One of the Buddhism’s main characteristics is the fact that its theological doctrine appears to reflect both: the genetically predetermined psychological inclinations of the ancient Aryans (the religion’s initial creators), and the fact that, as time went on, the Buddhist doctrine was becoming progressively adjusted to the native (the original inhabitants of the Great Indian Peninsula) people’s tendency to objectify themselves within the surrounding reality. This is exactly the reason why many Westerners cannot help finding Buddhism aesthetically emotionally appealing, and yet somewhat inconsistent with what happened to be their deep-seated existential anxieties. In this paper, I will explore the validity of the above-stated at length, while referring to the texts The Questions of King Milinda on the Self / A Dialogue on Dogmatism and Truth and to what appear to be the particulars of my self-reflecting stance in life.
As it can be well seen from the dialogue between King Milinda and the Buddhist monk Nagasena, even though that both of these individuals never ceased being affiliated with Buddhism, they nevertheless appear to have possessed several mutually inconsistent views on what accounts for the essence of one’s sense of self-identity. The most distinctive difference, in respect to the mentioned individuals’ worldviews, has to do with the fact that, whereas, Milinda believed in the objectiveness of one’s sense of ‘self-uniqueness,’ Nagasena considered this sense is essentially misleading. To substantiate the validity of his opinion, in this respect, Nagasena came up with the ‘parable of the lamp.’
According to the monk, just as it is the case with the flame of a burning lamp, people’s existence (which in turn affects their perception of themselves) is spatially ‘fluid.’ This, of course, implies that one’s sensation of possessing a soul, as something that cannot be ‘disassembled’ down to its integral elements, is illusionary. In its turn, this creates a certain paradox – in the discursive sense of this word, people can be simultaneously ‘wholesome’ and ‘partial.’ As Nagasena noted: “Neither as the same nor as another does a man go on to the last phase of its self-consciousness” (19). As a result, it could be well suggested that when preoccupied with trying to postpone the time of their death, as something that is believed leads to the destruction of one’s ‘soul,’ people act in the counterproductive manner. After all, if the feeling of their individuality’s continuity, on the part of the people, is self-deceiving, then there can be very little rationale in referring to death, as something that puts an end to the earlier mentioned continuity.
Nevertheless, even though the earlier mentioned line of Nagasena’s argumentation does make a certain logical sense, it would be rather inappropriate referring to it, as such that represents an objective truth-value. The reason for this is that, contrary to what Nagasena must have believed, his perception of self never ceased reflecting the unconscious workings of his psyche, which cannot be discussed outside of the view-forming particulars of this monk’s ethnocultural/racial affiliation. In this respect, Nagasena did not act any differently from the majority of the Southeast-Asians, known for their tendency to strive to ‘blend’ with the surrounding environment – hence, the phenomenon of the Oriental (or ‘Apollonian’) ‘holistic’ mentality.
This phenomenon has been interpreted from a variety of different perspectives. For example, it is commonly suggested that the Buddhists’ obsession with ‘nothingness,’ extrapolated by their mental fixation on how to attain the state of ‘nirvana,’ is indicative of the possession of some ‘higher truth,’ on these people’s part. There is, however, is a much simpler explanation for the above-mentioned phenomenon, concerned with the principle of Occam ’s Razor. Those people, who happened to be endowed with the ‘holistic’ (‘Apollonian’) mentality, strive to attain the ‘state of unity’ with the nature, as the consequence of their unconscious realization that, while remaining essentially undistinguished from the surrounding non-organic matter, they would be less likely to fall victims to predators. What it means is that the Buddhist idea, concerned with the presumed fallaciousness of one’s spatially extended sense of personhood, can well serve as a subtle indication of its affiliates’ evolutionary underdevelopment.
After all, it namely the fact that, while remaining on the path of an evolutionary progress, the representatives of Homo Sapiens species were able to develop the ability to operate with rather abstract subject matters (intellect), and not the supreme ability to hide from predators, which allowed them to ensure their dominance in the environmental niche of the whole planet.
Thus, the verbal exchange between Milinda and Nagasena can be well conceptualized, as such that exposes the deep-seated perceptual dichotomy between ‘Faustians’ (Westerners), on the one hand, and ‘Apollonians’ (non-Westerners), on the other. As opposed to what it happened to be the case with the latter, ‘Faustians’ do not seek to ‘hide’ their existence, while eventually beginning to praise non-existence. Quite on the contrary – they do not only ‘advertise’ their existence to the whole world, but also assume an utterly active stance, while in the process. Hence, these people’s tendency to impose their dominance upon others – they are ‘natural born conquerors.’
Therefore, there is nothing odd about Milinda’s rhetorical question: “And who is it who destroys living creatures? Who is it who takes what is not his own?” (18). After all, this question appears thoroughly consistent with the fact that having been affiliated with India’s highest ruling caste (consisting of ‘Aryans’), Milinda could not emotionally relate to the idea that existence is ‘wicked.’ Apparently, on an unconscious level, Milinda was perfectly aware that one’s ‘wicked’ existence is still so much more morally appropriate than the Buddhists’ commitment towards the ideal of attaining the state of a non-existential nirvana, as something that transgresses the most fundamental laws of nature.
It is understood, of course, that the earlier suggestion cannot be discussed outside of what happened to be the perception-related subtleties of my self-identity, as a euro-centrally minded Westerner, who continues to be affected by several essentially ‘Faustian’ anxieties. As such, I cannot help experiencing the sensation of a cognitive dissonance, when the discussion of Buddhist ideas is being concerned. On the one hand, I like the spirit of tolerance and environmental friendliness, radiated by the religion of Buddhism. On the other, however, I find it rather impossible to become this religion’s active practitioner – all because, being genetically ‘programmed’ to seek domination, I cannot possibly relate to the virtue of non-existence, by definition. Another example – even though I find the Buddhist idea that one should never stop trying to become evermore enlightened thoroughly appealing, I simply refuse to believe that the ‘state of enlightenment’ can be achieved by the mean of spinning a prayer-wheel for decades.
The same can be said about the majority of White people in the West, as well. After all, it does not account for much of a secret that even those of them that happened to be closely affiliated with Buddhism, rarely take the religion’s discursive provisions close to their hearts. This suggestion correlates perfectly well with my belief that people are not at liberty to choose in favor of a particular religion – rather, religions choose them. Whatever we find emotionally appealing in a particular religion, we necessarily regard as the proof of its ‘truthfulness.’ Given the fact that we are unable to exercise a rationale-based control over what we like or dislike, it will be fully appropriate to suggest that one’s sense of religiosity is genetically predetermined.
The world’s most popular religions are specifically ‘designed’ for the Chinese, Indians, Arabs, Blacks, Whites, etc. When a particular individual affiliate itself with the religion that does not quite ‘suit’ him/her mentally, it becomes only the matter of time, before the individual in question would begin experiencing the sensation of an emotional discomfort with the religion-related initial choice.
As it was mentioned in the Introduction, the Buddhist doctrine was initially concerned with people’s essentially ‘Faustian’ strive to gain a better understanding of how the universe works and to have their sense of empathy towards other humans to be able to actualize itself socially. Therefore, there is nothing incidental about the fact that, as it can be seen in the text A Dialogue on Dogmatism and Truth, Buddha used to stress out the importance of one’s ability to face theological challenges in the intellectually flexible manner: “It is not on the view that the world is eternal… that a religious life depends; it is not on the view that the world is not eternal that a religious life depends” (271).
Nevertheless, as time went on, Buddhism continued to grow increasingly dogmatized. Eventually, this led to the creation of a situation when, as of today, this philosophy-religion can no longer be considered conceptually valid, in the theological sense of this word – just as it happened to be the case with the rest of the world’s religions (especially the monotheistic ones, such as Islam and Christianity). The revolutionary breakthroughs in the field of empirical sciences, which took place throughout the last century, leave only a few doubts, as to the earlier statement’s legitimacy. These religions nevertheless continue to attract ‘racially diverse’ people in the Third World, while the majority of Whites in the West prefers to lead the de facto atheist lifestyles.
The reason for this is apparent – being endowed with the ‘Faustian’ mentality (which prompts them to believe in their semi-divinity), today’s Westerners do not experience the anxiety of non-existence. This once again explains why I cannot emotionally relate to the ‘virtue’ of breaking out of the ‘vicious’ circle of Samsara, promoted by Buddhism – even though I still find the religion of Buddhism the most ‘truthful’ of all.
I believe that the provided earlier line of argumentation, in defense of the legitimacy of my ‘hybrid’ stance on the discussed subject matter, is fully consistent with the paper’s initially proposed thesis. The irony here is concerned with the fact that having adopted an intellectually flexible stance; in this respect, I indeed have what it takes to be considered a good Buddhist.
Works Cited
“A Dialogue on Dogmatism and Truth.” Expanding Philosophical Horisons: An Anthology of Nontraditional Writings. Ed. Max Hallman. Belmont: Wadsworth Publishing Company, 1995. 268-271. Print.
“The Questions of King Milinda on the Self.” Expanding Philosophical Horisons: An Anthology of Nontraditional Writings. Ed. Max Hallman. Belmont: Wadsworth Publishing Company, 1995. 16-19. Print