Killing the Buddha and Escaping the Cult of the Self: An Apologia for Buddhism's Sensible Neutrality

地獄 “Hell” by Seigan Sōi 清巌宗渭

Recently it was brought to my attention by someone very close to me [a non-Buddhist] how similar the fundamental contemplations of Buddhism can appear to the various rhetorics employed by cults to alienate their prospective members from mainstream society—as means to ripen them for further indoctrination. It’s the classic scheme of portraying the world as helplessly depraved and hostile, congenitally diseased; and the cure of course is the proposed doctrine or symbol-figure which through swearing allegiance to, embodying or emulating, and living in service of, there is a promise of personal salvation as well as an opportunity to act as a conduit for some transcendent force of good to be brought into this infernal realm for the benefit of all. One finds joy and relief as all one’s vague intuitions are at last confirmed, the answers to seemingly all questions are clearly given, and one proudly strides forth in the confidence that through such sublime wisdom one is unquestionably serving the utmost virtue. This much seems to be perfectly shared in common between authentic Buddhadharma and the perhaps more refined cult, but what’s different between the two?

Well let's examine that which characterizes a cult. Aside from the obvious fact that members tend to be exploited, the basis of exploitation is often the inhibition of questioning and the suppression of logic through condemning the involvement of critical analysis in the ascertainment of ultimate truth. This is a sly perversion of the perennial axiom that ultimate truth is indeed ungraspable by discursive mind. However, in authentic spiritual traditions such as Buddhadharma, the demarcation of the truth that transcends concepts is precisely drawn through a meticulous and exhaustive fulfillment of formal logic—through which the definitive confirmation of ultimate truth as ineffable is realized as the final act and perfection of reasoning itself. Practitioners are then held to the responsiblity of maintaining skillful harmony between the transcendent mode of ascertaining the ultimate and common pragmatism that allows us to discern and function in the relative day-to-day with sensitivity [to the nuances of basic morality such as the inappropriateness of proselytization and so on]. Contrarily, through total exclusion of critical analysis from doctrinal discourse, immutability of authority is ensured regardless of the absence of any logical validity whatsoever; as core beliefs are utterly divorced from mundane sensibility and followers are made intoxicated by faith, consumed by hope and fear, and at least partially immune to reason; which points to the first and foremost differential factor between members of a cult and practitioners of Buddhism: discerning intelligence.

With the exception of those simply endowed with the good fortune of having encountered a rare authentic teacher or tradition with little trouble, for most modern people, the journey of spiritual seeking is perilous to say the least. The volume of dubious approaches to new age spirituality is multiplying like bad consumer art while religious fundamentalists are ever more fervent and provoked by the former. To avoid being burnt between these two fires demands great discerning intelligence; “great” because those who succumb to either are not necessarily stupid. They can in many cases be quite sane and intelligent, perfectly functional members of society. It’s certainly the case that cults are constantly evolving, and may very well be weaving their own relatively elaborate webs of logic that could make one of decent mental acuity believe it all to make good sense. Given so, "great” would be an understatement. One must be unrelentingly discerning, capable and willing to question exhaustively. Anyone that's read a canonical Buddhist treatise on—say—the subject of “emptiness” is well familiar with the tortured degree of hair-splitting logic applied that at times can make a modern scientific journal read like a verse novel. Such hair-splitting isn't merely a flourish of intellectual gymnastics, but rather evidence of the extreme rigor of reasoning Buddhists have dedicated towards the dire question: is it completely true? Since objectively the difference between an authentic doctrine of liberation and a perverse one is simply whether it's actually an all-encompassing, faultless view of reality or if there's even a slight distortion or something missing, conveniently left unresolved, and thus susceptible to appropriation by a deluded agenda.

A perfect metaphor for the process of analytic discernment prior to practical commitment is the sci-fi idea of a spaceship’s “warp-drive”: first, the coordinates must be set precisely and the path must be confirmed to be clear, presumably through technology involving significant computational power with virtually no potential for error. Otherwise, you end up in a completely wrong galaxy, or crash into a star or asteroid, etc. Authentic spiritual teachers—recognizing this principle—will have prospective students spend months or even years critically examining the fundamental tenets of the system before actually committing to the path, since once one has committed, it’s difficult to back out or adjust one's perceptions and judgements. There is always a risk of intoxication by devotion as it’s human nature for our emotions to become entwined with the impetus of fervent personal dedication without regard for objective validity.

Now given how precarious and tiresome it all tends to be, many—despite possessing adequate discernment—would be reluctant to engage the paradigm of formal systematic spiritual practice altogether. It seems more sensible to simply do one’s best to be kind and monitor one’s excesses and shortcomings organically; but even moderate success in this manner largely depends on privilege of circumstances, innate mildness of temperament, as well as the ultimate goal of the individual pertaining to matters within the confines of conventional material reality [this life]—ignoring the gaping void of the afterlife's practical management.

So then what makes the specifically Buddhist conception of so-called enlightenment worth striving for? How is the Buddha’s discovery relevant to the merely discerning and intelligent person? To answer these questions, it's necessary to evaluate the man known as the Buddha [literally “one who is awake”] not as a supernatural being descended to Earth through some abstract divine agency, but as a human-being that realized a perfect epitome of mental soundness, and his presentation of the human condition and its solution as not a mystical narrative, but a mere thorough observation of a vast web-reaction of avoidable sufferings stemming from a single involuntary misapprehension: self.

His claim is that on the basis of the existential experience of all being intrinsically interdependent; the collective, perpetual suffering and dissatisfaction of beings: there’s a cure for it, and the cure is for each individual to simply loosen the habitual reification of the illusion that things are inherently any particular way [existing or not existing, pleasant or unpleasant, shaped, colored, and so on], that phenomena including one's own self are fixed solid entities until they are somehow physically destroyed or otherwise expire; that I am here in this body, as a person of such and such family and nation and I am hungry, horny, anxious, threatened, bored, or upset; and all of this is nonnegotiable.

So far this might sound palatable enough, but the issue arises when one discovers how tight the knot of this misapprehension really is, to the point where it becomes apparent that a casual effort to amend it will not suffice; and this is the border where many of us get stuck out of fear that we might lose some essential self-agency to some questionable hive-mind or who knows what. In any case, the liberation of the mind is too complex of a task to effectively execute with innate faculties alone. It requires a composite tool, too sophisticated for us to fabricate intuitively, and perhaps too powerful and potentially dangerous for its manufacturer to make freely available outside of a committed relationship where qualifications are monitored [as certain medications are not available over the counter and certain firearms are limited to military personnel]. In that case, the question arises: to preserve autonomy from commitment to a system for the sake of sovereignty itself or to decisively advance into a life of single-pointed dedication under structured guidance for the sake of efficacy?

Now, here I’d like to challenge this notion of sovereignty, the notion that one is by default somehow autonomous at all. This misapprehension of self strongly resembles the devotional object of a cult. From birth it asserts itself as real and we do not question it. Whatever it wants, we give it, and if we do not have it, we demand it from others or otherwise arrange to procure it. If it’s tired, we’re tired. It's irritated, we’re irritated. It’s lonely, we’re lonely. It calls the shots. It also creates the effect that it grants us what we want, but that is only on the condition that there is an “I” wanting, so really it’s what it wants. The self is our best friend and backstabber. They got us the high-paying job, only for us to spend most of the money made on entertaining them or supporting their ambitions. Every individual must witness this truth directly for themselves. We must walk in on our best friend sleeping with our lover with their bags packed to elope together with our joint bank account emptied. It isn’t terribly uncommon to have such an experience though perhaps often it may not be severe enough to catalyze any permanent drastic shift in outlook. Regardless, I would almost say it's standard—to have the genuine epiphany on at least one occasion that “I’m the problem”, or perhaps less commonly—for those that struggle with constant feelings of hostility towards others—that “I am the enemy”. As a society we generally recognize that a virtuous deed is any action where the self is restrained; and that a good, mature person is someone that exercises such restraint to a conventional degree at minimum. Growth as a human being even in a mundane sense, is loosening the grip of the self’s reign.

The Buddhist system however, suggests we take a few steps further by applying exhaustive critical analysis to this notion of self, to conceive of a transcendent mode of experience free from the inherent assertion of self completely, which the tradition proclaims as liberating as well as lasting. Then, in order to actually discover and cultivate that conception through direct experience, one is instructed to meditate in the most stripped down way—on one’s mind alone, free of devotional objects, but with inquisitive vigilance simply to taste for oneself the evidence that something neutral beyond one’s habitual mode of self-existence is palpably there. Is there really such a state without self that is desirable? Isn’t that basically death? How can one then function in the world let alone be of benefit to others? One can find out for themselves, not only through meditation but perhaps to a less profound degree through various worldly mediums such as conventional love, psychedelic drugs or extraordinary aesthetic experiences in particular such as a musical performance, a ceramic ware, a magnificent cathedral, mosque, or temple; orgasm etc. all of which can provide a momentary glimpse into a self-less state. Thus generally we can observe that a person with a profound relationship to the senses, or in a fulfilling sexual-romantic relationship tends to be happier and thus kinder, and so on.

However, when transcendence of self is dependent on a mental or sensory object [or any external cause], there’s a risk of installing that object itself as a new cause of bondage. Sometimes the self and the purported cause of transcendence will collude such as in many cases of artists and spiritual dilettantes who succumb to narcissistic fantasy, or cases of sexual-romantic obsession, religious fanaticism and fundamentalism especially. So one often might find oneself in a cult of beauty and sense pleasure, a cult of such and such god, a cult of ones toxic partner, and very well possibly a cult of some aberration of the Buddha. This brings us to a unique and crucial feature of the Buddhist method, a safety measure you could say. That is—as authentic users of the Buddhist system—we must "kill the Buddha”. As the famous saying of the Tang dynasty Zen master Línjì Yìxuán [better known in Japanese as Rinzai Gigen] goes:

“If you meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha.”

Why is a Buddhist teacher telling us to “kill the Buddha"? What does it mean to "kill the Buddha”? What Rinzai means to say is to refrain from corrupting the liberating clarity of the Buddha’s exposition and instruction by reifying the Buddha himself as an object of hysterical fantasy and senseless veneration. For a Buddhist—ultimately speaking—the Buddha is just another illusion, as are the notions of truth and illusion themselves. The numerous manifestations and teachings of the Buddha [such as the doctrine of “emptiness”] merely exist for the pragmatic purpose of providing a workable method, by which those of various dispositions may come to discover and stabilize an experience that is beyond concepts.

Mūlamadhyamakakārikā 13:8:

“Emptiness is taught by the victors as a means to eliminate all [metaphysical] views, but those for whom emptiness is a [metaphysical] view are said to be incurable.”

The Buddha’s parable of the raft again maintains that his doctrine at large is provisional:

Though one spends great effort in collecting the necessary parts and assembling a raft to cross a vast body of water, it would be foolish to continue carrying the raft on one’s back after reaching the opposite shore.

While any supreme principle is bound to be essentially parasitic, the Buddha's method is self-dissolving. It's like a diuretic pill you ingest and piss out with the rest of the unwanted fluids. However, if one does understand the Buddhist existential model to be valid, the relative notion of innate autonomy to be a myth, and thus decides upon the empirical pursuit of freedom as worthwhile, it is largely necessary to commit to taking a regular course of the medicine according to the doctor's prescription precisely. When one is stuck with grave illness, of course it isn’t entirely impossible for one to cure oneself through sheer will or intuition, but surely this is—in the vast majority of cases—impractical. It would be sensible to subscribe to some credible system of medicine free of side-effects and long-term dependence, and adhere to its tenets carefully. Even if one did possess such rare ability to heal oneself, the value of gaining experience in the efficacy of medicine for ones own illness as a basis for being of aid to others with similar conditions might be callous to reject. Thus we can recognize that while—in one sense—discerning intelligence is the primary driving force and means of the Buddhist path, compassion is the fundamental cause [or vice versa].

In some cases it may be necessary to remind oneself that excessive distrust or skepticism—towards an idea such as that a purely benevolent force of total omniscience in fact exists and doesn't seek to deceive us—is itself an emotional sentiment, and that this along with comparable tendencies—such as the refusal to recognize oneself as mortally afflicted by ignorance just because one feels such a narrative framework to be unpleasant—are all neutralized by thorough logical contemplation driven by compassion. Then it’s simply a matter of resolving to embark on the project of uprooting self-grasping and emancipating the mind once and for all, critically examining a potential guide and the tenets of their method, and—upon agreement—sticking to the plan until the intended result is achieved. It’s no different than any worldly matter such as seeking the service of a physician for one’s illness.

A good physician will do their best to instill genuine understanding in their patients of their condition so that they may make their own lifestyle decisions as they see fit according to the force of their determination to become well. Similarly as a Buddhist practitioner, when I—for example—engage in contemplation of the faults of saṃsāra for the purpose of producing revulsion [the practice pointed out as appearing cultish], I do so out of my own recognition that I'm forgetful and hedonistic. The intention is a skillful calibration to a stable objective view of the reality of suffering and dissatisfaction from our shortsighted and compulsive optimism—which through favoring perceptions conducive to our lust for life, render us complacent and indifferent towards the path to complete liberation. Considering this, a Buddhist practitioner must possess a certain degree of fortitude as to be able to wholly embrace and even concentrate on the ugliest truths of this illusory realm without being disturbed to the point of emotional instability. It goes without saying that a personal connection to a living exemplar of the tradition—that by virtue of their uncontrived being instills confidence in the reality of liberation despite the morbidity of cyclical suffering—is a vital asset. Such a person serves as an anchor for the student, and often inspires one to examine one’s own conduct and quality of practice more critically, which brings us to the Buddhist notion of saṅgha [community of adepts and ordained monastics] and gaṇa [the wider Buddhist community]—vs. the cult model of encouraging group-think and installing dependence in members.

One can intuit the mechanics behind the case of the cult, but the Buddhist situation may use some clarification. Let's start with the subject of “refuge”. In Buddhism we go for refuge to the Buddha as the example, the dharma as the teaching or method, and the saṅgha as the communal support. “Refuge” being from fundamental misapprehension of reality and its afflictive ramifications, we go for refuge to the Buddha and explicitly not what’s referred to as “worldly gods” such as Viṣṇu, Śiva, Brahma, the Abrahamic God, one’s ancestors, nature spirits, a pop idol, cannabis etc. Okay, restriction—red flag right? Let's first consider the meaning. The reason for the proscription of such objects of refuge—which by the way, here denotes complete inward devotion—is that all of these objects are entities and things conceived as real, whereas the Buddha is a symbol [of an ineffable state] that we recognize as provisional and transcending ontological status. So in practice, Buddhists are actually permitted to recite prayers and mantras of various non-Buddhist deities, pay obeisance to ancestors and nature spirits, engage in passionate fandom, and so on as long as such activities don’t become significant hindrances to our practice and we commit to holding in our minds the view that such things are empty of inherent nature and in themselves do not serve as a means of transcendence—as to avoid falling into distraction or further delusion. It was I that decided to sign up for the system because I want enlightenment; the system is merely a tool designed to do its job.

Likewise, refuge in the dharma means one doesn't conflate the Buddhist doctrine with incompatible non-Buddhist views. Many don’t realize how different various traditions’ understandings of reality can be. There’s this popular notion that “all paths lead up the same mountain”, but a moderate depth of earnest study reveals this to be untrue. Even whether different systems of practice within the same Buddhist tradition lead to the same result is debatable. One simply chooses that which resonates, makes sense, and is accessible to them according to their capacity, then sticks with it. Otherwise, dabbling long-term or entertaining the ego-trip of assembling a new system to subsume all the seemingly disparate views by patching together multiple superficial understandings gets relatively nowhere. Personally, I had converted to Buddhadharma from another tradition through surrender in debate, and if at any point I were to encounter a different view which effectively refuted what appears to me now as irrefutable [Buddhadharma—being self-refuting], I would drop it all and switch over to that without hesitation. This—in my opinion—is the mark of a “true Buddhist”.

Now refuge in the saṅgha contains some of the more difficult points by extension. As Buddhists, we are to rely on the saṅgha exclusively for intimate companionship. Saṅgha proper is referring only to adepts and ordained monastics and not all Buddhists. I interpret this to imply that as a serious practitioner, one can only really rely on deep interaction with someone who has actually realized the path for any wholesome effect, given there are hordes of people who identify as Buddhists in the world that are frankly far less principled than the average non-Buddhist. The inclusion of monastics is presumably based on the strict expectation for the ordained to uphold a high standard of virtue [which is not reliably the case today], expressing the grave offense of misconduct as a monk or nun.

Then, what is—in my personal experience—the most challenging issue that took the longest time to understand and accept, is the necessity for close friends and sexual or romantic partners to be aligned with one’s view and state as a devout practitioner. There are some very practical reasons for this. Close companionship generally comes with deep conversation—that is—earnest communication. The logical perfection of Buddhism in no way implies that it is necessarily for everyone, in that as a Buddhist—and not a buddha—lacking omniscient clarity and skillfulness, it is not necessarily safe or appropriate to divulge one’s radically unconventional inward views concerning reality, as they could very well be jarring or simply misleading by being presented in the wrong way at the wrong time. Things certainly may change as one progresses along the path developing greater sensitivity and finesse of body, voice, and mind; but until then, it is often the case that a novice practitioner is somewhat of a potential hazard in intimate relations with non-Buddhists simply by virtue of incompetence; as many of the tenets of Buddhadharma at this awkward stage are still objects of conceptual grasping muddled with one’s yet unresolved emotions and hangups. It is inevitable that through such imperfect practice, one has—at least temporarily—made Buddhism into a cult for oneself. So at best, one serves as a flawed example—and thus a misrepresentation—of Buddhist practice.

In romantic partnership, the problem is only amplified. A teacher of mine when asked “who is the most powerful god in saṃsāra?” replied “Cupid”. This would indicate that aside from the cult of the self, the most powerful cult in this realm is actually “love”—sexual-romantic love. Worldly beings literally worship this love, and this is evident by observing any form of popular media. For the average agnostic and casual theist alike, love is practically God. For a Buddhist however, this love is just another afflictive illusion to be sublimated as a medium of practice or transcended altogether. A worldly person might believe themselves to be perfectly content as long as they possess love, but this certainly wouldn’t be the case for a Buddhist. In tantric context particularly, sexual-romantic love is repurposed as an instrument for gaining realization. In such a case it is imperative that both individuals share the same ultimate goal and supreme value of achieving buddhahood in this life above all else. Otherwise, any incongruence in values of such immense magnitude is likely to result in complications and disappointments if not serious hurt. Needless to say, dwelling on the possibility that a non-Buddhist partner might eventually convert, or that a casual Buddhist might develop tenacious zeal towards intensive practice through one’s own influence is—more often than not—a setup for toxicity.

While on one hand we defend the flawless validity of the Buddhist view, in practice we respect circumstances as with whether or not a friend feels ready to leave a party. They might be having a great time. Even though they just spent an hour with their face in the toilet swearing to never drink again, they vomited, came back fresh and just popped some molly. One only makes a fool of oneself by attempting to convince such a person that this party kinda sucks, that all the fucked up shit happening like the girl that OD'd and the fight that broke out is due to the root cause of ignorance concerning the nature of mind, or warn of the massive hurricane of death and rebirth approaching and that it's all going under…because if you go to right room the music is actually amazing, the people are kind and attractive, and there’s really no end to enjoyment. It's an extremely specific insight to have reached where one earnestly feels that such fleeting but exquisite pleasures are truly unsatisfactory. Yet even for such an individual, distraction is inevitable; so one’s limited vitality is considered best spent either alone in practice or in the company of inspiring teachers and fellow practitioners of right mind.

Despite having repeatedly taken the vow to attain buddhahood in this life for the benefit of all beings, instead of practicing I might prefer to watch a movie, scroll through instagram, go to an art opening or dinner with friends, and pursue endless seemingly profound worldly endeavors. Months and years go by in this way, then the next time my partner needs me to put my tendencies aside and show up for her I fail, during times I should be silent regarding spiritual matters I say too much and misrepresent my ideals creating obstacles for others, and when a friend comes to me with their troubles I lack the clairvoyance and skillful means to offer any significant lasting aid. I am by all standards an integral part of the problem of universal suffering without necessarily being considerably wicked or immoral; not to mention—I still lack any tangible insight concerning my state after death. At best one can be confident that one is ready for whatever is to come in this life, but what about after death when all the faculties of clarity, judgment, and so on are not guaranteed to be intact? One doesn’t have to believe in anything concerning the afterlife, but one thing is for certain: we have no direct knowledge nor control of what happens to us after death as we are now, and upon earnest reflection one might discover how truly unsettling this is, as well as how much we actually depend on certainty and control in daily life.

While the subject of Buddhist claims to empirical knowledge of death and rebirth is beyond the scope of this piece, for the moment it suffices to say that upon thorough investigation of the subject, the contents are honestly—in my opinion—impressive, as robust as it gets, comprehensively irrefutable; so I’ve placed my bets accordingly, and now—acknowledging the preceding conditions—it’s my own responsibility to fortify my motivation in ways that might seem extreme to some, but make sense considering how difficult the attainment of this “enlightenment” is proving to be. I mean, in a way it’s a bit absurd of an objective. 8.1 billion humans on this planet—that’s just humans [as opposed to sentient beings], and just this planet—all suffering eternally, and I want to be somehow permanently exempt from this? It couldn’t possibly be that easy. Forty-five minutes a day of meditating on the breath likely won’t achieve it. A couple months of retreat won’t either, not even three years depending on one’s specific ambition. This is where Buddhadharma again differs from religions and cults. Not only are you not okay, but no one can save you. A buddha can only show you a path. You reap what you sow. Not very convenient nor assuring. So in order to prime the body-mind with the unwavering determination and courage to seize this liberation for real, it can be necessary to apply some pretty intense forms of fuel to the fire of motivation. Otherwise, I just probably won't get it, and not getting it could mean facing something I’m absolutely not prepared nor down for. We dread even some of the most minor troubles. Given the unlikelihood that consciousness begins and ceases with this life, how could we expect to bear potential eons of utter unpredictability? Such is the again characteristically inconvenient reality.

If it were mentioned that such a constant calibration to a particular view is cultish, I would refer back to the point that beings in general constantly reify a view by default—and a pernicious one at that. There is always a view, and the Buddhist agenda has always been to refine and embody a sort of phantom view which merely serves the purpose of cessation of suffering and dissatisfaction [Skt. duḥkha]. Functional metaphysics. Since there is no perennial truth other than that there is no perennial truth, we fabricate a temporary disposable one that resolves the perceived issue [being that misperception of any issue itself]. If one even found so much to be disagreeable, the only alternative proposal would be a fantasy of perpetual liminality which is deceptive only because despite one's idealizations, one nevertheless remains in the too-elusive cult of the self. I'm sure that many—despite the aforementioned considerations—would still prefer such a fantasy regardless of any elaborate apologetics, and understandably so, especially given the fault of so many false representatives of the transcendent state and their treacheries.

Returning to the metaphor of medicine, some diseases are extremely difficult to cure even with the best doctor, remedies, and lifestyle modifications. It goes without saying that there are many incompetent physicians in the world, and even amongst those who are generally good it might take numerous failed endeavors before meeting one who can effectively treat one’s particular ailment. In the end it's a matter of one’s own tenacity, discernment, and conviction, as well as causal conditions; and there’s never any real guarantee. Simply put—for those of us who persevere nonetheless—it’s simply that our weariness of cyclical existence exceeds the difficulty of making our way out.

So is Buddhism a cult? It certainly can be, as can anything. So far however, I’ve yet to encounter any convincing proposal other than that of the Buddha concerning a means to be entirely free from one, nor could I imagine a viable alternate means; and while I’m certainly open to surprises—given the time of death is uncertain—it seems most sensible to just use what works that’s available now.