Dharma and Evolutionary Psychology III: the Trojan Horse

In a famous episode from the myth of Troy narrated in Vergil’s Aeneid, the priest Laocoön tries in vain to persuade his fellow citizens –mad with joy and relief on seeing that the Greeks have finally lifted camp and sailed back to their country– not to bring into the city the uncanny wooden contraption their vanished foes have left behind:

equo ne credite, Teucri.
quidquid id est, timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.

that is,

Do not trust the horse, men of Troy.
Whatever it may be, I fear the Greeks even when bearing gifts.

The Trojan Horse is a highly suitable metaphor to illustrate from an evolutionary viewpoint the origins of the malaise of modern individuals, turned into battlefields where genetically inherited primary drives clash with variable force against the need to conform to a prevailing material and social reality extremely at odds with the primitive milieu which gave birth to those impulses.

Indeed, our bodies and minds are living in the 21st century, in a society where, among other changes, practically nobody ever hunts, gathers or grows by themselves what they eat; where the threat of predators (other than humans) has been almost entirely eliminated; where monogamy has triumphed by and large as a compromise solution for the asymmetrical and frequently conflicting demands of either sex; and where all vestiges of belonging to a tribe beyond one’s immediate family have disappeared and most of us live in large cities, surrounded by total strangers. Nevertheless, the “software” we have at hand to navigate this scenario was designed by a blind (or at best short-sighted) programmer called Natural Selection, based on trial and error over hundreds of thousands of years among cave- or forest-dwelling populations confronted with the exactly opposite conditions on a daily basis.

Briefly said, the difference in the speed at which our environment and our minds have changed has left us off balance on a very fundamental level, because an important segment of our programming is now outdated. What’s worse, the primitive drives in our genes are as active as ever, operating like a fifth column within the reasonable and socialized citadel of the “I” we have worked to hard to construct, and tirelessly conspiring to achieve their single purpose: to pass on to the next generation by all means, come hell or high water. The resulting picture, according to Robert Wright, is anything but edifying:

Humans aren’t calculating machines; they’re animals, guided somewhat by conscious reason but also by various other forces. And long-term happiness, however appealing they may find it, is not really what they’re designed to maximize. On the other hand, humans are designed by a calculating machine, a highly rational and coolly detached process. And that machine does design them to maximize a single currency –total genetic proliferation, inclusive fitness. (....) We live in cities and suburbs and watch TV and drink beer, all the while being pushed and pulled by feelings designed to propagate our genes in a small hunter-gatherer population. It’s no wonder that people often seem not to be pursuing any particular goal –happiness, inclusive fitness, whatever– very successfully.

This may sound cold and mechanical, but it’s the way things are from the viewpoint of a discipline that acknowledges no creator other than an impersonal biological process, speaks of “selfish” genes, and pits their project of survival and transmission at all costs against the more socially acceptable plans individuals tend to devise in order to reach happiness, however they may fancy it. The result is an inevitable collision where personal satisfaction usually holds the losing hand –which is one of the reasons why Robert Wright devotes a sizable part of his study to articulating mechanisms that may bring into line the apparently irreconcilable interests of both genes and individuals.

To what extent does the Dharma share in this view? To my mind, significantly in substance but not so much in every single detail. Leaving aside speculation on the origin of this apparent divergence in interests and impulses, the notion of a Trojan Horse is often latent in Buddhist texts, only there it appears under the guise of the three identities (the “unwholesome roots” of aversion, greed, and confusion) who have implanted in the subconscious mind commands that are at odds with the natural and correct order of things. For the Dharma, as the Buddha explained in his famous Parable of the Arrow, it is immaterial to know how, when, why or at those hands we have arrived at this predicament; suffice it to know that there is, within all human beings who have not liberated their own pure nature, a tendency to satisfy certain basic drives that bring pleasure on the short run but in the end produce little but suffering –a realization based on the honest and upfront close examination of one’s own experience that is generally prerequisite for the path of Buddha Dharma. Only by coming to terms with this understanding, which the Buddha called the First Noble Truth of Suffering, do we begin to promote the restoration of our pure natural system.

So, despite partially endorsing its diagnosis of the human condition, the Dharma parts ways with EP in its attack on the problem, which is where the distance between both approaches can be best appreciated. Instead of a rational program meant to harmonize to the highest possible degree the pleasure of the largest number of individuals, as proposed by utilitarianism and embraced by Robert Wright (following Darwin, among others), the Buddha’s way entails taking to the same personal path of purification of the mind that he followed until it is confirmed by an experience beyond the mind itself. And that road begins with a potent and effective, albeit demanding, antidote to the problem: awareness, achieved through the deliberate application of attention to several phases of the mind’s functioning that are generally concealed from our view. This is the Buddha’s great weapon, the universal dissolvent for the chains of obsolete programming that keep us bound and estranged from our own nature: the lucid awareness that comes from right attention and right energy.

The immature, in their ignorance, lose their vigilance,
but the wise guard it as their greatest treasure.

A wide-open refuge

Taking refuge in the so-called “triple jewel” is the traditional formula whereby one becomes a Buddhist: “I take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha”, generally meaning the historical Buddha, his teachings understood as a closed canon, and the community of monks and lay followers. It’s nothing new; in the early sutras, taking refuge is the expression of choice every time someone becomes convinced of the truth of the Dharma –usually, after discussing or debating with the Buddha– and affirms his intention to live according to that standard from then on. Today, it is still used both in traditionally Buddhist Asian countries and in the diverse Buddhist communities that have sprouted in the West over the last fifty years or so. It is, in theory, something one can only do freely and willingly as an adult in full possession of his/her mental powers. And yet it is obvious that things aren’t always that way in reality: in many Asian cultures Buddhism is handed down from parents to children much like traditional religions are, as part of the family heritage, and in many cases its meaning is not well understood, which totally voids its potency.

Once again, there are several levels of understanding to this concept and popular usage may confuse us if we don’t look beyond the surface of things. What is this refuge, really? In Pali –the language of the older sutras– the word is sárana, which some relate to Latin terms such as salvus and serenus; unfortunately, Indo-European linguistics does not support these enticing etymologies but rather relates sárana to the idea of hiding. It would thus seem as if this refuge were a hiding place, an escape, as the Buddha himself seems to imply when discussing the concept:

“Driven by fear, men take refuge in several places –in hills, jungles, forests, trees and sanctuaries.”

An interpretation, however, he only offers so as to immediately belie it:

“These are truly not a safe refuge; these are not the supreme refuge; it is not by resorting to such refuges that one is liberated from all suffering.”

Of course; how could it be otherwise? Escaping is never a safe refuge for something we bear inside –in this case, suffering; no matter where we go, it will always go with us unless we make a resolute effort to rid ourselves of it. If we keep on reading the Buddha’s words, we realize this notion of refuge as an escape simply has to be discarded:

“He who has taken refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha penetrates with transcendental wisdom the Four Noble Truths –suffering, the origin of suffering, the cessation of suffering, and the Noble Eightfold Path leading to the cessation of suffering. This is indeed the safe refuge, this is the supreme refuge. By turning to this refuge, one is liberated from all suffering.”

What is the main idea here? It’s certainly not to run off in search of protection, but rather “to penetrate with transcendental wisdom the Four Noble Truths”; there is a world of difference between both. The Buddhist refuge isn’t therefore a place to take cover; contrary to what its name seems to suggest, it’s not a cubbyhole where we can escape the world and its problems like we take shelter from the rain. It’s rather a state of mind where one realizes there is no rain or calamity that can harm him/her. True, one may still prefer not to get wet, but any apprehension, anxiety or displeasure –i.e., any shade of mental suffering– will be absent from the experience. Why? Not because the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha magically extend their protection over us in recompense for our gullibility, but on account of an inner change that takes place to the extent that we have penetrated the Dharma’s foundations with transcendental wisdom –an undertaking which, if properly done, is never ever an easy way out.

That’s why the true refuge is not a passive act or something that’s good once and for all; nor is it a place to seek asylum or the herd’s comforting warmth; it’s more like a constant reference point against which to measure all our attitudes, intentions, and actions -like a lodestar or like the standard A note orchestras adjust to before every concert for all their instruments to play in tune. Whichever image you find most inspiring, it is a yardstick to be consulted repeatedly, not a wonder-pill that will secure our salvation in exchange for uttering aloud some words whose meaning eludes us.

But there’s still more, because in true Buddhism one doesn’t seek an external refuge, but rather learns to become his/her own refuge. The Buddha himself made that clear:

“Therefore, Ananda, be islands unto yourselves, refuges unto yourselves, betaking yourselves to no external refuge (...) Dwell on the Dharma as if it were your island, with the Dharma as refuge, without looking for any other refuge”.

If that is so –and the Buddha’s words on the matter seem unequivocal– any Buddhist master who interprets refuge as usual, i.e., as taken in the historical Buddha, the Dharma as his teaching, and the Buddhist community, should also explain why the Buddha discarded all refuges except that in the Dharma and reconcile the master’s advice with the traditional formula.

To my mind, there is only one possible explanation: insofar as each apparent individual bears within, as it were a genetic code of correct behavior, the Dharma that is the natural law of all things in harmony and balance; knowing that, as part of that Dharma, every human being has hidden beneath his/her everyday masks a true nature that is the very same Buddha in whom we take refuge; and with full awareness moreover that all human beings (and not just the monks and laypersons who declare themselves Buddhists) have the same Buddha and the same Dharma within and are thus united in a natural Sangha.

Do you see the difference? The Buddhist refuge is not a place where some celestial being manifests to offer you protection against all pain and suffering, or where you go to confess and be forgiven. The Dharma is something you already have within, and taking refuge means opening the door to enter it. This is the real refuge in the Dharma. It is your natural heritage. It is your home. And it is open to all who care to make the journey laid out in the Buddha’s teachings and exemplified in his life.