The other day I read an article by Erich Fromm with the same name.

For me, who has equal respect and interest in the attempts of both East and West to explore and transform human suffering, this was a welcome discovery.

Actually, Fromm in this article examines the goals of psychoanalysis and Zen Buddhism and comes to the conclusion that globally they coincide, but the methods of achieving these goals differ.

To be completely honest, from the point of view of comparative analysis, the value of the article is not great for me. Fromm himself admits that the state of enlightenment or satori is not familiar to him, so he can only talk about it “from the words of Dr. Suzuki.” In general, “Izya sang.”

However, in this article he absolutely wonderfully reveals the essence of psychoanalytic therapy. Simple enough. And to the point. Therefore, I recommend it to anyone interested.

The article is quite lengthy. I have kept for myself some quotes that especially coincide with my understanding of the nature of suffering, as well as the goals and essence of the psychoanalytic process and method.

I am sharing this summary with you.

“For a child who lives solely by his desires, reality is what he wants to see, but not what actually exists. If his desire is not fulfilled, the child becomes furious, trying, through his father and mother, to change the world so that his wish comes true. Reaching maturity, a normally developing child comes to an awareness of reality and accepts its rules of the game, abandoning this narcissistic message. The neurotic still proceeds from his ideas, based on narcissism, still being confident that the world should obey only his desires. When faced with the opposite, he either unsuccessfully tries to force reality to obey his will, or experiences a feeling of his own helplessness. If for a mature person freedom means awareness of reality, acceptance of its immutable laws and life in accordance with them, comprehension and understanding of the surrounding world, awareness of one’s own place in it through reason and feelings, then for the neurotic's freedom, whether he realizes it or not, is only the idea of ​​his own narcissistic omnipotence.”

“Man, over the course of a long evolution, starting with cannibalism, chose from a mass of various answers to the existential question, without knowing it, one of the existing options. A Westerner, as a rule, believes that in his soul he is fully consistent with the principles of Christian or Jewish morality, or is an adherent of enlightened atheism. In fact, if it were possible to analyze a person with the help of a kind of “psychic x-ray”, it would become obvious that in our society there are very few true Christians, Judaists, Buddhists, adherents of the Taoist, and a huge number of cannibalists, totemists and various idolaters.”

“If the regressive aspirations of an individual come into conflict with his consciousness or with the interests of society and his own secret “religion” cannot be shared with others, it turns into neurosis.

By knowing the personal response of a particular patient, or any person in general, to the existential question that life poses to him - in other words, his own cult, which he serves, we can understand it. It makes no sense to “treat” such a patient before we know his secret cult, his fundamental response to life, for many so-called “ psychological problems“are in fact echoes of this very “answer.”

“By well-being we must understand the achievement of full maturity by the human mind. We are talking here about maturity not only in terms of the ability to think critically, but also such awareness of reality, in which, in Heidegger's words, a person gains the ability to “let things be” what they really are. A person can achieve well-being only to the extent that he is open to the world around him and is able to respond to it (“awakened” and “empty” in the Zen Buddhist sense).”

“At the end of the day, well-being is about pacifying your ego and reconsidering your life priorities. A person must renounce acquisitiveness, the desire for personal integrity and aggrandizement. The meaning of life should not be the eternal thirst for possession, accumulation, profit and consumption, but the joy of being itself, the awareness of one’s own uniqueness in this world.”

“As I have already noted, existence itself poses a question to man. This question is generated by the contradiction inherent in man: belonging to nature, on the one hand, and being outside of it, conditioned by the awareness of one’s own existence, on the other. A person is “religious” if he approaches this fundamental question not formally, but strives to answer it with his whole life. Likewise, any system is a “religion” if it tries to give its answer to this question and forces people to do so. Accordingly, every culture and every person who does not seek an answer to an existential question is non-religious in its essence - the best example of which is the man of the 20th century. Preoccupied with thoughts about material wealth, prestige, power, career, modern man tries to avoid answering this question, trying to forget about the very fact of his existence, and therefore the fact of the existence of his “I”. A person who does not have his own answer is not capable of development, in his life and death becoming like one of the millions of things he has produced. It does not matter how deep his religious beliefs are, how often he thinks about God or attends church. Such a person, instead of believing in God, only thinks about him.”

“Judeo-Christian and Zen Buddhist thinking are brought together by the idea of ​​the individual’s renunciation of the egoistic desire for coercion, command and suppression of the internal and external world. Instead, a person must become open, receptive, awakened, able to respond to the challenges of the outside world. Zen calls this state “being empty,” and this term does not have a negative connotation, but, on the contrary, characterizes an individual who is open to the perception of the outside world. In the Christian religion, the same idea is expressed in the concepts of self-denial and submission to the will of divine providence. At first glance, the differences in Christian and Buddhist postulates are not so significant and the difference exists only at the level of formulation. In fact, Christian ideas, as a rule, are interpreted in such a way that a person completely entrusts his destiny to the great and omnipotent Father, who protects and cares for him, while all independence is lost. Naturally, in this case the person becomes meek and humble, but in no way open and able to react. Genuine renunciation of selfish aspirations as following the will of the Lord takes on real meaning if the concept of God is absent as such. Only by forgetting about God does a person, paradoxically, sincerely follow his will. To be “empty” in the terminology of Zen Buddhism does mean the pacification of one’s will, but at the same time excludes the possibility of returning to a slavish reliance on the support of the Father.”

“Today man tends to define the world in terms of the things he possesses rather than in terms of existence. Just like we have a car, a house or a child, we have an anxiety problem, we have insomnia, we have depression, we have a psychoanalyst. Similarly, we have the unconscious.”

“However, it is also obvious that in reality a person’s consciousness is largely a chain of delusions and false messages, which is caused mostly by the influence of society, and not by the individual’s inability to discern the truth. It follows from this that human consciousness in itself cannot be of value. The evolution of humanity indicates that, with the exception of a number of primitive societies, society is built on the principle of control and exploitation of the majority of its members by an insignificant minority. Control of the majority is achieved through the use of force, but this factor alone is not enough. The consciousness of the majority must be filled mainly with fictions and delusions, as a result of which it, of its own free will, agrees to obey the minority. Nevertheless, the false nature of a person’s ideas about himself, other individuals, society, etc. depends not only on these circumstances. The replacement of universal human postulates by the interests of society, which occurs in any society, is due to an attempt (and, as a rule, achievement) to preserve the structure acquired by this society in the process of evolution. At the same time, the emerging contradiction gives rise to an internal conflict in such a society: discrepancies between the interests of a person and society are hidden at the social level under the cover of all kinds of fictions and false promises.”

“Thus we can conclude that the conscious and unconscious are socially determined in nature. A person is capable of realizing only those feelings and thoughts that have passed through a triple filter: a special, i.e. language, a filter of logic and a filter of social prohibitions. At the unconscious level, all motivations that have not passed through this filter remain. Focusing on the social essence of the unconscious, we must make two clarifications. The first is to state the obvious fact that in any family, in addition to the prohibitions of society, there are its own varieties of these prohibitions. As a result, all impulses that arise in the child and are forbidden in this family will be suppressed by him for fear of losing the love of his parents. On the other hand, adults who are more honest with themselves and less inclined to “repress” will try to reduce the number of these prohibitions for their children.”

“But what, then, is the transformation of the unconscious into the conscious? To answer this question more accurately, it is necessary to formulate it slightly differently. We should not talk about “conscious” and “unconscious”, but about the degree of awareness-consciousness and unconsciousness-unconsciousness. In this case, we can formulate our question differently: what happens when a person realizes something that he was not previously aware of? Answer in general outline will be as follows: this process step by step brings a person closer to an understanding of the false, illusory essence of consciousness, which he was accustomed to consider as “normal”. By realizing the hitherto unconscious, a person expands the area of ​​his consciousness, thereby comprehending reality, i.e., approaching the truth on an intellectual and emotional level. The expansion of consciousness is like awakening, removing the veil from the eyes, leaving the cave, illuminating the darkness with light.

Perhaps this is the experience that Zen Buddhists define as “enlightenment.”

“In reality, the discovery of the unconscious is an emotional experience, and not an act of intellectual knowledge, which is difficult, if not impossible, to express in words. At the same time, the process of discovering the unconscious does not at all exclude preliminary thinking and reflection. However, the discovery itself is always spontaneous and unexpected, holistic in nature, because a person experiences it with his whole being: it’s as if his eyes open, he himself and the whole world appear before him in a new light, he looks at everything in a new way. If before experiencing this experience he felt anxiety, then after it, on the contrary, he gains confidence in his abilities. The discovery of the unconscious can be characterized as a chain of growing, deeply felt experiences that go beyond theoretical and intellectual knowledge.”

“First, let us summarize what has been said about psychoanalysis. Its goal is to transform the unconscious into the conscious. It must be borne in mind that the conscious and unconscious are functions, and not the content of the mental process. More precisely: we can only talk about one degree or another of repression, a state when a person is aware only of those experiences that managed to pass through the filter of language, logic and other criteria determined by the realities of a particular society. The most hidden depths of his nature are revealed to a person, and consequently, his human essence, freed from distortions at all levels of the filter. If a person completely overcomes repression, he thereby resolves the conflict between his consciousness and the unconscious. At the same time, overcoming self-alienation and isolation from the surrounding world in all its manifestations, he is able to experience unmediated experience.”

“On the other hand, the consciousness of a person in a state of repression is false by nature. This is reflected in his experience of the world around him: instead of a really existing object, he sees only its image generated by his own illusions and ideas. This distorted idea of ​​something, this veil covering his vision is precisely the primary source of his anxiety and suffering. As a result, an individual in a state of repression experiences what is happening in his head instead of experiencing real people and objects. While he is confident that he is in contact with the real world, in reality he deals only with words.

Overcoming repression and alienation from oneself and, as a consequence, from another individual means awareness of the unconscious, i.e. awakening, parting with illusions, delusions and false ideas and an adequate perception of reality. Awareness of the previously unconscious makes an internal revolution in a person. The basis of creative intellectual thinking and direct intuitive perception of reality is precisely the true awakening of a person. An individual who is in a state of alienation, when the real world is perceived by him only at the level of thinking, turns out to be capable of lying; being awakened and, therefore, oriented towards direct perception of reality, a person is not able to tell a lie: the power of his experience destroys the lie. Finally, the translation of the unconscious into the conscious means for a person to live guided by the truth. Being open to reality, he ceases to be alienated from it; without resisting her and at the same time not trying to impose anything on her, he reacts to reality in an adequate way.”

“But the goal of psychoanalysis is precisely to achieve insight that occurs not at the intellectual level, but as a result of cognition. As I have already noted, being aware of your breathing does not mean thinking about your breathing, and being aware of the movement of your hand does not mean thinking about it. On the contrary, if I think about my breathing or the movement of my hand, I am thereby no longer aware of them. This statement is also true in relation to my awareness of a flower or a person, the experience of joy, love or a state of peace. The peculiarity of genuine insight within the framework of psychoanalysis is that it defies description. However, many weak psychoanalytic theories try to formulate their understanding of insight that has nothing to do with direct experience by resorting to a bunch of theoretical concepts. The patient in psychoanalysis cannot be forced to experience genuine insight or somehow plan for it; it always comes suddenly. Using a Japanese metaphor, we can say that insight is born not in a person’s brain, but in his stomach. Trying to put it into words, we realize that we are unable to do so. Nevertheless, it is quite real, and the person who experiences it becomes completely different.”

“...the most that a person who has not reached the creative state - the culmination of satori - is capable of is to replace his innate predisposition to depression with routine, idolatry, the desire for destruction, acquisitiveness, pride, etc.

If any of these compensation mechanisms stops functioning, health risks arise. But it is enough for a person to change his attitude towards the world, gaining through the resolution of internal conflict and overcoming alienation the ability to be responsive, to perceive reality directly and creatively, in order to get rid of a possible disease. If psychoanalysis can help a person with this, it will help him achieve true mental health. Otherwise, it will only become the basis for improving compensation mechanisms. In other words, a person can be “cured” of a symptom, whereas it is impossible to “cure” him of a neurotic character. By treating the patient as an inanimate object, the analyst is unable to heal him, for the person is neither a thing nor a “case history.” Being connected with the patient by a situation of mutual understanding and unity with him, the analyst can only contribute to his awakening.”

“However, in my understanding, even if a person never achieves satori, any experience that is at least to some extent a step in this direction is in itself valuable. Dr. Suzuki once illustrated this aspect this way: if you light one candle while in a completely dark room, the darkness will disappear and it will become lighter. If you add ten, a hundred or a thousand candles to it, then each time the room will become brighter and brighter. However, the fundamental change was made by the first candle, which destroyed the darkness.

What happens during the analytical process? A person who ascribed to himself such qualities as modesty, courage and love, for the first time in his life feels pride, cowardice and hatred within himself. This insight may cause pain, but it opens his eyes, which makes him able to not endow others with the qualities that he seeks to suppress in himself. Then he continues his path, feeling first as a baby, a child, an adult, a criminal, a madman, a saint, an artist, a man or a woman; he penetrates deeper into his own humanity, into a universal essence; he has to suppress less and less experiences in himself, he becomes liberated, needing transference and cerebration to a less and less extent. Then, for the first time, he has access to the experience of seeing light or a rolling ball, or hearing music, being imbued with it. Little by little he realizes the falsity of the idea of ​​​​the independence of his own “I”, which he previously considered as an object requiring protection, care and salvation; this becomes possible due to the fact that he begins to feel his unity with other individuals. He will understand that it is useless to look for an answer to main question, given by life, in possession, while one should become oneself and be it. By their nature, these experiences are always spontaneous and unexpected; they have no intellectual content. However, having experienced them, a person feels with a hitherto unknown strength a feeling of liberation, personal strength and peace.”

Introduction

The pursuit of human well-being through the study of his nature - this common feature inherent in both Zen Buddhism and psychoanalysis - is most often mentioned when comparing these systems, reflecting the characteristics of Western and Eastern mentality. Zen Buddhism combines Indian irrationality with Chinese concreteness and realism. Psychoanalysis, based on Western humanism and rationalism, on the one hand, and the romantic search for mysterious forces beyond rational comprehension, characteristic of the 19th century, on the other, is a phenomenon exclusively Western world. We can say that this scientific and therapeutic method of studying man is the fruit of Greek wisdom and Jewish ethics.

The study of human nature in theory and human reincarnation in practice is perhaps one of the few features that unites psychoanalysis and Zen Buddhism. There are obviously more differences. First, psychoanalysis is a scientific method that has nothing to do with religion. Zen, from the perspective of Western culture, with its theory and method of “enlightening” a person, looks like a religious, or mystical, teaching. Psychoanalysis is a therapy for mental illness, and Zen is the path to salvation of the soul. So, comparing psychoanalysis and Zen Buddhism, don’t we come to the conclusion that fundamentally they have nothing in common, but, on the contrary, are fundamentally different from each other?

Despite this, Zen Buddhism is attracting increasing interest from psychoanalysts. What is the reason for this interest and what is its meaning? The purpose of this article is to answer these questions. Of course, a fundamental description of Zen - Buddhist thinking - will not be presented here - my knowledge and experience are not enough for this. At the same time, in this article I do not set out to give a complete picture of psychoanalysis. However, in the first part of my work I will dwell in more detail on those aspects of psychoanalysis that I called “humanistic psychoanalysis” and which are one of the continuations of Freudian psychoanalysis. In this way I will try to explain why the encounter with Zen Buddhism has become so important both for me and, in my opinion, for everyone who deals with psychoanalysis.

Spiritual crisis and the meaning of psychoanalysis

When studying the issue that interests us, first of all it is necessary to pay attention to the spiritual crisis of modern Western man and psychoanalysis as one of the tools for overcoming this crisis. Most people belonging to Western culture experience the influence of the crisis to one degree or another, without fully realizing it themselves. Nevertheless, experts are quite unanimous both in recognizing the existence of a real crisis and in defining its essence. This phenomenon is defined by the concepts of “illness” (“malaise”), “boredom” (“ennui”), “disease of the century” (maladie du siucle). We are talking about apathy, human automaticity, self-alienation, loss of connection with other individuals and nature. Rationalism was put at the forefront by man until it acquired highly irrational features. The era of Descartes ushered in a clear separation of thinking and feeling: thinking is rational, while feeling itself is irrational. The embodiment of intellect alone, the human personality is called upon to exercise control over nature. The meaning of existence becomes the production of an ever-increasing number of material assets. At the same time, the person himself turns into a thing, and possession becomes the meaning of life. “Having” is now more important than “being.” While human improvement was the meaning of existence in Greek and Jewish ideology, the foundations of which are characteristic of Western civilization, modern man considers the goal of his life to be the improvement of the technology for producing things.

Aware of his inability to resolve the contradiction between thinking and feeling, Western man becomes anxious, depressed and in despair. If in words he calls wealth, originality and enterprise as his life values, then in reality he has no real goal in life. When asked about the purpose of existence and the meaning of the difficulties he experiences in life, a Western person will not be able to give an intelligible answer. Among the most likely answers is life for the sake of family, for the sake of receiving pleasure, for the sake of making money... In reality, no one sees the real meaning of their life. Danger and loneliness are what a person seeks to avoid a priori.

Nowadays, a person's belonging to a church is becoming in some respects more and more significant, religious books are becoming bestsellers, everything more people turn to God. However, this apparent religiosity is in fact not due to spiritual, but purely materialistic and non-religious aspects. This phenomenon can be seen as a human ideological reaction to the characteristic 19th century tendency expressed by Nietzsche: “God is dead,” caused by conformity and the desire for security. There is no need to talk about true religiosity here.

The rejection of theistic postulates that occurred in the 19th century was largely progressive in nature. The concept of objectivity has become defining:

The earth is no longer the center of the universe, and man is no longer the “crown of creation.” Freud, exploring the hidden motives of human behavior through the prism of new life realities, came to the conclusion that the all-consuming faith in God was based on human helplessness and insecurity. At the same time, the person relied on the support of his father and mother, embodied by him in the divine image. According to Freud, a person can only save himself, while the instructions of great teachers and the participation of loved ones can only support him, help him accept the challenge of fate in order to gain strength to fight life’s adversities.

A person no longer sees God in the image of a father and thereby loses parental support in his person. At the same time, the truths of the postulates of all great religions cease to exist for him. We are talking about a person overcoming egoistic limitations, striving for love, objectivity, humility and respect for life - and this in itself can be considered as a goal and as a result of a person realizing the potential inherent in him, which is the goal of both the great Western and the great Eastern religions. Let us note that in the East there was no concept of a transcendental father - the Savior, characteristic of monotheistic religions. Rationality and realism were inherent in Taoism and Buddhism to a greater extent than in the religions of the West. In the East, a person voluntarily, without coercion, joins the “awakened”, for every person is potentially capable of awakening and enlightenment. That is why Eastern religious thinking, embodied in Taoism, Buddhism and Zen - Buddhism as their synthesis, is of such great importance for Western culture today. Thanks to Zen Buddhism, a person is able to find an answer to the question of the meaning of his existence, and this answer is not fundamentally in conflict with both traditional Judeo-Christian ideas, on the one hand, and with such values ​​of modern man as rationality, realism and independence. Thus, paradoxically, Eastern religious ideas turn out to be, in comparison with Western ones, closer in spirit to Western rational thinking.

Values ​​and objectives of Freud's psychoanalytic concept

Psychoanalysis represents a typical manifestation of the spiritual crisis of Western man and at the same time shows the possibility of a way out of this crisis. Modern directions psychoanalysis - “humanistic” and “existential” - serve as a striking example of this. However, before considering my “humanistic” concept, I would like to emphasize that the system developed by Freud himself is not limited, despite widespread belief, to the concepts of “illness” and “cure”. It represents primarily the concept of saving a person, rather than treating mentally ill people. With a superficial approach, one gets the feeling that Freud simply invented a new method of treating mental illness and that this was precisely the main subject of his research, eventually becoming the scientist’s life’s work. However, upon closer examination, it turns out that medical approaches to the treatment of neuroses conceal an entirely different idea, one that Freud himself rarely formulated explicitly and may not have always been aware of. What kind of idea is this? What is Freud's concept of the "psychoanalytic movement" and what was the starting point of this movement?

We can say that Freud's words: “Where the It was, the I must become,” give us the clearest answer to this question. Freud set out to subordinate irrational and unconscious passions to reason. According to his thoughts, a person, in accordance with his capabilities, must free himself from the yoke of the unconscious. In order to subjugate the raging internal unconscious forces to his will and subsequently exercise control over them, he must first of all realize the very fact of their existence. Freud's main postulate, which he always followed, was optimal knowledge of truth, and therefore knowledge of reality. This idea was traditionally characteristic of rationalism, Enlightenment philosophy and Puritan ethics. However, Freud became the first (or, at least, he believed so) who not only proclaimed the idea of ​​self-control as a goal, as Western religion and philosophy did, but, based on the study of the unconscious on a scientific basis, was able to propose a way to realize this goal.

With his teaching, Freud marked the flowering of rationalism in the West. Nevertheless, with his genius he managed not only to overcome the false and superficial optimism of rationalism, but also to combine the latter with the romantic concept that opposed it in the 19th century. Freud's deep personal interest in studying the irrational and sensual aspects of the human personality allowed him to carry out this synthesis.

Freud was largely interested in the philosophical and ethical aspects of the problem of personality. In his Lectures on Introduction to Psychoanalysis, Freud refers to the profound changes in personality that various mystical practices try to bring about, and goes on to say: “We still recognize that the therapeutic efforts of psychoanalysis have chosen a similar point of application. After all, their goal is to strengthen the “I”, make it more independent of the “super-ego”, expand the field of perception and rebuild its organization so that it can master new parts of the Id. Where It was, I must become. This is about the same cultural work as the drainage of the Zuider Zee. According to Freud, “the liberation of a person from neurotic symptoms, inhibitions and character abnormalities” is the main goal of psychoanalytic therapy. The role of the analyst, according to Freud, is not limited to the fact that the doctor “treats” his patient: “The analyst who strives in a given analytic situation to be a model for his patient and play the role of his mentor must have a certain superiority over the latter.” Freud further writes: “We must remember that the relationship between analyst and patient must be based on the love of truth, which means the recognition of reality. At the same time, any falsehood and deception become impossible.”

Freud's concept of psychoanalysis has other characteristic features that do not fit into the framework of the concepts of illness and treatment. For people who have an understanding of Eastern thinking, and primarily of Zen Buddhism, it will become obvious that the features that I will talk about resonate with them in a certain way. Firstly, Freud's principle, according to which knowledge transforms a person, deserves mention. Theory and practice are inseparable: by knowing oneself, a person is transformed every time. There is no need to say to what extent such a thought is alien to the principles of scientific psychology both in Freud's time and in our days. According to these generally accepted concepts, knowledge always lies in the realm of theory and is not capable of transforming the knower.

There is one more feature that brings Freud’s approach closer to Eastern thought, and primarily to Zen Buddhism. Freud never placed conscious thinking at the forefront, critically assessing the capabilities of modern man. He considered the main ones in the mental process occurring in a person to be the strongest sources of hitherto unknown unconscious and irrational forces, in comparison with which conscious thinking is practically insignificant and incomparable in importance. By developing the method of free association, Freud attempted to break through the veil of conscious thought and reveal the true nature of man. The principle of free association was intended to become an alternative to logical, conscious and formal thinking, to open new sources in a person, originating in the unconscious. Despite all the critical attacks to which Freud's concept of the unconscious has been subjected, it is absolutely indisputable that Freud, with his principle of free association as an alternative to logical thinking, significantly changed the conventional rationalist way of thinking in the West, moving closer in his research to Eastern thought, where similar ideas were developed in to a much greater extent.

Finally, let us note one more aspect that distinguishes Freud's method: when conducting his analysis, Freud could work with a person for a year, two, three, four, five, or even more years, which caused harsh criticism from his opponents. It is not worth discussing here whether the analysis needed more efficiency. I just want to point out that Freud had the courage to recognize the possibility of working with one patient for several years, helping him understand himself. From the standpoint of the usefulness and social significance of the changes occurring in a person, we can say that such an approach did not make much sense and that such a lengthy analysis did not justify the time investment. Freud's method makes sense only if modern categories of value are abandoned, traditional ideas about the relationship between goals and means spent, and recognition of the uniqueness of human life, with which no thing can be compared in its significance. Guided by the idea that liberation, happiness, enlightenment of a person (no matter what we call it) is a primary task, we will come to the conclusion that no amount of time and money will be comparable to its solution. Freud's foresight, the radical nature of his methodology, expressed primarily in the duration of contact with one person, revealed an approach that is fundamentally opposed to the limited thinking of the Western world.

Despite the above facts, it cannot be argued that Eastern thought in general, and Zen Buddhism in particular, served as a support for Freud in the development of his method. The features we are considering for the most part have an implicit rather than an explicit origin, that is, they are obviously unconscious rather than conscious. Freud himself was largely a product of Western civilization, mainly of Western thought in the 18th and 19th centuries. As a result, it is difficult to imagine that, even with deep knowledge of Zen Buddhism as one of the expressions of Eastern thought, he would rely on them in creating his system. Man, in Freud's view, was endowed with basically the same characteristic features, as economists and philosophers of the 19th century century: a natural tendency to competition, alienation, the desire for contact with other individuals solely in order to satisfy their own economic needs and instincts. Freud viewed man as a machine controlled by libido and existing according to the law of minimizing libidinal stimulation. Freud's man is selfish by nature; He is connected with the people around him only by a mutual desire to satisfy needs dictated by instincts. Freud defines pleasure not as a feeling of happiness, but as a release of tension. With all this, a person, in his view, experiences a conflict between reason and feelings; he is not integral by nature, but is the embodiment of intelligence in the spirit of the philosophers of the Enlightenment. Love for one's neighbor is contrary to reality; mystical experience marks a return to primary narcissism. Taking into account these unconditional differences from the principles of Zen Buddhism, I nevertheless try to demonstrate that Freud's system has features that contributed to the development of psychoanalysis as a whole and, as a result, bring it closer to Zen Buddhism. These features do not fit into the framework of conventional ideas about illness and treatment and the traditional interpretation of consciousness from the position of rationalism.

But before we begin to compare this “humanistic” psychoanalysis and Zen Buddhism, I want to draw attention to one fact that is of utmost importance for understanding the evolution of psychoanalysis. These days there have been significant changes in the type of patients who come to see a psychoanalyst and the problems they share with him.

People who consulted a psychiatrist at the beginning of the century complained mainly of certain symptoms, such as arm paralysis, excessive hand washing syndrome, or obsessive thoughts. In a word, they were sick in the traditional sense of the word, since there was a specific circumstance that prevented their normal functioning. Since the obvious cause of their suffering was specific symptoms, the process of treating such patients was precisely to rid them of the latter. These people wanted to suffer and be unhappy no more than an ordinary person in society.

Nowadays, such patients still come to see a psychoanalyst. For them, psychoanalysis still serves as a therapy that helps them get rid of certain symptoms and returns them the opportunity to be full-fledged members of society. At one time, the psychoanalyst had to deal with just such patients in most cases, but today they constitute a minority. At the same time, it is difficult to say that their absolute number has decreased, while at the same time a huge number of “patients” of a new type have appeared, who in the generally accepted sense cannot be called sick, but who have become victims of the “maladie du siucle” (disease of the century - French) , depression and apathy - everything that was discussed at the beginning of the article. When visiting a psychoanalyst, these patients cannot formulate and clearly define the true cause of their suffering, talking about depression, insomnia, an unhappy marriage, dissatisfaction with their work and many other things. As a rule, they are convinced that the root of their illness lies in some specific symptom and that getting rid of this symptom would bring them recovery. These people fail to realize that their condition is not actually caused by depression, insomnia, or problems at work. All these complaints are in fact only an outer shell that allows a person in the modern world to declare a problem that has much deeper roots than those that this or that disease could have. The misfortune of modern man lies in his alienation from himself and from his own kind, from nature. A person realizes that his life is wasted and that he will die without truly living life. He lives in abundance, but lacks the joy of life.

How can psychoanalysis help patients with “maladie du siucle”? In this case, we are not (and cannot be) talking about “treatment” that relieves a person of symptoms and returns him to normal functioning. The cure for a person suffering from alienation does not consist in ridding him of the symptoms of the disease, but in mental healing and finding well-being.

Unfortunately, speaking about mental healing, we will find it difficult to define it specifically. Operating with the categories of Freud's system, we would have to consider well-being through the prism of libido theory, i.e., define well-being as the possibility of normal sexual functions and recognition of the hidden Oedipus complex. However, in my opinion, such an interpretation only answers the question of human well-being to a small extent. Trying to define the concept of human mental healing, we will inevitably cross the boundaries of the Freudian system. At the same time, we will be forced to delve into an a priori incapable of exhaustive consideration of the very basis of “humanistic” psychoanalysis, namely: the concept of human existence. Only in this way will the comparison of psychoanalysis and Zen Buddhism receive a real basis.

Human well-being through the prism of his mental evolution

Well-being can be defined as the existence of a person in accordance with his nature. Starting from this general formulation, we ask the question: what is human existence in modern conditions of existence and how are these conditions themselves characterized?

Human existence itself poses questions. The birth of a person and his departure from this world do not occur according to his will. An animal, unlike a person, instinctively adapts to the surrounding world and completely merges with nature. For a person deprived of this opportunity, life cannot be lived on its own. He must live it. Man belongs to nature, and at the same time, realizing himself as an individual, he goes beyond its limits. This awareness gives rise to a feeling of absolute loneliness, alienation and helplessness. At every moment of his existence, with his whole being, mind and body, in thoughts and dreams, while sleeping and eating, crying and laughing, he is forced to answer the question asked by life. What kind of question is this? It can be formulated as follows: how to get rid of suffering, alienation, overcome remorse that is a consequence of this alienation, and how to find harmony in relationships with yourself, with your own kind and with nature? A person answers this question in one way or another. Even being mad, hiding in an imaginary reality from alienation, he thereby gives an answer to it.

If this question is always the same, then there may be several answers to it, in any case, there are two main ones. One of them solves the problem of alienation and finding harmony by returning to the integrity inherent in a person in the “pre-conscious” period of his life. The second answer provides for the “full birth” of a person. In this case, the individual must rise above his own egocentrism by acquiring the ability to love, achieving a new harmony with the world around him through deepening self-awareness and the evolution of the mind.

When we talk about birth, we usually mean the physiological process that occurs nine months after conception. However, the existence of a child during the first week after birth is in many ways reminiscent not of the life of an adult, but of being in the mother’s womb. Nevertheless, the uniqueness of the act of birth when the umbilical cord is cut is beyond doubt. At the same time, the child begins to breathe independently, and from now on any activity will free him more and more from his initial dependence.

By nature, birth is a process, not a one-time event. The meaning of life lies in “full birth.” However, the human tragedy lies precisely in the fact that most of us die without ever being truly “born”. Life implies birth every minute, while death is the cessation of this birth. Human body, if we consider it from the point of view of the cellular system, is in the process of continuous birth. Psychologically, a person, as a rule, stops at a certain stage in his birth. There are people who can be called “stillborn”. They live only on a physiological level, but mentally, being insane or practically insane, they want to return to the situation of intrauterine life in darkness, in death. There are many who continue to live, but, being unable to completely sever the umbilical cord, throughout their entire lives they remain inseparably attached to mother and father, family, race, state, social status, money, gods, etc. These people will never be able to “be truly born,” because they are unable to get rid of their addiction.

The regressive attempts made to achieve the blissful state of prebirth can be of different properties; they are united only by an unsuccessful final result, which brings nothing to a person except torment. If a person has once lost his divine, pre-human fusion with nature, he will never find a way back - two angels with fiery swords in their hands will block his way. He will be able to return only by dying or losing his mind, because it is impossible to do this while alive or in his right mind.

The search for regressive unity can be pursued in several pathological and irrational ways. A person may be haunted by the thought of returning to the mother’s womb or to the earth, that is, the idea of ​​death.

The result of these desires will be suicide or madness if a person cannot cope with them. To a lesser extent destructive and irrational can be considered the desire to remain dependent on maternal care or the authority of the father throughout one’s life.

These aspirations are characterized by two various types of people. The first includes a person who remains forever attached to the mother's breast. In life, he appears as a helpless sucker, for whom the highest joy lies in being loved, protected, cared for, admired. The distance from his mother causes him extreme discomfort. The second type includes people who remain under the authority of their father throughout their lives. They themselves can show enough initiative, but only if there is a person above them who serves as an indisputable authority for them and regulates all their life activities. On a different plane lies the destructive desire for all-destruction as a means of overcoming alienation. A person gripped by such an idea can look at the world around him as food and strive to absorb everything that surrounds him, or he wants to destroy everything around him, sparing only himself. Another attempt to overcome the crisis of existence is the construction of an indestructible bastion around one’s own “I”, likened to something inanimate; In the possession of material values, power, prestige of a position in society, and his intellect, such a person finds support in life.

Deprived of unconscious unity with nature, a person little by little overcomes his narcissism. A newly born child does not know about the world around him; for him, reality is only himself and the mother’s breast, with which he continues to form a single whole. For him there is still no division into subject and object. After some time, the child begins to differentiate according to the “subject - object” scheme, but only at the level of distinction “I - not me.” As for the emotional level, even if a person has a chance to overcome the narcissistic idea of ​​his own omniscience and omnipotence, this can only become possible after he reaches full maturity.

For neurotics, such a narcissistic idea is characteristic to the same extent as for children, but unlike them, it, as a rule, exists on a conscious level. For a child who lives solely by his desires, reality is what he wants to see, but not what actually exists. If his desire is not fulfilled, the child becomes furious, striving, through his father and mother, to change the world around him so that his desire is realized. Reaching maturity, a normally developing child comes to an awareness of reality and accepts its rules of the game, abandoning this narcissistic message. The neurotic, on the other hand, still proceeds from his ideas based on narcissism, still being confident that the world should obey only his desires. When faced with the opposite, he either unsuccessfully tries to force reality to obey his will, or experiences a feeling of his own helplessness. If for a mature person freedom means awareness of reality, acceptance of its immutable laws and life in accordance with them, comprehension and understanding of the surrounding world, awareness of one’s own place in it through reason and feelings, then for a neurotic freedom, whether he realizes it or not, is only the idea of ​​one's own narcissistic omnipotence.

Such differences imply different types of thinking and, as a consequence, different models of existence as an answer that a person gives to the questions posed by life. All existing religions give the same answers. Over the course of a long evolution, beginning with cannibalism, man has chosen from a mass of various answers to the existential question, without knowing it, one of the existing options. A Westerner, as a rule, believes that in his soul he is fully consistent with the principles of Christian or Jewish morality, or is an adherent of enlightened atheism. In fact, if it were possible to analyze a person with the help of some kind of “psychic x-ray”, it would become obvious that in our society there are very few true Christians, Judaists, Buddhists, adherents of Taoism, and a huge number of cannibalists, totemists and various idolaters. Every religion is essentially an orderly and detailed response of humanity to the question posed by life. At the same time, for a person, even the most primitive religion becomes a convenient and cozy refuge where one could communicate with like-minded people. If the regressive aspirations of an individual come into conflict with his consciousness or with the interests of society and his own secret “religion” cannot be shared with others, it turns into neurosis.

By knowing the personal response of a particular patient, or any person in general, to the existential question that life poses to him - in other words, his own cult, which he serves, we can understand it. It makes no sense to “treat” such a patient before we know his secret cult, his fundamental answer to life, for many so-called “psychological problems” are in fact echoes of this very “answer”.

Based on what has been said, we are faced with the need to define the concept of well-being.

Well-being should be understood as the achievement of full maturity by the human mind. We are talking here about maturity not only in terms of the ability to think critically, but also in such an awareness of reality in which, in the words of Heidegger, a person acquires the ability to “let things be” what they really are. A person can achieve well-being only to the extent that he is open to the world around him and is able to respond to it (“awakened” and “empty” in the Zen Buddhist understanding). Well-being is characterized by the emotional richness of a person’s life in his relationship to other individuals and nature, in his ability to overcome alienation and feel unity with the world around him, on the one hand, and awareness of his own separate and indivisible “I”, on the other. This well-being implies the full birth of a person, the realization of the potential inherent in him, that is, his awakening, getting rid of averageness, gaining the ability to experience the full range of feelings - from stormy joy to deep sadness. At the same time, a person must be able to create, react to the world around him, be responsible both to himself and to everything that surrounds him; to appear as an integral personality, truly existing in the world of animate and inanimate objects. Giving a true answer to the world, a person - a creator, at the same time, is able to really perceive this world. In a creative attitude towards the world, a person must consider it as a product of his own perception. As a result, this world ceases to be something alien and distant for him and becomes his own. In the end, well-being consists of pacifying your ego and revising your life priorities. A person must renounce acquisitiveness, the desire for personal integrity and aggrandizement. The meaning of life should not be the eternal thirst for possession, accumulation, profit and consumption, but the joy of being itself, the awareness of one’s own uniqueness in this world.

Having said this, I have made an attempt to correlate the development of human individuality with the history of religion. Due to the fact that this article is devoted to a comparison of psychoanalysis and Zen Buddhism, it seems necessary to me to consider the evolution of religion at least in some psychological aspects.

As I have already noted, existence itself poses a question to man. This question is generated by the contradiction inherent in man: belonging to nature, on the one hand, and being outside of it, conditioned by the awareness of one’s own existence, on the other. A person is “religious” if he approaches this fundamental question not formally, but strives to answer it with his whole life. Likewise, any system is a “religion” if it tries to give its answer to this question and forces people to do so. Accordingly, every culture and every person who does not seek an answer to an existential question is non-religious in its essence - the best example of which is the man of the 20th century. Preoccupied with thoughts about material wealth, prestige, power, career, modern man tries to avoid answering this question, trying to forget about the very fact of his existence, and therefore the fact of the existence of his “I”. A person who does not have his own answer is not capable of development, in his life and death becoming like one of the millions of things he has produced. It does not matter how deep his religious beliefs are, how often he thinks about God or attends church. Such a person, instead of believing in God, only thinks about him. However, religions can differ fundamentally from each other in their answers to the existential question, and it would be misleading to generalize them in this aspect. Existing religions in all their diversity give two fundamentally opposite answers to this fundamental question. We have already touched on these answers when talking about individuals.

The first answer is to restore unity with nature through likening to animals, abandoning reason, returning to a primitive way of life devoid of consciousness. Such an idea can take on very different incarnations. As one of the extremes, we can cite the example of the German underground “bear shirt” societies. A recruit initiated into this organization must become like a bear and “change his human appearance in a fit of aggression and unbridled rage, becoming like a raging beast.” (Drawing a parallel between the “Bear Shirts” and Hitler’s “Brown Shirts,” it is easy to understand that the idea of ​​returning man to the primitive unity with nature is not cultivated only at the level of primitive societies. If the majority of members of the National Socialist Party are politicians, junkers, generals, businessmen and officials - were simply irreligious people, cruel and thirsty for power, then those who led it, Hitler, Himmler and Goebbels, were, by and large, the same primitive “Bear Shirts,” whose religious idea consisted of the same “sacred” rage and passion for destruction. "The 20th century brought back to life the myth of “ritual murder,” which they attributed to the Jews. The subconscious desire for destruction found expression in ritual murders. Carrying out “ritual murders” of Jews, then foreigners, and finally the Germans themselves, down to members of their own families and themselves, they thus realized their destructive aspirations.)

The desire for primitive unity with nature can take on many other, not so archaic, religious incarnations. This idea can be traced in tribal religions, where there is identification with a totem animal, where there is a cult of a tree, lake, cave, etc.

This is also manifested in orgiastic cults that seek to suppress reason and moral principles in a person. Everything that brings a person closer to primitive intimacy with nature is sacred for such religions. The one who stands closest to the goal, such as a shaman, will be the “saint.” The opposite camp includes all religions, where the answer to the existential question is the idea of ​​the evolution of the human mind, cultivating in a person the ability to love, and as a result, finding harmony with nature and other individuals. And although in some relatively primitive societies such ideas were only partially traceable, there is no doubt that the period from about 2000 BC was a kind of Rubicon of humanity. e. and until the Nativity of Christ. This time period was marked by global changes in man, expressed in the emergence of such religions as Taoism and Buddhism in the Far East, the religious revolutions of Akhenaten in Egypt, the emergence of the Zoroastrian religion in Persia, the religion of Moses in Palestine, and Quetzalcoatl in Mexico.

These religions are brought together by the idea of ​​unity - no longer in a regressive sense, achieved by erasing individuality and returning to a heavenly harmony devoid of consciousness. Unity is now viewed on a new plane; a person can come to it only by overcoming alienation, isolation of himself from the world around him and thereby achieving true birth. The human mind must reach full development, after which the individual will have access to active, intuitive penetration into the real world, which is an indispensable condition for achieving such unity. The aspiration of these religions is directed not to the past, but to the future, and their goal is determined by the concepts of “Tao”, “nirvana”, “enlightenment”, “good”, God. Sociocultural differences between the countries of origin of these religions determined the choice of one symbol or another. The domineering image of a majestic monarch or tribal chief was a characteristic symbol for Western society. However, already in the Old Testament era, this image begins to undergo changes. The almighty arbiter of destinies is now bound with his subjects by agreements containing certain promises. For example, man's achievement of harmony with nature at the time determined by the messiah is the goal of prophecy; Christianity is characterized by the presentation of God in human form. In widespread Western religions, the anthropomorphic authoritarian components undergo virtually no changes. An example of their almost complete absence is the philosophy of Maimonides, or mysticism.

Judeo-Christian and Zen-Buddhist thinking are brought together by the idea of ​​the individual’s refusal of the egoistic desire for coercion, command and suppression of the internal and external world. Instead, a person must become open, receptive, awakened, able to respond to the challenges of the outside world. Zen calls this state “being empty,” and this term does not have a negative connotation, but, on the contrary, characterizes an individual who is open to the perception of the outside world. In the Christian religion, the same idea is expressed in the concepts of self-denial and submission to the will of divine providence. At first glance, the differences in Christian and Buddhist postulates are not so significant and the difference exists only at the level of formulation. In fact, Christian ideas, as a rule, are interpreted in such a way that a person completely entrusts his destiny to the great and omnipotent Father, who protects and cares for him, while all independence is lost. Naturally, in this case the person becomes meek and humble, but in no way open and able to react. Genuine renunciation of selfish aspirations as following the will of the Lord takes on real meaning if the concept of God is absent as such. Only by forgetting about God does a person, paradoxically, sincerely follow his will. To be “empty” in the terminology of Zen Buddhism really means pacifying one’s will, but at the same time excludes the possibility of returning to a slavish reliance on the support of the Father.

The essence of consciousness. Repression and overcoming repression

In the first part, I attempted to characterize humanistic psychoanalysis through a description of those human postulates and aspects of existence that serve as its starting point. The above comparison indicates that these postulates are characteristic of psychoanalysis to the same extent as other humanistic systems. Now, in order to understand how psychoanalysis seeks to solve the problem assigned to it, it becomes necessary to consider the specific method to which it resorts.

The main distinguishing feature of psychoanalysis lies, undoubtedly, in its desire to make the unconscious conscious, i.e., using Freud's terminology, to translate “it” into “I”. This diagram, despite its apparent simplicity, needs explanation. First of all, we are faced with several questions at once: what is the unconscious? How does the unconscious become conscious, and if this is possible, then what is the use of it?

It should be clarified that the terms “conscious” and “unconscious” can have different meanings. In one case, they characterize the subjective state of a person; this meaning of the terms is called functional. Conscious is an individual who is aware of one or another mental process occurring in him, i.e., aware of his feelings, thoughts, ideas, etc. On the contrary, unconscious in this sense is a state in which a person is not aware in any mental processes occurring in it, including sensory ones. An individual who is aware of a particular feeling is conscious in relation to this feeling. If an individual is not aware of any feeling, he is an unconscious person in relation to it. It must be borne in mind that the term “unconscious” defines only the unawareness of any feelings, desires, fears, etc., and not at all their absence.

The terms “conscious” and “unconscious” have, in addition to the functional, another meaning. In this case, we are talking about the principle of a certain placement of the conscious and unconscious in the human psyche and their semantic content. In this interpretation, “conscious” and “unconscious” represent two different parts of an individual’s personality, each of which has its own special content. According to Freud, the unconscious is the repository of everything irrational. For his part, Jung views the unconscious as the deepest storehouse of wisdom, and assigns the conscious the role of the receptacle of human intellect. The unconscious absorbs everything that is unable to fit into the higher levels of the human psyche. This can be compared to the basement of a house, where things are sent that do not have a place on the residential floors. The “basement,” in Freud’s understanding, contains human vices, but for Jung it is primarily a storehouse of human wisdom.

The use of the term “unconscious” in a narrow sense is unfortunate, as noted, in particular, by G. S. Sullivan. As a result, this leads to an insufficiently complete understanding of mental phenomena. For my part, I would like to note that the emerging trend towards abandoning the functional concept in favor of the substantive one illustrates a general pattern characteristic of the modern Western world. Today man tends to define the world in terms of the things he possesses rather than in terms of existence. Just like we have a car, a house or a child, we have an anxiety problem, we have insomnia, we have depression, we have a psychoanalyst. Similarly, we have the unconscious. Many people now use the term “subconscious” instead of “unconscious”, and this is not accidental. This appears to be because the word "subconscious" is more applicable to the substantive concept. Indeed, we can say “I am conscious of something,” while it is impossible to say “I am subconscious” of something.

Finally, the term “conscious” has another, sometimes confusing, meaning. If consciousness is identified with the reflective intellect, then the unconscious is identified with unreflected experience. If we assume that the meaning of the terms “conscious” and “unconscious” in this context is easily understood and there is no confusion with their other two meanings, then such use is quite acceptable. However, in my opinion, the use of these terms is not always successful. Of course, intellectual reflection is always conscious, but not everything that is conscious is intellectual reflection. Looking at a person, I am aware of all the shades of feeling that I experience in relation to him, however, this awareness will be identical to intellectual reflection only if I, through subject-object distance, separate myself from him. Likewise, this is true if I am aware of my breathing, and again this is not at all the same as thinking about my breathing: I will cease to be aware of it the moment I begin to think about it. This provision is equally true for any action that characterizes my attitude towards the world around me. This aspect will be covered in more detail below.

Now let’s try to understand what prevents our experiences from moving into the category of conscious ones, in other words, from becoming the substance that we call conscious. At the same time, we will define the conscious and unconscious not as certain specific “parts” of an individual’s personality, filled with special content, but as a state of awareness and unconsciousness.

First of all, it is necessary to clarify: consciousness is a priori of greater value than the unconscious, if we consider these categories from the perspective of psychoanalysis. If this were not so, psychoanalysis would not set itself the task of expanding the scope of human consciousness. However, it is also obvious that in reality a person’s consciousness is largely a chain of delusions and false messages, which is caused mostly by the influence of society, and not by the individual’s inability to discern the truth. It follows from this that human consciousness in itself cannot be of value. The evolution of humanity indicates that, with the exception of a number of primitive societies, society is built on the principle of control and exploitation of the majority of its members by an insignificant minority. Control of the majority is achieved through the use of force, but this factor alone is not enough. The consciousness of the majority must be filled mainly with fictions and delusions, as a result of which it, of its own free will, agrees to obey the minority. Nevertheless, the false nature of a person’s ideas about himself, other individuals, society, etc. depends not only on these circumstances. The replacement of universal human postulates by the interests of society, which occurs in any society, is due to an attempt (and, as a rule, achievement) to preserve the structure acquired by this society in the process of evolution. At the same time, the emerging contradiction gives rise to an internal conflict in such a society: discrepancies between the interests of a person and society are hidden at the social level under the cover of all kinds of fictions and false promises.

So, we are forced to admit that human consciousness by its nature does not reflect reality, but, on the contrary, is illusory and full of delusions. It follows from this that consciousness acquires meaning only under the condition that the hidden, hitherto unconscious reality ceases to be hidden and thus becomes conscious. We will return to this issue later. Now I just want to note that our consciousness is largely “false” in content, and this is caused precisely by the influence of society, which instills misconceptions and false ideas.

The influence of society, however, is not limited to just planting fictions and false ideas in the human mind. Its role also lies in the fact that it does not allow us to realize reality. Now we come directly to the problem of repression and the formation of the unconscious.

The animal is capable of being aware of the objects around it; in the language of R. M. Becky, his consciousness can be defined as “simple.” Man, in his ability to recognize himself as the subject of his experiences, has self-awareness, which distinguishes him from the “simple consciousness” of an animal. However, awareness in a person can occur in different ways, which is apparently caused by the very high degree of complexity of this process. This or that experience can become conscious only if it is expressed in categories accessible to conscious thinking. Concepts such as “time” and “space” are universal in nature, which ensures their perception is common to all people. A category such as “causality” is accessible to many, but not all types of conscious thinking. Some categories exist only within a particular culture. In any case, experience can be realized only if it is possible to identify, compare and define it within the categories of a particular conceptual system. This system by nature it is a product of social evolution. The system of categories that defines the principles of awareness is developed in every society thanks to life experience and one or another way of defining, feeling and understanding. Such a system plays the role of a kind of filter: it is the reality of a particular society. Only by passing through this filter can the experience become conscious. In this case, we need to consider the principle of operation of this “social filter” in order to understand how it can pass through some experiences on the way to their awareness and delay others.

The first thing to remember is that not all experiences are easily recognized. The most easily recognized are physical experiences, for example pain, as well as such as sexual desire, hunger, etc. Undoubtedly, those experiences that are vitally important - either for a specific individual or for a group of individuals - easily become conscious. Experiences that are more subtle and complex in nature may be easily recognized in some cultures and not recognized in others. For example, the reverent contemplation of a rosebud with a drop of dew in the early morning, while the sun has not yet risen, the air is cool and birdsong can be heard, is easily recognized by the Japanese. For a Western person, such an experience will most likely remain unconscious, since in his eyes it is not “important” or “eventful” enough. The role that certain subtle emotional experiences play in the culture of a particular country determines the ease of their conscious perception. Very often, in one language there may be no words that define any emotional experience, while in another there may be many. For example, in English, the whole range of emotions from erotic feelings to brotherly and maternal love is expressed by the word “love”. If any emotional experiences do not find expression in different words of a particular language, they actually remain unconscious; the reverse is also true. In general, it can be argued that rarely conscious experiences are those for which there is no corresponding word in a given language.

However, the filtering properties of language are manifested not only in this. The variety of words used to refer to a particular experience is only one aspect of the manifestation of cross-linguistic differences. Languages ​​differ from each other at the syntactic, grammatical and semantic levels. Any language reveals the attitude towards the life of the people speaking it. Language is a kind of cast of a certain way of experiencing being. Let's give a few examples. In some languages, the verb form “it is raining” can have fundamental differences in semantics, depending on the context: am I talking about rain because I got caught in the rain and got wet; either I am watching from the hut as it rains, or I heard from someone that it is coming. This example clearly demonstrates that focusing attention on the circumstances of experiencing a particular phenomenon has a significant impact on how these phenomena are experienced. (For example, for our modern culture, the source of knowledge of any fact is not of fundamental importance: be it direct or indirect experience or the message of other people. Only the purely intellectual aspect of knowledge is important.)

Or another example. In the Hebrew language, the aspectual feature of verbs (perfect - imperfect aspect) is more important than temporal differences (past, present, future), which are of secondary importance. For Latin, both categories (both tense and aspect) are equally important, while English language focuses on the time of action. Obviously, such differences in the way verbs are conjugated are a reflection of differences in the experience of events.

Differences in the use of verbs and nouns in different languages or even among different people speaking the same language is another manifestation of this phenomenon. A noun refers to a subject, while a verb refers to an action. Since more and more people in our time think in terms of the possession of things, rather than existence or action, this is reflected in their speech: they use nouns more readily than verbs. How a person experiences, which of the experiences he is aware of - all this is conveyed by language at the level of vocabulary, grammar, syntax, and the structure of the language as a whole.

Logic, which governs human thinking within a particular culture, represents the second level of the filter that allows awareness of experiences. A good example here is the difference between Aristotelian and paradoxical logic.

Aristotelian logic is based on three laws: the law of identity states that A is A; law of contradiction - A is not A; the law of the excluded middle - A is either B or not B. According to Aristotle, “... at the same time it is impossible to be and not to be... this is the most reliable of all principles.”

However, there is another logic, which, in contrast to Aristotle’s, can be called paradoxical. In this case, the idea is expressed that A and not A are not mutually exclusive objects like predicates of X. Paradoxical logic prevailed in Chinese and Indian thought, the philosophy of Heraclitus. Later it was developed by Hegel and Marx under the name dialectics. The concept of paradoxical logic was expressed quite clearly by Lao Tzu: “True words remind of their opposite” and, in addition, by Zhuang Tzu: “This is this. Not this - also this.”

For a Westerner, it seems an unusually difficult, and perhaps impossible, task to understand experiences that contradict Aristotelian logic and, as a result, are meaningless from its point of view, because the truth of the latter within Western civilization is not questioned a priori. Freud's concept of ambivalence is a good example of this. Freud believed that a person is capable of experiencing feelings of love and hatred towards another individual at the same time. From the standpoint of Aristotelian logic, such an experience is meaningless, while according to paradoxical logic it is completely “logical”. As a result, most people have virtually no ability to recognize ambivalent emotions. Such people, realizing their love for any subject, cannot realize hatred for him, since the awareness of two opposing feelings for the same person at the same time would be meaningless for them.

Human experience represents the third level of the filter, which has nothing to do with language and logic. Each society imposes a ban on certain thoughts and feelings, that is, on something that cannot only be “done,” but that it is forbidden to even “think about.” Suppose that in some warlike tribe that robs and kills everyone belonging to other tribes, there will be those who one day feel disgusted with robbery and murder. But since such a feeling is incompatible with the way of life of the tribe to which he belongs, it is difficult to imagine that such a warrior could realize it; otherwise, he would risk finding himself in complete isolation and being persecuted by his fellow tribesmen. Therefore, in such a situation, the individual would rather experience a psychosomatic symptom, expressed in the urge to vomit, rather than awareness of such a feeling. Conversely, if a member of a peace-loving tribe of farmers were to feel the desire to rob and kill members of other tribes, the opposite reaction would occur. As in the first case, he most likely would have suppressed this feeling and would not have allowed himself to realize it. At the same time, he might develop another symptom in the form of intense fear.

Another example. It probably often happens in large cities that sellers deal with poor visitors who do not have enough money to buy, say, the cheapest clothes. It can be assumed that in such a situation one of the sellers will experience a natural human desire to give up the suit to a poor buyer at a price he can afford. However, I assume that very few of them will admit such a feeling, and most will suppress it within themselves. Some of these sellers may become aggressive against the buyer, trying to veil with such an attitude their unconscious impulse, which at night can cause a dream.

Based on the idea that a person will not allow himself to realize desires prohibited by society, we ask two questions. Firstly, why are certain motives unacceptable in a given society? Secondly, what causes such a great fear in a person before realizing such a forbidden impulse?

To answer the first question, it is necessary to consider the concept of “social character”. One of the conditions for survival for any society is the formation of such a type of character so that members of the society feel the desire to do what they should do. In other words, execution social function should be considered by members of society not as an obligation, but as a natural desire to act in a certain direction. If we deviate from this scheme, society would be in danger, because many of its members would cease to act in the right way, and the social character would lose predictability and stability. Thus, in every society there are prohibitions, the violation of which leads to ostracism. At the same time, it is obvious that in different societies the imposition of one or another type of social character, as well as the observance of prohibitions in order to protect the integrity of society, occurs with varying degrees of cruelty.

The answer to the second question lies in clarifying the nature of the individual’s great fear of possible ostracism, forcing him to prevent the penetration of taboo impulses into consciousness. A person must somehow understand his place among other individuals in order to avoid madness. The inability to relate to others leads to loss of sanity. If death is the main source of fear in an animal, then for a person the most terrible thing is loneliness. According to Freud, it is the fear of complete loneliness that prevents the awareness of forbidden feelings and thoughts to a greater extent than the fear of castration.

Thus, we can conclude that the conscious and unconscious are socially determined in nature. A person is capable of realizing only those feelings and thoughts that have passed through a triple filter: a special, i.e. language, a filter of logic and a filter of social prohibitions. At the unconscious level, all motivations that have not passed through this filter remain. Focusing on the social essence of the unconscious, we must make two clarifications. The first is to state the obvious fact that in any family, in addition to the prohibitions of society, there are its own varieties of these prohibitions. As a result, all impulses that arise in the child and are forbidden in this family will be suppressed by him for fear of losing the love of his parents. On the other hand, adults who are more honest with themselves and less inclined to “repress” will try to reduce the number of these prohibitions for their children. The second clarification concerns a more complex phenomenon, the nature of which lies in the fact that a person does not want to be aware of not only socially taboo impulses, but also all experiences that contradict the very foundations of existence, the principles of “humanistic consciousness” and the desire for improvement inherent in a person.

Certain regressive impulses, such as the desire to return to the state of intrauterine life, the desire for death, the absorption of loved ones in order to become closer to them, etc., in any case, are incompatible with the fundamental principles of human nature and its evolution, regardless of whether they enter whether they are in conflict with social character or not. The stage of evolution occupied by the child justifies his desire to be looked after, which is normal at his age. Such aspirations of an adult indicate his illness. Such a person is aware of the contradiction between what he is and what he should be, because his aspirations are determined not only by the past, but also by the goals characteristic of him as an integral personality. When we say “should,” we do not mean any moral obligations, but the immanent desire for evolution embedded in his chromosomes, similar to the information “given” in them about his physical build, eye color, etc.

The individual is afraid of thoughts about the forbidden, fearing to lose touch with society and find himself in complete isolation. At the same time, he is dominated by the fear of alienation from the human principle located in the depths of his consciousness, that is, he is afraid of dehumanization. However, in a society that preaches inhumane standards of behavior, this fear, as history shows, pales in comparison to the fear of being ostracized. The contradiction between the fear of isolation from society and the loss of one's own humanity loses its relevance as society itself becomes more humane. And on the contrary, this internal conflict will be deeper, the greater the gap between universal human goals and the goals of a given society. It probably goes without saying that the ease with which an individual is able to survive alienation from society directly depends on his intellectual and moral development, on how important universal human values ​​are for him. By overcoming the pressure of society, becoming a cosmopolitan citizen of the world, a person gains the ability to live in accordance with his moral principles. Thoughts and impulses that are incompatible with the norms of a particular society are not recognized by the individual if he is forced to suppress them in himself. So, we can conclude that the content of the unconscious and conscious, considered formally, outside of personal aspects, the influence of family and the moral attitudes of the individual, depends on the social structure and patterns of thoughts and emotions generated by a particular society. If we talk about the content of the unconscious, then no generalizations are acceptable here. However, it can be argued that in any case it will be a reflection of the human personality with all its light and dark sides, the basis of the various answers that a given individual is able to give to an existential question. If an individual belongs to a society dominated by the destructive idea of ​​likening man to an animal, it is obvious that all other thoughts and impulses will be suppressed by him, while this regressive desire will be dominant and conscious. And on the contrary, in a society that preaches humanistic principles, dark, animal impulses will not become conscious principles of life. However, no matter what culture this or that individual belongs to, he is potentially a primitive man, a beast of prey, and a cannibal, but at the same time, he has reason and feelings of love and justice. In this case, we come to the conclusion that the unconscious cannot be characterized as something positive or negative, rational or irrational, because, carrying within itself all human principles, it is both at the same time. We can say that the unconscious covers the whole person, with the exception of that part of him that was formed under the influence of society. Consciousness is a reflection of the social aspect of the individual; it is a product of current prohibitions that have developed during the specific historical period in which the individual happened to be born. The unconscious embodies the universal man who belongs to the cosmos. Being the container of all human principles, it personifies in him a plant, an animal, and his entire spirit. It contains his past - from the birth of human civilization, and his future - right up to the day when man, having realized his full potential, naturally merges with nature.

Defining the conscious and unconscious in this way, it is necessary to understand what we mean by the transformation of the unconscious into the conscious and the overcoming of repression. Freud proceeded from the fact that the unconscious is a receptacle for repressed instinctual impulses. At the same time, the process of transforming the unconscious into the conscious is by its nature very limited, because such instinctive impulses are unacceptable within the framework of a civilized society. Studying such instinctive impulses as the tendency towards incest, fear of castration, and the attitude towards the penis as an object of envy, he believed that their awareness is repressed by man as he evolves. Freud assumed that the powerful human ego is capable of transforming repressed desire if it can be realized. Freud's idea about the transformation of the unconscious into the conscious (“It” into “I”) takes on a deeper and more complete meaning if we consider the unconscious not in such a narrow aspect, as Freud did, but as we did above. The transformation of the unconscious into the conscious transforms the idea of ​​the universal nature of man into the idea of ​​a genuine experience of this universality, which represents the realization of the humanistic task.

Freud understood that the process of repression encounters the personal perception of reality by a particular individual and that the result of overcoming repression is a rethinking of reality itself by this individual. In Freud's terminology, the distorting nature of unconscious drives is called transference. (G. S. Sullivan characterized this same phenomenon as "paratactic distortion".)

Freud identified a peculiarity human perception, showing how the patient perceives the analyst. He realized that for the patient the analyst is not what he really is, but is a projection of his own thoughts, desires and fears, which took shape in childhood as a result of communication with people who played an important role for him. By contacting his own unconscious, the patient can correct his distorted perceptions. As a result of this, he is able to see in its true light not only the personality of the analyst, but also his parents. So, Freud realized that a person perceives reality distortedly. While we think we are seeing a real image, it turns out that, without realizing it, we are only seeing a picture of our own ideas. However, in addition to the distorting effect of transference, Freud discovered many other features of the distortion of perception caused by repression. Unconscious impulses unknown to a person control his behavior, but at the same time contradict his consciousness, which embodies the demands of society. This conflict gives rise to the effect of projection: without realizing one’s own unconscious impulses, a person can project them onto another individual and thereby become aware of them in him with disgust. On the other hand, not understanding the true origin of his motives, a person will try to find a rational explanation for them. Freud characterized such a conscious false justification of impulses that are not actually conscious as rationalization. It should be noted that most of what a person is aware of is delusion, whether we are faced with transference, projection or rationalization, while the reality is the unconscious it represses.

Keeping in mind our broader interpretation of the sources of origin of the unconscious, we can talk about a new approach to the interpretation of the conscious and unconscious. To begin with, the average individual, while confident that he is awake, is in reality half asleep. With the words “half-asleep state,” I want to express the idea that this person’s connection with reality is far from complete, because most of reality is in his consciousness, be it his inner world or external environment, is the fruit of fictions generated by his mind. He is aware of reality only to the extent that it is necessary for his life as a member of society. In general, reality is realized by a person to the extent that it is necessary to ensure his survival. Conversely, a person ceases to be aware of external reality during sleep, although this awareness is easily restored if necessary. If a person is insane, then even in case of extreme necessity he is not able to fully comprehend external reality. The consciousness of the average individual consists for the most part of fictions and delusions, being “false” in nature, while reality is precisely what a person is not aware of. Thus, a person is conscious of his illusions and can become conscious of the reality behind these illusions.

As we have already noted, human consciousness is essentially the embodiment of not so many patterns of experiences imposed by society, while all the rest of the wealth and diversity of manifestations of an integral personality lies in the unconscious. In this case, the process of repression leads to the fact that the human “I”, considered as a personality determined by the realities of a particular society, is separated from the “I”, which is the embodiment of an integral personality. A person finds himself alienated from himself, and to the same extent everything becomes alien to him. Experiencing only an insignificant part of the reality hidden in him and other individuals, a person becomes an inferior cripple, cut off from a huge layer of human emotions.

So far we have considered repression only from the point of view of its distorting function. Another aspect of it is expressed not in distortion, but in the transformation of certain human experiences into something unreal.

This is accomplished in the process of cerebration, i.e., human brain activity. For example, a person believes that he sees some objects, but in reality he sees only some of their symbols. Or he assumes that he feels something, but in fact these feelings are only thought by him. The human personality, completely determined by its brain activity, finds itself in alienation, because, as in Plato’s allegory, it accepts only the shadows it sees as reality. The process of cerebration is directly related to the polysemy of language. A person who defines any experience with a word immediately becomes alienated from it, since the word replaces this experience. In general, a full-fledged experience can remain only until the moment of linguistic expression. In modern culture, in comparison with other periods of history, a similar process of cerebration has apparently received greatest distribution and is characterized by the greatest intensity. Words are increasingly replacing real experiences, which is primarily due to the ever-increasing attraction to intellectual knowledge as the basis of scientific and technological progress and, as a consequence, to literacy and education. However, the person we are talking about does not realize this. In reality, a person has only memory and thinking, he is deprived of experiences, although he believes that he sees or feels something. While man thinks he is grasping reality, it is actually being grasped by his mental self. A person considers the experience as his own, while on the whole he himself, his eyes, his mind, his heart, his womb, actually do not take part in it, comprehending nothing.

But what, then, is the transformation of the unconscious into the conscious? To answer this question more accurately, it is necessary to formulate it somewhat differently. We should not talk about “conscious” and “unconscious”, but about the degree of awareness - consciousness and unconsciousness - unconsciousness. In this case, we can formulate our question differently: what happens when a person realizes something that he was not previously aware of? The answer in general terms will be as follows: this process, step by step, brings a person closer to understanding the false, illusory essence of consciousness, which he is accustomed to viewing as “normal.” By realizing the hitherto unconscious, a person expands the area of ​​his consciousness, thereby comprehending reality, i.e., approaching the truth on an intellectual and emotional level. The expansion of consciousness is like awakening, removing the veil from the eyes, leaving the cave, illuminating the darkness with light.

Perhaps this is the experience that Zen Buddhists define as “enlightenment.”

We will return to this issue later; now I would like to dwell in more detail on an aspect that is of exceptional importance for psychoanalysis. We are talking about the essence of intuition, insight and knowledge, i.e., about what determines the possibility of transforming the unconscious into the conscious. There is no doubt that Freud, in the early years of his psychiatric activity, agreed with the prevailing statement in science about the exclusively intellectual and theoretical nature of knowledge. He believed that to heal the patient it would be enough to explain to him the origin of certain symptoms of his disease and the results of the study of his unconscious. He assumed that the patient's receiving this intellectual knowledge could have a healing effect on him. However, Freud and other analysts soon came to the conclusion that Spinoza's assertion about the emotional essence of intellectual knowledge was correct. It became clear that intellectual knowledge by itself was not capable of bringing about any change. Its effect can only be manifested in the fact that with an intellectual comprehension of his unconscious impulses, a person will be able to better control them, but such a task belongs more to the field of traditional ethics than psychoanalysis. In this state of affairs, the patient is not able to get in touch with his unconscious, does not experience this deep and vast reality within himself. He only thinks about it, because he considers himself as the object of his research, turning out to be a distant scientific observer. In reality, the discovery of the unconscious is an emotional experience, not an act of intellectual knowledge, which is difficult, if not impossible, to express in words. At the same time, the process of discovering the unconscious does not at all exclude preliminary thinking and reflection. However, the discovery itself is always spontaneous and unexpected, holistic in nature, because a person experiences it with his whole being: it’s as if his eyes are opened, he himself and the whole world appear before him in a new light, he looks at everything in a new way. If before experiencing this experience he felt anxiety, then after it, on the contrary, he gains confidence in his abilities. The discovery of the unconscious can be characterized as a chain of growing, deeply felt experiences that go beyond theoretical and intellectual knowledge.

This method is characterized by the fact that it overcomes the Western rationalistic concept of knowledge: a person ceases to be only an observer of himself as an object of study, and the basis of the knowledge he receives is experience. The concept of knowledge based on experience (an exception for the Western tradition) can be traced in Spinoza, who defined intuition as the highest form of knowledge, in Fichte with his intellectual intuition, in Bergson with his creative consciousness. Such qualities of intuition overcome the subject-object differentiation of the cognition process. (The significance of such experiences within the framework of Zen Buddhism will be discussed later.)

In our brief overview important elements of psychoanalysis, it is necessary to touch upon one more aspect. We are talking about the role of the psychoanalyst. Initially, it was similar to the role of any doctor. However, some time later the situation changed radically. Freud came to the conclusion that before the analyst subjects his patient to analysis, he himself must become the subject of such research, get rid of his own delusions, neurotic manifestations, etc. Such a need seems untenable if we consider it from the perspective of Freud himself. Let us turn to Freud’s thoughts quoted above that the analyst should be, first of all, a “model”, a “teacher”, that the relationship between the analyst and the patient should be built on “love of truth”, excluding any “falsity and deception”. In this case, Freud came to the realization that the role of the psychoanalyst did not fit within the framework of the role assigned to the ordinary doctor. However, the idea that the analyst is an outside observer and the patient is the object of his research remains fundamental to him.

As psychoanalysis evolved, the concept of the outside observer underwent changes, and this happened in two different aspects. IN last years Ferenczi's life came to the conclusion that the analyst should not limit himself to simply observing and interpreting the patient's behavior. In his opinion, the patient, like a child, longs for love, and the analyst must be able to love him with a great love that he has never known before. By love, Ferenczi did not mean an erotic feeling; it was more about a parental type of love and care. G. S. Sullivan came to the same conclusion, but from a different angle. In an effort to refute the prevailing concept of the analyst's detachment, he suggested that the analyst should relate to the patient from the position not of a distant observer, but of a participating observer. In my opinion, Sullivan was not so far from the truth, and the role of the analyst would be more accurately defined not so much as a “participating observer”, but as an observing participant. However, the word “participant” itself, implying being outside, is not entirely appropriate here, since knowing a person requires becoming oneself, penetrating inside him. The analyst is able to understand the patient only to the extent that he himself is able to experience his experiences. Otherwise, the analyst will have only intellectual knowledge about him, being in the dark about what he is actually experiencing. As a consequence, such an analyst will never be able to convince his patient that he shares and understands his experiences. The ability to get close, to become close to the patient, to be completely imbued with and filled with him, the ability to live his life, to be open and disposed towards him is one of the fundamental conditions for understanding and treatment with the help of psychoanalysis. The analyst, on the one hand, must be able to turn into his patient, on the other hand, remain himself; he must forget that he is a doctor, but at the same time still be aware of it. He will be able to give his patient a meaningful “conclusion” only if he accepts this paradox for granted, for it will be the fruit of his own experience. While the analyst is analyzing the patient, the reverse process also occurs: the patient analyzes the analyst. This is due to the fact that the analyst, unwittingly, reveals his own unconscious when in contact with the patient’s unconscious. It follows from this that the analyst not only treats his patient, but is himself “treated” with his help; not only does the analyst understand the patient, but ultimately the patient comes to understand the analyst. This leads to achieving solidarity and unity between them.

Such an attitude towards the patient should be realistic and devoid of any sentimentality. The analyst, or anyone else, cannot “save” another person. He will never be able to do for his patient what he can only do for himself. He can only be an adviser, be like a midwife, show the way, help remove obstacles and sometimes directly help him. With all his behavior, and not just in words, he must bring this to the consciousness of his patient. The analyst is also obliged to emphasize that the real situation of their communication is limited and differs in this from communication between two ordinary people and that he is clearly aware of this. Their interaction is limited by time and space, since the analyst has his own life and, in addition, he has a number of patients. However, in the meeting between patient and analyst there are no restrictions. During an analytic session, for the patient, as well as for the analyst, there is nothing more important in the world than their conversation. In interacting with the patient, the analyst is in fact not limited to the formal role of the doctor. For his patient, he becomes a teacher, an example, maybe even a master. However, this is achievable only on the condition that the analyst overcomes his own alienation, achieves complete freedom and self-awareness, otherwise he will not be an analyzer in his own eyes. The process of didactic analysis is not the end for the analyst, but the starting point of continuous self-analysis, which means a gradual awakening.

Principles of Zen - Buddhism

In a brief overview of Freudian psychoanalysis and its development within the framework of humanistic psychoanalysis, I touched upon the problem of human existence and the importance of the existential question. The well-being of a person was considered as overcoming alienation and isolation, while the peculiarity of the psychoanalytic approach lies in penetrating into the human unconscious. In addition, I talked about the nature of the unconscious and the conscious and the meaning that psychoanalysis attaches to the concepts of “know” and “be aware”. Finally, I talked about the importance of the role of the analyst in psychoanalysis.

One might assume that a systematic description of Zen Buddhism would be the primary condition for its comparison with the psychoanalytic method, but I will only touch on those aspects of it that have direct points of contact with psychoanalysis.

The main goal of Zen is to achieve enlightenment, or satori. A person can never fully understand Zen unless he has had this experience. Since I myself have not experienced satori, I am not able to talk about Zen on the level that is implied by the completeness of this experience, but can only speak about it in the most general terms. At the same time, since satori “represents an art and method of enlightenment almost incomprehensible to the European consciousness,” I will not consider Zen from the position of C. G. Jung. At least Zen is no more complex for a European than Heraclitus, Meister Eckhart or Heidegger. The enormous effort required to achieve satori is the main obstacle to understanding Zen. Most people are not capable of making such an effort, so even in Japan satori is very rare. However, despite the fact that I am not able to speak competently about Zen, I have a rough idea of ​​it, which became possible thanks to reading Dr. Suzuki’s books, attending several of his lectures, and generally becoming familiar with Zen Buddhism from all the sources available to me. I assume that I will be able to make a preliminary comparison of Zen - Buddhism and psychoanalysis.

What is the main goal of Zen? Suzuki says the following in this regard: “Zen by its nature is the art of immersion in the essence of human existence, it shows the path leading from slavery to freedom... It can be said that Zen releases the natural energy inherent in us by nature, which in ordinary life is suppressed and is distorted to such an extent that it is not able to be realized adequately... Therefore, the goal of Zen is to prevent a person from losing his mind and becoming ugly. By human freedom I understand the possibility of realizing all the creative and noble impulses inherent in his heart. Usually we are blind in our ignorance that we are endowed with all the necessary qualities that can make us happy and teach us to love.”

I would like to emphasize some important aspects of Zen that follow from this definition: Zen is the art of immersion in the essence of human existence; this is the path leading from slavery to freedom; Zen releases the natural energy of man; it protects a person from madness and self-deformation; it encourages a person to realize his abilities to love and be happy.

The main goal of Zen is the experience of enlightenment - satori. This process is described in detail in the works of Dr. Suzuki. Here I would like to dwell on some aspects of this issue that are especially important for Westerners, and primarily psychologists. Satori is not by its nature a mental abnormality. It is not characterized by a loss of sense of reality, as occurs in a trance state. At the same time, satori does not represent the narcissistic state of mind that is a characteristic manifestation of some religious teachings. “If you like, this is an absolutely normal state of mind...” According to Yoshu, “Zen is your everyday thinking.” “Which way a door opens depends on the location of its hinges.” The experiencer of satori experiences the special effects of the state of enlightenment. “The whole process of our thinking will begin to flow completely differently, which will allow us to experience greater satisfaction, greater peace, greater joy than it was before. The very atmosphere of existence will undergo changes. Zen also has rejuvenating properties. The spring flower will become even more beautiful, and the mountain waterfall will become cool and clear.”

As is clear from the above excerpt from Dr. Suzuki's work, satori is the true embodiment of human well-being. Using psychological terminology, enlightenment can be defined, in my opinion, as a state that is fully realized and understood by the individual, his complete orientation towards reality, both internal and external. This state is recognized not by the human brain or any other part of his body, but by the individual himself in his entirety. He is aware of it not as something mediated by his thinking, but as an absolute reality: a flower, a dog, another person. Waking up, a person becomes open and responsive to the world around him. This becomes possible due to the fact that he ceases to consider himself as a thing. Enlightenment implies the “complete awakening” of the whole personality, its movement towards reality.

It must be clearly understood that neither a trance, in which a person is convinced that he is awake while he is sound asleep, nor any destruction of a person’s personality has anything to do with the state of enlightenment. Apparently, for a representative of the Western school of psychology, satori will look like a subjective state, like some kind of trance state independently induced by a person; with all his sympathy for Zen Buddhism, even Dr. Jung did not escape such a misconception: “Due to the fact that the imagination itself is a mental phenomenon, it makes absolutely no difference whether we define enlightenment as “real” or “imaginary.” " Be that as it may, a person, being "enlightened", believes that he is so, regardless of whether this corresponds to reality, or he only claims it... Even if he were insincere in his words, his lie would be spiritualized." Of course, such a statement is only a fragment of Jung's general relativistic concept, which determines his understanding of the “authenticity” of religious experience. For my part, I cannot under any circumstances consider lying as something “spiritual”; to me it is nothing but a lie. In any case, Zen Buddhists are not proponents of this Jungian concept, which has some merit. On the contrary, it is extremely important for them to distinguish the real and, therefore, true change in human worldview as a result of a genuine experience of satori from an imaginary experience, possibly due to psychopathological factors, in which the Zen student assumes that he has achieved satori, while his teacher is sure of the opposite. One of the main tasks of a teacher is to ensure that the Zen student does not substitute false enlightenment for real enlightenment.

In psychological terms, we can say that complete awakening is the achievement of a “productive orientation,” which implies a creative and active, like Spinoza’s, perception of the world, and not a passive, consumer, accumulative and sharing attitude towards it. The internal conflict that causes the alienation of one’s own “I” from the “not-I” is resolved when a person reaches a state of creative productivity. Any object under consideration no longer exists in isolation from a person. The rose he sees represents the object of his thought precisely as a rose, and not in the sense that, by saying that he sees it, he only asserts that this object is identical to the definition of a rose for him. A person in a state of complete productivity becomes at the same time highly objective: his greed or fear no longer distorts the objects he sees, that is, he sees them as they really are, and not as they are. he would like to see them. Such perception eliminates the possibility of paratactic distortions. The human “I” is activated, and a merging of subjective and objective perception occurs. The active process of experiencing occurs in the person himself, while the object remains unchanged. The human “I” animates the object, and is itself animate through it. Only someone who is not aware of the extent to which his vision of the world is mental or parataxic in nature can consider satori as a kind of mystical act. A person who has realized this comes to another realization, which can be defined as absolutely real. To understand what we are talking about, just a fleeting experience of this sensation is enough. A boy learning to play the piano cannot compete in skill with the great maestro. However, the maestro’s game does not contain anything supernatural, representing a set of the same elementary skills that a boy learns; the only difference is that these skills are honed by the maestro to perfection.

Two Zen Buddhist parables clearly demonstrate how important an undistorted and non-intellectual perception of reality is to the Zen concept. One of them tells of a conversation between a mentor and a monk:

“Are you trying to establish yourself in the truth?

How do you educate yourself?

I eat when I'm hungry and sleep when I'm tired.

But everyone does this. It turns out that they educate themselves the same way as you?

Because while eating they are not busy eating, but allow themselves to be distracted by extraneous things; when they sleep, they do not sleep at all, but see a thousand and one dreams. This is what makes them different from me.”

There is probably no need to comment on this parable in any way. Seized by greed, fear and self-doubt, the average person, not always realizing it himself, constantly lives in a world of illusions. The world around him in his eyes acquires properties that exist only in his imagination. This state of affairs was as relevant for the era to which the above parable refers as for our days: and today almost everyone only believes that he sees, tastes or feels something, rather than actually experiencing such experiences.

Another equally revealing statement was written by a Zen teacher: “Until the time I began to study Zen, rivers were rivers to me and mountains were mountains. After I received my first knowledge of Zen, rivers ceased to be rivers and mountains ceased to be mountains. Now that I have comprehended the teaching, the rivers again became rivers for me, and the mountains became mountains.” And in this case, we become witnesses to the fact that reality begins to be perceived in a new way. As a rule, a person is mistaken when he takes the shadows of things for their true essence, as happens in Plato’s cave. Having realized that he was wrong, he still only has the knowledge that the shadows of things are not their essence. Leaving the cave and emerging from the darkness into the light, he awakens and now sees not shadows, but the true essence of things. Being in darkness, he is unable to comprehend the light. The New Testament (John 1:5) says: “And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not comprehend it.” But as soon as he emerges from the darkness, the difference between the world of shadows in which he lived before and reality immediately opens before him.

Understanding human nature is one of the primary tasks of Zen, which guides a person to self-knowledge. However, we are not talking here about the category of “scientific” knowledge inherent in modern psychology, not about the knowledge of a cognizing intellectual person who views himself as an object. In Zen, however, this knowledge is non-intellectual and unmediated; it is a deep experience in which the knower and the known become one. Suzuki formulated this idea as follows: “The main task of Zen is to penetrate as naturally and directly as possible into the deepest aspects of human existence.”

The intellect is not capable of giving a comprehensive answer to an existential question. Achieving enlightenment becomes possible provided that the individual renounces many misconceptions generated by his mind that impede the true vision of the world. “Zen requires complete freedom of mind. Even one thought becomes an obstacle and a trap on the path to true freedom of the soul.” It follows from this that the concept of sympathy or empathy postulated by Western psychology is unacceptable according to Zen Buddhist teachings. “The concept of sympathy, or empathy, is the intellectual embodiment of a primal experience. If we talk about the experience itself, it does not allow any division. At the same time, in its desire to comprehend the experience, to subject it to logical analysis, which involves discrimination, or bifurcation, the mind thereby harms itself and destroys the experience. At the same time, the true sense of identity disappears, which allows the intellect to carry out its inherent destruction of reality. The phenomenon of sympathy or empathy, which is the result of the process of intellectualization, may be more characteristic of a philosopher who is incapable of experiencing genuine experience.”

However, the spontaneity of experience can be limited not only by the intellect as such, but also by an idea or an individual. In this regard, Zen “does not attach much importance to the sacred sutras, nor to their interpretation by sages and scholars. Individual experience conflicts with the opinion of authority and objective definitions.” Within the framework of Zen, a person must be free even from God, from Buddha, as expressed in the Zen saying: “Having said the word “Buddha,” wash your lips.”

The development of logical thinking is not the task of Zen, which distinguishes it from the Western tradition. Zen "poses a dilemma for man, which he must be able to resolve at a higher level of thinking than that of logic."

As a consequence, the concept of a mentor in Zen Buddhism does not correspond to its Western counterpart. In the Zen understanding, the benefit brought to the student by a mentor consists only in the fact that the latter exists in principle: in general, for Zen, a mentor is such only to the extent that he is able to exercise control over his own mental activity. “What to do - until the student is ready to comprehend anything, he cannot help him in any way. The highest reality is comprehended only independently.”

The modern Western reader, accustomed to choosing between meek submission to an authority that suppresses him and limits his freedom and a complete denial of it, finds himself puzzled by the attitude of the Zen master to the student. Within Zen we are talking about a different, “reasonable authority.” The student does everything only of his own free will, without experiencing any coercion from the mentor. The mentor does not demand anything from him. The student is guided by his own desire to learn from his mentor, because he wants to receive from him knowledge that he himself does not yet possess. The teacher “has no need to explain anything with words; for him there is no concept of sacred teaching. Before anything is affirmed or denied, everything is weighed. There is no need to remain silent or idle talk.” The Zen teacher completely excludes any imposition of his authority on the student and at the same time persistently strives to win from him true authority based on real experience.

It must be borne in mind that the true achievement of enlightenment is inextricably linked with the transformation of human character; one who is not aware of this will not be able to understand Zen at all. This reveals the Buddhist origin of Zen, since salvation within Buddhism implies the need for a change in human character. A person must free himself from the passion of possession, must tame his greed, pride and arrogance. He must be grateful to the past, be a hard worker in the present and look to the future with a sense of responsibility. Living according to Zen principles means “treating yourself and the world around you with gratitude and reverence.” For Zen, this position in life, which underlies the “hidden virtue,” is very characteristic. Its meaning is that a person should not waste the powers given by nature, but live full life both in the ordinary, mundane sense and in a moral sense.

Zen sets before man the goal of liberation from slavery and gaining freedom, achieving “absolute invulnerability and courage” in an ethical sense. “Zen is based on a person's character, not on his intellect. Consequently, the main postulate of life for him is human will.”

Overcoming repression and enlightenment

Speaking about the relationship between psychoanalysis and Zen, what conclusion do we come to?

Probably, the fact that the incomparability of Zen - Buddhism and psychoanalysis is only a first deceptive impression could have puzzled the reader a lot. The similarity between them seems to be an even more surprising phenomenon.

First of all, let us repeat Dr. Suzuki's definition of the goal of Zen. “Zen by its nature is the art of immersion in the essence of human existence, it shows the path leading from slavery to freedom...

We can say that Zen releases the natural energy inherent in us by nature, which in ordinary life is suppressed and distorted to such an extent that it is not able to be realized adequately... Therefore, the goal of Zen is to prevent a person from losing his mind and becoming ugly. By human freedom I understand the possibility of realizing all the creative and noble impulses inherent in his heart. Usually we are blind in our ignorance that we are endowed with all the necessary qualities that can make us happy and teach us to love.”

Such a definition of the goal of Zen, without any reservations, can also be considered as an interpretation of the postulates of psychoanalysis, since such tasks as self-penetration, liberation, finding happiness and love, realizing energy and salvation from illnesses and deformities are characteristic of psychoanalysis to the same extent as Zen Buddhism .

The idea that enlightenment is an alternative to illness for a person may seem strange at first glance, but it is quite reasonable. Traditional psychiatry asks the question of why some people become sick. In my opinion, it would be more correct to ask why most people do not get sick. If we consider human existence in the conditions of current realities, remembering the alienation, loneliness, and helplessness of the individual, it would be logical to assume that he will not be able to cope with such pressure and will simply be destroyed. In reality, most people manage to avoid this, but salvation is achieved at the cost of mutilation of their own personality. People replace alienation with everyday routine, opportunism, the desire for power, prestige, money, service to one or another religious cult shared with other individuals, stoic self-torture or defiant narcissism. However, all this can maintain health in a person only for a certain time. Only a complete, creative response to the world, approaching enlightenment in its absolute, can become a real protection of a person from a possible disease. However, before moving on to consider the most important aspects in the comparison of psychoanalysis and Zen, I would like to dwell on some details of secondary importance.

Firstly, it should be said about the ethical orientation common to psychoanalysis and Zen. Overcoming greed by a person, expressed in the desire for possession, fame or something similar (which is consonant with the concept of “hungry” in the New Testament) in accordance with the teachings of Zen, is a necessary condition for achieving the goal. This is precisely the goal of psychoanalysis. Freud, who developed the theory of the evolution of libido and identified its four levels (oral-receptive, oral-sadistic, anal and genital), suggested that under normal conditions the human character, initially distinguished by such qualities as greed, cruelty and greed, is transformed ethically. Having placed greater emphasis on the value aspect of the issue under consideration and in accordance with the experience of Freud's clinical observations, I use my own terminology: the process of evolution is defined by me as a transition from a receptive orientation through exploitative, accumulative and sharing to a productive orientation. However, no matter what terms this idea is expressed in, it does not change the state of affairs: psychoanalysis considers the greed inherent in individuals who have failed to realize their active and productive inclinations as a pathological phenomenon. At the same time, the fundamental task of psychoanalysis, as well as Zen, is to help a person overcome greed and learn love and compassion, in other words, to promote the ethical transformation of personality. A person is not forced to a virtuous existence, he is not forbidden to live “in sin”; it is only assumed that the evolution of the individual’s consciousness will itself rid him of forbidden impulses. However, no matter how dependent the state of enlightenment may be on the moral transformation of a person, it would be a deep mistake to believe that the tasks of Zen do not imply the overcoming of greed, narcissism and narrow-mindedness, or that the acquisition of humility, love and mercy by a person is not an indispensable condition for achieving satori. In the same way, it would be wrong to assume that a change in human character is not necessary for the realization of the tasks of psychoanalysis. An individual who has reached a productive level is free from greed and narcissism; he acquires humility. Having parted with his illusions, he sees himself as he really is. Despite the fact that the goals of psychoanalysis and Zen are not limited to ethical frameworks, their achievement is impossible without moral changes in the personality.

The requirement to be independent of any authority is another aspect common to psychoanalysis and Zen. It was he who served as Freud's main basis for criticizing religion. Religion, in his opinion, misleads a person by imposing on him the idea of ​​​​good coming from God as opposed to true dependence on paternal care and punishment. According to Freud, belief in God is a manifestation of human infantility. A person cannot gain independence until he is fully mature. However, what would Freud's opinion be on a "religion" that instructs a person to purify his mouth at the mention of the word "Buddha"? How would he react to a religion in which there is neither God nor blind submission to any authority; religion, which sets before a person the goal of liberation from any dependence and awakening activity in him; a religion that seeks to confirm a person in the idea that only he himself should be responsible for his destiny?

It may be assumed that such a denial of any authoritarian principle in Zen is in conflict with the role assigned to the figure of the analyst in psychoanalysis. In this aspect, the deep similarity of the approaches in Zen and psychoanalysis can again be traced: in both cases, the patient, or student, receives knowledge from his mentor. But does the student (patient) become dependent on his leader and is everything that he tells him true? Undoubtedly, in psychoanalysis a similar phenomenon of dependence, interpreted as transference, exists and is capable of significantly influencing the patient. However, psychoanalysis strives to free the patient from such dependence on the analyst, identifying it and, if possible, eliminating it. The words of the mentor in Zen, as well as the analyst in psychoanalysis, are significant for the student (patient), because within the framework of Zen, the mentor has a priori greater knowledge than the student; the same state of affairs exists in psychoanalysis. As a result, the teacher’s word is always convincing for the student. The mentor never imposes his opinion on the student; the student came to him of his own free will and can also freely leave. The mentor is ready to accept a student who voluntarily comes to him and wants to go through the difficult path to enlightenment under his guidance. But only such a student who is aware that no matter how the mentor strives to help him, his fate is only in his own hands. No one can save a person’s soul; only he himself can find salvation. A mentor can only take on the role of a midwife or guide in the mountains. As one Zen master said, “I really can’t tell you anything. If I tried to do this, you would laugh at me. Everything I could say to you belongs only to me, and it could never become yours.”

Herrigel's book on the art of archery provides a vivid and illustrative analysis of the Zen master's approach. A Zen teacher is guided by the principle of establishing intelligent authority. He insists on his method of studying the art of archery, since he proceeds from the fact that he knows better than the student how it can be comprehended. At the same time, the mentor does not seek to impose his authority on the student, gain power over him, or make him constantly dependent on himself. He would only like the student to show him his progress from time to time; when he himself becomes a mentor, he will look for his own method in teaching. The mentor loves his student with a mature love, imbued with the spirit of a real perception of reality. He tries to help him, at the same time being fully aware that on the way to achieving the goal he is not able to do for the student what he must do himself. The love of a mentor for a student is devoid of any sentimentality; it is based on a realistic attitude towards human fate, on the awareness that no person is able to save another, but must do everything to help him save himself. Love that denies such a statement and claims to “save” the soul of another is in fact only a manifestation of arrogance and vanity.

Apparently, additional arguments will be unnecessary for the psychoanalyst to convince him that everything said about the teacher within the framework of Zen equally applies (or at least should apply) to himself. According to Freud, the analyst in his relationship with the patient is, as it were, his mirror image; his attitude towards him should be devoid of any personal coloring. This, in his opinion, should ensure the patient's independence from the analyst. However, analysts like Ferenczi, Sullivan, myself and a number of others regard cooperation between analyst and patient as a necessary condition for ensuring mutual understanding between them. We fully share the opinion that such cooperation excludes any sentimentality, distortion of reality and, most importantly, any, even the most cautious and indirect, intrusion of the analyst into the patient’s life, even if this could contribute to his cure. The analyst is always ready to help the patient and always supports his desire to overcome the disease and change his life. However, he cannot be held responsible for his failure if the patient’s resistance to life changes turns out to be insurmountable. The analyst's duty is to do everything in his power, to spare no effort and knowledge in order for the patient to achieve the goal he is striving for. This also reveals the closeness of the positions of psychoanalysis and Zen.

In Zen Buddhism, there is a teaching principle of putting a student in a difficult situation, called a koan. Being something like an obstacle that makes it impossible to escape, the koan does not allow the student to resort to traditional thinking in order to solve the problem assigned to him. In order not to go down the wrong path, forcing the patient to listen to explanations and instructions and thereby only preventing him from making the transition from comprehension to genuine experience, the analyst acts, or at least should act in some sense, in the same way. Any rationalistic justifications, i.e., everything that the patient relies on in his illusions, must be gradually eliminated by the analyst. In the end, the patient will lose all his arguments, thereby breaking free from the captivity of delusions, which will allow him to realize what he was not aware of before. In other words, he will begin to experience reality. An important role is played by the moral support of the patient, since the analyst often experiences anxiety, which could become an obstacle to achieving the goal. However, this support is limited only to the fact that the analyst is close to the patient, without trying to encourage him with words, so as not to prevent the patient from experiencing the experience available to him alone.

So, a comparison of Zen - Buddhism and psychoanalysis directly highlights some aspects of their similarity and identity. However, it can be recognized as valid if we find points of contact between the idea of ​​enlightenment, which is the main one in Zen, and overcoming repression, the transformation of the unconscious into the conscious, which represent the basic principle of psychoanalysis.

Let us first summarize what has been said about psychoanalysis. Its goal is to transform the unconscious into the conscious. It must be borne in mind that the conscious and unconscious are functions, and not the content of the mental process. More precisely: we can only talk about one degree or another of repression, a state when a person is aware only of those experiences that managed to pass through the filter of language, logic and other criteria determined by the realities of a particular society. The most hidden depths of his nature are revealed to a person, and consequently, his human essence, freed from distortions at all levels of the filter. If a person completely overcomes repression, he thereby resolves the conflict between his consciousness and the unconscious. At the same time, overcoming self-alienation and isolation from the surrounding world in all its manifestations, he is able to experience unmediated experience. In addition, as already noted, the perception of the world depends on the degree of separation of his unconscious from his conscious; in other words, to what extent his “I” as an integral personality is separated from his “I” as a social personality. This manifests itself, on the one hand, in the form of paratactic distortions, or the transfer effect, when another individual is seen not as what he really is, but appears in the image of an important person who had an influence on him in childhood. This happens due to the fact that he is able to perceive another individual not as a complete person, but only through his “I” formed in childhood.

On the other hand, the consciousness of a person in a state of repression is false by nature. This is reflected in his experience of the world around him: instead of a really existing object, he sees only its image generated by his own illusions and ideas. This distorted idea of ​​something, this veil covering his vision is precisely the primary source of his anxiety and suffering. As a result, an individual in a state of repression experiences what is happening in his head instead of experiencing real people and objects. While he is confident that he is in contact with the real world, in reality he deals only with words. Phenomena such as paratactic distortion, false consciousness and cerebration are, apparently, although different, but still interconnected aspects of a person’s loss of reality, when the human essence of the individual is separated from the social individual, and cannot be considered as independent varieties their loss of contact with the real world. Based on the assertion that the individual in a state of repression is alienated by nature, we are simply looking at the same phenomenon from different points of view. An alienated person, directing his thoughts and feelings to one or another object, does not perceive himself as the subject of his experiences and is dependent on the object that determines his experience.

The complete opposite of this alienated, distorted, paratactic, illusory, “mental” experience is the direct, integral perception of reality, characteristic of an infant and a child who has not lost the ability to do so under the influence of upbringing. For a newborn there is still no separation between “I” and “not-I”. The process of such separation is gradual, and the child’s ability to say “I” indicates its completion. Nevertheless, the child’s perception of the world still remains fairly direct and undistorted. While playing with the ball, the child actually sees the ball rolling, he is completely absorbed in the experience of this spectacle. An adult is also confident that he sees the ball rolling. Undoubtedly, this is so: he actually observes how one object, i.e., the ball, rolls on another object, the floor. However, in reality he only thinks that the ball is rolling on the floor, without seeing it. By saying that the ball is rolling, an adult, in principle, only states that, firstly, he knows that a round object is called a ball, and secondly, that round objects lying on a flat surface can roll when touched. At the same time, what he sees with his eyes only confirms his knowledge and allows him to feel comfortable.

A person is able to regain the ability to experience the direct, spontaneous perception of reality characteristic of a child, reaching a state of “non-repression.” But such overcoming of repression, taking into account the path traversed by man in the evolution of the intellect and the process of alienation, implies the return of integrity to him at a new, higher level. It is possible to gain such integrity only by first losing it.

A similar idea finds vivid expression in the Old Testament legend of the Fall and the prophecy of the Messiah. According to biblical tradition, a person, being in the Garden of Eden, is an integral substance. Being an inseparable part of nature, he is devoid of consciousness, for him there are no concepts of difference, choice, freedom, sin. By making his first choice, a person first shows disobedience and thus emerges from an initially devoid of individuality; at the same time, he takes the first step on the path to freedom. Having accomplished it, he gains consciousness: now he is aware of himself, aware of his isolation from Eve as a woman, from nature, from animals and the earth. The consequence of awareness of this isolation is the appearance of shame in a person: the same shame that we experience to this day, feeling alienated from people close to us. By leaving paradise, he will thereby mark the beginning of human history. The original state of harmony is no longer available to him, but for him there is a new harmony to which he can strive, harmony expressed in the improvement of his mind, consciousness, and his acquisition of the ability to love, so that, as the prophecy says, “... the earth will be filled with the knowledge of God in the same way as like the ocean is filled with water.” The messianic concept predicts a transition from a harmony devoid of individuality and consciousness to a new harmony based on the triumph of a holistic and perfect mind. Its achievement will become possible with the coming of the Messiah and will be marked by the elimination of antagonism between man and nature, man and other man; the desert will become a blooming garden, the wolf and the lamb will coexist peacefully side by side, and swords will be beaten into plowshares. The advent of the era of the Messiah is, on the one hand, a time of paradise, and on the other, something opposite to it: a person who has forever left the world of childhood has reached the highest stage of his evolution and again becomes a child, which is expressed in the integrity of his nature and the immediacy of perception.

A similar idea can be seen in the New Testament: “Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will not enter into it” (Luke 18:17). This maxim needs no explanation: through getting rid of alienation, people must become children again and learn to perceive the world creatively. However, turning into children, people have nevertheless already reached maturity and are not children. It is precisely in this case that the experience mentioned in the New Testament becomes possible: “Now we see through a dark glass, darkly, but then face to face; Now I know in part, but then I will know, even as I am known” (Corinthians 13:12).

Overcoming repression and alienation from oneself and, as a consequence, from another individual means awareness of the unconscious, i.e. awakening, parting with illusions, delusions and false ideas and an adequate perception of reality. Awareness of the previously unconscious makes an internal revolution in a person. The basis of creative intellectual thinking and direct intuitive perception of reality is precisely the true awakening of a person. An individual who is in a state of alienation, when the real world is perceived by him only at the level of thinking, turns out to be capable of lying; being awakened and, therefore, oriented towards direct perception of reality, a person is not able to tell a lie: the power of his experience destroys the lie. Finally, the translation of the unconscious into the conscious means for a person to live guided by the truth. Being open to reality, he ceases to be alienated from it; without resisting her and at the same time not trying to impose anything on her, he reacts to reality in an adequate way.

The goal of Zen is to understand the world directly and completely. I will now try to outline more clearly the connection between the principles of psychoanalysis and Zen based on the reasoning of Dr. Suzuki.

First of all, I would like to draw attention to one terminological aspect of the issue under consideration, which, in my opinion, hinders the implementation of our analysis. We are talking about the use of the terms “conscious” and “unconscious” instead of functional terms that serve to designate the extent to which the individual as a whole person is aware of the experience of something. I have no doubt that by eliminating this terminological uncertainty, we will greatly facilitate the task of identifying the connection between the true meaning of the translation of the unconscious into the conscious and the concept of achieving enlightenment. “The Zen method is to penetrate directly into the object itself and see it from the inside as it really is.” Such direct comprehension of reality “can also be defined as actively volitional or creative.” Suzuki goes on to call this source of creativity “the unconscious in Zen,” adding: “One must be able to feel the unconscious, but not in the ordinary sense of the word, but, I would say, in its most primordial and fundamental meaning.” In this interpretation, the unconscious is considered as a certain area located both inside the personality and outside it. “The experience of the unconscious,” says Suzuki, “is... fundamental and primordial.”

In terms, I would prefer to abandon the concept of “experience of the unconscious.” Instead, in my opinion, we should talk about the individual’s awareness of the deep and immediate experiences he is experiencing, that is, about the weakening of such phenomena as paratactic distortion, projection of images and cerebration, which becomes possible due to a decrease in the degree of repression. A follower of Zen teaching is defined by Suzuki as being “in direct union with the great unconscious.” For my part, I would formulate this differently - as awareness of the inner reality and the reality of the surrounding world in all their clarity and completeness.

Further, Suzuki again resorts to functional terminology, saying that “in reality, it (the unconscious), on the contrary, represents something most intimate for us, and that is why it is so difficult to comprehend, just as the eye is not able to see itself . As a result, in order for the unconscious to become conscious, special training of consciousness is necessary.” In this case, Suzuki operates with concepts that fully correspond to the psychoanalytic concept: the task is to transform the unconscious into the conscious, to achieve which consciousness needs special preparation. But does this mean that the whole difference between psychoanalysis and Zen comes down only to their own, different approaches to training the consciousness, while the goals pursued by these two systems are the same?

Before dwelling on this issue in more detail, it seems to me appropriate to consider a few more aspects that require clarification.

Dr. Suzuki's discussion touches on the idea of ​​knowledge versus integrity, the same issue I addressed when talking about psychoanalytic concepts. The biblical concept of the Fall as a result of acquiring knowledge in Zen and in Buddhism in general corresponds to the concept of affective contamination, that is, contamination by passions (klesha) or the intervention of conscious thinking subordinate to the intellect. The term "intelligence" affects very important question. Is the activity of human intellect identical to consciousness? If it is identical, then the transition of the unconscious into the conscious would represent a process of intellectualization of the unconscious, which is fundamentally contrary to the tasks of Zen. In this case, the goals of psychoanalysis and Zen would be diametrically opposed, for Zen would set the task of developing the activity of the intellect, while the goal of psychoanalysis is precisely the liberation of man from his captivity.

It should be noted that Freud was initially a proponent of the concept of intelligence, considering it as the main goal of psychoanalysis. At that time, he believed that in order to cure a patient, the analyst only had to provide him with the necessary information.

While Freud himself never quite clearly expressed his understanding of the difference between intellect and spontaneous, holistic experience, many analysts today remain committed to the concept of intellect. But the goal of psychoanalysis is precisely to achieve insight that occurs not at the intellectual level, but as a result of cognition. As I have already noted, being aware of your breathing does not mean thinking about your breathing, and being aware of the movement of your hand does not mean thinking about it. On the contrary, if I think about my breathing or the movement of my hand, I am thereby no longer aware of them. This statement is also true in relation to my awareness of a flower or a person, the experience of joy, love or a state of peace. The peculiarity of genuine insight within the framework of psychoanalysis is that it defies description. However, many weak psychoanalytic theories try to formulate their understanding of insight that has nothing to do with direct experience by resorting to a bunch of theoretical concepts. The patient in psychoanalysis cannot be forced to experience genuine insight or somehow plan for it; it always comes suddenly. Using a Japanese metaphor, we can say that insight is born not in a person’s brain, but in his stomach. Trying to put it into words, we realize that we are unable to do so. Nevertheless, it is quite real, and the person who experiences it becomes completely different. A child is able to directly comprehend the world around him until his consciousness, perception and sense of reality complete the process of evolution and become a certain substance separate from it. Moreover, “the unconscious is instinctive; it is limited to the instincts characteristic of animals and children and is impossible in an adult.” As man evolves from the primitive unconscious to self-awareness, due to subject-object differentiation, the division of personality into universal and social, unconscious and consciousness, he begins to experience the world as something alienated. The conflict between the unconscious and consciousness can be resolved to the extent that the latter is able to become open and weaken the influence of the “triple filter” that dominates it. Complete resolution of this conflict, implying a renunciation of intellect and reflection, leads to the fact that a person can experience direct, unmediated, conscious experience. This active, volitional, creative vision of reality, knowledge, defined by Spinoza as intuition, is the highest form of knowledge; knowledge, which is based on an approach that, according to Suzuki, “is to penetrate directly into the object itself and see it from the inside as it really is.” This direct, non-reflexive perception of the world allows us to realize the forgotten ability inherent in each of us to create, to be an “artist of life.” “Every act of him (the artist) embodies his originality, his creativity, his direct individuality. He does not know conventions, conformism, forbidden impulses... He is not a slave to a petty and limited egocentric existence. He was able to escape from this prison."

A person who has reached “maturity,” who has managed to cleanse himself of “contamination with affects” and get rid of the influence of the intellect, has a “free and spontaneous life, where he will not be constrained by such feelings as fear, anxiety, and a sense of danger.” The liberation that Suzuki mentions in such a state correlates with the psychoanalytic concept of genuine insight, which is expected to have the same effect.

Now we need to return to the issue of terminology, on which I would not like to dwell for long, because its significance is not so great. As I have already noted, Suzuki is talking about the education of consciousness, but at the same time, in another place he also mentions “the education of the unconscious, which embodies all the conscious experiences of a person from the first years of his life, which constitute his essence.” Such coexistence of the expressions “educated consciousness” and “educated unconsciousness” may seem unlawful to some. However, it seems to me that there is really no contradiction here. To carry out the transformation of the unconscious into the conscious, to achieve a complete, unmediated experience, education of both the conscious and the unconscious is required. If the conscious must be freed from the conventions generated by the filter, then the unconscious must be learned to be controlled, calling it out of darkness and isolation. Of course, it is necessary to recognize that we are talking about the education of the conscious and unconscious in a figurative sense. The conscious, as well as the unconscious, do not exist as objects of education. The person himself needs education, who must clearly and consciously overcome repression, resorting to intellectual reflection only in case of real need, and learn to experience reality as fully as possible.

Suzuki defines this unconscious as cosmic. Of course, such an expression has a right to exist, given its clear definition by the author. However, it seems to me that the more appropriate term is “cosmic consciousness,” which Becky used to define the consciousness newly acquired by a person. This term, in my opinion, looks preferable, since the unconscious loses its status if it becomes conscious to one degree or another (at the same time, it does not become reflective intelligence). Only to the extent that a person is not aware of reality, to the extent to which he is alienated from his cosmic unconscious, does it become such for him. Everything about which a person was unconscious disappears as he awakens and comes into contact with reality. It should also be noted that we prefer the term “conscious” to “cosmic unconscious” in order to focus attention primarily on the function of awareness rather than on its location within the individual’s personality.

What do we arrive at in our correlation of Zen - Buddhism and psychoanalysis?

The goal of Zen is to achieve enlightenment, that is, a state in which there is a direct, non-reflexive comprehension of reality, free from affective contamination and intellectualization. This state embodies the individual’s relationship to the universe. A person, like a child, again comprehends the world directly, without involving the intellect in this process. However, this happens on a qualitatively different level. The difference is that the formed individuality of a person is based on a mind that has completed evolution and a developed sense of reality. If a child’s experience, being immediate and holistic in nature, is not lost until the moment of subject-object differentiation and the individual’s feeling of his own alienation, then enlightenment is achieved by him after he experiences this.

According to Freud, the goal of psychoanalysis is to transform the unconscious into the conscious, or, in other words, to enable the “I” to take the place of the “it.” Postulating the task of awareness of the unconscious, he determines the content of the latter according to the instinctive impulses of early childhood, which a person more mature age forgets. The purpose of analysis is precisely to overcome the repression of such instinctive impulses, which subsequently, regardless of Freud’s theoretical premises, was reflected in the therapeutic practice of curing a particular symptom. Identifying the unconscious outside the specific situation of symptom occurrence no longer seemed so important. However, the concepts of drives (thanatos and eros) developed in recent years and the deepening understanding of the human “I” have expanded the Freudian content of the unconscious. The area of ​​the unconscious, subject to transformation into the conscious, has expanded significantly thanks to the developments of non-Freudian schools. Particular credit for this belongs to Jung, as well as Adler, Rank and other authors, whom Lately began to be called neo-Freudians. However, the scope of the sphere requiring the identification of the unconscious, despite such a significant expansion, is still considered (with the exception of Jung) only as a therapeutic task of curing any symptom, any abnormality in a person’s character. The area of ​​the unconscious does not cover the entire personality of an individual.

However, while strictly adhering to Freud's original idea of ​​the transformation of the unconscious into the conscious, one should not be limited to focusing on instincts and the task of treating symptoms. The process of complete transformation of the unconscious into the conscious requires the study of the entire human experience and cannot be reduced only to instincts or any other experiences. There is a need for a person to overcome alienation and subject-object differentiation in the perception of the surrounding world. In this case, the process of transformation of the unconscious comes down to overcoming affective pollution and cerebration, getting rid of repression, overcoming the internal division into the universal and social individual, eliminating the antagonism between the conscious and the unconscious. A person must become capable of directly, without distortions caused by social reflection, experiencing reality, overcoming egocentrism, getting rid of the illusions of invulnerability and isolation of his “I”, striving for self-aggrandizement and self-preservation, like the Egyptian pharaohs, who hoped to immortalize themselves by turning into mummies. He who has become aware of the unconscious is open and responsive; he does not have, but exists.

There is no doubt that the idea of ​​a complete transformation of the unconscious into the conscious is much more radical in comparison with the general task of psychoanalysis. The reasons for this are not difficult to understand. Most people in the Western world are not prepared to go through the effort required to fully uncover the unconscious. Such a radical goal can only be accepted by those who adhere to a certain philosophical position. There is no point in describing it in detail. It is only worth noting that this position is formulated not in a negative aspect as ensuring the absence of illness, but in a positive aspect: achieving absolute harmony, directness and clarity of comprehension of the world, i.e. well-being.

It is impossible to describe this goal more precisely than Dr. Suzuki did, who defined it as “the art of living.” This concept, like others like it, is determined by the spiritual humanistic orientation of the teachings of Buddha, prophets, Jesus Christ, Meister Eckhart and such personalities as Blake, Walt Whitman, Becky. By considering the concept of “the art of living” outside this context, we thereby deprive it of its specificity and identify it with what is commonly called “happiness” these days. The humanistic orientation of these teachings presupposes the presence of basic ethical principles, including in Zen Buddhism. As Suzuki clearly showed, Zen sets a person the task of suppressing the desire for acquisitiveness, the thirst for fame or narcissism, in other words, to overcome any manifestations of greed. Zen implies a person's renunciation of narcissistic self-praise and the illusory idea of ​​one's own omnipotence; on the other hand, a person must get rid of the desire to obey the authorities that solve the problems of his existence for him. Of course, such a radical goal is not a guideline for a person who wants to get rid of his disease by identifying the unconscious.

However, it would be a mistake to assume that such a radical goal of overcoming repression has no connection with the therapeutic task. Analysis and change in the patient’s character are a necessary condition for getting rid of existing symptoms and preventing the formation of new ones. It is also obvious that without a holistic modification of the personality (i.e., a more radical goal), correction of any feature of a neurotic nature is impossible. Perhaps the fact that the goals set in the treatment of a neurotic character are essentially not radical enough is the reason for the rather modest results of treatment (as most clearly expressed by Freud in his work “Analysis: Temporary or Permanent?”). Perhaps, a person’s achievement of well-being, ridding him of anxiety and a sense of danger, is only possible by setting more global goals. It is worth recognizing that the solution of a limited therapeutic task is impossible until this task is considered as a broader goal, humanistic in nature. Although it is possible that the implementation of a local goal requires more limited and less labor-intensive methods than achieving a radical goal - “transformation”, which justifies the significant investment of time and effort required for long-term analysis. This assumption is confirmed by the expressed idea that the most that a person who has not reached the creative state - the culmination of satori - is capable of is to replace his innate predisposition to depression with routine, idolatry, the desire for destruction, acquisitiveness, pride, etc.

If any of these compensation mechanisms stops functioning, health risks arise. But it is enough for a person to change his attitude towards the world, gaining through the resolution of internal conflict and overcoming alienation the ability to be responsive, to perceive reality directly and creatively, in order to get rid of a possible disease. If psychoanalysis can help a person with this, it will help him achieve true mental health. Otherwise, it will only become the basis for improving compensation mechanisms. In other words, a person can be “cured” of a symptom, whereas it is impossible to “cure” him of a neurotic character. By treating the patient as an inanimate object, the analyst is unable to heal him, for the person is neither a thing nor a “case history.” Being connected with the patient by a situation of mutual understanding and unity with him, the analyst can only contribute to his awakening.

But our reasoning may not encounter objections? Is it worth talking about such a radical task as the transformation of the unconscious into the conscious in a practical aspect, if, as I noted, its implementation is as difficult as achieving enlightenment? Wouldn't it be purely speculative to think that the hopes placed in psychoanalytic therapy can be justified only if a radical goal is achieved?

This objection would be appropriate if there were no other choice: either achieving complete enlightenment or nothing. However, it is not. In Zen there are many stages of enlightenment, the highest and defining of which is satori. However, in my understanding, even if a person never achieves satori, any experience that is at least to some extent a step in this direction is in itself valuable. Dr. Suzuki once illustrated this aspect this way: if you light one candle while in a completely dark room, the darkness will disappear and it will become lighter. If you add ten, a hundred or a thousand candles to it, then each time the room will become brighter and brighter. However, the fundamental change was made by the first candle, which destroyed the darkness.

What happens during the analytical process? A person who ascribed to himself such qualities as modesty, courage and love, for the first time in his life feels pride, cowardice and hatred within himself.

This insight may cause pain, but it opens his eyes, which makes him able to not endow others with the qualities that he seeks to suppress in himself. Then he continues his path, feeling first as a baby, a child, an adult, a criminal, a madman, a saint, an artist, a man or a woman; he penetrates deeper and deeper into his own human beginning, into the universal essence; he has to suppress less and less experiences in himself, he becomes liberated, needing transference and cerebration to a less and less extent. Then, for the first time, he has access to the experience of seeing light or a rolling ball, or hearing music, being imbued with it. Little by little he realizes the falsity of the idea of ​​​​the independence of his own “I”, which he previously considered as a certain object requiring protection, care and salvation; this becomes possible due to the fact that he begins to feel his unity with other individuals. He will understand that it is useless to look for the answer to the main question asked by life in possession, while he should become and be himself. By their nature, these experiences are always spontaneous and unexpected; they have no intellectual content. However, having experienced them, a person feels with a hitherto unknown strength a feeling of liberation, personal strength and peace.

Returning to the conversation about goals, I repeat that Freud’s idea of ​​the transformation of the unconscious into the conscious, elevated to an absolute, becomes consonant with the concept of enlightenment. The differences between psychoanalysis and Zen become most obvious when we consider the methods of achieving their goals. We can say that the Zen method comes down to the fact that the student gets rid of alienation in his perception of reality through the session, koans and the authority of the mentor. Of course, the mentioned method cannot be considered only as a set of technical techniques; it is inextricably linked both with Buddhist philosophy and with the system of ethical values ​​expressed in the behavior of the mentor and felt in the very atmosphere of the monastery. It is also necessary to understand that Zen is not a “four-hour-a-week” activity, and the student who turns to Zen is thereby making a responsible decision, which is the most important factor in his subsequent training.

The method of psychoanalysis is fundamentally different from that adopted in Zen. It lies in the fact that the patient’s attention is focused on his distorted perception, he is pushed to discover his own delusions, his experience is enriched by discovering what is repressed; thus, his consciousness prepares to comprehend the unconscious. The analytical method is essentially experimental-psychological. By studying the mental evolution of a person from the first years of his life, the analyst tries to identify the experiences the patient experienced in early childhood and thereby determine the causes of repression. A person parts with the delusions generated by his intellect that underlie his alienation. This becomes possible thanks to the gradual discovery of the illusory nature of his ideas about reality. At the same time, a person overcomes both alienation from himself and from what surrounds him. He establishes contact with his inner world, as a result of which he gains connection with the outer world. False consciousness disappears, and with it the antagonism between the conscious and the unconscious. A new sense of reality appears, in which “the mountains become mountains again.” Undoubtedly, psychoanalysis is just a method, a preparation, but the same applies to the Zen method. Even this circumstance speaks in favor of the fact that the successful implementation of the task of psychoanalysis cannot be guaranteed. Deep and unknown to us, despite all our practical efforts, aspects of the human personality can stand in the way of achieving this task.

I expressed the idea that the method of identifying the unconscious, taken to its logical conclusion, can bring a person closer to the state of enlightenment, expressed in the philosophical context of Zen in the most radical and realistic way. However, we will be able to judge the capabilities of this method only after gaining significant experience in its practical application. The idea I have expressed is a hypothesis that requires testing, since it assumes only the very possibility of achieving the mentioned effect.

In any case, it is much more certain that the study of Zen and the interest shown in it can influence the theory and practice of psychoanalysis in an extremely fruitful and beneficial way, capable of clarifying many of its aspects. To whatever extent the Zen method differs from the method of psychoanalysis, it is capable of drawing attention to the phenomenon of insight and clarifying the essence of this phenomenon; force us to rethink concepts such as vision, creativity, overcoming affective pollution and false messages generated by the intellect. The characteristic radicalism of Zen regarding the process of intellectualization, submission to authority, exaltation of one’s own “I,” as well as its persistent desire for harmony can deepen and broaden the psychoanalyst’s horizons, pushing him towards the idea of ​​a full and conscious comprehension of reality. The comparison of Zen and psychoanalysis leads us to the idea that psychoanalysis can also be of great importance for the student of Zen. In my opinion, psychoanalysis could help him not to fall into delusion about the falsity of enlightenment if it is based only on subjective sensations and is caused by some psychopathic or hysterical phenomena, or is in fact a self-initiated trance. Overcoming illusions in the Zen student is a necessary condition for achieving enlightenment and can be achieved through the clarity brought by the analytical approach.

However, no matter how great the importance of Zen for psychoanalysis, I, being a Western psychoanalyst, am extremely grateful for this storehouse of Eastern wisdom, first of all to Dr. Suzuki, who managed to express Zen in a way accessible to Western thinking and without omitting any of its essential aspects ; thanks to this, a Western person, with a certain diligence, is able to comprehend this teaching to the extent that it can, in principle, be accessible to him. Based on the fact that “the Buddha is in each of us,” that man and his being are universal categories, while direct comprehension of reality, awakening and enlightenment are universal experiences, such an understanding of Zen by Western man is quite possible.

Words can only express a small fragment of human knowledge, since what we say and think only closely reflects our experiences. The reason for this is not only that it is always possible to give several descriptions of an event, none of which is exhaustive - just as an inch can be divided into parts by many different ways. The reason is also that there are experiences that cannot be expressed in language due to its very structure, just as water cannot be carried in a sieve. Meanwhile, an intellectual, a person who knows how to skillfully handle words, always runs the risk of mistaking a description for the whole of reality. Such a person is distrustful of people who resort to ordinary language in order to describe experiences that destroy logic itself, because in such descriptions words can convey something to us only at the cost of losing their own meaning. Such a person is suspicious of all lax, logically inconsistent statements that suggest that no experience corresponds to these seemingly meaningless words. This is especially true of an idea that crops up every now and then in the history of philosophy and religion. This idea is that the apparent diversity of facts, things and events actually forms a unity or, more correctly, non-duality. Usually this idea is not an expression of a philosophical theory, but of an actual experience of unity, which can also be described as the realization that everything that happens and is possible is so correct and natural that it can well be called divine. Here's how Shinjinmei talks about it:

One is everything

Everything is one.

If it is true,

Why worry about imperfection!

For a logician, this statement is meaningless, a moralist will see evil intent in it, and even a psychologist may wonder whether a feeling or state of consciousness corresponding to these words is possible. After all, the psychologist knows that sensations and feelings are understandable thanks to contrast, just as we see white against a black background. Therefore, the psychologist believes that the experience of non-distinction or absolute unity is impossible. At best, it will be like seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. At first, a person will be aware of pink clouds in contrast to white clouds, but over time the contrast will be forgotten and the single omnipresent color will disappear from consciousness. However, the literature of Zen Buddhism does not suggest that the awareness of unity, or non-duality, occurs only temporarily, in contrast to the previous experience of multiplicity. Zen masters testify that this ongoing awareness does not become habitual over time. We can best understand it if we follow, as far as possible, the internal process leading to this kind of experience. This means, first of all, that we must consider the process from a psychological point of view in order to find out whether there is at least some psychological reality corresponding to descriptions that are devoid of logical and moral meaning.

It can be assumed that the starting point on the path to this kind of experience is the conflict of an ordinary person with his environment, the discrepancy between his desires and the harsh realities of the world, between his will and the infringed interests of other people. The desire of the common man to replace this conflict with a sense of harmony echoes the centuries-old attempts of philosophers and scientists to understand nature as a whole beyond the dualism and constant worries of the human mind. We will soon see that in many respects this starting point does not allow us to understand the problem clearly enough. The very attempt to explain the experience of unity based on the state of conflict is reminiscent of the case of how a peasant was once asked the way to a distant village. The man scratched his head and replied: “Yes, I know how to get there, but if I were you, I wouldn’t start from here.” Unfortunately, this is exactly the situation we find ourselves in.

Let us see how the Zen masters dealt with this problem. Their answers, as a first approximation, can be classified into four categories. Here they are.

1. To say that all things are in reality One.

2. To say that all things are in reality Nothing, Emptiness.

3. To say that all things are originally perfect and harmonious in their natural state.

4. Say that the answer is the question or the questioner himself.

The question asked of a Zen master can take many forms, but essentially it is the problem of liberation from the contradictions of dualism - in other words, from what Buddhism calls samsara, or the vicious circle of birth-and-death.

1. As an example of an answer of the first category, that is, as a statement that all things are one, we can cite the words of Master Eco:

The great truth is the principle of global identity.

Among the misconceptions, the mani gem can be mistaken for a tile,

But to the enlightened eye it is a true gem.

Ignorance and wisdom cannot be separated,

Because ten thousand things are one Suchness.

Only out of pity for those who believe in dualism,

I write down these words and send this message.

If we know that the body and the Buddha are not different or separate,

Why should we look for what we have never lost?

The meaning of these words is that liberation from dualism does not require changing something by force. Man has only to understand that every experience is inseparable from the One, the Tao or Buddha nature, and then the problem simply disappears for him. Here's another example.

– Joshu asked Nansen:

– What is Tao?

“Your everyday consciousness is Tao,” answered Nansen.

– How can you regain your sense of harmony with him? asked Joshu.

“By trying to return it, you immediately lose the Tao,” answered Nansen.

The psychological reaction to this kind of statement is an attempt to feel that every experience, every thought, every feeling and sensation is Tao; that good and bad, pleasant and unpleasant are inseparable. This may take the form of attempting to attach the symbolic thought “This is the Tao” to every experience that arises. Meanwhile, it is clear that if such a statement applies equally to everything, it does not make sense. However, when the lack of meaning leads to disappointment, it is argued that disappointment is also Tao, as a result of which the comprehension of unity continues to elude us.

2. So another, and perhaps better, way to answer the original question is to say that everything is really Nothing or Emptiness (sunyata). This statement corresponds to the statement from the Prajna Paramita Hridaya Sutra: “Form is exactly the same as emptiness; emptiness is exactly the same as form.” Such an answer does not give reason to look for the content or meaning of the idea of ​​a single reality. In Buddhism, the word shunyata (Emptiness) implies incomprehensibility rather than the absence of anything at all. The psychological response to the assertion that all are One can be described as an attempt to say “Yes” to every experience that arises, as a desire to accept life in all its manifestations. On the contrary, the psychological meaning of the statement that everything is Emptiness is to say “No” to every experience, to deny all manifestations of life.

A similar approach can also be found in the teachings of Vedanta, where the formula neti, neti(“not this, not that”) is used to achieve the understanding that no single experience is the ultimate reality. In Zen the word is used in a similar way mu. This word may be koan, or a problem that beginners have to practice meditation. Working with this koan, a person constantly and under any conditions says “No.” Now we can understand why the question: “What will happen if I come to you without a single thing?” Joshu replied, “Throw it away!”

3. In addition, an approach is possible according to which you do not need to do anything - you do not need to say either “yes” or “no”. The point here is to leave experiences and consciousness alone, allowing them to be what they are. Here, for example, is Rinzai's statement:

The consequences of past karma can only be eliminated moment by moment. When it's time to get dressed, get dressed. When you have to go, go. When you need to sit, sit. Forget about realizing Buddha. After all, the ancients taught: “If you consciously seek the Buddha, your Buddha is just samsara.” Followers of the Tao, know that in Buddhism there is no place for effort. Be ordinary people, without any ambitions. Perform natural necessities, put on clothes, eat and drink. When you are tired, go to bed. The ignorant will laugh at me, but the wise will understand... The ancients said: “To meet a Tao man on the way, you don’t need to look for him.” Therefore, if a person practices the Tao, it will not work.

One more example. The monk asked Bokuju:

– We dress and eat every day. How can we avoid having to dress and eat?

“We dress, we eat,” answered the master.

- I don't understand.

“If you don’t understand, get dressed and eat,” said Bokuju.

In other cases, the state of non-duality appears to us as a state beyond heat and cold, but when the master is asked to explain this, he says:

When we are cold, we gather around a warm fire; When we are hot, we sit in a bamboo grove on the bank of a stream .

Here the psychological meaning is most likely to respond to circumstances in accordance with inclinations - and not try to resist the summer heat and winter cold. You can also add: don’t try to fight your desire to fight anything! This means that any person’s experience is correct and that a deep conflict with life and with himself arises when he tries to change his current experiences or get rid of them. However, this very desire to feel somehow differently may be a current experience that does not need to be gotten rid of.

4. Finally, there is a fourth type of answer, which reduces the question to the question itself, in other words, turns the question against the questioner. Eco said to Bodhidharma:

“There is no peace in my mind.” Please calm him down.

– Give me your consciousness here, and I will calm it down! - said Bodhidharma.

“But when I look for my consciousness, I cannot find it,” Eco replied.

“Where you can’t find him, I’ve already calmed him down!” - was Bodhidharma's answer.

One more example. Dosin said to Sosan.

– How to achieve liberation?

-Who keeps you in slavery? - asked the master.

- Nobody.

“Then why do you need to seek liberation?”

There are many other examples of Zen masters responding by repeating a question, or of them saying something like the following: "It is obvious. Why are you asking me?”

Answers of this kind seem to be intended to draw attention to the state of consciousness from which the question arises. They seem to say to a person: “If something is bothering you, find out who is worried and why.” Therefore, the psychological reaction in this case will be an attempt to feel the feeler and know the knower - in other words, to make the subject an object. However, as Obaku said: “No matter how much Buddha searches for Buddha, no matter how much the mind tries to grasp itself, nothing will come of it until the end of time.”. Ekai said: “The one who rides it looks for the bull in the same way.”. A poem from Zenrin Kushu says:

This is the sword that wounds but cannot wound itself, This is the eye that sees but cannot see itself.

An old Chinese proverb says: "It's impossible to clap with one hand". However, Hakuin always began introducing Zen to his students by asking them to hear the clap of one hand!

It is easy to see that all these answers have one thing in common - they are cyclical. If things form a unity, then my sensation of conflict between opposites expresses this unity as well as my opposition to this sensation. If all things are Emptiness, the thought of this is also empty, and it seems to me as if I am being asked to fall into a hole and slam it shut behind me. If what happens is right and natural, then what is false and unnatural is also natural. If I have to let things take their course, what should I do if part of what happens is my desire to interfere with the course of events? Finally, if the underlying problem is lack of self-knowledge, how can I know the me who is trying to know myself? In short, in each case the source of the problem lies in the question itself. If you don't ask questions, there are no problems. In other words, conflict avoidance is conflict that a person is trying to avoid.

If such answers do not help in practice, this means that it is impossible to help the person. Every cure for suffering is like changing the position of the body of a person sleeping on a hard bed. Every success in management environment makes her even more uncontrollable. However, the futility of such reflections allows us to draw at least two important conclusions. The first is that if we didn't try to help ourselves, we would never know how helpless we are. Only by asking questions do we begin to understand the limits, and therefore the possibilities, of the human mind. The second important takeaway is that when we eventually comprehend the depth of our helplessness, we find peace. We have no choice but to lose ourselves, give up, sacrifice ourselves.

Perhaps these considerations shed light on the Buddhist doctrine of Emptiness, which states that in reality everything is empty and futile. After all, if I try with all my might to get rid of a conflict, which is essentially determined by my desire to get rid of it; if, in another way, the very structure of my personality, my ego, is an attempt to do the impossible, then I am futility and emptiness to the core. I am a scabies that has nothing to scratch itself on. This inability makes scabies even worse, because scabies is the desire to scratch!

Therefore Zen tries to bring to us a clear awareness of the isolation, helplessness and futility of the situation in which we find ourselves; the very desire to achieve harmony in which is the source of conflict and at the same time constitutes the very essence of our desire to live. Zen would be a masochistic teaching about complete hopelessness, if not for one very curious and, at first glance, paradoxical consequence. When it becomes clear to us beyond any doubt that scabies cannot be scratched, it stops scratching. When we realize that our desire involves us in a vicious circle, it stops on its own. However, this can only happen when we see more clearly that we cannot stop it in any way.

Attempt force to do or not to do something implies, of course, a division of the mind into two parts, an internal dualism that paralyzes our actions. Therefore, the statement that all things are One and One is all things expresses the end of this division, the realization of the original unity and independence of the mind. In some ways, it is similar to acquiring the ability to do some kind of movement - when you intend to do it and unexpectedly for you it turns out, although all attempts to achieve this before have not led to success. Experiences of this kind are quite vivid, but it is almost impossible to describe them.

We must not forget that this experience of unity arises from a state of complete hopelessness. In Zen, this hopelessness is likened to a mosquito trying to bite an iron bull. Here is another verse from Zenrin Kushu:

To frolic in the Great Void, the Iron Bull must sweat.

But how can an iron bull sweat? This question is no different from asking, “How can I avoid conflict?” or “How can I grab my hand with the same hand?”

In the intense awareness of hopelessness, we realize that our ego is completely powerless to do anything, and we realize that - no matter what - life goes on. “I stand or sit. I get dressed or eat... The wind moves the branches of the trees, and the noise of cars can be heard from afar.” When my daily self is perceived as a completely useless tension, I realize that my real action is everything that happens, that the hard line between me and everything else has completely disappeared. All events, whatever they may be, be it the movement of my hand or the singing of birds on the street, happen on their own, automatically - but not mechanically, but shizen (spontaneously, naturally).

The Blue Mountains are themselves blue mountains;

White clouds are themselves white clouds.

Hand movement, thinking, decision making - everything happens this way. It becomes obvious that this is exactly how things have always been, and therefore all my attempts to move myself or control myself are inappropriate - I need them only to prove to myself that this is impossible. The very idea of ​​self-control is flawed, because we cannot force relax yourself or force yourself to do something - for example, open your mouth with just mental effort. No matter what volitional efforts we make, no matter how much we concentrate our attention, the mouth will remain motionless until it opens on its own. It is this feeling of spontaneity of what is happening that is sung by the poet Ho Koji:

Miraculous power and amazing action - I carry water, chop wood!

This state of consciousness is psychologically quite real. It may even become more or less permanent. At the same time, throughout life, most people almost always clearly distinguish the ego from its environment. Freeing yourself from this feeling is like being cured of a chronic illness. Along with it comes a feeling of lightness and peace, which can be compared to the relief after removing a heavy plaster cast. Naturally, the euphoria and ecstasy gradually pass, but the permanent absence of a rigid boundary between the ego and its environment continues to change the structure of the experience. The end of ecstasy does not seem tragic because there is no longer an obsessive desire to experience ecstasy, which previously existed as compensation for the chronic disappointment of life in a closed circle.

In a sense, the rigid distinction between ego and environment corresponds to the distinction between mind and body, or between the voluntary and involuntary actions of the organism. Perhaps this is why yogic and zen practices place so much emphasis on breathing and observing the breath ( anapanasmriti), because with the example of this organic function it is easiest for us to see the deep unity of the voluntary and involuntary aspects of our experiences.

Thus, we cannot help but breathe, and yet it seems to us that breathing is under our control. We can equally say that we are breathing or that we are breathing. Thus, the distinction between voluntary and involuntary makes sense only when considered within some framework. Strictly speaking, I make volitional efforts and make decisions also involuntarily. If this were not so, I would always have to not only make a decision, but also make a decision to make a decision, etc. ad infinitum. At the same time, it seems that involuntary processes occurring in the body - for example, the heartbeat - are in principle no different from involuntary processes occurring outside the body. All of them are determined by many reasons. Therefore, when the distinction between the voluntary and involuntary aspects is no longer felt within the body, this feeling extends to the world outside it.

Thus, when a person has realized that the distinctions between ego and environment, between intentional and unintentional are arbitrary and valid only to a limited extent, his experience can be expressed in the words: “One is all, all is One.” This comprehension implies the disappearance of internal differentiation, rigid dualism. However, this is in no way “uniformity”, not a kind of pantheism or monism, which claims that all so-called things are illusory manifestations of a single homogenized “substance”. The feeling of liberation from dualism should not be understood as the sudden disappearance of mountains and trees, houses and people, as the transformation of all this into a homogeneous mass of luminous, transparent emptiness.

Therefore, Zen masters have always understood that “One” is a bit of a misnomer. The Zen treatise Shinjinmei says:

Two exists thanks to One,

However, do not get attached to this One...

In the world of true Suchness

There is neither “me” nor “other”.

If there is something to be said about this world,

We will only say “not two.”

Hence the koan: “When multiplicity is reduced to One, to what is this One reduced?” To this question, Joshu replied: “When I was in the province of Seishu, they made me a linen robe that weighed seven pounds.” No matter how strange this statement may seem, this is exactly how Zen talks about comprehending reality - using direct language without symbols and concepts. We tend to forget that we are talking about an experience, not an idea or an opinion. Zen speaks from within the experience, and not standing apart from it - like a person talking about life. It is impossible to achieve deep understanding by standing on the sidelines, just as it is impossible to move the muscles with a verbal command alone, no matter how persistently we pronounce it.

There is great meaning in standing apart from life and talking about it; is to draw conclusions about existence and thereby have psychological feedback that allows us to criticize and improve our performance. However, systems of this kind have limitations, and looking at the feedback analogy shows us what they are. Perhaps the most common example of a closed-loop device is the electric thermostat that regulates the temperature in a home. If you set the upper and lower limits temperatures, the thermostat turns off when the water in it heats up to the upper limit, and turns on when it cools down to the lower limit. Thus, the temperature in the room is maintained within the desired limits. In addition, we can say that the thermostat is a kind of sensitive organ with which the heater is equipped so that it can regulate its behavior. Thus, we can say that the thermostat illustrates a rudimentary form of self-awareness.

But if we created a self-regulating heater, why don't we create a self-regulating thermostat by analogy? We know that the thermostat can have a more complex design if we insert into it a second level of feedback that will control what is already there. The question then becomes how far in this direction we can go. By continuing to complicate our device, we can create an endless sequence of feedback systems that cannot function due to their complexity. To avoid this, somewhere at the very end of this chain there must be a thermostat, human intelligence or other source of information that should be unconditionally trusted. The only alternative to such trust would be a very long sequence of control devices, which is very slow and therefore impractical. It might seem that there is another alternative, namely, round-robin control, in which citizens are monitored by police officers, who are monitored by the mayor of the city, who is monitored by citizens. However, this system only works when people trust each other, or, in other words, when the system trusts itself - and does not try to move away from itself in order to improve itself.

This gives us a good idea of ​​the person's situation. Our life consists of actions, but we can also check our actions through reflection. Too much a large number of reasoning suppresses and paralyzes action, but since in acting we sometimes have to choose between life and death, how much thinking can we allow ourselves? Zen characterizes its position as musin And munen. He may therefore appear to be advocating action without reflection.

When you walk, just walk; When you sit, just sit. The main thing is don’t doubt it!

Joshu's answer to the question of unity and plurality was an example of an uncontrived action, an unintentional statement. “When I was in Seishu Province, they made me a linen robe that weighed seven pounds.”

However, thinking is also action, and Zen might as well say: “When you act, just act; when you think, just think. The main thing is don’t doubt it.” In other words, if you are going to think or reason, do it without thinking about your thinking. But Zen will also agree that thinking about thinking is also action, if in thinking about thinking we do only that and do not slip into an endless sequence of trying to always stand above the level at which we are now thinking. In short, Zen is liberation from the dualism of thought and action, because it thinks as it acts - with the same dedication, willingness and faith. Therefore the attitude musin does not imply suppression of thinking. Musin- this is action on any level - physical or psychological - without trying in the same time observe or check an action. In other words, musin is action without doubt or concern.

Everything we have said here about the relationship of thinking to action is also true of feelings, since our feelings and emotions are feedback just like thoughts. Feelings block not only actions, but also themselves as a type of action. This happens when we have a tendency to observe and feel ad infinitum. Thus, for example, while experiencing pleasure, I can at the same time observe myself in order to get the maximum out of it. Not content with tasting food, I may try to taste my tongue. And when it’s not enough for me to just be happy, I want to be sure that I feel happy, so that I don’t miss anything.

Obviously, it is not possible in any given situation to determine the point at which reasoning should turn into action - at which we can know that we have thought enough about the situation and will not later regret what we did. This point is determined by sensitivity and experience. But in practice it always turns out that no matter how deeply we think through everything, we can never be completely sure of our conclusions. By and large, every action is a leap into the unknown. We know only one thing with complete certainty about our future - that there awaits us an unknown called death. Death seems to us to be a symbol of everything in our lives that we cannot control. In other words, human life is essentially uncontrollable and incomprehensible. Buddhists call this global basis of life sunyata, or Emptiness; is based on it musin, or Zen non-consciousness. But in addition, Zen comprehends not only that a person stands on the unknown or sails on the ocean of uncertainty in the fragile boat of his body; Zen realizes that this unknown is myself.

From the point of view of vision, my head is an empty space among experiences - an invisible and incomprehensible emptiness in which there is neither light nor darkness. The same emptiness lies behind each of our senses - both external and internal experiences. She was present even before my life began, before I was conceived in my mother’s womb. It is located inside all the atoms from which my body is built. And when the physicist tries to penetrate deep into this structure, he discovers that the very act of observing it does not allow him to see what interests him most. This is an example of the same principle that we have talked about so many times: when looking into yourself, the eyes see nothing. This is why Zen practice usually begins with one of many koans, such as “Who are you?”, “Who were you before you had a father and mother?” or “Who carries this your body?».

In this way the practitioner discovers that his true nature swabhava there is no-nature that his true consciousness ( syn) is non-consciousness ( musin). If we comprehend this unknown and incomprehensible principle of our true nature, it will no longer threaten us. It no longer seems like an abyss into which we fall; rather it is the source of our actions and life, thinking and feeling.

This is further evidence in favor of language that emphasizes unity, since the dualism of thought and action has no basis in reality. But more importantly, there is no longer a division between the knower on the one hand and the unknown on the other. Thinking is action, and the knower is the known. We can also see the relevance of statements like Ekay's: “Act as you know; live as you want, only without a second thought - this is the incomparable Path.” This kind of statement does not condemn ordinary thinking, judgment and limitation. Their meaning is not on the surface, but in depth.

Ultimately, we must act and think, live and die, relying on a source that we can neither comprehend nor control. If we are not happy with it, no amount of care and doubt, reflection and analysis of our motivations will help us improve the situation. Therefore, we are forced to choose between fear and indecision, on the one hand, and jumping into action regardless of the consequences, on the other. On the surface level, from a relative point of view, our actions can be right or wrong. However, no matter what we do on the surface level, we must have a deep conviction that all our actions and everything that happens is, by and large, correct. This means that we must enter into it without looking back, without doubt, regret and self-recrimination. Thus, when Ummon was asked what the Tao was, he simply replied: “Move on!” . However, acting without a second thought is by no means a commandment that we should imitate. In fact, we cannot act in this way until we have realized that we have no other alternatives - until we have realized within ourselves the source of incomprehensibility and uncontrollability.

In Zen this realization is just the first step in a long course of study. After all, we must not forget that Zen is a variety of Mahayana Buddhism, in which nirvana - liberation from the vicious circle of samsara - is not so much a goal as the beginning of the life of a bodhisattva. Actions of a Bodhisattva - fallen or hoben- are the application of this comprehension to various aspects of life for the “liberation of all living beings,” not only people and animals, but trees, grass and even dust.

However, in Zen the idea of ​​samsara as a cyclical process of incarnation is not taken literally, and therefore Zen offers its own interpretation of the role of the bodhisattva in saving living beings from birth and death. On the one hand, the cycle of birth and death is repeated from moment to moment, and a person remains in samsara to the extent that he identifies himself with the ego, whose existence continues through time. Thus, it can be said that the true Zen life begins only when the individual has completely stopped trying to improve himself. This seems to us a contradiction because we have only a vague idea of ​​non-violent effort, of tension without conflict, and of concentration without tension.

In Zen it is believed that a person who tries to improve himself, who strives to become something more than he is, cannot act creatively. Let us remember the words of Rinzai: “If you consciously strive to become a Buddha, your Buddha is only samsara.” Or: “If a person seeks the Tao, he loses it.” The reason is that trying to improve or improve ourselves continues to keep us in a vicious circle, like a person trying to bite his own teeth with those same teeth. Liberation from this idiotic situation comes at the very beginning of Zen practice, when a person understands that “he himself, in his present state, is the Buddha.” After all, the goal of Zen is not to become a Buddha, but rather to act like a Buddha. Therefore, a bodhisattva will not achieve anything in his life if he has even the slightest anxiety or desire to become something that he is not at the moment. In the same way, a person problem solver and whoever thinks about the final result forgets about the task, because the focus of his attention is on the final result.

The irrelevance of self-improvement is expressed in two verses from Zenrin Kushu:

The long thing is the long body of Buddha;

The short thing is the short body of the Buddha.

In the spring landscape there is no place for measurement and evaluation -

Flowering branches grow naturally:

one is longer, the other is shorter.

Here is a poem by the Zen master Goso:

Trying to find Buddha, you do not find him;

Trying to see the Patriarch, you do not see him.

Sweet melon has sweetness even in the stem;

Bitter gourd is bitter right down to the root.

Some Buddhas are short, others are long. Some students are beginners, others are more advanced, but each of them is “correct” in their current state. After all, if a person tries to make himself better, he falls into a vicious circle of selfishness. It may be difficult for Westerners to understand that each of us grows involuntarily, and not through conscious self-improvement, and that neither body nor mind can grow when they are stretched. Just as a seed becomes a tree, a short Buddha becomes a long Buddha. This process is not self-improvement, because the tree cannot be called an improved seed. Moreover, many seeds never become trees - and this is quite consistent with nature or Tao. Seeds give rise to plants, and plants give birth to new seeds. Moreover, nothing is better or worse, higher or lower, because the final goal of development is achieved at every moment of existence.

The philosophy of non-striving, or mui, always raises the problem of motivation, because it seems to us that if people are perfect, or Buddhas, in their present state, this may deprive them of the desire to act creatively. The answer is that motivated actions do not produce creative results because such actions are not free, but conditioned. True creativity is always aimless. It does not imply any external motives. Therefore, they say that a true artist imitates nature in his work and thereby learns the true meaning of “art for art’s sake.” Kojisei wrote in his collection of short sayings, Seikontan:

If your true nature has the creative power of Nature itself, wherever you go you will admire the frolicking fish and the flying wild geese.

Notes:

“Ummon-roku” (Chinese: “Yun-men-lu”).

“Goso-roku” (Chinese: “Wu-tzu-lu”).

In Chinese, wu-zy (non-action, natural cultivation).

III. The concept of Self in Zen Buddhism

Zen Buddhism's approach to reality can be defined as pre-scientific (sometimes anti-scientific) in the sense that Zen moves in a direction completely opposite to science. This does not necessarily mean that Zen is opposed to science, but only that understanding Zen requires taking a position that the scientists have disdained—or even dismissed as “anti-scientific.”

The sciences are uniformly centrifugal, extroverted, looking “objectively” at a thing they have torn out from the whole for research. Thus, they take the position that the thing is always distanced from the scientist. They never seek self-identification with the object of their research. Even where they look within themselves for the purpose of self-exploration, the inner is most carefully projected outward. This is how they become alien to themselves, as if their own inner world does not belong to them. They are afraid of becoming “subjective.” But we should remember that while we look from the outside, we remain outsiders, and therefore we never know the thing itself. All our knowledge is knowledge about something, which means that we never know what our real self is. Scientists can desire to achieve the Self as much as they want, but they are never able to get closer to it. Of course, they can talk a lot about him, but that's all they can do. Therefore, to achieve real knowledge, the Zen Self advises radically changing this direction of science. It is said that the true subject of the study of the human race is man. In this case, man must be taken as the Self, because the subject is the actual human in him, and not the animal, which is devoid of the consciousness of the Self. I am afraid that men and women who do not strive for knowledge of the Self will have to go through the cycle of birth and death again. “To know yourself” means to know your Self.

Scientific knowledge of the Self is not real knowledge until the Self is objectified. The scientific orientation of knowledge must be inverted: I should be considered from the inside, and not from the outside. This means that the Self must know itself without going beyond its own limits. They may ask: “How is this possible? Cognition always presupposes a dichotomy between the knower and the object being known.” I answer: “Self-knowledge is possible only where the identification of subject and object has occurred, that is, where scientific research has come to its end, where all the instruments for experiments have been put aside, where we admit that we cannot further research without going beyond our own limits, making a miraculous leap into the realm of absolute subjectivity.”

The self resides in the realm of absolute subjectivity. “Abide” is not a completely accurate expression, since it conveys only the static aspect of the Self. It is always in motion or in becoming, both zero (indicating a static state) and infinity, indicating unceasing movement. I am dynamic.

I am comparable to a circle without a circumference; this is shunyata, emptiness. But it is also the center of such a circle, found everywhere and nowhere. The self is the point of absolute subjectivity, conveying the meaning of stillness and peace. But this point can move anywhere, occupy an infinite variety of places, and therefore is not really a point. This apparently scientifically impossible miracle occurs when the scientific perspective is inverted and we turn to Zen. He is the performer of this impossibility.

Moving from zero to infinity and from infinity to zero, the Self is in no way an object scientific research. Being absolute subjectivity, the ego rejects all attempts to attribute to it an objectively determined location. It is so elusive and uncertain that we cannot conduct any scientific experiments with it. We will not catch it with any objectively constructed nets, even if we have all kinds of scientific talents, since by their nature they relate only to those things with which science works. With the appropriate approach, the Self reveals itself without the process of objectification.

I referred above to de Rougemont's latest book, in which he identifies "person" and "machine" as two fundamental concepts that characterize the Western search for reality. "Personality", according to de Rougemont, was originally a legal term in Rome. When Christianity began to consider the question of the Trinity, the scholastics used this term theologically, as can be seen from such terms as “divine face” and “human personality,” which are harmoniously united in Christ. In our current usage, this term has a number of moral and psychological meanings that presuppose this entire historical context. The problem of personality is ultimately reducible to the problem of the Self.

De Rougemont's personality is dualistic in nature; it always contains some kind of conflict. Tension, conflict and contradiction constitute the essence of personality, and it naturally follows that feelings of fear and uncertainty secretly accompany the personality in all its activities. We could even say that it is precisely this feeling that motivates a person to commit unbalanced, passionate and violent actions. The source of all human actions is feeling, not dialectical difficulties. First psychology, only then logic and analysis.

According to de Rougemont, dualism is rooted in the very nature of personality; overcoming it is impossible for Westerners - as long as they adhere to the historical and theological tradition of the God-Man and the Man-God. Due to the dualistic conflict in their unconscious, Westerners are deprived of peace and bravely wander through space and time. They are entirely extroverted rather than introverted. Instead of looking inward and mastering the nature of the individual, they try to objectively reconcile dualistic conflicts intellectually. As for personality itself, let me quote de Rougemont: “Personality is a call and response, it is not a fact, not an object, but an action, and a complete analysis of facts and objects will never give irrefutable proof of the existence of personality.”

“Personality never has a place here or here, it is in action, in tension, in a swift impulse - and much less often in the happy balance that is spoken of. Bach's music gives an idea."

This all sounds great. Personality really is as de Rougemont describes it; this description corresponds to what Buddhists would say about otman "on its way to dissolution" (visonkara). But the Mahayanists would ask the author of the above sayings: “Who are you, who utters all these beautiful words, from a conceptual point of view? We would like to speculate about you - personally, specifically or existentially. When you say: “As long as I live, I live in contradiction” - who is I here? When you tell us that the fundamental antinomy of personality must be taken on faith, who takes it on faith? Who experiences this faith? Behind the faith, the experience, the conflict and the conceptualization there must be a living person who does it all.”

Here is a story about a Zen Buddhist monk who directly and specifically pointed his finger at a person and allowed the questioner to see it. This monk was later known as Obaku Ki-un (d. 850). He was one of the great Zen masters of the Tang era.

The ruler of one region once visited the monastery. The abbot took him on a tour of the various buildings. When they entered the room where portraits of successive abbots hung, the ruler pointed to one of them and asked: “Who is this?”

The abbot answered: “The last abbot.”

The ruler’s next question was: “This is his portrait, but where is the face itself?”

The abbot could not answer this. The ruler insisted on an answer, and the abbot was in despair, since none of the monks could satisfy the ruler's curiosity. Finally he remembered the strange monk who had recently found himself under the roof of the monastery and spent all his free time cleaning the yard. He thought that this wanderer, who looked like a Zen monk, could answer the ruler. He was called and introduced to the ruler. He respectfully addressed the monk:

“Reverend, these gentlemen, unfortunately, cannot answer my question. Would you be so kind as to try to answer it?”

The monk asked: “What is your question?”

The ruler told him about everything that had happened before and repeated his question: “Here is the portrait of the former abbot, but where is his face?”

The monk immediately exclaimed: “O ruler!”

The ruler responded: “Yes, venerable!”

"Where is he?" - this was the monk’s answer.

Scientists - including theologians and philosophers - want to be objective and avoid all subjectivity. They firmly adhere to the view that a judgment is true only if it is objectively assessed or verified, and not simply by subjective or personal experience. They forget that a person certainly lives not a conceptual or scientifically defined life, but a personal life. No matter how accurate, objective, philosophical the definition may be, it does not apply to personal life, but to a certain life in general, which is the subject of research. This is not a matter of objectivity or subjectivity. It is vitally important for us to personally discover our life and decide how to live it. A person who knows himself never indulges in theorizing, is not busy writing books and teaching others - such a person lives his only, free and creative life. What is she? Where can I find it? The self knows itself from the inside and never knows from the outside.

The story of Obaku and the ruler shows us that we are usually satisfied with portraits or likenesses. When we imagine a person dead, we forget to ask the ruler: “Here is a portrait, but where is the face?” If we translate this story into modern language, then its essence is as follows: “Existence (including personality) is maintained by the constant invention of relative solutions and useful compromises.” The idea of ​​birth-and-death is a relative decision, and the making of a portrait is a kind of sentimental, useful compromise. But where we are talking about a real personality, all this is absent, and the ruler’s question was: “Where is the face?” Obaku was a Zen Buddhist monk, and therefore wasted no time in awakening the ruler from the dream world of concepts with one exclamation: “O ruler!” The answer immediately followed: “Yes, venerable!” We see how here the personality completely jumps out of the chamber of analysis, abstraction, conceptualization. If we understand this, then we know who this person is, where it is, who I am. If a person is identified with a simple action, then this is not a living, but only an intellectual personality - not my I and not your I.

One day Joshu Jushin (778–897) was asked by a monk: “What is my Self?” Joshu responded with a question: “Have you finished your morning porridge?” - “Yes, I finished it.” - “If that’s the case, then wash your bowl.”

Eating is an action, washing is an action, but Zen is interested in the doer himself, the one who eats and washes; Until the personality is captured existentially, in experience, one cannot talk about action. Who is aware of the action? Who tells you this fact of consciousness? Who are you, talking about him to yourself and everyone else? “I”, “you”, “he”, “she”, “it” - all these pronouns replace something. Who is this something?

Another monk asked: “What is my Self?” Joshu replied: “Do you see the cypress tree in the yard?”

What Josha is interested in here is not the vision, but the seer. If the Self is the axis of the spiral, if the Self is never objectified or factualized, then it is still there, and Zen tells us how to grasp it with our bare hands and show the teacher what is elusive, unobjectivable, or unattainable. This is the difference between science and Zen. It should be recalled, however, that Zen is not opposed to scientific approach to reality, he only wants to tell the scientists that besides their approach there is another - more direct, more inward, more real and personal. They may call it subjective, but that is not true at all.

Personality, individual, Self, ego - in this lecture all these concepts are used as synonyms. Personality is moral-volitional, the individual opposes all kinds of groups, the ego is psychological, and the Self is both moral and psychological, while also having religious significance.

From a Zen perspective, the experience of the Self is psychologically unique in that it is imbued with a sense of autonomy, freedom, self-determination and, ultimately, creativity.

Hokoji asked Basho Do-ichi (d. 788): “Who is he who stands alone and without a companion in the midst of ten thousand things” (dharma)? Basho answered: “I will answer you if you drink the Western River in one sip.”

These are the actions of the Self or personality. Psychologists and theologians who speak of a bundle of successive perceptions or impressions, of an Idea or principle of unity, of a dynamic totality of subjective experience, or of an axis of curvilinear human action, are moving in a direction opposite to Zen. And the faster they go, the further they go from Zen. That's why I say that science or logic is objective and centrifugal, whereas Zen is subjective and centripetal.

Someone remarked: “Everything external tells the individual that he is nothing; everything internal convinces him that he is everything.” This is a wonderful saying, for it expresses the feelings of each of us when we sit quietly and gaze into the innermost chambers of our being. There is something moving there and whispering that we were not born in vain. I read somewhere: “Alone you are tested, alone you go into the desert, alone you are interrogated by the world.” But once a person looks inside himself with all honesty, he realizes that he is not alone, not lost, not abandoned in the desert. There lives inside him a certain feeling of royal and majestic loneliness; it stands on its own, yet is not separate from the rest of existence. This unique situation, whether externally or objectively contradictory, arises with the approach to reality on the path that Zen offers. This feeling stems from the personal experience of creativity that comes with going beyond the realm of intellect and abstraction. Creativity is different from ordinary activity; it is the stamp of a self-determining agent called I.

Individuality is also important in defining the self, but individuality is more political and ethical in nature, and is closely related to the idea of ​​responsibility. Individuality belongs to the realm of the relative. She is associated with the forces of self-affirmation. It is always recognized by others and is controlled by them exactly to that extent. Where individualism is emphasized, a sense of mutual limitation and tension predominates. There is no freedom, no spontaneity, but there is a heavy atmosphere of inhibition and depression. A person is suppressed, and as a result all types of mental disorders arise.

Individuation is an objective term for distinguishing individuality from individualism. Where isolation turns into denial of the other, the desire for power rears its head. Sometimes it is completely uncontrollable; when it is not so strong or when it is only more or less negative, we become extremely susceptible to criticism. Such a consciousness sometimes plunges us into a terrible slavery, reminiscent of the “philosophy of clothing” in Carlyle’s Sartor Resartus. This is a philosophy of externality, where everyone dresses for everyone else, in order to look different from what they really are. Where this process goes far, originality is lost, and the person turns into some kind of funny monkey.

When this side of the Self grows and begins to dominate, the real Self is discarded, suppressed and reduced to nothing. We know what such suppression means. No one can suppress the creative unconscious; it makes itself known one way or another. When it cannot assert itself in the way that is natural to it, it breaks through all barriers - sometimes through violence, sometimes in the form of pathology. But in both cases the real Self is hopelessly destroyed.

Saddened by all this, the Buddha proclaimed the doctrine of annatta, or nirschpma, or no-ego, in order to awaken us from the dreams of appearance. Zen Buddhism was not entirely satisfied with the negative way of demonstrating the teachings proposed by the Buddha. He presents the teaching in the most affirmative and direct way so that the Buddha's followers do not wander in search of reality. Let's take an example from Rinzai Gigen.

Rinzai (d. 867) once preached the following sermon: “There is a true man without rank in a heap of naked flesh, who enters and exits through the gate of your face [that is, through the senses]. For those who have not yet verified this, look, look!”

One monk came forward and asked: “Who is this true man without rank?”

Rinzai came down from the platform, grabbed the monk by the throat and shouted: “Speak, speak!”

The monk hesitated, then Rinzai let him go and said: “What a pathetic piece of dirt!”

"True man without title" is Rinzai's term for the Self. His teachings are almost exclusively devoted to this Man (nin, ren), or Person. He sometimes calls him “the man of the Way” [donin or dao-ren]. It can be said that he was the first teacher in the history of Zen Buddhist thought in China who insistently asserted the presence of this Man in every phase of human life. He tirelessly instructed his followers on the path to the realization of Man, or the real Self. The latter is a kind of metaphysical Self opposed to the psychological or ethical Self, which belongs to the finite world of relativity. A Rinzai man is defined as "having no rank" or "independent of" (mu-ye, woo-ee) or "without clothes." This should direct our thoughts towards the "metaphysical Self".

Having made this preliminary remark, I will quote a large passage from Rinzai's Discourses on Man, the Person, or the Self, in which he speaks eloquently and thoroughly about the subject and wants to help us understand the Zen Buddhist concept of the Self.

Rinzai on the Self, or “He who is now right in front of us, alone and enlightened, listens in full consciousness to this talk of dharma.”

[Having spoken of the threefold body of the Buddha (trikaya), Rinzai continued:]

I am sure that all this is just shadows. Honorable! In Man (ren) you must recognize the source of all Buddhas playing with all these shadows, the refuge of all those who seek the path, wherever they may be.

It is not your physical body, not your stomach, not your liver or kidneys, but also not empty space that listens to the dharma and explains it. Who then understands? This is the One who is right in front of you in full consciousness. His image is indivisible, he shines alone. This is the One who understands how to talk about dharma and how to listen to it.

If you are able to see this, then you are no different from the Buddha or the patriarchs. [One who understands this] is never interrupted. He is everywhere as far as our eyes can see. It is only through affective contamination that intuition is interrupted. Reality is divided into parts only by our imagination. Therefore, suffering from many pains, we move into the threefold world. For me there is nothing deeper [than this one who understands], and this is what through which each of us can free ourselves.

Pathfinders! The mind is formless and penetrates the ten countries of the world. He sees with his eyes, he hears with his ears, he smells with his nose, he proves with his mouth, he grasps with his hands, he walks with his feet.

Pathfinders! The one who is now right in front of you shining alone and in full consciousness, listening [to the conversation about dharma], - this Man (zhedi) does not hesitate anywhere. He passes through ten countries of the world, he is his own master in a threefold world. He enters everything, distinguishes everything, he cannot be turned [from what he is].

In an instant he permeates the world of dharma with thought. When he meets a Buddha, he speaks like a Buddha; when he meets a patriarch, he speaks like a patriarch; when he meets an arhat, he speaks like an arhat; when he meets a hungry ghost, he speaks like a hungry ghost.

Circulating everywhere, he travels through all the countries of the world, teaches all beings and yet does not find himself outside in a single moment of his thought.

Wherever he goes, he remains pure, indefinite, his light permeates all ten countries of the world and ten thousand things belong to one essence.

What is true understanding? It is you who enter into everything: the ordinary and the sacred, the polluted and the pure; you enter all the lands of the Buddha, the tower of Maitreya, the world of Vairocana's dharma; and wherever you go, you are the earth, subject to [the four stages of becoming]: coming into existence, continuing to exist, destruction and disappearance.

Buma, having appeared in the world, turned the great wheel of dharma and passed into nirvana [instead of remaining in the world forever, as we ordinary beings might expect]. And yet there is no sign of this coming and going. If we try to trace births and deaths, we will not find these signs anywhere.

Having passed into the world of the dharma of the Unborn, he wanders across all lands. Entering the world of the Lotus womb, he sees that all things consist of Emptiness and have no reality. The only being - the man Tao [dao-ren] - is now listening to my speech about dharma, relying on nothing. This person is the mother of all Buddhas.

Therefore Buddha was born from that which depends on nothingness. When this dependent on nothingness is understood, the Buddha also becomes unattainable. When one achieves such a vision, one is considered truly understanding.

Students who do not know this are attached to names and phrases, and therefore stop before the obstacle of such names, be they ordinary or sophisticated. When their vision of the Path is difficult, they cannot see the Path clearly.

Even the twelve sections of the Buddha's teaching are only words and phrases [and not realities]. Unknowing students want to extract meaning from simple words. And since they all depend on something, the disciples themselves find themselves trapped in causality, and therefore cannot escape the cycle of birth-and-death in the triple world.

If you want to get out of the cycle of birth-and-death, coming-and-going, want to be free and throw off the bondages, you must recognize the Person who is now listening to this talk about dharma. It has no image, no form, no root, no trunk. This is someone who does not have a permanent place, but is full of activity.

He responds to all situations and is active, and yet he comes from nowhere. So as soon as you try to find him, he is already far away; the closer you get, the more he turns away from you. His name is "secret".

There is One who listens to my speech on dharma to all these seekers of the Path. It does not burn in fire and does not sink in water. Even after entering the three evil paths of Naraku, it is as if he is walking in a garden. This is one who will never suffer the judgment of karma even if he enters the realm of hungry ghosts or animals. Why is this so? Because he does not know the conditions that should be avoided.

If you love the wise and hate the ordinary, then you are doomed to drown in the ocean of births and deaths. Evil passions are generated by the mind; if you have no mind, then what evil passions can take possession of you? If you are not hampered by distinctions and attachments, then you will effortlessly reach the Path at any time. While you are fussing around your neighbors and your thoughts are confused, you are doomed to return to the kingdom of births and deaths, no matter how many “countless codes” you use, trying to find the Path. It would be better to return to your monastery and sit peacefully cross-legged in the contemplation hall.

Those who have taken the Path! You who are now listening to my speech on dharma! You are not the four elements [of your body]. You are what uses the four elements. If you are able to see [this truth], you can become free from coming-and-going. As far as I know, I have nothing to reject.

[The mentor once delivered the following sermon]: Those who have embarked on the Path require faith in themselves. Don't look outside. If you look outside yourself, you will be distracted by unimportant circumstances and you will never distinguish truth from lies. They can say: “Here is the Buddha, here are the patriarchs,” but these are only verbal traces left by real dharma. As soon as a person appears in front of you and flaunts a word or phrase in its intricate duality, you are confused, doubts begin to overcome you. When in trouble, you run to your neighbors and friends; you seek out the truth everywhere. You feel completely lost. Great men should not waste time arguing and idle chatter about who is the master and who is the stranger, what is right and what is wrong, what is business and what is wealth.

While I am here, I do not honor either monks or laity. Whoever comes to me, I know where the visitor is from. No matter how much he pretends, I know that he invariably relies on words, intentions, letters, phrases, and all of them are just a dream and a mirage. I see only a Man who masters all possible situations. It is he who represents the hidden theme of all Buddhas.

Buddhahood cannot proclaim oneself as Buddha. The Man of the Way (tao-ren or dao shi), who has no dependencies, owns his state.

If someone comes and says, “I am looking for Buddha,” I go out to him in a state of purity. They will come and ask about the bodhisattva, and I will answer with a state of compassion (metta or karuna). If they come with a question about bodhi [or enlightenment], then I will answer with a state of incomparable beauty. They ask about nirvana, and I answer with a state of peaceful calm. States can change endlessly, but Man does not change. Therefore [they say this]: “[It] takes forms in accordance with circumstances, like the moon changingly reflected in water.”

[A brief explanation is required here. God, as long as he remains in himself, with himself and for himself, is absolute subjectivity, shunyata. As soon as he begins to move, he is already both a creator and a world with infinitely changeable states or circumstances. The Primordial God or Divinity is not preserved behind the world in its solitude, it abides in the multiplicity of things. Human understanding is temporary, and therefore it so often makes us forget about temporality and place God outside our spatio-temporal and causal world. Buddhist terminology is outwardly very different from Christian, but in depth these two directions intersect, or both of them stem from the same source.]

Put it on the Path! You need to strive for true understanding so that you can walk around the world without hindrance, so that you are not deceived by these inhuman spirits [that is, false Zen leaders].

High-born is one who is unencumbered, who remains in non-action. There is nothing extraordinary in his daily life.

Once you turn to the outside, you start looking for parts of your own body from your neighbors [as if you don’t already have them]. You are making a mistake. You can even search for Buddha, but that is nothing more than a name. Do you know the One who goes out in search?

Booms and patriarchs appeared in ten countries of the world in the past, future and present, their goal was to seek dharma. All the seekers of the Path [bodhi] who are now busy studying the Path - they too are looking for dharma and nothing else. When they find it, their task is completed. Until they find it, they continue to wander along the five paths of existence.

What is dharma? Nothing other than the Mind. He has no form and penetrates through ten corners of the world, his activities take place right in front of us. People don't believe it. They try to find his names, judgments about him. They imagine that they contain the Buddha's dharma. How far they are from the goal! Like the distance between heaven and earth.

Put it on the Path! What do you think my sermons are about? They are about the Mind, which is accessible to both ordinary people and sages, comes to the defiled and to the pure, the laity and those who have retired from the world.

The point is that you are neither ordinary nor wise, neither in the world nor outside the world. It is you who attach names to the worldly and the unworldly, to the ordinary and the wise. But neither worldly, nor unworldly, nor wise, nor ordinary can attach a name to this Man (ren).

Put it on the Path! You should hold on to this truth and use it freely. Don't get attached to names. [Truth] is called a mysterious topic.

A generous person will not be led astray by other people. He is his own master wherever he goes. When he stands still, he's fine too.

As soon as the slightest doubt arises, evil spirits take possession of the mind. As soon as the bodhisattva indulges in doubt, the demon of birth-and-death begins to act. Refrain your mind from excitement, do not desire external things.

When circumstances arise, let them shine through. You only need to believe in the One who works at all times. There is nothing special about the way it is used.

As soon as one thought is born in your mind, the threefold world immediately appears with all its circumstances, which are distributed into six sensory roles. As long as you continue to act in response to circumstances, what is it that desires in you?

In one moment of thought you enter into the defiled and the pure, into the tower of Maitreya and the Land of the Three Eyes. Wherever you go, you see only empty names.

Having embarked on the Path, it is difficult to be truly true to yourself! The Buddha Dharma is deep, dark and immeasurable, but when it is understood, how light it is! I talk to people about dharma all day long, but the students do not pay attention to my speeches. How many thousands of times have their feet walked on it! And yet it is completely dark to them.

[Dharma] has no form, but how it manifests itself in its uniqueness! Due to lack of faith, they try to understand it through names and words. They spend half a century of their lives simply carrying a lifeless body from one door to another. They rush up and down the whole country, shouldering a bag [filled with the empty words of idiot mentors]. Yamaraja, the Lord of the Lower World, will, of course, hold them accountable one day for all the worn-out soles.

Honorable! When I tell you that there is no dharma as long as it is sought outside, students do not understand me. They then turn inward and search for meaning. They sit cross-legged against the wall. The tongue is stuck to the palate, they are motionless. They think that this is the Buddhist tradition that the patriarchs professed. There's a huge mistake here. If you accept the state of motionless purity as what is required of you, then the darkness of Ignorance rules over you. The ancient mentor says: “The darkest abyss of peace is what one should shudder from.” This is the same thing I was talking about earlier. If you take mobility as the “correct” thing, then all plants know what it is. You can't call it Tao. The nature of the wind is mobile, the nature of the earth is motionless. But in both cases it is not their own nature.

If you try to catch [the Self] in movement, it ends up in stillness; want to grab it in stillness, and it will continue to move. It resembles a fish swimming freely through the billowing waves. Venerables, movement and non-movement are the two sides of [the Self], when it is considered objectively, when it is nothing other than the Man of the Way (dao-ren) himself, who does not depend on anything and freely uses [the two sides of reality] - sometimes with movement, sometimes with non-movement...

[Most of the disciples fall into these snares.] But if there is a person whose thoughts go beyond the usual patterns and comes to me, then I will act with all my being.

Honorable! It is here that the disciples should use all their sincerity, because while you are walking, there is no room left even for a breath of air. It resembles a flash of lightning or a spark from a flint hitting steel. [One moment] and everything has already flashed by. If the student's eyes wander, then all is lost. You use your mind, but it eludes you; as soon as your thought moves, it is already behind your back. But the one who understands knows that it is right in front of him.

Venerable ones, you carry a bag with a cup and a body full of dung, you run from door to door, thinking to find Buddha and dharma somewhere. But the One who is watching at this time - do you know who he is? The most mobile, although it has neither roots nor shoots. You try to catch it, but it doesn’t grab hold; you try to sweep it away, but it doesn’t dissipate. The more persistently you chase him, the further he is from you. And when you’re not pursuing him, there he is, right in front of you. His inaudible voice fills the ear. Those without faith waste their lives aimlessly.

Those who have taken the Path! In one moment of thought, he enters the world of the Lotus womb, the land of Vairochana, the land of Liberation, the land of Higher Powers, the Land of Purity, the world of dharma. It is he who enters the defiled and the pure, the ordinary and the wise, the kingdom of animals and hungry demons. Wherever he goes, we will not find a trace of his birth-and-death, no matter how hard we try. We have only empty seeds in our hands, like seeing flowers in the air. They're not worth us trying to catch. Gain and loss, yes and no - all opposites must be discarded at once...

As for the path that I, a mountain monk, follow, agreement with the true [understanding] is in affirmation or denial. I easily and freely enter into all situations, playfully acting as if I were not involved in anything. No matter how my environment changes, it does not concern me. If someone comes to me with the idea of ​​getting something, then I just go out to look at him. He doesn't recognize me. I put on different clothes, and the students begin to give their interpretations, mindlessly caught by my words and judgments. They have no ability to discriminate at all! They grab my clothes and begin to sort through their colors: blue, yellow, red or white. When I shed these robes and enter a state of pure emptiness, they recoil and become lost. They circle around me wildly and say that I have no clothes on. Then I turn to them and say: “Do you recognize the Man who wears all kinds of clothes?” Then they finally turn and recognize me [in this form]!

Honorable! Beware of throwing clothes on reality]. Clothes do not define themselves; Man puts on different clothes - the robe of purity, the robe of the unborn, the robe of enlightenment, the robe of nirvana, the robe of the patriarchs, the robe of Buddha. Venerables, all these are just sounds, words that are no better than the clothes that we change from time to time. The movement begins in the stomach, the breath passes through the teeth, and different sounds appear. If they are articulate, then the language is meaningful. Thus we come to understand that the sounds themselves are unimportant.

Venerable ones, we think and feel not at all with the help of sounds and words, but through changes in the modes of consciousness, and everything else is the clothes that we put on ourselves. Don't mistake people's clothes for reality. If you don't give up on this, then even after going through countless codes, you will remain clothing specialists. You will continue to wander through the three worlds, turning the wheel of births and deaths. This is not like living in non-doing. The ancient mentor said: I meet /him/ and yet I do not recognize [him], I talk [with him], and yet [his] name is unfamiliar to me.

Nowadays students are not able to [reach reality] because their understanding does not go beyond names and words. They write down the words of their mentors who have lost their minds in their expensive notebooks, and then fold them three times - no, even five times - and carefully put them in their bags. They want to protect them from the curiosity of strangers. In the most respectful manner they treasure the words of their mentors, considering them to be the embodiment of the deepest [dharma]. What nonsense are they doing! What kind of juice do they dream of getting from dried decrepit bones? There are those who know neither good nor bad. From one manuscript they pass to another, and after much speculation and calculation they collect a few phrases [that are suitable for their purposes]. They are like that person who swallowed a lump of dirt, then regurgitated it and passed it on to someone else. Like gossips, they spread rumors by word of mouth; it is worthless, and their whole life is worthless.

Sometimes they say: “We are humble monks,” and when they are asked about the teachings of the Buddha, they become silent, they have nothing to say. Their eyes seem to be staring into the darkness, and their closed mouth resembles a bent shoulder pole. Even if Maitreya appeared in this world, they were destined for another world; they will go to hell to feel the pain of life.

Honorable! Why are you looking, busily walking here and there? As a result, you will only wear out your shoes. [With such misdirected efforts] you will not catch a single Buddha. There is no Tao that can be achieved [through such futile efforts]. There is no dharma that can be realized [by idle groping]. As long as you look outside for the form-endowed Buddha like the thirty-two signs of great courage], you will never know that he is not at all like you. If you want to know what your original mind is, I will tell you that it is neither united nor separate. Venerables, the true Buddha has no form, the true Tao [or bodhi] has no substance, the true dharma has no form. All three merge into the unity of [Reality]. Minds that have not reached understanding are doomed to the unknown fate of karmic consciousness.

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THE PATH OF LIBERATION IN ZEN BUDDHISM

Words can only express a small fragment of human knowledge, since what we say and think only closely reflects our experiences. The reason for this is not only that there are always several descriptions of an event, none of which are exhaustive - just as an inch can be divided into parts in many different ways. The reason is also that there are experiences that cannot be expressed in language due to its very structure, just as water cannot be carried in a sieve. Meanwhile, an intellectual, a person who knows how to skillfully handle words, always runs the risk of mistaking a description for the whole of reality. Such a person is distrustful of people who resort to ordinary language in order to describe experiences that destroy logic itself, because in such descriptions words can convey something to us only at the cost of losing their own meaning. Such a person is suspicious of all lax, logically inconsistent statements that suggest that no experience corresponds to these seemingly meaningless words. This is especially true of an idea that crops up every now and then in the history of philosophy and religion. This idea is that the apparent diversity of facts, things and events actually forms a unity or, more correctly, non-duality. Usually this idea is not an expression of a philosophical theory, but of an actual experience of unity, which can also be described as the realization that everything that happens and is possible is so correct and natural that it can well be called divine. Here's how Shinjinmei talks about it:

One is everything

Everything is one.

If it is true,

Why worry about imperfection!

For a logician, this statement is meaningless, a moralist will see evil intent in it, and even a psychologist may wonder whether a feeling or state of consciousness corresponding to these words is possible. After all, the psychologist knows that sensations and feelings are understandable thanks to contrast, just as we see white against a black background. Therefore, the psychologist believes that the experience of non-distinction or absolute unity is impossible. At best, it will be like seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. At first, a person will be aware of pink clouds in contrast to white clouds, but over time the contrast will be forgotten and the single omnipresent color will disappear from consciousness. However, the literature of Zen Buddhism does not suggest that the awareness of unity, or non-duality, occurs only temporarily, in contrast to the previous experience of multiplicity. Zen masters testify that this ongoing awareness does not become habitual over time. We can best understand it if we follow, as far as possible, the internal process leading to this kind of experience. This means, first of all, that we must consider the process from a psychological point of view in order to find out whether there is at least some psychological reality corresponding to descriptions that are devoid of logical and moral meaning.

It can be assumed that the starting point on the path to this kind of experience is the conflict of an ordinary person with his environment, the discrepancy between his desires and the harsh realities of the world, between his will and the infringed interests of other people. The desire of the common man to replace this conflict with a sense of harmony echoes the centuries-old attempts of philosophers and scientists to understand nature as a whole beyond the dualism and constant worries of the human mind. We will soon see that in many respects this starting point does not allow us to understand the problem clearly enough. The very attempt to explain the experience of unity based on the state of conflict is reminiscent of the case of how a peasant was once asked the way to a distant village. The man scratched his head and replied: “Yes, I know how to get there, but if I were you, I wouldn’t start from here.” Unfortunately, this is exactly the situation we find ourselves in.

Let us see how the Zen masters dealt with this problem. Their answers, as a first approximation, can be classified into four categories. Here they are.

1. To say that all things are in reality One.

2. To say that all things are in reality Nothing, Emptiness.

3. To say that all things are originally perfect and harmonious in their natural state.

4. Say that the answer is the question or the questioner himself.

The question asked of a Zen master can take many forms, but essentially it is the problem of liberation from the contradictions of dualism - in other words, from what Buddhism calls samsara, or the vicious circle of birth-and-death.

1. As an example of an answer of the first category, that is, as a statement that all things are one, we can cite the words of Master Eco:

The great truth is the principle of global identity.

Among the misconceptions, the mani gem can be mistaken for a tile,

But to the enlightened eye it is a true gem.

Ignorance and wisdom cannot be separated,

Because ten thousand things are one Suchness.

Only out of pity for those who believe in dualism,

I write down these words and send this message.

If we know that the body and the Buddha are not different or separate,

Why should we look for what we have never lost?

The meaning of these words is that liberation from dualism does not require changing something by force. Man has only to understand that every experience is inseparable from the One, the Tao or Buddha nature, and then the problem simply disappears for him. Here's another example.

– Joshu asked Nansen:

– What is Tao?

“Your everyday consciousness is Tao,” answered Nansen.

– How can you regain your sense of harmony with him? asked Joshu.

“By trying to return it, you immediately lose the Tao,” answered Nansen.

The psychological reaction to this kind of statement is an attempt to feel that every experience, every thought, every feeling and sensation is Tao; that good and bad, pleasant and unpleasant are inseparable. This may take the form of attempting to attach the symbolic thought “This is the Tao” to every experience that arises. Meanwhile, it is clear that if such a statement applies equally to everything, it does not make sense. However, when the lack of meaning leads to disappointment, it is argued that disappointment is also Tao, as a result of which the comprehension of unity continues to elude us.

2. So another, and perhaps better, way to answer the original question is to say that everything is really Nothing or Emptiness (sunyata). This statement corresponds to the statement from the Prajna Paramita Hridaya Sutra: “Form is exactly the same as emptiness; emptiness is exactly the same as form.” Such an answer does not give reason to look for the content or meaning of the idea of ​​a single reality. In Buddhism, the word shunyata (Emptiness) implies incomprehensibility rather than the absence of anything at all. The psychological response to the assertion that all are One can be described as an attempt to say “Yes” to every experience that arises, as a desire to accept life in all its manifestations. On the contrary, the psychological meaning of the statement that everything is Emptiness is to say “No” to every experience, to deny all manifestations of life.

A similar approach can also be found in the teachings of Vedanta, where the formula neti, neti(“not this, not that”) is used to achieve the understanding that no single experience is the ultimate reality. In Zen the word is used in a similar way mu. This word may be koan, or a problem that beginners have to practice meditation. Working with this koan, a person constantly and under any conditions says “No.” Now we can understand why the question: “What will happen if I come to you without a single thing?” Joshu replied, “Throw it away!”

3. In addition, an approach is possible according to which you do not need to do anything - you do not need to say either “yes” or “no”. The point here is to leave experiences and consciousness alone, allowing them to be what they are. Here, for example, is Rinzai's statement:

The consequences of past karma can only be eliminated moment by moment. When it's time to get dressed, get dressed. When you have to go, go. When you need to sit, sit. Forget about realizing Buddha. After all, the ancients taught: “If you consciously seek the Buddha, your Buddha is just samsara.” Followers of the Tao, know that in Buddhism there is no place for effort. Be ordinary people, without any ambitions. Perform natural necessities, put on clothes, eat and drink. When you are tired, go to bed. The ignorant will laugh at me, but the wise will understand... The ancients said: “To meet a Tao man on the way, you don’t need to look for him.” Therefore, if a person practices the Tao, it will not work.

One more example. The monk asked Bokuju:

– We dress and eat every day. How can we avoid having to dress and eat?

“We dress, we eat,” answered the master.

- I don't understand.

“If you don’t understand, get dressed and eat,” said Bokuju.

In other cases, the state of non-duality appears to us as a state beyond heat and cold, but when the master is asked to explain this, he says:

When we are cold, we gather around a warm fire; When we are hot, we sit in a bamboo grove on the bank of a stream.

Here the psychological meaning is most likely to respond to circumstances in accordance with inclinations - and not try to resist the summer heat and winter cold. You can also add: don’t try to fight your desire to fight anything! This means that any person’s experience is correct and that a deep conflict with life and with himself arises when he tries to change his current experiences or get rid of them. However, this very desire to feel somehow differently may be a current experience that does not need to be gotten rid of.

4. Finally, there is a fourth type of answer, which reduces the question to the question itself, in other words, turns the question against the questioner. Eco said to Bodhidharma:

“There is no peace in my mind.” Please calm him down.

– Give me your consciousness here, and I will calm it down! - said Bodhidharma.

“But when I look for my consciousness, I cannot find it,” Eco replied.

“Where you can’t find him, I’ve already calmed him down!” – was Bodhidharma’s answer.

One more example. Dosin said to Sosan.

– How to achieve liberation?

-Who keeps you in slavery? - asked the master.

- Nobody.

“Then why do you need to seek liberation?”

There are many other examples of Zen masters responding by repeating a question, or of them saying something like the following: "It is obvious. Why are you asking me?”

Answers of this kind seem to be intended to draw attention to the state of consciousness from which the question arises. They seem to say to a person: “If something is bothering you, find out who is worried and why.” Therefore, the psychological reaction in this case will be an attempt to feel the feeler and know the knower - in other words, to make the subject an object. However, as Obaku said: “No matter how much Buddha searches for Buddha, no matter how much the mind tries to grasp itself, nothing will come of it until the end of time.”. Ekai said: “The one who rides it looks for the bull in the same way.”. A poem from Zenrin Kushu says:

This is the sword that wounds but cannot wound itself, This is the eye that sees but cannot see itself.

An old Chinese proverb says: "It's impossible to clap with one hand". However, Hakuin always began introducing Zen to his students by asking them to hear the clap of one hand!

It is easy to see that all these answers have one thing in common - they are cyclical. If things form a unity, then my sensation of conflict between opposites expresses this unity as well as my opposition to this sensation. If all things are Emptiness, the thought of this is also empty, and it seems to me as if I am being asked to fall into a hole and slam it shut behind me. If what happens is right and natural, then what is false and unnatural is also natural. If I have to let things take their course, what should I do if part of what happens is my desire to interfere with the course of events? Finally, if the underlying problem is lack of self-knowledge, how can I know the me who is trying to know myself? In short, in each case the source of the problem lies in the question itself. If you don't ask questions, there are no problems. In other words, conflict avoidance is conflict that a person is trying to avoid.

If such answers do not help in practice, this means that it is impossible to help the person. Every cure for suffering is like changing the position of the body of a person sleeping on a hard bed. Every success in managing the environment makes it even more uncontrollable. However, the futility of such reflections allows us to draw at least two important conclusions. The first is that if we didn't try to help ourselves, we would never know how helpless we are. Only by asking questions do we begin to understand the limits, and therefore the possibilities, of the human mind. The second important takeaway is that when we eventually comprehend the depth of our helplessness, we find peace. We have no choice but to lose ourselves, give up, sacrifice ourselves.

Perhaps these considerations shed light on the Buddhist doctrine of Emptiness, which states that in reality everything is empty and futile. After all, if I try with all my might to get rid of a conflict, which is essentially determined by my desire to get rid of it; if, in another way, the very structure of my personality, my ego, is an attempt to do the impossible, then I am futility and emptiness to the core. I am a scabies that has nothing to scratch itself on. This inability makes scabies even worse, because scabies is the desire to scratch!

Therefore Zen tries to bring to us a clear awareness of the isolation, helplessness and futility of the situation in which we find ourselves; the very desire to achieve harmony in which is the source of conflict and at the same time constitutes the very essence of our desire to live. Zen would be a masochistic teaching about complete hopelessness, if not for one very curious and, at first glance, paradoxical consequence. When it becomes clear to us beyond any doubt that scabies cannot be scratched, it stops scratching. When we realize that our desire involves us in a vicious circle, it stops on its own. However, this can only happen when we see more clearly that we cannot stop it in any way.

Attempt force to do or not to do something implies, of course, a division of the mind into two parts, an internal dualism that paralyzes our actions. Therefore, the statement that all things are One and One is all things expresses the end of this division, the realization of the original unity and independence of the mind. In some ways, it is similar to acquiring the ability to do some kind of movement - when you intend to do it and unexpectedly for you it turns out, although all attempts to achieve this before have not led to success. Experiences of this kind are quite vivid, but it is almost impossible to describe them.

We must not forget that this experience of unity arises from a state of complete hopelessness. In Zen, this hopelessness is likened to a mosquito trying to bite an iron bull. Here is another verse from Zenrin Kushu:

To frolic in the Great Void, the Iron Bull must sweat.

But how can an iron bull sweat? This question is no different from asking, “How can I avoid conflict?” or “How can I grab my hand with the same hand?”

In the intense awareness of hopelessness, we realize that our ego is completely powerless to do anything, and we realize that - no matter what - life goes on. “I stand or sit. I get dressed or eat... The wind moves the branches of the trees, and the noise of cars can be heard from afar.” When my daily self is perceived as a completely useless tension, I realize that my real action is everything that happens, that the hard line between me and everything else has completely disappeared. All events, whatever they may be, be it the movement of my hand or the singing of birds on the street, happen on their own, automatically - but not mechanically, but shizen (spontaneously, naturally).

The Blue Mountains are themselves blue mountains;

White clouds are themselves white clouds.

Hand movement, thinking, decision making - everything happens this way. It becomes obvious that this is exactly how things have always been, and therefore all my attempts to move myself or control myself are inappropriate - I need them only to prove to myself that this is impossible. The very idea of ​​self-control is flawed, because we cannot force relax yourself or force yourself to do something - for example, open your mouth with just mental effort. No matter what volitional efforts we make, no matter how much we concentrate our attention, the mouth will remain motionless until it opens on its own. It is this feeling of spontaneity of what is happening that is sung by the poet Ho Koji:

Miraculous power and amazing action - I carry water, chop wood!

This state of consciousness is psychologically quite real. It may even become more or less permanent. At the same time, throughout life, most people almost always clearly distinguish the ego from its environment. Freeing yourself from this feeling is like being cured of a chronic illness. Along with it comes a feeling of lightness and peace, which can be compared to the relief after removing a heavy plaster cast. Naturally, the euphoria and ecstasy gradually pass, but the permanent absence of a rigid boundary between the ego and its environment continues to change the structure of the experience. The end of ecstasy does not seem tragic because there is no longer an obsessive desire to experience ecstasy, which previously existed as compensation for the chronic disappointment of life in a closed circle.

In a sense, the rigid distinction between ego and environment corresponds to the distinction between mind and body, or between the voluntary and involuntary actions of the organism. Perhaps this is why yogic and zen practices place so much emphasis on breathing and observing the breath ( anapanasmriti), because with the example of this organic function it is easiest for us to see the deep unity of the voluntary and involuntary aspects of our experiences.

Thus, we cannot help but breathe, and yet it seems to us that breathing is under our control. We can equally say that we are breathing or that we are breathing. Thus, the distinction between voluntary and involuntary makes sense only when considered within some framework. Strictly speaking, I make volitional efforts and make decisions also involuntarily. If this were not so, I would always have to not only make a decision, but also make a decision to make a decision, etc. ad infinitum. At the same time, it seems that involuntary processes occurring in the body - for example, the heartbeat - are in principle no different from involuntary processes occurring outside the body. All of them are determined by many reasons. Therefore, when the distinction between the voluntary and involuntary aspects is no longer felt within the body, this feeling extends to the world outside it.

Thus, when a person has realized that the distinctions between ego and environment, between intentional and unintentional are arbitrary and valid only to a limited extent, his experience can be expressed in the words: “One is all, all is One.” This comprehension implies the disappearance of internal differentiation, rigid dualism. However, this is in no way “uniformity”, not a kind of pantheism or monism, which claims that all so-called things are illusory manifestations of a single homogenized “substance”. The feeling of liberation from dualism should not be understood as the sudden disappearance of mountains and trees, houses and people, as the transformation of all this into a homogeneous mass of luminous, transparent emptiness.

Therefore, Zen masters have always understood that “One” is a bit of a misnomer. The Zen treatise Shinjinmei says:

Two exists thanks to One,

However, do not get attached to this One...

In the world of true Suchness

There is neither “me” nor “other”.

If there is something to be said about this world,

We will only say “not two.”

Hence the koan: “When multiplicity is reduced to One, to what is this One reduced?” To this question, Joshu replied: “When I was in the province of Seishu, they made me a linen robe that weighed seven pounds.” No matter how strange this statement may seem, this is exactly how Zen talks about comprehending reality - using direct language without symbols and concepts. We tend to forget that we are talking about an experience, not an idea or an opinion. Zen speaks from within the experience, and not standing apart from it - like a person talking about life. It is impossible to achieve deep understanding by standing on the sidelines, just as it is impossible to move the muscles with a verbal command alone, no matter how persistently we pronounce it.

There is great meaning in standing apart from life and talking about it; is to draw conclusions about existence and thereby have psychological feedback that allows us to criticize and improve our performance. However, systems of this kind have limitations, and looking at the feedback analogy shows us what they are. Perhaps the most common example of a closed-loop device is the electric thermostat that regulates the temperature in a home. If you set the upper and lower temperature limits, the thermostat turns off when the water in it heats up to the upper limit, and turns on when it cools down to the lower limit. Thus, the temperature in the room is maintained within the desired limits. In addition, we can say that the thermostat is a kind of sensitive organ with which the heater is equipped so that it can regulate its behavior. Thus, we can say that the thermostat illustrates a rudimentary form of self-awareness.

But if we created a self-regulating heater, why don't we create a self-regulating thermostat by analogy? We know that the thermostat can have a more complex design if we insert into it a second level of feedback that will control what is already there. The question then becomes how far in this direction we can go. By continuing to complicate our device, we can create an endless sequence of feedback systems that cannot function due to their complexity. To avoid this, somewhere at the very end of this chain there must be a thermostat, human intelligence or other source of information that should be unconditionally trusted. The only alternative to such trust would be a very long sequence of control devices, which is very slow and therefore impractical. It might seem that there is another alternative, namely, round-robin control, in which citizens are monitored by police officers, who are monitored by the mayor of the city, who is monitored by citizens. However, this system only works when people trust each other, or, in other words, when the system trusts itself - and does not try to move away from itself in order to improve itself.

This gives us a good idea of ​​the person's situation. Our life consists of actions, but we can also check our actions through reflection. Too much thinking overwhelms and paralyzes action, but since in action we sometimes have to choose between life and death, how much thinking can we afford? Zen characterizes its position as musin And munen. He may therefore appear to be advocating action without reflection.

When you walk, just walk; When you sit, just sit. The main thing is don’t doubt it!

Joshu's answer to the question of unity and plurality was an example of an uncontrived action, an unintentional statement. “When I was in Seishu Province, they made me a linen robe that weighed seven pounds.”

However, thinking is also action, and Zen might as well say: “When you act, just act; when you think, just think. The main thing is don’t doubt it.” In other words, if you are going to think or reason, do it without thinking about your thinking. But Zen will also agree that thinking about thinking is also action, if in thinking about thinking we do only that and do not slip into an endless sequence of trying to always stand above the level at which we are now thinking. In short, Zen is liberation from the dualism of thought and action, because it thinks as it acts - with the same dedication, willingness and faith. Therefore the attitude musin does not imply suppression of thinking. Musin- this is action on any level - physical or psychological - without trying in the same time observe or check an action. In other words, musin is action without doubt or concern.

Everything we have said here about the relationship of thinking to action is also true of feelings, since our feelings and emotions are feedback just like thoughts. Feelings block not only actions, but also themselves as a type of action. This happens when we have a tendency to observe and feel ad infinitum. Thus, for example, while experiencing pleasure, I can at the same time observe myself in order to get the maximum out of it. Not content with tasting food, I may try to taste my tongue. And when it’s not enough for me to just be happy, I want to be sure that I feel happy, so that I don’t miss anything.

Obviously, it is not possible in any given situation to determine the point at which reasoning should turn into action - at which we can know that we have thought enough about the situation and will not later regret what we did. This point is determined by sensitivity and experience. But in practice it always turns out that no matter how deeply we think through everything, we can never be completely sure of our conclusions. By and large, every action is a leap into the unknown. We know only one thing with complete certainty about our future - that there awaits us an unknown called death. Death seems to us to be a symbol of everything in our lives that we cannot control. In other words, human life is essentially uncontrollable and incomprehensible. Buddhists call this global basis of life sunyata, or Emptiness; is based on it musin, or Zen non-consciousness. But in addition, Zen comprehends not only that a person stands on the unknown or sails on the ocean of uncertainty in the fragile boat of his body; Zen realizes that this unknown is myself.

From the point of view of vision, my head is an empty space among experiences - an invisible and incomprehensible emptiness in which there is neither light nor darkness. The same emptiness lies behind each of our senses - both external and internal experiences. She was present even before my life began, before I was conceived in my mother’s womb. It is located inside all the atoms from which my body is built. And when the physicist tries to penetrate deep into this structure, he discovers that the very act of observing it does not allow him to see what interests him most. This is an example of the same principle that we have talked about so many times: when looking into yourself, the eyes see nothing. This is why Zen practice usually begins with one of many koans, such as “Who are you?”, “Who were you before you had a father and mother?” or “Who is dragging this body of yours around?”

In this way the practitioner discovers that his true nature swabhava there is no-nature that his true consciousness ( syn) is non-consciousness ( musin). If we comprehend this unknown and incomprehensible principle of our true nature, it will no longer threaten us. It no longer seems like an abyss into which we fall; rather it is the source of our actions and life, thinking and feeling.

This is further evidence in favor of language that emphasizes unity, since the dualism of thought and action has no basis in reality. But more importantly, there is no longer a division between the knower on the one hand and the unknown on the other. Thinking is action, and the knower is the known. We can also see the relevance of statements like Ekay's: “Act as you know; live as you want, only without a second thought - this is the incomparable Path.” This kind of statement does not condemn ordinary thinking, judgment and limitation. Their meaning is not on the surface, but in depth.

Ultimately, we must act and think, live and die, relying on a source that we can neither comprehend nor control. If we are not happy with it, no amount of care and doubt, reflection and analysis of our motivations will help us improve the situation. Therefore, we are forced to choose between fear and indecision, on the one hand, and jumping into action regardless of the consequences, on the other. On the surface level, from a relative point of view, our actions can be right or wrong. However, no matter what we do on the surface level, we must have a deep conviction that all our actions and everything that happens is, by and large, correct. This means that we must enter into it without looking back, without doubt, regret and self-recrimination. Thus, when Ummon was asked what the Tao is, he simply answered: “Go further!” However, acting without a second thought is by no means a commandment that we should imitate. In fact, we cannot act in this way until we have realized that we have no other alternatives - until we have realized within ourselves the source of incomprehensibility and uncontrollability.

In Zen this realization is just the first step in a long course of study. After all, we must not forget that Zen is a variety of Mahayana Buddhism, in which nirvana - liberation from the vicious circle of samsara - is not so much a goal as the beginning of the life of a bodhisattva. Actions of a Bodhisattva - fallen or hoben- are the application of this comprehension to various aspects of life for the “liberation of all living beings,” not only people and animals, but trees, grass and even dust.

However, in Zen the idea of ​​samsara as a cyclical process of incarnation is not taken literally, and therefore Zen offers its own interpretation of the role of the bodhisattva in saving living beings from birth and death. On the one hand, the cycle of birth and death is repeated from moment to moment, and a person remains in samsara to the extent that he identifies himself with the ego, whose existence continues through time. Thus, it can be said that the true Zen life begins only when the individual has completely stopped trying to improve himself. This seems to us a contradiction because we have only a vague idea of ​​non-violent effort, of tension without conflict, and of concentration without tension.

In Zen it is believed that a person who tries to improve himself, who strives to become something more than he is, cannot act creatively. Let us remember the words of Rinzai: “If you consciously strive to become a Buddha, your Buddha is only samsara.” Or: “If a person seeks the Tao, he loses it.” The reason is that trying to improve or improve ourselves continues to keep us in a vicious circle, like a person trying to bite his own teeth with those same teeth. Liberation from this idiotic situation comes at the very beginning of Zen practice, when a person understands that “he himself, in his present state, is the Buddha.” After all, the goal of Zen is not to become a Buddha, but rather to act like a Buddha. Therefore, a bodhisattva will not achieve anything in his life if he has even the slightest anxiety or desire to become something that he is not at the moment. In the same way, a person who solves a problem and thinks about the end result forgets about the task because the end result is the focus of his attention.

The irrelevance of self-improvement is expressed in two verses from Zenrin Kushu:

The long thing is the long body of Buddha;

The short thing is the short body of the Buddha.

In the spring landscape there is no place for measurement and evaluation -

Flowering branches grow naturally:

one is longer, the other is shorter.

Here is a poem by the Zen master Goso:

Trying to find Buddha, you do not find him;

Trying to see the Patriarch, you do not see him.

Sweet melon has sweetness even in the stem;

Bitter gourd is bitter right down to the root.

Some Buddhas are short, others are long. Some students are beginners, others are more advanced, but each of them is “correct” in their current state. After all, if a person tries to make himself better, he falls into a vicious circle of selfishness. It may be difficult for Westerners to understand that each of us grows involuntarily, and not through conscious self-improvement, and that neither body nor mind can grow when they are stretched. Just as a seed becomes a tree, a short Buddha becomes a long Buddha. This process is not self-improvement, because the tree cannot be called an improved seed. Moreover, many seeds never become trees - and this is quite consistent with nature or Tao. Seeds give rise to plants, and plants give birth to new seeds. Moreover, nothing is better or worse, higher or lower, because the final goal of development is achieved at every moment of existence.

The philosophy of non-striving, or mui, always raises the problem of motivation, because it seems to us that if people are perfect, or Buddhas, in their present state, this may deprive them of the desire to act creatively. The answer is that motivated actions do not produce creative results because such actions are not free, but conditioned. True creativity is always aimless. It does not imply any external motives. Therefore, they say that a true artist imitates nature in his work and thereby learns the true meaning of “art for art’s sake.” Kojisei wrote in his collection of short sayings, Seikontan:

If your true nature has the creative power of Nature itself, wherever you go you will admire the frolicking fish and the flying wild geese.

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