Rational Contextualization & a Digression on Zen

As preparation before I begin actually reading the Qur'an, I am reading No god but God, by Reza Aslan. It's a book that ought to be required reading for every American because it so clearly demystifies the religion. It provides an excellent historical background, always connecting the historical issues to the modern crisis. Whenever there is a controversial issue, Aslan is careful to provide an equal look at both sides. He does not downplay the violence and fanaticism which some believers have taken from the text, but he provides what he calls "rational contextualization" to show that either those believers were following their own agendas contrary to the example and words of Muhammad, or that they were acting in a specific context that was never meant to carry beyond the specific incident. This helps to explain things like Muhammad's own wars, or the number of wives he married. The book also completely clarifies issues like veiling women and other practices that can seem unsavory from an American perspective.

Seen through this rational context, Islam is no longer something to be feared. As a matter of fact, Aslan provides numerous parallels with Jewish prophets and with Jesus (Muhammad himself did this as well), and I was able to provide several more from my own reading of the Bible. David, Joshua, Abraham, Jacob - all were violent men, and all supported and practiced polygamy. Moses was incredibly violent, and the prophet Samuel once hacked a man to pieces. Christians and Jews who say that Muhammad was barbaric, or created a "religion of the sword," need to read their own Bible more carefully before making such claims.

As a matter of fact, Muhammad's laws actually served to decrease the violence of war, in the same way that Hammurabi's Code ("an eye for an eye") was not barbarous, but served to limit the legal retribution. Rather than killing someone for punching you, you simply got to punch him back. It was the first attempt at limiting revenge, and thus the first step towards a fair legal system. Muhammad recognized the law of retribution (which was current among the Arab tribes at the time), but also encouraged his followers instead to forgive whenever possible. He himself did this on numerous occasions to the dismay of many of his followers, who felt they had a right to the spoils of their victories, or to punish traitors.

As is the case with Christianity, certainly, and other religions to a large degree, the specific words and actions of the Prophet (or Jesus or Buddha, etc.) are taken out of context and applied to a completely different context in which they do not belong. Aslan argues eloquently for looking at the whole picture - for seeing the specific part of the text in light of the historical, political and psychological aspects which led to the text, and then weighing that against the example set by the Prophet's own actions and a mature understanding of the entire Qur'an. Of course, this requires one to set aside one's own agenda in the search for truth, and that runs completely counter to any type of fanaticism.

Perhaps it would be true to say that this is one aspect of what is required by submission, which is what Islam means. Not only do we submit our bodies and souls to God (and this may be what goes through the mind of a suicide bomber), but we submit all personal and political agendas as well. And of course, this is much more difficult. It's what the Buddhists seek in the disintegration of the ego, searching for the experience of non-self. But the ego is notoriously slippery. As soon as we seek to destroy the ego, we have to realize that the ego is what wants to do this. It's the most remarkable shape-shifter, and will operate under any number of selfless causes. The agenda to have no agenda is an agenda nonetheless, and while being selfless may feel altruistic, it's ultimately the highest form of self-gratification.

Aslan puts all these issues into an illuminating context, which helps dispel falsehoods that are common in the American view of Islam. I'll be interested to see if the Qur'an addresses the issue I've raised here about submission and ego. All the religious texts I've read so far deal with this either explicitly or implicitly, but some more subtly than others. Jesus' message was entirely about this, but the popular feel-good way of studying the Bible today simply fortifies one's agendas and prejudices. I had several students last semester who wrote that God loves Moses above all others, which very well may be true, but then you have to explain why God tries to kill Moses right after introducing himself through the Burning Bush. And until you find the true answer to this, as opposed to the right answer, you haven't fully understood the episode.

Let me explain what I mean by true vs. right answers. In the mythology course I taught this spring, we studied Zen Koans, and actually did some koan practice and interviews. (Zen Master Seung Sahn gives the clearest explanation of koans I've ever read.) I am by no means a Zen Master, so it was all simply an experiment (you don't have to have a degree in architecture to build a tree house), but one of the things we discovered was that in the old koan stories, Zen Masters only accepted true answers, not right ones. For instance, when a student asked Joshu if a dog has buddha-nature, Joshu said, "Mu," meaning, "No." According to everything the Buddha taught, this answer is not right. Everything - rocks, trees, animals, garbage - has buddha nature that is simply waiting to be realized. But the true answer depends on what was happening in the moment between Joshu and his student at the time. Perhaps Joshu sensed that the student was talking about his concept of a dog, rather than an actual dog. And concepts - which by their nature prevent us from realizing enlightenment - do not have buddha nature. If the student had asked him, "Does this dog, right here, have buddha-nature?" then Joshu would have had to say yes - as long as the student was not talking about his concept of the dog.

Of course, we can't know what was going on in the minds of Joshu and his student, and so we still have not arrived at the true answer. The answer just presented may have been a true answer for Joshu, but for us, it can only be one of many possible right answers. The essence of Zen is that everything is always present, and the koans are meant to guide our minds toward this truth. This became extraordinarily clear to me when I interviewed one student on a koan about Bodhidharma, who brought Zen from India to China. The koan asks, "Why does this fellow have no beard?" My student struggled with the koan for several minutes, and then I got my statue of Bodhidharma and showed it to him. Any picture of Bodhidharma has a beard (see below), and my student kept saying, "But I can clearly see that he does have a beard."

That answer was right, but not true. So I kept asking him, "Why has this fellow no beard?" The statue I have is made of bronze, and it's fairly reflective, so I held it close to his face as I asked him. Finally, the light dawned, and he found the true answer.

"Why has this fellow no beard?"

"Because I shaved this morning."

True answers always point to the present and to our own authentic natures. Right answers are logical and accurate, and are useful in science, but not in matters of the soul. They do not feed our need for authentic understanding. And as long as we seek right answers rather than true ones, we will remain hungry. The koan asks us to remember that stories, literature, religion, etc., are never about some event in the long past. They are always about us - here and now in our present situation. When we look at them historically, we use them to justify our current agendas. When we look at them in the present, they transform our consciousness and dissolve our agendas so that we integrate ourselves with the world rather than seeking to dominate it.

Perhaps you will indulge me one more story before I go back to Aslan's book. One of the most famous koans is when a novice asked, "Why did Bodhidharma come from the West?" and Joshu answered, "Look at the cypress tree in the courtyard." I assigned this to one of my students, and she spent a while working on it, but then finally said, "I've got nothing. I can't figure it out."

"What are you trying to figure out?" I asked.

"I just don't get it. The answer makes absolutely no sense."

"It's not supposed to make sense," I said. "It's an instruction."

"What do you mean? An instruction for what?"

"It's telling you what to do - where to find the answer."

"But where do I find it?"

"Look at the cypress tree in the courtyard."

"What cypress tree?"

"Well, we don't have cypress trees out there, but I think an oak would work just as well."

"Just look at the oak tree? The oak tree is going to give me the answer?"

"I don't know. But that's what Joshu is telling you to do."

So under slight protest, she went out in the courtyard of the school - in clear view of all of her schoolmates as they sat in class staring out the widows - and she sat for five minutes looking at the oak tree. This caused a bit of a stir inside, because people don't do that these days. People don't sit looking at trees all by themselves in a public place. Several students walked by and asked me if I had assigned her to do that. When I say yes, they asked why, and I told them, "She's trying to find out why Bodhidharma came from the West. You should go join her!" None of them took me up on it, but they were grateful to be able to write it off to the eccentric teacher rather than thinking their friend had gone loony.

When she came back in, I asked her what happened.

"Nothing," she said. "Absolutely nothing at all."

"That's not true," I said. "You were out there for five minutes. Something must have happened: feelings, thoughts, observations..."

"I've never felt so alienated from a tree in my entire life."

"A-ha," I said. "There you go."

"What do you mean?"

"That's your answer."

"What's my answer?"

"Why did Bodhidharma come from the West?"

"Because I feel alienated from a tree?"

This was the true answer for her, and she passed her interview. Bodhidharma historically came to China after standing in a cave staring at a wall for nine years, during which he tore his eyelids out so that he wouldn't fall asleep. He then threw them outside the cave, and they sprouted as tea leaves, which help monks stay awake to this day. He brought Zen to China, and so historically, that is the right answer. It's such an obvious answer that it's frustrating to be asked for another one. But it's also an answer that does nothing at all for us. It does not connect us to Bodhidharma, or to Joshu, or to ourselves or our environment. Once she realized that Bodhidharma came from the West to cure her alienation from nature, my student saw the koan correctly. She was the novice, and I was functioning as Joshu. On a different day, the roles could easily be reversed. When we know our correct relationship to the story, we can mine its treasures, and at that point, the story is no longer a curiosity. It is life-changing.

The historical, political, social and psychological context that Aslan provides is invaluable in terms of how it makes me feel closer to Muhammad and the early Muslims. It opens up a possible relationship and sense of identity with them which is the first step toward true communion. It has cleared away many misunderstandings and unconscious prejudices I have had, since I was raised in a culture where the vivid face of radical Islam makes seeing into its heart uncommonly difficult. When I finish reading the book, my vision will be clear enough to approach the Qur'an on its own terms, to find its true answers, and my authentic place in it.