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.

The Taste of Dharma

Buddhism has long been fashionable here in the West and that’s a shame. Our voracious consumer society promotes and rewards whatever sells without considering its intrinsic value, and commercial success easily clouds the essence of things. It’s true that not everybody who approaches the Dharma is looking for its essence; still, it is important that it doesn’t remain buried under the avalanche of other catchier or more exotic elements, promoted for the edge they bring to sales.

Is it possible then to convey, with no intent to proselytize, an impression of what the Dharma is like from the inside? Seeing how popular Buddhism is proliferating this seems not only possible but advisable, because the prevailing image due to sectarian politics and merchandising techniques might be useful when it comes to peddling courses, books, and retreats, but is light-years away from its initial spirit –I’m thinking for example of the austere style of Zen turned into a cerebral and emotionally detached minimalist aesthetics or the folkloric pomp and circumstance of Tibetan rituals peppered with mystical elements on the one hand and surreptitiously assimilated to the Christian background of its new audiences on the other. Interesting, appealing, even enticing, sure; but... how much of the gist of the Dharma is to be found in all that?

In one of the early Buddhist texts, the Dharma is compared to the ocean because of eight qualities they both share, one of which is that:

“As the great ocean has only one taste, the taste of salt, so the teachings have only one flavor, the flavor of emancipation.”

This image, clear and concise as it is, perfectly evokes the true spirit of Buddhism in its fundamental unity: underlying its manifold outer appearances there always remains the same absolute priority, here called “emancipation”. Emancipation from what? From the tyranny of the conditioned and suffering mind. Buddha often called it “the heart’s unshakable release”, albeit in a different sense from what we understand in the West, where the heart is seen as the seat of emotions: what he meant was the definitive and irrevocable liberation of the pure mind each human being has within as part of their natural heritage –one’s own nature, in Buddhist terms– which in turn brings the elimination of suffering. That is where the Dharma is aimed with an invariable unity of purpose; anything not leading there is cast overboard –and this includes God, the soul, and (according to at least one of the ancient schools) any idea of a life after death. Yes, there are discrepancies between those who claim the Buddha flatly rejected their existence and those who’d rather think he merely denied their relevance to the Buddhist path, without taking a stand on whether they existed or not. Be that as it may, it doesn’t matter much: they have no place in the Dharma –a point those intent on considering Buddhism a religion would do well to take into account.

The single-minded, crisp, and sparing spirit of the Buddhist path is probably a reflection of the Buddha’s own temperament, certainly not prone to pussyfooting around issues, revelling in ornate rhetorical figures, or dithering too much when it came to teaching. A highly illustrative example of this approach occurs in a passage where he discusses his attack on suffering and its causes:

“Suppose, Ananda, there were a great tree and a man were to come with an axe and a basket and were to cut down that tree at the root. After cutting it at the root he were to dig a trench and were to pull out the roots even to the rootlets and fibers of them. Then he were to cut the tree into logs and were then to split the logs and were then to make the logs into chips. Then he were to dry the chips in wind and sun, then burn them with fire, collect them into a heap of ash, then winnow the ashes in a strong wind or let them be carried away by the swift stream of a river. Surely the great tree thus cut down at the roots would be made as a palmtree stump, become unproductive, become unable to sprout again in the future.”

There is something extraordinarily methodical and thorough in this approach, tenacious almost to the point of being relentless. At times, I’ll admit the Buddha almost sounds like a German engineer (though it’s also possible the repetitive tone of the sutras was a mnemonic device imposed later as an aid to preserve the teachings orally); his style may not appeal to everyone’s sensitivity, but it is eminently practical and reflects an unquestionable mastery of the subject at hand. Personally, if I were for example an astronaut about to board a rocket bound for outer space, the Buddha would not only be the kind of engineer I wish would have designed the spaceship but also the technician who had revised it to make sure all the joints were tight and all circuits were connected and working properly. And, come to think of it, why should it be any different for the journey of introspection, mindfulness and meditation that makes up such a large part of the Buddhist path?

So, if I had to choose a way to describe this path, I’d say it’s foremost frugal and lucid. This quality translates into a twofold approach: on the one hand it sets up experience as a criterion superior to any dogma while on the other it pares down conceptual baggage, whether theological or philosophical, to a minimum. It’s not exactly scientific, but it is analytical. The truth of Dharma is not something that can be proven in a laboratory but is a matter of personal experience; however, it can and ought to be measured against the experiences of others who have been down this path before us. In embracing this principle of parsimony (a.k.a. Ockham’s razor, widely applied in science) it compensates to a certain extent for the impossibility of verifying its claims as an outside observer, as if the Buddha were to say, “Look, I can’t give you sufficient proof that what I say is the truth; you have to check it out for yourself. But at least I won’t force you to believe any tall tales on your way to that experience.”

As on a mountaineering expedition, this journey imposes a great economy of means: everything is streamlined for the final goal and there is no room for anything superfluous or non-functional. It’s not an easy path; it pushes you out of your comfort zone, forces you to grow and mature and, in a certain sense, demands that you stop believing in fairy tales. Of course everybody has their own varying standards in these matters; but in the Dharma, progress often entails a strict diet to wean oneself from fantasies along with the old likes, dislikes and attachments we have turned into false needs.

Even at first sight, the Buddha’s teachings show a constant effort to reduce the multiple to the simple, to bring the far-off near, and to make the spiritual tangible and practical so as to redirect the mind to what’s at hand, to the great task we have before ourselves. That is why it’s ironic to often see the Dharma explained on the basis of such an otherworldly doctrine as reincarnation –which is really a vestige of the old Brahmanic religion from which Buddhism splintered off and arguably plays a marginal role in the teachings. The distortion is just as serious if we depict Buddhism as an escape to an ivory tower, achieved at the expense of numbing down our vital functions. In either case we generate an impression that is terribly at odds with the Buddha’s personality and mission as they emerge from even the most cursory reading of the original texts.

The Buddha did not preach an escape, a compromise, or a system of earthly investments and deferred compensations in a future state beyond our ken. What he did was to grab the monstrous bull of suffering by the horns and find a way to put an end to it; not exactly a triviality, but a moment of enormous consequence which brought him the certainty that there is a solution to the human condition we call suffering. That’s why, just like any other method, the Buddhist path must stand or fall according to its relevance to this life, here and now. That and none other is the question we must ask time and again when presented with the teachings or practices of any Buddhist school, be they meditations, prayers, initiations or retreats: What does this taste like? Is it contributing to the heart’s unshakable release or am I being taken for a ride? If your experiences don’t support the first impression, you know what you should do with these tools –for that’s all they are, no matter how venerable they may seem.

Don’t make the journey with excess baggage, lugging around heavy equipment that pulls you down without knowing what good it is. The path to the summit has much more to do with learning to let go than with grasping and hoarding.