I think one of the most misunderstood topics in Buddhist practice is the topic of the self. You often hear things like, “there is no self.” But the Buddha actually went out of his way not to take a position on the existence of self.
There’s a sutta where the wanderer Vacchagotta comes to the Buddha and asks, “Is there a self?” The Buddha stays silent. Then Vacchagotta asks, “Is there no self?” Again, the Buddha is silent. At that point, the wanderer gets up and leaves.
Ananda, the Buddha’s attendant, then asks him — and I’m paraphrasing — “Why didn’t you answer his question? This was a rare opportunity, and it seemed like you just gave him the silent treatment.” The Buddha explained that to take a position either way would lead to doubt or confusion — what he called a “thicket of views, a tangle of views.”
What he did take a very clear position on is that there is suffering. The seminal insight of the Buddha is that human existence has its bumps. The body is fragile, and the heart is fragile. The body is inevitably going to age, get sick, and die.
When I first heard this years ago, I actually felt relief. I had been carrying around this idea that whenever I experienced suffering, it meant some kind of personal failing. But the Buddha was saying: no, suffering is not your fault. It’s just part of being human. A tech person once put it to me like this: suffering is a feature of human existence, not a bug. And it’s a very important feature, because it’s what motivates us to seek freedom from this cycle of suffering, again and again.
The Buddha taught very clearly that the root of suffering is clinging. There’s a chant I’ve done many times from a teaching called the Five Contemplations:
I am of the nature to age; I have not gone beyond aging.
I am of the nature to sicken; I have not gone beyond sickness.
I am of the nature to die; I have not gone beyond dying.
All that is mine, beloved and pleasing, will become otherwise, will become separated from me.
That can sound harsh, but it ends with an empowering truth:
I am the owner of my kamma, heir to my kamma, born of my kamma, supported by my kamma.
Kamma means action. We can’t control the inevitabilities of being human in a human body. But we can influence the next moment, by choosing actions that are wise and that lead to well-being — for ourselves and for others.
with warmth,
Gullu