MEDITATIONS: THE DHAMMAPADA, CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HAPPINESS

Human happiness is the one end which is not also the means to some other end—or so the Greeks believed, as do many and more of the civilizations which came before and after them. Many philosophers, too, hold this premise as axiomatically; and does it not seem irrefutable on its face? Indeed it does, but it likewise begs the question, “What do we mean be happiness?”

In Buddhism, as in Taoism and Stoicism, happiness is synonymous with contentment:

Ah, so happily we live,
Without hate among those with hate. . . .

Without misery among those in misery. . . .

Without ambition among those with ambition. . . .

We who have no attachments . . .

Giving up both victory and defeat,
Those who have attained peace sleep happily. (Buddha 49)

So we see here a renunciation of all manner of desires in order to eliminate the contradictions between one’s will and the universal Way. From this accord, a kind of harmony is produced, and we call this harmonious feeling contentment, peace, and tranquility.

But is this happiness? Certainly, it is not the same span of positive emotions ranging from mild amusement to mania—though, nor is it its opposite. Instead, contentment is a kind of annihilation of the dichotomy altogether. Neither victory nor defeat are accepted, nor are either rejected. Both are obliterated through a dialectical synthesis, a stepping back and viewing from the perspective of a cold, apathetic universe which sees no difference because it passes no judgements. It simply is.

The metaphor comparing the attainment of Nirvana to that of happy, peaceful sleep is quite appropriate, then. Accepting this, one could likewise compare Nirvana with death. Such a conclusion smacks of the wiseman of Thus Spake Zarathustra’s “The Academic Chair of Virtues”:

Respect and modesty in presence of sleep! That is the first thing! And to go out of the way of all who sleep badly and keep awake at night!

Modest is even the thief in presence of sleep: he always stealeth softly through the night. Immodest, however, is the night-watchman; immodestly he carrieth his horn. . . .

Thus passeth the day unto the virtuous. When night cometh, then take I good care not to summon sleep. It disliketh to be summoned—sleep, the lord of the virtues!

But I think of what I have done and thought during the day. Thus ruminating, patient as a cow, I ask myself: What were thy ten overcomings?

And what were the ten reconciliations, and the ten truths, and the ten laughters with which my heart enjoyed itself?

Thus pondering, and cradled by forty thoughts, it overtaketh me all at once—sleep, the unsummoned, the lord of the virtues.

Sleep tappeth on mine eye, and it turneth heavy. Sleep toucheth my mouth, and it remaineth open.

Verily, on soft soles doth it come to me, the dearest of thieves, and stealeth from me my thoughts: stupid do I then stand, like this academic chair.

But not much longer do I then stand: I already lie.— (Nietzsche)

The parallels should speak for themselves quite clearly, but in case they do not, compare directly “the lord of the virtues” sleep with the Buddhist end goal of sleeping peacefully. In either case, the promised end is relief from pain. It is tranquility, contentment, and cessation from the impetus to obtain, to pursue, to continue, or even to live among the waking world. One might quote Plato through the mouth of Socrates in his final dialogue before drinking hemlock.

This is the nihilism contained within the kintsugi vase described in my previous Meditation—but why contained?

Admittedly, one can and many do let loose the nihilistic ichor that is at the heart of Buddhistic thought (and if Nietzsche is correct in his analysis in The Anti-Christ and in Will to Power, the same impulse exists within Christianity as well). However, that is only one application: the lower one. There is a dialectic tension present between the will of the higher and that of the low.

For the lower man, the “botched” as Nietzsche calls them, sleep, death, and an exhausted termination of everything-that-is is the only viable path to peace. It is the only means available to them to fulfill their wills to power—their desire for revenge against an existence which makes them suffer—viz. life denial.

The higher man has quite a different application for precisely the same substance. For he accepts that there is no existence without desires:

Even though the Way cannot be seen except when you have no desire, people have eyes, so they see; they have ears, so they hear. Because such openings exist, there must always be desire. So the existence of desire in these openings is also a subtle function. Since the presence of desire is the wonder in the openings, to speak of having no desire does not mean abandoning desire. Why? You can’t cut off your ears and eyes and throw them away. As long as there are openings, there must be desires. (Lao-Tzu & Takuan 3)

Like Zen Buddhist master Takuan Soho, the higher man understands the Taoist concept of “holding on by letting go.” He understands that there are times when the transvaluation of values is necessary to maintain accord with the Great Course—after all, he who can manifest his will in the world can only do so by working with it (as opposed to against it). Thus, the higher man accepts the consequences which are outside of his control, conserving his energy which he then applies to that which actually in his power. That is to say, the higher man can actualize his will because he can stop himself from succumbing wastefully to hate, anger, despair, resentment, vengefulness, obsession, or even presumed propriety.

And to no surprise, the Dhammapada agrees within the very same chapter. A page later, the text reads:

One who keeps company with fools
Will grieve for a long, long time.
Living with fools is painful,
Living with the wise is delightful,
Like relatives gathered together.

Therefore:
You should follow a good, intelligent person
Who is wise, insightful, learned,
Committed to virtue, dutiful, and noble,
As the moon follows the path of the stars. (Buddha 50-1)

What?

While this advice is good, it is also in contradiction with the implications of the earlier citations. If an enlightened one can be among the hateful, miserable, and ambitious without becoming corrupted by them, what use is there in advising people away from said individuals. The answer? “Such is the difference between the large and the small” (Zhuangzi 4).

The advice given later is useful for the small, while the utmost application of Buddhistic wisdom applies to the large. They are those like the great phoenix Peng. They are those whose Course is vast and long, who have been reborn through continual transformation of the self until their wings are so vast as both to be able and to require the elevation of their consciousnesses to dizzying heights (read: “elevation of consciousness” as a becoming aware of oneself and accept what one finds). The results?

Tasting the flavor
Of solitude and peace,
One becomes free of distress and evil,
Drinking the flavor of Dharma joy. (Buddha 50)

What then is happiness in light of all of this?

For the lower man, happiness is the renunciation of all things as to obtain nihilist obliteration—freedom from suffering via freedom from being itself.

For the higher man, happiness is the actualization of his will in accord with the Great Course. For him, renunciation is the conservative impulse, one tool among many, in this case, a solvent by which to detach himself from those things holding him back from a more harmonious existence. He sheds the monkey from his back so that he can dance more freely to the music.

Buddha Siddhartha Gautama. The Dhammapada; Teachings of the Buddha, translated by Gil Fronsdal, Shambala Publications Inc, 2008.

Lao-tzu and Takuan Soho. Tao Te Ching; Zen Teachings on the Taoist Classic, translated by Thomas Cleary, Shambala Publications Inc., 2010

Nietzsche, Friedrich. Thus Spake Zarathustra. translated by Thomas Common. The Modern Library.

Zhuangzi. Zhuangzi; The Complete Writings, translated by Brook Ziporyn, Hackett Publishing Company Inc., 2020.