова дума. Ерик Уайнър прави точно това – разказва как звучат различните религии в изреченията на живота на един обикновен БМО (Бял Мъж Обърквист).

„Боголюбопитството” му го отвежда в суфистки лагери и будистки храмове, среща го с францискански монаси, даоисти, шамани, вещици и кабалисти, дори с някои особено екстравагантни култове, за които почти се обзалагам, че никога не сте чували – например раелците, които вярват, че боговете са всъщност извънземни. С обезоръжаваща искреност разказва за приключенията си, любопитството си, въпросите си, депресиите си, страховете си, удивлението и прозренията си. И е способен еднакво силно да заинтригува, развесели и замисли атеисти, агностици и вярващи, което е рядко постижение.

Обикновено книгите на религиозна тема са тежки за четене и изискват специална мотивация, концентрация на ума и отдадено усилие, което малцина са склонни да положат. Лично за мен това не е недостатък, но вероятно тъкмо трудният за преодоляване текст държи масовия читател далеч от подобни книги и го оставя в пълно неведение за това колко разнообразни маршрути предприема човешкият дух в търсене на божественото. В това отношение „Човек търси Бог” е рядък и изключително сполучлив опит тази материя да се „преведе” на прост, лек и забавен език, без обаче да се профанизира и превръща в кич.

[Кал]

Ех, тая Alora Fane... :)

[quote="In the thread "A Void left by Religion," sharra"]To start off, I understand that religion is derided by a lot of people these days. In fact I really disliked religion for a while during my mid-teen years too, but I've recently worked out that that was because of the people I associated with religion that I've had to meet throughout the course of my life and not because of religion itself.

I went to a very Catholic school back in the UK, and I have to admit that this had some hand in the formation of the code of ethics that I now have. Growing up in very different places (three countries no less) has given me some insight to the role of morals in a society first-hand, and it's made me appreciate what religion does in different places.

Everywhere religion tied people to some kind of spirituality. It gave us hope, and it tied us together. But with religion gone I feel that a lot of people are tending towards pure reason, and are becoming jaded. We're all becoming disenfranchised and bitter in ways that would have been hard to achieve when religion was still around. Religion, like it or not, did us a service that's hard to replace. It gave us an important part of our humanity.

But now that so many of us simply can't believe in religion anymore. Where does that leave us?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ge071m9bGeY
This video actually sums it up pretty nicely.[/quote]

Lots of interesting discussion follows. Go read. Now. ;)

I'll be around.

Before I throw my two cents in, I have two questions:

1. Should we distinguish between 'religion' (the organized belief of a group of people) and 'spirituality' (the personal belief of an individual)?

2. Are you aware of panentheism (or pantheism)? Both Wikipedia articles discuss most of the points that I'd like to make, so you'll spare me much verbiage if you read them. ;)

It's good to see people delve deeply. Thank you both. :)

So, the distinction I'm making by using 'religion' vs. 'spirituality' is the same as that between 'collective' vs. 'personal' or 'organized' vs. 'individual'.

According to this distinction, I am spiritual but not religious. There is no single world religion that I adhere to: I've explored quite a few, and in each, I've found elements that do not feel right to me.

(The use of the word 'feel' here is the tip of a HUGE iceberg; basically, I believe that feeling is one of the most fundamental--call them 'divine' if you will :)--languages. If anyone is interested, I can elaborate on this. If anyone is familiar with Conversations with God by Neale Donald Walsh, you'll know what I'm talking about.)

At the same time, I believe in God--as the sum total of everything that was, is or will ever be (this is where panentheism comes into the picture). For clarity, I'll call 'Em not 'God' (which, as sharra pointed out, is, well, a godword: it can mean anything) but 'the Everything'.

I believe (and logic tells me) that we're all part of the Everything. We're like the cells of a superorganism. Each of our actions influences and is influenced by the other 'cells'; shapes and is shaped by the superorganism.

(Another name for this belief system is 'holism'.)

Consequently, there is no need for an external agent to 'punish' me for my 'wrongdoing'; rather, if I do 'wrong', the repercussions will affect my environment and eventually come back to 'hurt' me as well. Incidentally (or not ;), this is a basic principle of ecology. I try to do 'right' because I'm aware that only by bettering my entire environment can I ever hope to better myself--and the Everything.

(I'm very generous with the quotations marks here, because I don't believe in absolute 'right' or 'wrong'; rather, my observations show me that what is 'right' in one situation can be 'wrong' in another, what is 'right' for one being can be 'wrong' for another, etc. This is called relativism, and you'll do well to take it into account when you talk to me about ' the Truth' or any other absurd absolute, lest you want to rouse my righteous wrath.

(I also have a very weird sense of humor: the previous sentence was an instance of self-irony. :D)

Coming next: addressing Eclipse's reflections, or why the Everything doesn't need to be all-powerful or perfect and doesn't demand you to believe in 'Em (even though you may benefit from that).

But this grew really long. So first I'd like to listen to you guys. Do you have any questions so far?

[Кал]

I'm in a funny mood this morning, so I'll carry on with part two of my TOE (Theory of Everything).

(But I'm still listening for any questions. I am always listening. :)

In part one, I said that the Everything doesn't need to be perfect. How come?

Simple enough: The Everything is changing all the time, just as everything is. (If you're in a loftier mood, you may want to substitute 'evolving' for 'changing'.) We're growing up, our Earth is getting warmer, our Sun is getting older, our Universe is expanding, the Multiverse does whatever multiverses do (anything but stagnate, I suppose).

'Perfect', on the other hand, implies a state of finality, where nothing can or should be changed. (So, another absurd absolute.)

QED.

Now, if by 'perfect' you mean 'the best that there can be, at a given time (but bound to get better over time)', and if we can agree that 'best' is a matter of subjective perception, then we're okay. WTF, 'okay'? We're peachy.

On to: The Everything doesn't need to be all-powerful.

I sorta addressed this one in my previous comment. All-powerful in order to 'punish' us? To tell us how to live our lives? An organism doesn't tell its cells how to operate. It only sends them feedback, based on the effects of their operation.

QED.

(Yeah, I'm having LOADS of fun here. But please feel free to elaborate on points I'm misreading or ask me for elaboration.)

On to: The Everything doesn't demand you to believe in 'Em (even though you may benefit from that).

Do our cells need to believe in us in order to function properly--or, as the case may be, improperly? (Actually, I don't know. I've no memories of my last incarnation as a cell.) (And of course I mean 'properly' and 'improperly', in relativist terms.) (Maybe all these parenthetical asides will be easier to read as footnotes.) (Or pop-up hyperlinks.)

However! If you believe that you're part of something greater--and the Everything's as great as they come--and that everything you do affects everything else (yep, the Everything included), you're much less likely to feel lonely and abandoned.

QED.

Now, lest I make you think I'm beating about the bush--after all, it's easy to say what an entity is NOT--let me list a few things that the Everything IS:

- 'E's inclusive. (Hahaha, that's a tautology, if I ever knew one.) 'E has no problem with fitting together sciences and philosophies and religions and even this idiosyncrasy I'm spouting here. Their totality constitutes 'Em. (But, since I'm a panENtheist, it does not encompass 'Em. There's more out there, and my hunger to discover it is great ....)

Further reading: Daniil Andreev's Rose of the World

- 'E's aware. Did I ever say that? Was it clear from my explanations? The Everything has consciousness, on each level of 'Eir being. (Though we can't perceive or understand most of its manifestations, in our present form.) (Which is probably 'good': otherwise, our minds would be overwhelmed. How many things can you perceive simultaneously, friends?)

- 'E's infinite. Let me bust ... *ahem* ... expand my metaphor with the superorganism. So, our cells make us. We--each human being--make a 'superorganism'. So do other beings. These 'superorganisms' make a 'SUPERsuperorganism'.

Now please sit down and hold tight. Are you?

This 'ladder' has no end. There is no final 'HYPERorganism'. It goes on and on and on ....

... Your heads spinning yet?

- 'E has a sense of humour. (Unlike most writers and editors of religious texts.) Well, 'E has all the senses we can imagine (and then some). Of course 'E will have a sense of humour.

... Whew. Here's to another long one.

Coming next: Addressing Kenji's points, or does religion spawn 'bad' things? How about the Everything?

Also, can 'E fill the voids inside us? (Though I kinda answered this one already ....)

[Кал]

Part three of my intro to Kal's TOE addresses some of Kenji's points--and will be short:

1. Does religion spawn 'bad' things? How about the Everything?

'Religion' is an abstract notion: one that exists in human minds but is not an independent, physical entity. How can it do anything on its own?

My question here would be: what kind of people do those things? What's happening inside them--inside the mind and heart of each single person?

(You can get a glimpse into my general stance about the bombings in Brussels here:

https://www.goodreads.com/user_status/s ... _149274692

There's also an analysis by Olivier Roy which looks at the psychology of terrorists from a very different--and I'd say far more useful--angle. I found an English version here:

http://foreignpolicy.com/2016/01/07/fra ... tate-isis/ )

2. Can 'E fill the voids inside us?

If you believe you're part of the Everything--that you're connected to every other creature (and process and phenomenon and ... and ... and ...)--it gets much harder to feel left out.

(But I forget sometimes. And I still feel lonely, misunderstood, abandoned. My TOE works only if you put it into practice, regularly enough.)

Coming back to 1, if you feel connected to everyone else, it also becomes nigh impossible to (deliberately) hurt another being--with your acts or even in your thoughts. Why would you hurt a part of yourself?

Further reading: ahimsa

[Кал]

С sharra леко кривнахме към „Междучовешки“... но пак ще цитирам тук, като примери към по-горните ми размисли.

Okay, now I see that there's a lot that you have argued here. I will make a very simple counterpoint:

We're not joined in some magical hyper-organism. Bad people who do lots of bad things can get ahead on their badness and then live happily ever after while there are hundreds of thousands suffering for their greed. Just because we do bad things doesn't mean that we will be punished, just like how good people can go their whole lives without compensation.

It's nice to think that we ARE connected to everything, but you've yet to convince me that we are. Your initial condition was shaky so all your following arguments are null.

sharra, you're yet to convince me that there are 'bad' (or for that matter, 'good') people yourself. ;)

I spoke about relativism in this comment.

Embezzle millions of dollars in funds that were supposed to go to the poor of your country and living it up. Classic despotic ruler behavior, and all they do is benefit.

Does that make them 'bad' for everyone (including themselves)? What if they needed the money for an expensive surgery for their children? What if the act of embezzlement rouses the poor of my country to rebel and topple them and establish a better order? (Uh-oh... I mean, 'better'.)

~

Now let's consider a subtler example: Would you call your overall approach to this discussion 'good' or 'bad'?

What does your approach aim to achieve? Enlighten people? Give them something that will broaden their minds, deepen their hearts? Then we may call it 'good', right?

However, what if your constant need to tear down others' arguments antagonizes people? What if it drives away those who dislike conflict--depriving them of one of the few online places they perceive as a safe haven? (And there're quite a few such Alora Fane regulars: were you aware of that before you joined the site?) In that case, can we call it 'bad'?

[Кал]

Looking back at what I wrote (and why I wrote it), I can sum up my TOE as both a theory of empathy: if we're aware (believe, if you will) that we're all interconnected, we're less likely to feel abandoned, drifting, deprived of meaning (and less likely to inflict unhappiness upon each other); and a theory of empowerment: if we're aware we're part of the 'divine', it's easier to develop the powers we call 'divine'--for instance, creativity.

Empathy and empowerment are two of my favourite emphases. ;)

But I really don't want to talk about TOE(s) any more. I'd rather listen to you guys. TOE tells me that listening often achieves more than talking, especially in a world like ours. :)

[Кал]

С sharra полека се връщаме насам...

(...) What I wanted to get through with that argument was that the super-organism wouldn't work because

1. The super-organism assumes that we are all connected
2. Through this connection we will get our just deserts based on whatever action we take
3. However, there are many moral things we do that do not really get taken into account when results come about

If I have misunderstood this, please tell me how. Since if I have gotten this wrong it means that I don't even understand the central idea you're basing this thing on. (...)

(...) Now let's tackle my 'superorganism' metaphor one aspect at a time.

Re: we're all connected

To help you understand what I mean by 'connection' (and to help me understand to what extent our physical perceptions--the foundation of those pesky 'axioms' ;)--differ), please answer these questions:

In general, do you feel pain or discomfort when you watch another person getting hurt?

How about animals? Can you give me a few examples of species that trigger a response vs. ones that do not?

Yes, if a person is in pain in a way that I can understand I will feel pain. It will be even more effective if the person is very obviously feeling pain.

For animals, I will empathize with its pain more if the suffering of the animal is apparent in a way that I can understand (screams, wide eyes), and I will empathize more with mammals (probably). Although I can't actually imagine to what extent I would do so with different mammals.

Thank you for your answers. (Mine, BTW, are very similar.)

My next question is: since nobody is hurting you, why do you feel pain in those situations?

[Кал]

Because we have neurons called mirror neurons in our brains. When we're presented with some reaction a person has or some action a person takes it seems that these neurons fire. What is interesting is that these neurons seem to work pretty ubiquitously. For one, they fire to 'imitate' the actions of the person. For example, if a person is playing tennis and we really pay attention to them our mirror neurons would fire the pathways that are related to the motion that the tennis player would have taken. These also fire when people are in pain in a way that is understandable (ie stubbed toe). This is why we feel an intense discomfort when we see people who are in pain. Even more interesting is how we can associate things like 'curdled milk'+ 'scrunched up face' to bad smell. In this case our olfactory neurons have been shown to fire, meaning that we are reproducing a smell that we could only infer from outer facts and previous experience.

There have also been studies that have to do with intention. Since we seem to be able to derive intention from actions and context. But I personally find this a little odd, since if we're moving to intention that would include higher function skills of our brain. This usually means that some thinking would have been needed, but since there is such an immediate response in our inferior frontal cortex it seems that this response is automatic. This is interesting because it means that we are inferring intentions without even fully engaging in doing so. So when we go into the whole 'guessing what someone else is thinking' thing we would already start from some point of reference that we made subconsciously. This would indicate that bias based on our previous experiences starts even before we start worrying about bias.

I haven't studied why people seem to feel pain when animals feels pain, but if I had to infer it would probably be because the human brain is imperfect. It's kind of why we kind kittens are cute. It's an overload of the same pathways that make babies cute. Since they have large forehead, big eyes, and other bits that make them like babies we find them adorable. This should actually explain why we don't empathize with insects more, since they have nothing for us to really latch onto as 'other beings'. Our brain might classify them as alien beings and have no pathways for us to really empathize with them.

But behavioral neuroscience isn't really my thing so I can't provide hugely concrete answers.

As to why our brains would have adopted such functions.... well I mean they must be advantageous somehow to evolution I suppose. That's sociology and even further from my field than behavior. It could have provided a group advantage or even an individual advantage. Since mirror neurons seem to allow us to 'get inside' someone's head... at least more effectively than if we didn't have them.

Thank you for this explanation. It agrees with what I've read on the topic--and yes, the question of evolutionary advantages ties in with my TOE. I wanted to bring in empathy and mirror neurons as an example of one aspect of what I mean by 'connection' in 'we're all connected'. For most people, hurting someone else means hurting yourself as well (even if you're not consciously aware of your pain, it's still there as a subliminal sense of discomfort, spontaneous twinges of conscience, etc.). Thus, you and that other person are, by my definition, 'connected'.

However, some people's mirror neurons/empathy don't work, and so they don't feel anything when they see someone in pain--or inflict the pain themselves. (I have a couple of friends with various degrees of alexithymia, and interacting with them is a very eye-opening experience about how differently we can perceive the world.) Nor do we, as you pointed out, generally give a damn about the emotional state of insects or other 'unrelatable' beings. Where's the 'connection' there?

Now we come to a broader aspect of my definition. Let's start with a few questions again.

In general, if you're part of a community, which course of action do you prefer, and why?

A. Gaining personal advantages, even if they're at the expense of the community as a whole.

B. Contributing to the overall well-being of the community, even if it slows down or thwarts your personal plans and ambitions.

C. Something else: please describe.

[Кал]

А тук гори един дебат „наука и вяра“, от който особено ценно ми беше:

But faith is most definitely a form of knowledge: a knowledge that does not relate to protons, neutrons and the stars, but to the human experience. Whether Hindu, Catholic, or whatever else, faith is about our human reality, our traditions, and how to make the best out of our limited life.

[Люба]

Непознатият Исус

Бог не очаква от нас нищо повече от това да бъдем самите себе си – такива, каквито ни е създал, съвършени

Веселина Седларска

[Кал]

Това не е точно за тази тема, но има достатъчно връзки с нея:

Григор Гачев: Ислямските терористи – как да ги разпознаем

(...) Накратко – ето ви начинът да разпознаете ислямските терористи и техните помощници. Те са тези, които твърдят, че всеки мюсюлманин или бежанец е потенциален терорист.

Войнстващите ислямисти са нищожен процент сред мюсюлманите. Ако бе другояче, светът да се е удавил в кръв.
За щастие и истински вярващи са малцинство всред уж вярващите, без значение за коя религия става дума. Ако бе другояче, навред щяха да димят клади, без при това да ги смятат за замърсители на въздуха…

ЗА СЪЖАЛЕНИЕ обаче истинските атеисти са малцинство сред атеистите, поне в НЯКОИ страни: http://anarhia.org/forum/viewtopic.php?f=50&t=30687

Анархия — Орг
Хахаха, егати оксиморона

Ники, истински вярващите са точно толкова далече от твоята представа за „истински вярващи“, колкото (предполагам) „анархистите“ в представите на Петър Петров – от истинските анархисти.

Единият проблем при паленето на кладите е непознаването ни на отсрещните страни и съответно демонизирането им. В тая връзка поздравявам Григор за поредната стъпка към опознаване.

[Кал]

Единственият проблем с кладите е, че ВСЯКА религия ги иска за друговерците, но най-вече за еретиците от своя “лагер”. Това им го препоръчват “светите писания”.
За истински вярнащите нямам “представи”, а наблюдения, вкл лични.

Твоите „истински вярващи“ не са моите „истински вярващи“. Разминаване в дефиниционните множества, вярвам. Само един пример: цитирай конкретен текст от свещена книга на (масова) религия, която „иска клади за друговерците или собствените си еретици“. (Изопачаванията, въведени впоследствие от властови структури, не са част от изначалните свещени книги.)

А за днес – честито име!

П.П. Ето, сега наближава Коледа. Искам да видя казал ли е Исус някъде, че някой трябва да ходи на кладата…

П.П.П. Горе не бях прав да хвърлям вината изцяло върху властовите структури. За изопачаването имат огромна отговорност и масите от тъпендери, които четат всичко според както им е угодно. Или въобще не са го прочели. За съжаление, огромна част от хората сме така.

[frog]

Не че не искам да е в темата за книгите...

Бягане.

... игрището беше потънало в кал до глезените. Пуснаха ги двамата по пистата – сърбина и Педан. Сърбинът беше съвсем отрепан на вид*, но скоро разбрах, че не е лош​. [...] Исках Педан да победи, до смърт исках. Но сърбинът беше по-дребен и по-леко се справяше с калта. Исках да се помоля за Педан, но не смеех, защото обущарят ми беше казал, че няма бог. Просто ми беше забранил да мисля за него, но сега аз мислех, защото Педан изоставаше.
[...] На другия ден не посмях да кажа на обущаря, че съм мислил за бога, знаех, че това много ще го обиди. Те двамата наистина бяха в крайно лоши отношения, и то главно по вина на бога, защото обущарят при всички случаи ми се виждаше прав. И в края на краищата наистина какво му костваше да му повдигне малко клепачите, за да види небето и ластовиците?
[...]
– Няма бог! – каза тихо обущарят.
– Да, знам – отвърнах аз. – Лесно ти е да създадеш нещо по образ и подобие свое и след туй да го отречеш...
– А кое е трудно? – запита той.
– Трудно е да прозреш! – казах аз. – Добре, създай ми ума, който е прозрял времето!... Това не можеш!

Павел Вежинов, "На спирката" от "Синият камък". Доста напомня на Платоновия "Чевенгур".

​* 1977 г. Не съм си представяла, че още тогава​ се е ползвал този израз.

[frog]

Слава и други злободневни неща от Библията.

Поради израза sitting there in all that glory and majesty в превода ми
за пореден път ги прегледах тия прости думи.

Glory не е само слава, великолепие, величие и т. н. А именно ореол, сияние, нимб.
"Увенчан със слава" придобива визуални измерения.

И пускам в Гугъл думата "слава" с надеждата да изскочи някой нимб. Mоже и вие да погледнете, излиза една конкретна бляскаво-мърлява физиономия. Деси Слава. И друга Слава.
Ако реша по към глори да търся, ясно коя ще излезе. Но поне на glory по-небесни неща се появяват и може и да се присетя за нимб.
Та чудейки се как да измъкна божествен ореол, ми хрумна да пусна "небесна слава". Не знам защо. И ето - става дума за явяване в небесна слава. Може да не е точно нимб, нимбът е за русуване. Но сияние, светлина.

В мен се отприщи размисъл за коронясването. Че короните могат да символизират ореол, защото... са бляскави. Освен ако не са много сияйни, но... това е въпрос на интерпретация на функцията.
Лавровият венец може невинаги да е златен/лъчист, както при тракийските царе, но значи точно СЛАВА, висота.
Пък и в крайна сметка короната, донякъде и венецът, прави човек по-висок.

[Кал]

There're certain baits (and bigotries) I cannot not rise to. ;)

My own personal story involves taking two years to read everything I could lay my hands on regarding the history of religions and myths.

Two years! Wow!

Have you read Encyclopedia of Religion?

I'm planning to read the sections on Eastern religions (philosophies?) and other creeds I know little about, although Buddhism alone is 200 rather large pages. I feel intimidated. ;)

Still, the very first paragraph opens so many doors and cans of worms:

The concept of Buddhism was created about three centuries ago to identify what we now know to be a pan-Asian religious tradition that dates back some twenty-five hundred years. Although the concept, rather recent and European in origin, has gradually, if sometimes begrudgingly, received global acceptance, there is still no consensus about its definition. We can, however, identify two complementary meanings that have consistently informed its use. First, it groups together the thoughts, practices, institutions, and values that over the centuries have—to use a phrase coined by the French Buddhologist Louis de La Vallée Poussin— “condensed around the name of the Buddha.” The implicit conclusion of this usage is that Buddhism is, in short, whatever Buddhist men and women have said, done, and held dear. Second, the concept suggests some unifying character or order in the overwhelming diversity encompassed by the first usage. The beginning of this ordering process has often been to consider Buddhism as an example of larger categories, and thus Buddhism has been variously labeled a religion, a philosophy, a civilization, or a culture. It must be admitted, however, that no single ordering principle has been found that takes full account of the data included within the first meaning. This admission stands as a rebuke of the limitations of our current understanding, and as a continuing challenge to go further in our descriptions and explanations.

Mmm, "the limitations of our current understanding." Color me hooked. :)

And if you check April's response to me, you'll see how hard it is to be a writer. The subtlety of our subtle sarcasm so often zips below the radar. :D

[Кал]

Много силен текст при Григор:

Какво е това християнството

Моментът, който особено ме стисна за гърлото:

През Втората световна война християнски свещеници са спасили стотици хиляди евреи. Крили са ги в църкви и в домовете на вярващи, хранили са ги от църковните пожертвования, снабдявали са ги с фалшиви документи на чужди имена, тайно са ги прекарвали през граници към не-хитлеристки страни. Надали има европейска страна, която не може да се похвали с подобни подвизи. Навсякъде с един и същи мотив – че евреите също са хора, и да ги изоставиш на смъртта е предателство към това, което означава да си християнин. Простичко казано – че „другият“ е твой брат, дете на твоя Бог, и че който предава на смърт брат си, не заслужава добро от своя Създател.

Жив ли е и днес този начин на мислене? Или е паднал жертва на старателно сятата в нас и умело продавана ни омраза? На лъжата, че „другите“ са наши врагове, а тези, които ще ни „пазят“ от тях – наши приятели?

Преди малко повече от месец холандските имиграционни служби отиват да депортират едно арменско семейство. В Холандия от 2010 г., то е изгубило и последното обжалване на решението да му се откаже политическо убежище, и трябва да бъде върнато в Армения. И са щели да бъдат депортирани, ако не се намесва пасторът на местната църква. Той приютява семейството в черквата и отказва да пусне властите под предлог, че в момента вътре се извършва служба, и те по закон нямат право да я прекъсват… И води службата десетки часове, сменян от време на време от приятели. Докато научат за случилото се и други свещеници от други църкви, и се присъединят.

Към момента службата продължава без прекъсване вече повече от месец. Свещениците са решени да не я прекъсват, докато правителството не се намеси и не гарантира по някакъв начин на това семейство оставане в Холандия.

Прави ли са свещениците? Не зная. Законът казва, че не са – но законът не винаги е всичко.

[Люба]

В продължение на горното споделяне - думите на Карън Армстронг за състраданието и съпричастността между хората като "Златно правило" - "Не прави на другите това, което не искаш да направят на теб".

https://www.ted.com/talks/karen_armstro ... compassion

"Думата "вяра" в началото е означавала да обичаш, да цениш, да държиш“.

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Отзивът на едно другарче в GR ме кристализира за:

(While I can read in Italian, I certainly won't try to write in Italian, especially on such high-level topics. ;)

E’ la natura umana a generare costanti conflitti.

From what I've seen and learnt, all these schisms and segregations do not stem merely from our innate talent for conflicts ;); it's also our innate need to constantly innovate and adapt. Christianity--as this book also seems to show--did not come to everyone as a natural evolution; for many, it was imposed by the authorities (or peer pressure, I guess :). So it's normal that various believers tried to adapt it--and others did not approve. ;)

Interestingly, it's much harder to stir a deep, lasting conflict between mystical believers (that is, those of us who seek a direct contact with the divine) than between--I don't know ... what's the opposite of "mystical believers"?--those people who rely on a church as an intermediary. The personal quest for the Truth (and Beauty and Love) seems to actually keep people together, no matter what different Truths-Beauties-Loves they find; or at least it reminds us that the otherness of others' paths and ways is no actual justification for conflict.

[Кал]

You’re making a very good point here... innovation, adaption etc. have a great role to play in the history of human conflicts. My comment above was a specific rebuttal to the stereotype you hear from many popular authors about “religions being the roots of all wars and conflicts”. There is obviously something there, but the superficiality of such a statement is quite stunning.

I fully agree about our capacity for conflict and the way people have used religions as yet another vehicle for it. Same as the belligerence between fundamentalists and diehard atheists, come to think of it .... :D

[Кал]

Станах аз на 40... и си викам: „Няма за кога повече да отлагаш. It's now or never!“ И се гмурнах в 15-томната Encyclopedia of Religion.

Отзива си го ще разделя на части – по една за всяка религия, която ми хване интереса.

Започваме с...

Buddhism

~ The very start of the overview 1) surprised me (I never knew "buddhism" is a modern name); 2) awed me with its aspiration for complexity and inclusivity (rather than simplistic definitions and demarcations):

The concept of Buddhism was created about three centuries ago to identify what we now know to be a pan-Asian religious tradition that dates back some twenty-five hundred years. Although the concept, rather recent and European in origin, has gradually, if sometimes begrudgingly, received global acceptance, there is still no consensus about its definition. We can, however, identify two complementary meanings that have consistently informed its use. First, it groups together the thoughts, practices, institutions, and values that over the centuries have—to use a phrase coined by the French Buddhologist Louis de La Vallée Poussin—“condensed around the name of the Buddha.” The implicit conclusion of this usage is that Buddhism is, in short, whatever Buddhist men and women have said, done, and held dear. Second, the concept suggests some unifying character or order in the overwhelming diversity encompassed by the first usage. The beginning of this ordering process has often been to consider Buddhism as an example of larger categories, and thus Buddhism has been variously labeled a religion, a philosophy, a civilization, or a culture. It must be admitted, however, that no single ordering principle has been found that takes full account of the data included within the first meaning. This admission stands as a rebuke of the limitations of our current understanding, and as a continuing challenge to go further in our descriptions and explanations.

When the first meaning of Buddhism, which emphasizes its encompassment of accumulated traditions, is placed in the foreground, the resulting conception is indeed comprehensive. The further scholarship proceeds, the more comprehensive this conception becomes, because Buddhists have done in the name of the Buddha almost everything that other humans have done. Buddhists have, of course, been concerned with living religiously, some with the aim of salvation, and they have created traditions of belief and practice that help to realize these aspirations. But they have been concerned with much more as well. Buddhists have built cities sanctified by monuments dedicated to the Buddha and they have cultivated their crops using blessings that invoke his name. They have written self-consciously Buddhist poems and plays as well as highly technical works of grammar and logic that begin with invocations to the Buddha. They have commended nonviolence, but they have also gone to war with the name of Buddha on their lips. They have valued celibacy, but have also written erotic manuals and rejoiced in family life, all in the name of Buddha. Buddhists have created subtle philosophical concepts, such as the absence of self (anātman), which are contravened by other ideas and values they have held. Like other human beings, Buddhists have been inconsistent and even contradictory, and they have been both noble and base in what they have said and done.

Although most scholars have at some level accepted this first conception of Buddhism as a diverse cumulative tradition, few have been content to allow this encompassing notion to prevail. They have sought to discover what ideals and values have inspired Buddhists, or to formulate generalizations that will help us to see the behavior of individuals as distinctively Buddhist. Some scholars have singled out a pattern, an idea, or a cluster of ideas that they felt was important enough to provide continuity through Buddhist history, or at least sufficient to suggest a coherence to the variety. Important candidates for this “key” to Buddhism are the purported teaching of the founder of Buddhism, Gautama, which provides an essence that has unfolded over the centuries; the monastic organization (saṃgha), whose historical continuity provides a center of Buddhist practice and a social basis for the persistence of Buddhist thought and values; the closely related ideas of nonself and emptiness (anātman, śūnyatā), realized through insight, which are said to mold Buddhist behavior; and the goal of nirvāṇa as the purpose of life. While such patterns and notions are very important for Buddhist sociology and soteriology, they also omit a great deal. Moreover, we can see that the element that is singled out as important is often distinctive to Buddhism only in comparison with other religions or philosophies and cannot serve as a core that informs the entire corpus of Buddhist beliefs, rituals, and values.

Scholars have also sought to identify the characteristic order of Buddhism by dividing the cumulative tradition into more manageable parts, whether by chronology, by school, or by country. Some scholars, following the Buddhist historians Bu ston (1290–1364) and Tāranātha (1574–1608), have divided Buddhism into three periods, mainly along philosophical lines. A first phase, represented by the early Theravāda (Way of the Elders) and Sarvāstivāda (All Things Are Real) schools, emphasized the no-soul idea and the reality of the constituents (dharmas) of the world. A middle phase, represented by the Mādhyamika (Middle Way) school, introduced the idea of the ultimate emptiness (śūnyatā) of all phenomena. A third period, represented by the Vijñānavāda (Consciousness Only) school, was philosophically idealistic in character. The limitations of this philosophical division are severe in that it only touches certain aspects of Buddhism and acknowledges no significant development after the fifth century CE.

Other scholars have elaborated a schema based on polemical divisions within the Buddhist community. They have focused attention on three great Buddhist “vehicles” (yāna) that are characterized by different understandings of the process and goal of salvation. The Hı̄nayāna, or Lesser Vehicle, elaborated a gradual process of individual salvation, and in that context distinguished among the attainment of an arhat, the attainment of a pratyekabuddha (one who achieves enlightenment on his own but does not become a teacher), and the attainment of a fully enlightened Buddha who teaches others the way to salvation. The Theravāda and Sarvāstivāda schools mentioned above are two of the major schools that are included under the Hı̄nayāna rubric. The term Hı̄nayāna was in its origins a pejorative name coined by the adherents of a new movement, self-designated as the Mahāyāna, or Great Vehicle, which generated new texts and teachings that were rejected by the Hı̄nayānists.

Like the adherents of the Hı̄nayāna, the Mahāyānists elaborated a gradual path of salvation lasting over many lifetimes, but their emphasis was different in two very important and related respects. They held that an individual’s soteriological process could be aided and abetted by what some Mahāyāna schools came to designate as “other-power,” and they recognized, ultimately, only one soteriological goal—the attainment of fully realized Buddhahood. The Vajrayāna (Diamond Vehicle), which is also known as Mantrayāna (Sacred Sounds Vehicle), Esoteric Buddhism, or Tantric Buddhism, accepted the basic approach and goal of the Mahāyāna, but felt that individual realization could be accomplished more quickly, in some cases even in this present life. The Vajrayānists described the practices that lead to this attainment in texts called tantras that were not accepted by either the Hı̄nayāna or the Mahāyāna schools. Although this Hı̄nayāna/Mahāyāna/Vajrayāna schema is probably the most common one used by scholars to divide Buddhism into more manageable segments, it too has serious drawbacks. It underestimates the significance of developments after the first millennium of the common era and it tends to overemphasize certain traits therein as extreme differences, beyond what is warranted by history.

Finally, scholars have recognized that Buddhism has always been deeply shaped by its surrounding culture. The Buddhist tradition has been more accretive in its doctrine and practice than the other great missionary religions, Christianity and Islam. It has shown an enduring tendency to adapt to local forms; as a result we can speak of a transformation of Buddhism in various cultures. The extent of this transformation can be seen in the difficulty that the first Western observers had in recognizing that the religion they observed in Japan was historically related to the religion found in Sri Lanka. This cultural division of Buddhism into Tibetan Buddhism, Chinese Buddhism, and so forth has been most successfully applied to the more recent phases of Buddhist history, especially to contemporary developments. Its dangers are, of course, quite obvious: above all, it conceals the Buddhist tradition’s capacity to transcend the boundaries of culture, politics, and nationality.

~ First wow moment:

Other Hı̄nayāna works of the period [before the end of the 2nd century CE] suggested the presence of a vast expanse of worlds that coexist with our own. In the new Mahāyāna context this notion of a plurality of worlds was moved into the foreground, the existence of Buddhas in at least some of these other worlds was recognized, and the significance of these Buddhas for life in our own world was both affirmed and described.

~ Some notions:

Among the religious values formed during the earlier part of the Indic age, that is, during the shramanic period, we must include, above all, the concept of the cycle and bondage of rebirth (saṃsāra) and the belief in the possibility of liberation (mokṣa) from the cycle through ascetic discipline, world renunciation, and a moral or ritual code that gave a prominent place to abstaining from doing harm to living beings (ahiṃsā). This ideal, like the quest for altered states of consciousness, was not always separable from ancient notions of ritual purity and spiritual power. But among the shramanic movements it sometimes took the form of a moral virtue. Then it appeared as opposition to organized violence—political, as embodied in war, and religious, as expressed in animal sacrifice.

The primary evil force was no longer envisioned as a spiritual personality, but as an impersonal moral law of cause and effect (karman) whereby human actions created a state of bondage and suffering. In their quest for a state of rest from the activities of karman, whether the goal was defined as enstasy or knowledge, the new religious specialists practiced a variety of techniques of self-cultivation usually known as yogas. The sustained practice of this discipline was known as a “path” (mārga), and the goal was a state of peace and freedom from passion and suffering called nirvāṇa.

As a shramanic religion, Buddhism displayed similar traits but gave to each of these its unique imprint. The conception of rebirth and its evils were not questioned, but suffering was universalized: all human conditions lead to suffering, suffering has a cause, and that cause is craving, or “thirst” (tṛṣṇā).

Spoiler

Търсене? Терсене?

~ Hah! The Buddha was a zen buddhist--at least initially:

Some of the earliest strata of Buddhist literature suggest that the early community may have emphasized the joys of renunciation and the peace of abstention from conflict—political, social, and religious—more than a philosophical doctrine of liberation. Such are the ascetic ideals of one of the earliest texts of the tradition, the Aṭṭhakavagga (Suttanipāta). The mendicant abstains from participating in the religious and metaphysical debates of brahmans, śramaṇas, and sages. He is detached from all views, for

Purity is not [attained] by views, or learning, by knowledge, or by moral rules, and rites. Nor is it [attained] by the absence of views, learning, knowledge, rules, or rites. Abandoning all these, not grasping at them, he is at peace; not relying, he would not hanker for becoming. (Suttanipāta 839)

There is in this text a rejection of doctrine, rule, and rite that is a critique of the exaggerated claims of those who believed they could become pure and free through ritual, knowledge, or religious status.

~ The Mahāyāna elaborated on the bodhisattva notion:

The bodhisattva has to traverse ten stages (bhūmi), beginning with the intense practice of the virtue of generosity (primarily a lay virtue), passing through morality in the second stage, patience in the third, then fortitude, meditation, insight, skill in means, vows, powers, and the highest knowledge of a Buddha. The stages, therefore, correspond with the ten perfections (pāramitā). Although all perfections are practiced in every stage, they are mastered in the order in which they are listed in the scheme of the stages, suggesting at one end of the spectrum a simple and accessible practice for the majority of believers, the human bodhisattva, and at the other end a stage clearly unattainable in the realm of normal human circumstances, reserved for semidivine Buddhas and bodhisattvas, the object of worship. Although some exceptional human beings may qualify for the status of advanced bodhisattvas, most of these ideal beings are the mythic objects of religious fervor and imagination.

Among the mythic or celestial bodhisattvas the figure of Maitreya—destined to be the next Buddha of this world system after Śākyamuni—clearly represents the earliest stage of the myth. His cult is especially important in East Asian Buddhism. Other celestial bodhisattvas include Mañjuśrı̄, the bodhisattva of wisdom, the patron of scripture, obviously less important in the general cultus but an important bodhisattva in monastic devotion. The most important liturgical role is reserved for Avalokiteśvara, the bodhisattva of compassion, whose central role in worship is attested by archaeology.

~ Emptiness:

The doctrine of emptiness (śūnyatā) represents a refinement of the ancient doctrine of no-self. In some ways it is merely an extension of the earlier doctrine: the denial of the substantial reality of the self and what belongs to the self, as a means to effect a breaking of the bonds of attachment. The notion of emptiness, however, expresses a critique of our common notions of reality that is much more radical than the critique implicit in the doctrine of no-self. The Mahāyāna critique is in fact unacceptable to other Buddhists, for it is in a manner of speaking a critique of Buddhism. Emptiness of all things implies the groundlessness of all ideas and conceptions, including, ultimately, Buddhist doctrines themselves.

The doctrine of emptiness was developed by the philosophical schools, but clearly inspired by the tradition of the Mahāyāna sūtras. Thus we read: “Even nirvāṇa is like a magical creation, like a dream, how much more any other object or idea (dharma). . .? Even a Perfect Buddha is like a magical creation, like a dream. . .” (Aṣṭasāhasrikā, p. 40). The practical correlate of the doctrine of emptiness is the concept of “skill in means” (upāya): Buddhist teachings are not absolute statements about reality, they are means to a higher goal beyond all views. In their cultural context these two doctrines probably served as a way of making Buddhist doctrine malleable to diverse populations. By placing the truth of Buddhism beyond the specific content of its religious practices, these two doctrines justified adaptation to changing circumstances and the adoption of new religious customs.

But emptiness, like the bodhisattva vows, also reflects the Mahāyāna understanding of the ultimate experience of Buddhism—understood both as a dialectic and a meditational process. This experience can be described as an awareness that nothing is self-existent. Dialectically, this means that there is no way that the mind can consistently think of any thing as having an existence of its own. All concepts of substance and existence vanish when they are examined closely and rationally. As a religious experience the term emptiness refers to a direct perception of this absence of self-existence, a perception that is only possible through mental cultivation, and which is a liberating experience. Liberation, in fact, has been redefined in a way reminiscent of early texts such as the Suttanipāta. Liberation is now the freedom resulting from the negation of all assumptions about reality, even Buddhist assumptions.

~ How do we advocate a theory that rejects all theorizing? Watch this guy:

Emptiness [śūnyatā] is the Middle Way between affirmations of being and nonbeing. The extremes of existence and nonexistence are avoided by recognizing certain causal relations (e.g., the path and liberation) without predicating a self-existence or immutable essence (svabhāva) to either cause or effect. To defend his views without establishing a metaphysical thesis, Nāgārjuna argues by reducing to the absurd all the alternative philosophical doctrines recognized in his day. For his own “system,” Nāgārjuna claims to have no thesis to affirm beyond his rejection of the affirmations and negations of all metaphysical systems.

~ Numbers, numbers everywhere :

The princess of Jincheng arrived in Tibet in 710 (...). She is said to have been much saddened by the absence of Buddhist funerary rites for the deceased nobility and so introduced the Chinese Buddhist custom of conducting rites for the dead during a period of seven weeks of mourning. This practice later gave rise to the belief, famed in such works as the so-called Tibetan Book of the Dead, that forty-nine days intervene between death and rebirth.

~ Tantrism:

The systems of meditation taught in the Tantras are referred to as yoga (rnal ’byor), or “union,” for yoga is a discipline said to unite the adept with the realization of ultimate reality. This unification of the enlightened mind and the absolute is symbolized by the depiction of deities as couples in sexual embrace.

~ The Chinese challenge themselves:

Chinese Buddhists often celebrate that theirs is a foreign faith, meaning that its founder and earliest patriarchs lived outside of China. These facts are both undeniable and misleading. Already in the Han dynasty, Buddhist monks were criticized for worshiping a foreign god, following doctrines unattested in the Chinese classics, dressing in barbarian fashion, and destroying the foundation of the Chinese kinship system. Rather than disavowing their foreign origins, Buddhists responded by claiming that even Chinese figures like Laozi (sixth century BCE) had left China to gain enlightenment as a disciple of Śākyamuni Buddha. They explained that the meaning of the Buddha’s golden speech could be accurately conveyed in Chinese translation, that monks followed the more noble among the barbarian habits, and that the ultimate devotion to one’s parents was bringing Buddhist salvation to one’s ancestors rather than begetting offspring. The controversy over the foreign nature of Chinese Buddhism was never fully settled.

~ The Chinese bring some order to Buddhism:

Chinese Buddhism offers devotees a responsive pantheon of gods and spirits. In theory buddhas are the most majestic and powerful of all beings. Having spent many lifetimes perfecting themselves, they have become “enlightened ones” (buddhas). Each buddha exercises dominion over an entire world or buddha-country. Śākyamuni (the historical Buddha, fifth-century BCE India) lived as a prince, renounced his birthright, achieved enlightenment, and spent fifty years teaching others. Beings who resided in India during his time were particularly fortunate, since hearing a buddha preach or simply being in his presence has a transformative effect on believers, more efficacious than trying to reach enlightenment on one’s own. The next buddha who will be reincarnated in this world will be Maitreya, who now resides in Tuṣita Heaven. Amitābha (or Amitāyus) is a currently existing buddha who presides over a distant realm of bliss in the west, known as a “Pure Land” (Chinese, jingtu; Japanese, jōdo) in the Sino-Japanese tradition. Another important buddha is Mahāvairocana, a cosmic figure who functions as the ontological ground or essence for all manifestations of buddhahood. Just below buddhas are bodhisattvas, beings dedicated to becoming buddhas. They define themselves as bodhisattvas by taking a formal series of vows in the presence of a buddha. Often serving as saints to people in need, bodhisattvas have discrete functions or specializations. Avalokiteśvara (Chinese, Guanyin; Japanese, Kannon; Tibetan, Chenrezi), arguably the most popular bodhisattva in China, assures mothers of safe childbirth; Bhaiṣajyaguru (Chinese, Yaoshiwang) is especially invoked in curing rites; Kṣitigarbha (Chinese, Dizang; Japanese, Jizō) rescues beings reborn in hell. Bodhisattvas often reincarnate themselves in different guises to make their compassion more effective. Laypeople also modeled their own actions after those of the bodhisattva and committed themselves in ceremonies to lesser versions of the bodhisattva vows. Ranking significantly below bodhisattvas are gods who, in the Buddhist conceptual world, are only temporarily powerful and happy, since they will suffer demotion in their next life. Many gods reside in the heavens, like the gods living in Indra’s palace atop Mount Sumeru. Less-powerful gods populate the terrestrial world, inhabiting trees, rocks, caverns, and lakes.

~ Doctrinal differences of the various early Buddhist schools:

The Mahāsāṃghikas probably separated from the Sthaviravādins over the belief that certain arhats, although they had attained nirvāṇa in this world, could be subject to nocturnal defilements as a result of erotic dreams; that they still harbored vestiges of ignorance; that they had areas of doubt on matters outside Buddhist doctrine; that they could be informed, indeed saved, by other people; and, finally, that they utter certain words when they meditated on the Path of Liberation. The Sthaviravādins denied these five possibilities, arguing that the arhat is completely free of all imperfections.

The Vātsı̄putrı̄yas and the schools that later developed from them, the Sammatı̄yas and others, believed in the existence of a “person” (pudgala) who is neither identical to the five aggregates (skandhas) that make up the living being nor different from them; neither within these five aggregates nor outside them. Although differing from the Brahmanic “soul” (ātman), denied unanimously by Buddhist doctrine, this “person” lives on from one existence to the next, thus ensuring the continuing identities of the agent of an act and of the being who suffers its effects in this life or the next. All the other schools rejected this hypothesis, maintaining the logical impossibility of conceptualizing this “person” and seeing in it simply a disguised form of the ātman.

The Sarvāstivādins claimed that “everything exists” (sarvam asti), that is, that the past and the future have real and material existence. This belief enabled them to explain several phenomena that were very important to Buddhists: the act of consciousness, which is made up of several successive, individual mental actions; memory or consciousness of the past; foresight or consciousness of the future; and the “ripening” (vipāka) of “actions” (karman), which takes place over a longer or shorter span of time, often exceeding the length of a single life. For the other sects, however, it was perfectly clear that what is past exists no longer and that what is to come does not yet exist.

The Kāśyapı̄yas, also called Suvarsṣkas, maintained a position between these two, namely, that a past action that has not yet borne fruit exists, but the rest of the past does not. This approach, however, satisfied neither the Sarvāstivādins nor their critics.

The Sautrāntikas distinguished themselves from the Sarvāstivādins insofar as they considered the canonic “basket of sermons” (Sūtra Piṭaka) to be the only one to contain the authentic words of the Buddha, whereas the “basket of higher teaching” (Abhidharma Piṭaka) is the work of the Blessed One’s disciples. According to some of our sources, the Sautrāntikas were also called Saṃkrāntivādins because they held that the five aggregates (skandhas) constituting the living being “transmigrate” (saṃkrānti) from one existence to the next; probably this should be understood to mean that, in their view, four of these aggregates were absorbed at the moment of death into the fifth, a subtle consciousness. It also seems that the Sautrāntikas can be identified with the Dārṣṭāntikas, who were often criticized in the Sarvastivada writings and apparently gained their name because of their frequent use of comparisons or parables (dṛṣṭātas) in their discussions.

An important disagreement separated the Mahı̄śāsakas from the Dharmaguptakas. For the former, the Buddha is part of the monastic community (saṃgha); hence a gift given to the community produces a “great fruit” (māhaphalam), but one directed specifically to the Buddha does not. The Dharmaguptakas, on the other hand, held that the Buddha is separate from the community, and as he is far superior to it—since it is composed only of his followers—only the gift given to the Buddha produces a great fruit. These two opposing views had considerable influence on the religious practices of early Buddhism.

The Lokottaravādins differed from other Mahāsāṃghika schools in holding that the Buddhas are “otherworldly” (lokottara), a word having several very different senses but which they employed loosely to attribute an extraordinary nature to the Buddhas. According to them, the Buddhas are otherworldly not only because their thought is always perfectly pure but also because they remain outside and above the world. Thus it would seem to be among the Lokottaravādins that we should seek the origin of Buddhist docetism, that is, the distinction between the real, transcendent, and infinite Buddha, the “body of doctrine” (dharmakāya), and the apparent Buddha, the “body of magical creation” (nirmāṇakāya)—a kind of phantom emanating from the real one. To rescue beings, the nirmāṇakāya becomes incarnate, taking on their form and thus seeming to be born, to grow up, to discover and preach the doctrine of enlightenment, and to finally die and become completely extinguished. The Lokottaravādins must have also extolled the extraordinary character of the bodhisattva, undoubtedly on account of their supernatural conception of the Buddhas.These singular notions lead one to believe that this sect played an important part in the formation of the Mahāyāna, whose teaching adopted and developed similar ideas.

As their name seems to indicate, the Prajñaptivādins were probably distinguished from the other schools that arose from the Mahāsāṃghika group because they taught that all things are mere products of linguistic convention (prajñapti) and, hence, are devoid of actual existence. One might see here the origin of the famous theory of the universal “void” (śūnyatā), which is one of the basic elements of the Mahāyāna doctrine and is the main theme, reiterated with the greatest insistence, of its oldest works, the first Prajñāpāramitā Sūtras.

More divergences of opinion run along the lines of:

- Does an "intermediate existence" linking death and rebirth exist?

- The bodhisattva may be born in the so-called evil existences, even in the various hells, to lighten
the sufferings of the beings who live in them
vs
automatic retribution consequent upon all actions, qhich completely determines the circumstances of rebirths

- Can arhats backslide in varying degrees and even lose nirvāṇa?

- Can gods to practice the sexual abstinence of ascetics?

- Five fates: gods, men, animals, starving ghosts (pretas), and the damned
vs
Six: + asuras, the superhuman beings who were adversaries of the gods (devas) yet were not devils
in the Christian sense

- instantaneous vs gradual clear understanding of the four noble truths

- only one absolute dharma: nirvāṇa
vs
+ empty space (ākāśa), “dependent origination”, the path of enlightenment, “suchness” (tathatā) and “permanence” (sthitatā) of things

- Are tendencies and/or obsessions connected with thought?

- Can non-Buddhist beliefs obtain the five lesser supernatural faculties and thus work various miracles—perceiving the thoughts of others, recollecting their past lives, seeing the rebirths of creatures as conditioned by their past actions, etc?

And so on.

~ The Mahāyāna schools:

FOUNDATIONAL THEORIES. From its earliest period, Buddhist thought rested on a straightforward set of claims about human goals and the means to achieve those goals. In brief, the main human goal is the elimination of suffering, and the means to that end is the elimination of the causes of suffering. The strands of early Buddhist thought that develop into Mahāyāna philosophy specify that suffering’s cause is a type of “ignorance” (avidyā), a distorted way of seeing the world that stems especially from misconceptions about personal identity. Ignorance creates and sustains mental dispositions that motivate and guide actions, and since those dispositions are rooted in a fundamental error, the actions guided by them are doomed to failure. Ignorance, moreover, permeates the minds of all unenlightened beings; hence, all of their actions—including those aimed at their highest goal of eliminating suffering—end in frustration.

The solution is to eliminate the fundamental misconceptions about one’s personal identity that fuel ignorance, and one does so by demonstrating that their object, an essentially real and immutable “self” or ātman, does not exist. The procedure is to engage in a type of reductive analysis whereby, with the aid of contemplative practices, one searches through the constituents of body and mind in order to determine whether any of them—singly or in combination—could be such a self. Having seen that there is no such self to be found, one uses meditation to deepen that experience and explore all its implications. Eventually one becomes free of the misconceptions that create suffering; hence, one attains nirvāṇa, utter freedom from suffering.

This basic theory, which also lies at the core of Mahāyāna philosophy, is the main concern of the abhidharma, a style of Buddhist thought presented in great detail by the Vaibhāṣika school. The most basic of the four schools according to Indian and Tibetan doxographers, the Vaibhāsikas derive their name from the Mahāvibāṣa (Great commentary) that is their inspiration. Their principal task is to articulate an elaborate taxonomy of all the truly real constituents of the body and mind in order to facilitate an exhaustive search for the self. These psychophysical constituents, called dharmas, are discovered through analysis to be the irreducibly real building blocks of the universe, and when one knows them as such, one is seeing mind and body as they truly are (yathābhūtadarśana). Since a person is nothing other than those irreducible constituents of mind and body, and since no essential self or immutable identity is numbered among those constituents, one concludes that this alleged essential self (ātman) is not truly real.

This theory of “no-self” (anātman) is meant to demonstrate that no fixed essence lies at the core of personal identity, but it does not deny that in a contingent way, one can speak intelligibly of persons or selves. A traditional example is a chariot: when one performs the Vaibhāṣikas’ reductive analysis of a chariot, one finds only the parts, such as the wheels, axle, and so on. At the same time, one knows that there is no chariot separate from those parts; if there were, it would absurdly follow that the chariot would still exist even after its parts were removed. Hence, even though it may seem that a chariot exists, if one accepts irreducibility as a criterion of true existence, one must admit that no such chariot truly exists. Nevertheless, one is still able to use the word “chariot” intelligibly when engaged in the practical task of, for example, driving the chariot. Thus, in terms of practical actions and use of language, a chariot does exist.

Codifying these two ways of existing, the Vaibhāṣika refers to another key concept for the Mahāyāna: the “two truths” or “two realities,” namely the “ultimate” (paramārtha) and the “conventional” (saṃvṛtti). According to the Vaibhāṣikas, if one wishes to know whether an entity exists ultimately, then one employs their analytical techniques; if, at the end of that reductive analysis, the entity in question has not been reduced to some more fundamental constituents, one concludes that it is ultimately real. On the other hand, even if the entity is reducible to more fundamental constituents, one may decide that from a practical or linguistic point of view, it still appears to be existent. In such a case, the entity will be considered conventionally real because, although it does not withstand analysis, it does conform to the conventions that govern the use of language and practical actions. Thus, since it can be reduced to more fundamental constituents, a chariot is not ultimately real. Nevertheless, in terms of the conventions that govern the use of the word chariot, it appears to be real for practical purposes; hence, a chariot is conventionally real. Likewise, since a person can be reduced to more fundamental constituents, no person is ultimately real; nevertheless, in practical and linguistic terms, one can speak of a person as conventionally real.

In order for the schema of the two realities to make sense, the Vaibhāṣika must explain precisely what it means for one to know that an entity exists ultimately. Their view amounts to a kind of taxonomic atomism: an ultimately real entity is irreducible, and one has full knowledge of this fact when one sees that the entity, due to its essence or nature (svabhāva), belongs to one or another of the irreducible categories that exhaustively account for all the stuff of the universe. In other words, the endpoint of the Vaibhāṣika analysis is not just that the thing in question cannot be broken down further, but also that one knows in an affirmative sense what it truly is by virtue of its nature; and one arrives at this knowledge by correctly categorizing the irreducible thing in question.

In emphasizing this taxonomic approach, the Vaibhāṣikas’ method betrays a realist attitude toward categories. This realism attracts the criticism of the second non-Mahāyāna school, the Sautrāntikas, who critique it by pointing to its naïve assumptions. One such assumption is the belief that categories—or more generally, words and concepts—refer in some direct and straightforward way to real entities in the world, such that the things expressed by a particular word or concept are understood to be the same. For example, when one uses the word or concept blue, one appears to be referring to a thing that is somehow, by its nature, the same as all other blue things. In fact, say the Sautrāntikas, words and concepts do not refer in this way to real things. Thus, the seeming sameness of each thing called “blue” is an illusion; in actuality, each thing is utterly unique, and its unique identity or nature cannot be fully expressed through words or concepts.

The Sautrāntika critique resorts to complex and technical arguments, but to appreciate its relevance to the development of Mahāyāna thought, one need only attend to a main outcome: namely, that the Sautrāntika view moves away from the notion that all things are fixed in categorical identities. For the Vaibhāṣikas, the universe is composed of irreducible elements, each of which belongs by its very nature to a particular category. But according to the Sautrāntikas, the nature of a thing cannot be fully captured by a categorical identity. This leaves open the explicit possibility that any given thing is susceptible to multiple interpretations at the level of words and concepts.

GENERAL TRENDS AND PROBLEMS IN MAHĀYĀNA THOUGHT. Examined through the traditional schema of the four schools, the first two schools—Vaibhāṣika and Sautrāntika—are usually discussed in the somewhat contrived and ahistorical manner presented just above. Such an approach scarcely does justice to these two “lower” schools, but it does capture an important facet of Mahāyāna thought: namely, that it is explicitly rooted in non-Mahāyāna Buddhism. Mahāyāna thinkers accept all of the elements discussed above: namely, that the elimination of suffering is a main spiritual goal; that ignorance is the primary cause of suffering; that ignorance is eliminated by knowing things as they truly are; that on the theory of no-self, persons are not ultimately real; and that an entity that is not ultimately real may nevertheless be considered conventionally real. Rather than rejecting these basic theories, Mahāyāna thinkers modify them in a way that creates a conceptual transition—not a radical discontinuity—from the non-Mahāyāna to the Mahāyāna.

A key element in this conceptual transition is a fundamental change in the notion of nirvāṇa. In non-Mahāyāna thought, nirvāṇa, the state in which suffering has utterly ceased, stands in strict opposition to saṃsāra, the world of suffering. Saṃsāra, moreover, is literally created by ignorance, and on most accounts, this means that everything within saṃsāra is tainted by ignorance. For the Vaibhāṣika, this taint is an irreversible and indisputable fact about the dharmas or fundamental building blocks that constitute saṃsāra. Nirvāṇa, on the other hand, is utterly free not only of suffering, but also of the ignorance that causes suffering. Hence, on the Vaibhāṣika view, saṃsāra and nirvāṇa must be entirely distinct.

In both literature and philosophy, Mahāyāna moves away from this strict distinction between saṃsāra and nirvāṇa. In a literary work such as the Vimalakı̄rtinirdeśa Sūtra, one learns that those close to true nirvāṇa are capable of seeing this world as a blissful paradise called a buddhafield, while those farther from that state still see it as a world of suffering. In the systematic texts of the first Mahāyāna philosopher, Nāgārjuna, one reads that in ontological terms, there is no difference whatsoever between saṃsāra and nirvāṇa. And in other systematic Mahāyāna works, nirvāṇa is redefined as “unlocated” (apratiṣṭhita) in that it is situated neither within the world of suffering that is saṃsāra, nor in a quietistic nirvāṇa that is diametrically opposed to that world. This new, nondualistic paradigm for nirvāṇa accompanies a redefinition of the highest goal for Buddhists. In short, for the Mahāyāna, the proper and highest goal of a Buddhist is not only the elimination of one’s own suffering, but rather the attainment of buddhahood: a state of perfect bliss in which, while still active in a world that appears to be one of suffering, one is maximally efficient at leading other beings to nirvāṇa. Buddhahood is the goal that guides the bodhisattva ideal, the Mahāyāna’s central ethical motif, which is based on a strong sense of compassion for all beings.

The Mahāyāna’s new paradigm emphasizes the nonduality of saṃsāra and nirvāṇa, and to make good philosophical sense, it must be accompanied by a revision of the Vaibhāṣika ontology. It can no longer be the case that the fundamental building blocks of reality are fixed by their very nature in immutable identities; that is, it can no longer be the case that the stuff of the world of suffering must always remain what it has always been, namely, the direct or indirect product of ignorance. Instead, it must be the case that the world appears as it does—as wracked with suffering or as a blissful buddhafield—not because of some fixed and essential nature of things, but instead due to the minds of the beings that are experiencing that world. Here is the relevance of the Sautrāntika’s critique of Vaibhāṣika thought: the nature of a thing cannot be fully captured by a categorical identity, and multiple interpretations of its identity are possible. It is crucial for Mahāyāna theory that the Sautrāntika critique be correct.

From a doxographical perspective, the Mahāyāna’s ontological revision is facilitated by extending the doctrine of no-self. The doctrine of no-self rejects the notion that persons have a fixed, essential identity: one may seem to be an ultimately real person, but in fact, one is not truly or ultimately a person because one is reducible to the real, fundamental elements of which one is composed. For the Mahāyāna, a similar critique applies to the fundamental elements or dharmas that supposedly make up the person: an infinitesimal particle of matter, for example, seems to be an infinitesimal particle, but it is not truly or ultimately an infinitesimal particle. Indeed, according to the Mahāyāna, all of the Vaibhāṣikas’ allegedly fundamental elements of the universe lack any fixed, essential identity as elements. All things are therefore completely mutable, and the world of suffering that is saṃsāra is not fixed in its nature: it can be the very locus of nirvāṇa.

By extending the critique of essential identity from persons to all the elements of the universe, Mahāyāna thinkers encounter three main issues. First, they must present a new style of critique that is not simply reductive; in other words, the claim that irreducible entities are not ultimately real cannot be supported by reducing them once more, since one will just arrive at the same problem. Instead, some other kind of analysis must be brought to bear. Second, Mahāyāna thinkers must specify what it means for one to see the true identity of things—to “see them as they truly are” (yathābhūtadarśana)—when that new analysis reaches its culmination. In other words, the Vaibhāṣika analysis leads to a straightforward and even intuitive conclusion: when one is looking at a chair, in fact what one is seeing is a bunch of irreducible particles of matter; the notion of a “chair” is just a convenient fiction. But if, as Mahāyāna thinkers maintain, even those irreducible elements are not truly real, what then is left for one to be seeing? This problem relates to the third issue: namely, that if even the fundamental building blocks of the world are not truly real, how then does one give an account of conventional reality? For the Vaibhāṣika, an entity such as a chair is not ultimately real because it can be reduced to its more fundamental parts. Nevertheless, in conventional terms one may speak of a “chair” as real, and one can do so because the term chair actually refers to those irreducible parts that are functioning together in a particular way. Thus, for the Vaibhāṣika, the warrant for claiming that a chair or a person is conventionally real is precisely the fact that one can point to the ultimately real elements of which it is composed. Mahāyāna thinkers, however, deny the ultimately reality even of those elements. Of what, then is conventional reality constructed?

These three issues—the need for a new style of analysis, a new account of knowing things as they are, and a new approach to conventional reality—all raise another issue: namely, that Mahāyāna thinkers seem to be arguing that, to at least some degree, the Vaibhāṣikas and other non-Mahāyāna philosophers are just plain wrong. Not only do they seem to argue that many Buddhists are wrong, but since Mahāyāna thinkers accept the Vaibhāṣikas’ claim that their theories come from words of the Buddha, they seem to say that the Buddha was wrong too. To deal with this problem, followers of the Mahāyāna do not reject most of the previous canonical texts, perhaps in part because causing such a schism was considered as heinous as matricide. Instead, Mahāyāna thinkers sought a method to reconcile their innovations with the long established Buddhist community in which they were embedded. They settled on the notion of “skill in means” (upāyakauśalya).

Strictly speaking, “skill in means” may not be a philosophical concept, but it certainly functions as a philosophical method. In its most basic form, it amounts to this: the teaching must be tailored to the audience. That is, one presents theories and arguments at a level that the audience is capable of understanding, and if the audience cannot understand (or will inevitably reject) the highest level of one’s philosophy, one uses a lower level of analysis that will prepare the audience to understand or accept the higher level. In part this means that arguments must be couched in such a way that they fit into a hierarchy of levels, and as Mahāyāna thought develops in India, this attention to levels of analysis becomes the central motif of late Mahāyāna thought.

Early Madhyamaka: Nāgārjuna. The first systematic Mahāyāna thinker was Nāgārjuna, and his historical primacy is matched by his philosophical importance. As noted earlier, to move beyond early Buddhist thought Mahāyāna thinkers confront three main needs: a new style of analysis that moves beyond reductionism, a new account of knowing things as they are, and a new approach to the definition of conventional reality. Nāgārjuna’s approach to these issues sets the stage for all subsequent Mahāyāna thought.

To formulate a new style of analysis, Nāgārjuna must critique the claim that through a strictly reductive analysis, one comes upon things that are ultimately real. The early Buddhist style of reductive analysis is straightforward: one analyzes an entity by attempting to break it into its component parts, and if it cannot be broken down further, the entity is ultimately real. A chair, for example, is not ultimately real because it can be broken down into more fundamental parts; and when the analytical process is brought to its conclusion, one eventually arrives at irreducible, partless particles that are the basic stuff of the chair.

Thus, when a reductive thinker such as a Vaibhāṣika completes the analysis of a chair, he concludes that a chair is actually just many particles. Hence, in ultimate terms, a chair exists as something other than itself: what seems to be a chair is not ultimately a chair; instead, it is actually irreducible particles. But, for these reductive thinkers, an irreducible entity such as a particle does ultimately exist as itself because it cannot be reduced to anything more fundamental. As such, that entity has svabhāva, literally, “own-existence.” To speak of a thing’s svabhāva, therefore, is to speak of what a thing is in and of itself; in other words, it is to speak of its “essence,” the best translation of svabhāva.

To move beyond reductive analysis, Nāgārjuna focuses on this notion of essence. He accepts that, for an entity to exist ultimately, it must have an essence (svabhāva), but for him, to have an essence is not just a matter of being irreducible. Instead, he maintains that the notion of an essence is a way of indicating that the entity’s identity is utterly devoid of any dependence on other entities. In short, he understands the notion of essence as independent or nonrelational existence. Hence, in lieu of reduction, his analysis examines the ways in which an entity might be dependent on other entities. If the entity is found to be dependent, then one must conclude that it lacks essence (svabhāva) and is thus not ultimately real.

For Nāgārjuna, dependence comes in various forms. For example, he begins his most influential work by arguing that causally produced entities cannot have essences because they depend on their causes. His analysis of causality, however, is only part of a larger strategy: namely, the analysis of relations. Even entities that are not causally produced are susceptible to this analysis. Perhaps the most radical example is nirvāṇa itself, which reductionists such as the Vaibhāṣika consider to be an ultimately real element that is free of any causal conditioning. Nāgārjuna, however, maintains that it is conditioned in another sense: one cannot give an account of what nirvāṇa is in itself without referring to its opposite, the world of suffering that is saṃsāra. In other words, nirvāṇa has no meaning without saṃsāra, just as “long” is meaningless without “short.” Nāgārjuna thus concludes that “nirvāṇa is not at all different from saṃsāra” (Mūlama-dhyamaka-kārikā 25.19).

When Nāgārjuna radically rejects any distinction between saṃsāra and nirvāṇa, he is not espousing some type of monism. Instead, he is drawing a consequence from a more fundamental point, namely, that saṃsāra and nirvāṇa lack essence. That is, in order to draw a distinction between them in ultimate terms, one must do so in terms of their essences—what each is in itself without depending on anything else. Saṃsāra and nirvāṇa, however, both lack essence because the identity of each is dependent on the other. Hence, any attempt to draw any ultimate distinction between them must fail.

More important is another conclusion of Nāgārjuna’s analysis: since only an entity with an essence can be ultimately real, saṃsāra and nirvāṇa are not ultimately real. Nāgārjuna goes on to extend this analysis not just to saṃsāra and nirvāṇa, but to all things, and the upshot of his critique is that they all lack essence. In other words, to have an essence is to have some fixed, nonrelational identity, and no entity can fulfill this requirement. Moreover, since only a nonrelational entity—that is, one with an essence—could be ultimately existent, Nāgārjuna maintains that no entities whatsoever exist ultimately. To know all things as they are truly or ultimately is therefore to recognize that none exist ultimately.

Here one encounters the second issue that all Mahāyāna thinkers must face, namely, the need for a new account of “seeing things as they truly are.” As with the Vaibhāṣika, Nāgārjuna accepts that suffering can only be stopped by eliminating ignorance, and that to eliminate ignorance one must see things as they truly are. For the Vaibhāṣika, to see things as they truly are is to experience what is ultimately real, namely, the foundational elements of the universe. In doing so, one can eliminate ignorance: the confused belief that somewhere among those elements one will find one’s absolute, fixed identity or self (ātman). For Nāgārjuna, however, ignorance is not just a confusion about one’s personal identity; instead, it is the deeply ingrained cognitive habit that makes beings see all things as if they had some fixed, absolute identity or essence (svabhāva). Thus, to eliminate ignorance one must realize that that no entity has any such essence, and this means that one must realize that no entity is ultimately real. But if no entity is ultimately real, what does it mean to see things as they truly are? At the end of the analysis, what is left that one could see?

To answer this question, Nāgārjuna employs a metaphor that runs throughout Mahāyāna thought. Inasmuch as no entity can have a nonrelational identity, every entity lacks essence, and Nāgārjuna speaks of this lack of essence as “emptiness” (śūnyatā). Thus, to know an entity in ultimate terms is to know its emptiness, which is a metaphor for its utter lack of essence. The danger, however, is that one will construe this as some kind of absolute nothingness at every entity’s core. In that case, Nāgārjuna would be wrong to say that all things lack essence because they would have an essence, namely, that absolute nothingness. Responding to the danger of this type of nihilistic interpretation, Nāgārjuna points out that even emptiness lacks essence and is thus ultimately unreal. Thus, just as a person is empty of really being a person, emptiness is empty of really being emptiness. By understanding this “emptiness of emptiness” (śūnyatā-śūnyatā), one avoids nihilism.

Nāgārjuna may avoid nihilism, but many questions remain concerning the realization of things as they truly are. Here one should recall that such a realization comes not only through Nāgārjuna’s arguments, but also through their integration into a contemplative practice. But what sort of practice would it be? What kind of meditative experience would the arguments help to induce? It should already be clear that the meditation on things as they truly are—that is, the meditation on emptiness—cannot be an experience of some absolute nothingness or any other negative content. It would also seem problematic to hold that the meditation has positive content, such as an object. That is, the meditative experience of emptiness is an experience of any entity’s ultimate reality, and if that experience is of some object, then one might conclude that the object experienced was the fixed, ultimate essence of that entity. This would seem to contradict Nāgārjuna’s notion that all things lack essence. Hence, the meditative experience of emptiness apparently can be neither of something, nor of nothing.

This conundrum of emptiness clearly vexes subsequent Mahāyāna thinkers, and it leads to many developments in Mahāyāna thought. It also points to problems in the third issue that Nāgārjuna faces: an account of the conventional. As noted above, on Nāgārjuna’s view, if one seeks the fixed, nonrelational essence that would constitute the ultimate identity of an entity, one fails to find any such essence. And to exist ultimately, a thing must have such an essence; hence, one concludes that no entity exists ultimately. But as with the Vaibhāṣika, Nāgārjuna maintains that an entity that does not exist ultimately may nevertheless exist conventionally. Hence, even though he denies the ultimate reality of all things, including the Buddhist path, he does not at all mean to deny that many such things, most especially the Buddhist path, are real and valuable in a conventional sense.

Concerning the conventional, the Vaibhāṣikas are straightforward: it is just a matter of recognizing that words such as “chair” are convenient fictions that allow us to speak easily of what is really there, namely, many irreducible particles. Thus, conventionally real things are composed of the irreducible, ultimately real stuff of the universe. But for Nāgārjuna, there is no such stuff, nor does one find anything else that is “really there” in the case of a chair or anything else. How then does one make sense of conventional reality?

To answer this question, Nāgārjuna must redefine the notion of conventionality. For the Vaibhāṣika, a conventional entity depends on the ultimate because it is made from ultimately real stuff, but for Nāgārjuna the conventional and the ultimate define and depend upon each other through their mutual exclusion, as in other dyads such as “long” and “short” or saṃsāra and nirvāṇa. And since an ultimately real entity has an utterly independent or nonrelational identity, a conventionally real entity must be its antithesis: its identity is utterly dependent or relational. As Nāgārjuna puts it, “We say that emptiness is that which is interdependence” (Mūlamadhyamaka-kārikā 8.24). In other words, when one sees that all entities fail the test of ultimacy because they are all empty of any nonrelational identity, one should also realize that if they have identities even conventionally, those identities must be rooted in the radical relationality that is “interdependence” (pratı̄tya-samutpāda).

In seeing the conventional as interdependence, Nāgārjuna sets a theme for all subsequent Mahāyāna thought, but as with the notion of emptiness, he leaves many questions unanswered. For example, he has not addressed the Vaibhāṣikas’ basic intuition that the conventional is made up from ultimate stuff. In other words, the modality of conventional reality may indeed be interdependence, but does not such a concept presuppose that there are things standing in the relation of interdependence? A relation cannot exist without relata, so how could it make sense to speak of the relation that is interdependence if there are not really any entities to be related? These questions, along with the problems of knowing emptiness, create fertile ground for the growth of Mahāyāna thought.

See also "Early Yogācāra: Asaṅga and Vasubandhu".

~ Tantras: good luck making sense of them on your own.

Equally important, the Tantras frequently use language that is deliberately obscure. In the Anuttarayoga Tantras this kind of arcane language is called sandhyābhāṣā, frequently rendered “twilight language” or “intentional language.” In this highly metaphoric idiom the term “Diamond Body” (vajrakāya) is used to refer to menstrual blood, “Diamond Speech” (vajravāk) to refer to semen, and “Diamond Mind” (vajracitta) to refer to scented water. Clearly, Tantric language does not conform to our expectations of ordinary expository writing, where the clearer text is considered “better.” In no other Buddhist tradition do the texts strive deliberately to conceal their meaning. But the Tantras have a synthetic character that combines such standard, and non-esoteric, practices as the contemplation of voidness (śūnyatā) with special secret practices all their own. The most basic meaning of “secret” in the Tantric tradition is that its theories and practices should be kept secret from those who are not fellow initiates, that is, from those who have not obtained initiation (abhiṣeka) or taken vows (samvara) and pledges (samaya). When these works explain the term “secret” (usually guhya in Sanskrit), they apply it to certain things that owe their secrecy to being inward or hidden, like the secret of female sexuality. A list of secret topics in this literature would comprise states of yoga, the circle of deities, and other experiences that are not accessible to ordinary consciousness and cannot be appreciated by the thoroughly mundane mind. Accordingly, it was never maintained that a person with initiation into a Tantric cult had thereby experienced such esoteric matters. Rather, it continues to be held that someone who had gone through such a ritual establishes a bond with a guru who will supply the lore of the particular Tantra and guide the disciple in its practice. Tantric language shares with many other Indian works a difficulty of interpretation. The compact style of Indian philosophical treatises, for example, is the cause for much dispute over their meaning. The Tantras compound this difficulty by the very nature of their contents, making interpretation of the texts all the more difficult.

~ Zazen, pure and simple:

Dōgen emphasized the gradual attainment of enlightenment through the practice of zazen (sitting in meditation), a meditative discipline that entailed sitting without any thought or any effort to achieve enlightenment.

~ We've all been one another's mother at some point:

(...) a meditation practice widely attested in diverse Buddhist traditions aims to cultivate loving kindness towards others (including enemies) through the“mother contemplation.” This meditation involves reflecting upon the nature of the endless chain of rebirths, wherein we have all, given the vast infinity of time in saṃsāra, been related to one another in previous lives. In beginning the contemplation, one should consider the tender ministrations of one’s mother when one was an infant in this life. Tsong kha pa (1357–1419), an important Tibetan authority on meditation and morality, describes this recollection:

The first thing I did was take a long period in her womb. Thereafter, in the time of my rearing, my downy baby hair pressed against her warm flesh. Her ten fingers gave me recreation. She suckled me with the milk from her breast. With her mouth she fed me. My snivel she wiped from my mouth. Wiping away with her hand my filth, she succored me wearilessly by diverse means. Moreover, my own capacity falling short, she gave me food and drink in the time of hunger and thirst; clothes when I shivered; money when I was “broke.” (Wayman, 1991, p. 47)

In the practice one considers one’s incapacity and vulnerability as an infant and the crucial acts of care that one’s mother (or other caregiver) rendered. Such reflections create a subjectivity of gratitude and loving appreciation for one’s parent. From these contemplations, the practice is extended to consider that all beings have at one time been one’s mother and have partaken in this role of caregiving and generosity. Thus, it would be unbecoming to harbor angry or hostile thoughts against so-called enemies now, and instead one comes to be suffused with gratitude and loving kindness towards them.

Check the entire article "Buddhist Ethics."

~ No moral principle is absolute:

The perfection of skillful means (upāya) is particularly interesting from the ethical point of view. This virtue involves the mastery of a kind of situational intelligence and beneficial expedience whereby a bodhisattva is sometimes authorized, or even obliged, to violate the precepts in order to bring about a greater good. A classic example is a bodhisattva who kills a murderous thief on board a ship who designs to kill the passengers and rob them. The bodhisattva reasons that it would be heinous to allow the robber to carry out his design, but if he were to alert the passengers they would kill the robber, effecting their own bad karmic results. Thus the bodhisattva kills the robber himself, saving all present from the effects of their own murderous intentions. Of course, the bodhisattva is prepared to suffer in hell for countless eons as a result of breaking the precept that prohibits taking life; this is regarded as the price of his altruistic and self-denying impulse to take on the sufferings of others through preventing them from committing any harmful deeds. Discussions of skillful means thus demonstrate not only the far reaches of a bodhisattva’s compassion, but also a principled resistance to an absolutist moral code, perceiving instead moral demands that take in the complexities of circumstances in such a way that may require subverting normally universal moral rules.

~ I didn't quite get it ...

There are many forms of emptiness meditation in the various Tibetan traditions. One such typical meditation associated with the “sūtra” stream of Tibetan Buddhism is the so-called “sevenfold reasoning” drawn from Candrakīrti’s (c. 600–650) Guide to the Middle Way (dbu ma la ’jug pa; Skt., Madhyamakāvatāra). The gist of the reasoning concerns itself with the analysis of a chariot and its parts, and recalls the famous dialogue between Nāgasena and Milinda in the Questions of King Milinda (milindapanha). The seven analyses are: (1) there is no chariot other than its parts; (2) there is no chariot that is the same as its parts; (3) there is no chariot that inherently possesses its parts; (4) there is no chariot that inherently depends on its parts; (5) there is no chariot upon which its parts inherently depend; (6) there is no chariot that is the mere collection of its parts; and (7) there is no chariot that is the shape of its parts. These same reasonings may be applied to the existence of the “self” (bdag; Skt., ātman), whether it is of a person or a phenomenon (e.g., a chariot), and its relation to their aggregates (phung po; Skt., skandha).

... is there a chariot or not?

~ Meditation on compassion (for those times when your teeth start chattering with the cold of Buddhist emptiness):

If emptiness deconstructs the world, compassion is what pulls us back into engagement within its illusory appearances. One of the most famous forms of compassion meditation found in Tibetan Buddhism is the “giving and taking” meditation (gtong len). This is done in conjunction with the meditator’s breathing and in relation to all beings, including family members, friends, enemies, and strangers, all of whom are visualized seated around the meditator. As the meditator breathes out, the meditator imagines that all of his or her personal happiness, comfort, wealth, and re- sources transform into white light and go out to all the beings seated there. When the light strikes the beings that are visualized surrounding the meditator, he or she imagines that the light fulfills all their wishes, heals all illnesses, and bestows all happiness. With the inhalation of the breath, the meditator is directed to visualize all the suffering and causes for suffering present within the beings’ mental continua being drawn back into the meditator in the form of black smoky light rays. These beams then merge with the meditator, who imagines that he or she has taken on all the sufferings and misery of all others. Most compassion contemplative techniques involve such guided reveries including scripted liturgy and visualizations.

Such meditation helps the meditator adopt an attitude that inverts the normal pattern of viewing oneself and one’s own concerns as preeminent, and it instills the habit of seeing others as being more important. The significance of this in Buddhist terms is easy to discern. First, it inculcates in the practitioner compassion toward others, and slowly habituates one to sacrifice one’s own interest in order to benefit others. Second, on the ultimate level, one is undermining and dismantling the structures of ego that are the underlying cause for all of one’s suffering through exchanging one’s own interests and happiness for those of others. In this way compassion both inculcates a realization of emptiness through dissolving boundaries, but also offers an essential complement to realization of emptiness by instilling a sense of the value of others, as illusory as their identity may ultimately be.

~ The secret of Tantric meditation (or, what you all have been secretly waiting for ):

The most central is the “fierce woman” (gtum mo; Skt., Caṇḍali) practice based upon the “adamantine body”, a subtle body of channels, winds, and nuclei forming an experiential configuration within the coarse physical body. The core sequence of contemplative events mimics sexual experience, but harnesses it for the sake of enlightenment. Three subtle channels run up the torso’s center from the head to the genitals, branching out to pervade the body with “wheels” (cakra) at the crown, throat, heart, navel, and genitals. One visualizes a triangle of solar fire at the navel that causes a white lunar haṃ syllable at the crown to drip. The resultant flow downwards of ambrosial nuclei causes experiences of increasing joy known as “four joys,” clearly modeled upon male sexual arousal. The emphasis on bliss is integrated with the Mahayana focus on emptiness, such that the yoga rightly pursued involves a potent realization of emptiness enhanced by the intensity of experience engendered by the bliss. It is famous for its testing procedure, in which an initiate is expected to utilize contemplatively generated heat to dry wet clothes while sitting naked on a glacier at night. Such public displays could be utilized to mobilize human and financial capital in support of their own social and religious agendas.

... Feeling enlightened and ennobled, aren't you?

(I feel entertained. That last sentence, man.

And that testing procedure is eerily similar to what Danlo did during his admission trial for the Order of Mystic Mathematicians.)

~ Still not convinced Buddhism is primarily a tool and not an end in itself?

Early canonical literature tells a story about an encounter between the Buddha and a man named Mālunkyaputta. According to the story, Mālunkyaputta asked the Buddha a series of questions: Is the universe eternal or not? Is it finite or infinite? Is the soul identical to the body or not? Does the Buddha exist after death or not? Does he both exist and not exist after death? Does he neither exist nor not exist? Mālunkyaputta said that, if he did not get answers to these questions, he would leave the order. The Buddha responded with a story about a man who was wounded by a poisoned arrow. When someone tried to take out the arrow, the man said: “Wait! Until you tell me who shot the arrow, what kind of person he was, what the bow and arrow were made of, and so forth, I will not let you remove the arrow.” The Buddha said that Mālunkyaputta was like the man shot by the arrow. His speculative questions did not have anything to do with the practical challenge of removing suffering. Buddhists interpret this story as meaning that the Buddha’s teaching has a practical goal. Buddhist philosophy is not averse to questions about the nature of reality, even questions that are quite abstruse, but in the end their purpose is to remove suffering.

Another story compares the Buddha’s teaching to a raft. The Buddha explains that his teaching should help people cross the river of suffering and should not be treated as a source of attachment. Someone who becomes attached to the words of the teaching is like a man who builds a raft to cross a river, gets to the other side, and is so fond of the raft that he puts it on his back and carries it wherever he goes. The right attitude toward the raft is to use it to cross a river then let it go. Once again, the teaching has a practical function, but out if its practicality grows a critical principle. This story challenges anyone who reveres tradition for its own sake, even when that tradition is the teaching of the Buddha. When the Buddha’s teaching is no longer useful, or when it is not effective in removing suffering, it should be left behind.

Check the entire article "Buddhist Philosophy."

[Кал]

И сега едно процедурно питане към всички, писали в тази тема:

Имате ли против да я преместя „на открито“ – в подфорум „... и Вселената“? За да може да я четат и нерегистрирани потребители.

Приемам възражения до вторник, 8 февруари.

[frog]

ИмаХ добро мнение за п. Франциск като цяло... преди да разбера, че одобрил промяна на НЕЩО в Господнята молитва... Да не река инициирал. https://dariknews.bg/novini/obshtestvo/ ... sh-2170490
Б... мое ли сме толкова... ъъъ... "ядосваш ме" vs "ядосвам се"?!?!?! Много е фрапантно.
'Се едно да признаем, че бай Киро и братото Мето са спали, докато са седяли да превеждат разни работи "едно време... мнооого отдавна, чак около миналия петък"!

заменяйки думите „Не ни въвеждай в изкушение" с "Не ни давай да се поддадем на изкушението“

П. Фр. определено ме "ядосва"!... И все едно не са се провеждали велики събори, на които да се нищи 'сяка една думчица от Книгата... Аман от артикулирани и политически коректни мисионери!

"Локуми" за избавлението - https://www.vaticannews.va/en/pope/news ... -evil.html.

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2019/ ... rds-prayer
https://text.npr.org/731132203 - тука па The King James Bible се споменава накрая, което е ходене по много тънък лед, понеже като писана/превеждана, нарочно е правена да звучи "магично" и "приковаващо", произнесена на глас.
Иначе:

the gospels are pretty clear in the Greek that the original translation - lead us not into temptation - is the best reflection of that biblical Greek. It's a subjunctive verb. It's used in the second person, addressed directly to God. And it really does say, do not lead us into temptation. Please - I hope that you do not lead me into temptation.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGepA9nFXXs

[frog]

Изпълнението е много хубаво наистина. Напомня ми на нещо, но мозъчната ми база данни не може да изтърси какво .

Аргументът, че молитвата не бивало да бъде инфантилна... Според мен тя става инфантилна точно когато се промени, за да си "отговаря" и изрично да осовбождава Отеца от отговорност и от склонността ни да грешим... Все едно подписваш договор. Не съм си и представяла колко много емоция и размишления може да предизвика у мен една такава смешна промяна. Надявам се да не се спазва.

[Кал]

Не Бог, а дяволът ни въвежда в изкушения

Някой може ли да ми цитира къде в Библията е дефиниран „дяволът“? Как се появява за първи път и какви функции изпълнява?

Мен идеята, че нещо извън нас ни изкушава, ме забавлява най-чистосърдечно. Хрис, правилно ли те тълкувам, че ти предпочиташ Бог да си носи отговорността за нашите изкушения?

[frog]

Не, изобщо не предпочитам това и смятам за тъпо някой изрично да застрахова Бог по такъв начин или изрично да се натъртва кой греши. Просто не смятам, че това е редно да се изрича буквално, а би било хубаво всеки сам да си стигне до него.

[Кал]

Тоест и старият, и новият вариант са подвеждащи? А истината ще е достъпна само за хората, които си я стигнат самички?

Но ако е така, има ли значение какво точно пише в Библията?

(Впрочем тоя херметически подход към познанието е много характерен за част от будистките школи. Не помня дали цитирах съответния пасаж в записките за будизма горе, но текстовете им са фрашкани с фрази, които трябва да се тълкуват напълно различно от буквалния си смисъл и само друг „посветен“ може да ти даде ключ към тях. Тия скрити тълкувания даже не са записани никъде – разпространявали са се само устно.)

П.П. Впрочем току-що ми „светна“ хулиганска интерпретация на призива „Боже, пази ни от изкушенията“ в светлината на човешкото здраве и невробиологията. Мога да ви я изиграя на живо, ако ми напомните.

[frog]

Кхм, подвеждащи? Подвеждащи???

Колко да е буквално "насъщният ни хляб дай нам дйънйъс"* и "прости нам греховете ни" . Senseй каза, че сега като чете Библията, съвсем по различен начин я разбира. Вярващ е отдавна и не е като да не я е чел преди .

Аз не напомням. Иначе се присетих за историята ми с жената бог . Дали съм я разказвала на senseй...

* Дори в случая "моля нахранете жабата, защото не може да се грижи за себе си и не усеща глад, а само лакомия" .

За мен е важно мислени неща отпреди 2000 години да не бъдат променяни с "методите" на съвремието. Щото идеята на П. ФР. определено не я пише точно в Библията. Може да я пише само в неговата Библия. В моята нямам намерение да я пише.

[Кал]

Но аз продължавам да не разбирам: какво значение има за теб какво точно пише в Библията?

(Горното „Кхм, подвеждащи? Подвеждащи??? “ не ми дава разбираем отговор.)

[frog]

Библията е написана и не искам никой да я пренаписва. Не искам някой да диктува на другите какво как следва да възприемат в Библията уж за улеснение и яснота.

С понятието "подвеждащ" е ~ същото като "ядосвам (се)" и "избави ме/се".