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The Kuan Tzu—a text from around the fourth to third century B.C.—stated: "What all people desire to know is that (meaning the external world), but our means of knowing that is by this (our self, our mind)." How can we know that (the external world)? Only by perfecting this.
Already in the fourth to third century B.C., there was an awareness of some of the sticky epistemological problems confronting modern science. You could say that the goal of science is to know the natural world, i. e., "What all people desire to know is that.'" But, as the "new science" so keenly points out, our means of knowing that is through this. That is to say, the possibility of achieving a description of the world that is independent of the means by which it was investigated can no longer be taken for granted. Gone is the neat subject/object distinction. It now seems entirely possible as Heisenberg pointed out, that the very act of measurement interferes with what one is attempting to measure. If the scientist in search of truth alters the very truth he or she seeks, then the very existence of a world external to the observer can be doubted. Heisenberg introduced the "uncertainty principle," and observed, "even in science the object of research is no longer nature itself, but man's investigation of nature."
So, the third line of the Kuan Tzu could in fact pose the very dilemma modern scientists now grapple with: "How can we know that?"
Even Einstein felt the challenge—maintaining and defending with increasing difficulty his belief in the reality of an external world governed by mechanisms that science could disclose. You could say, that quantum physics has brought us no further along in our understanding than to the conundrum posed in the third line of a Chinese verse from fourth century B.C.
The Kuan Tzu ponders, "All men desire to know, but they do not enquire into that whereby one know." How indeed can one know anything external when all that is known is known through the mode of the perceiver? Are we studying ourselves when we think we are studying nature? Will the "new science" eventually come to the conclusion of Kuan Tzu, that only "by perfecting this," can we truly know that? It is an interesting question: how accurate and objective can the observation be if the observer is flawed and imperfect? And again, this perfection refers to the cultivation of moral qualities and the elimination of what we call klesa, which in Buddhism refers to afflictions such as greed, hatred, ignorance, pride, selfishness, and a variety of attachments and emotional extremes.
Mencius, in the Confucian tradition, talks about what he calls, "the unmoving mind" that he acquired at the age of 40. This refers to knowledge derived from the cultivation of equanimity resulting from the exercise of a moral sense. This "good knowledge" is gained by intuitive insight, and is to be distinguished from knowledge acquired through mental activity.
Mencius considered this knowledge superior to material knowledge. Zhuang Zi, the famous Taoist philosopher, spoke of acquiring the knowledge of the "ten thousand things"–which means everything, all of nature–through virtuous conduct and by practicing "stillness." By "stillness" the Taoists meant a kind of power ( de) released through cultivating a selfless equanimity free from grief and joy, delight and anger, and desire and greed for gain. Thus, the Zhuang Zi states: "To a mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders."
Even Confucius, in his famous passage concerning the highest learning ( da xue), connects utmost knowledge of the universe to the cultivation of one's own person and the rectification of one's mind and moral qualities. If I correctly understand Vedanta, the philosophical teaching of Hinduism, it too emphasizes that jnana (knowledge) requires a solid basis in ethics ( dharma). The point I want to make is that I think we need to reexamine this facile linking of Buddhism to modern science. Fascinating correspondences exist, but there are also distinct and important differences. I think we sell ourselves short when we disregard those differences.
We engage in what psychologists call "selective perception," the unwitting seeing and selecting of only what we want to see. Thus, we can all too easily notice and embrace, only those elements of Buddhism that seem consonant with our way of life, and give short thrift to the rest. This psychological tendency is even further enhanced by cultural hubris: the fact that America is in its heyday, and as a triumphalist society feels that our way of knowing, our way of thinking, is the best. Therefore, when something new comes along, like Buddhism, we selectively garner out those elements that reinforce our world view as it exists, and disregard the rest, saying, "Well, it's superstitious; it's mythological; it's apocryphal, we don't need it. We want something that is philosophically and scientifically sound."
Buddhism is a very rich and varied tradition. It contains many elements–some easily appreciated rationally; others that challenge our preconceived notions. But if we get rid of those unfamiliar elements, I am afraid we may be throwing out the baby with the bath water. We miss the opportunity to let Buddhism challenge us and revitalize us in perhaps a new way. For Buddhism has a great deal to add to our understanding of the three basic dimensions of existence: humanity with nature (the natural), people with people (the social), and the individual with him/herself (the psychological). Buddhism offers profound and in some cases, radically different insights into these areas, if we let it. I shudder a little when I hear people say, "Well, Buddhism is just as American as apple pie." No, it is not as American as apple pie. In significant ways it is quite different. Tapping the rich potential of that difference, it seems to me, lies in resisting the urge to quickly Americanize it.
To conclude, I just want to quote from someone who appreciated the value of difference. Henry Clark Warren, Harvard Professor at the turn of the century, who was one of the first translators of Buddhist texts into English. When Professor Warren encountered the Buddhist texts, he was swept off his feet a bit. It challenged his established modes of thought; pushed him beyond accustomed patterns. But instead of grabbing onto the familiar philosophical scientific paradigms of his day to "make sense" of Buddhism, he allowed himself to meander the strange new landscape. He wrote:
A large part of the pleasure that I have experienced in the study of Buddhism has arisen from what I may call the strangeness of the intellectual landscape. All the ideas, the modes of argument, even the postulates assumed and not argued about, have always seemed so strange, so different from anything to which I have been accustomed that I have felt all the time as though walking in fairyland. Much of the charm that the Oriental thoughts and ideas have for me appears to be because they so seldom fit into Western categories.
I close tonight by suggesting that perhaps we could take a note from Henry Clark Warren: Let Buddhism rub us the wrong way. Let it not make sense to us so quickly, enjoy the walk in fairyland, and see if it doesn't lead to perhaps some fresh insights and perspectives that we never imagined before.
Question: Referring to your last comments on the essence of learning in general, how do you keep from grasping too soon and sort of putting things into a framework or defining things, since that is how children learn from the very first?
Response: I wrestle with that one too. Someone once gave a definition of sanity as the ability to hold two contradictory, opposite ideas in your mind at the same time and not go crazy. That is really what we are being called upon to do. In a scientific sense I think we do have a precedent in a sense, namely to suspend judgment, remain open until we get enough of data. From this point of view, the acquisition of the data isn't quite complete yet–we are historically only in the very beginning stages of a Buddhist transfer to another culture. From another point of view (one I presented earlier), there is both external data and internal data. The internal data could refer to the purification of one's own body and mind (the instruments and laboratory, if you will, of our experiment.) And as that inner work continues, it is said in Buddhism that even if you don't want it to be clear, it will be–as clear as an apple in the palm of your hand. But until then it's all speculation. So, I think it will require a certain amount of emotional maturity to suspend judgment and not jump to conclusions, and more importantly the direct knowledge that comes through self-cultivation, to really "learn" Buddhism.