To continue with the original involutionary story for the Lankavatara Sutra: The first “downward” manifestation produces the “tainted” alaya-vijnana storehouse out of the “pure” alaya-jnana (Primordial Wisdom and pure Emptiness). The second downward (or involutionary) transformation is called by the Lankavatara Sutra (and many Yogachara schools) the manas, which arises out of the storehouse and becomes (when misunderstood) the self-contraction and self-view, which then looks at the alaya-vijnana and misinterprets it as a permanent self or soul, and causes the alaya-vijnana to become even further tainted (beyond containing the first forms of manifestation or samsara itself, when misunderstood). The third transformation “downward” creates the concept of objects and the senses that perceive them, of which, in standard Buddhist psychology, there are six—the five senses, plus the mind (which in Buddhist psychology is treated as another sense, the manovijnana, whose objects are simply conceptual), giving us eight levels of consciousness (or nine if you count the original, pure, unconstructed alaya-jnana, or primordial nondual Wisdom Mind). This overall view gives us a chance to work not only with manifestation, involution, or Efflux, some version of which all Great Traditions possess, but also evolution, emergence, or Reflux, which is found in an evolutionarily workable version in relatively few places, including the Lankavatara Sutra, thus giving Buddhism a truly profound approach to this issue faced by all the Great Traditions: “If Spirit is the only ultimate Reality, then why, and how, did this relative manifest world show up? What’s the actual mechanism of that?” The notion of involution/evolution, Descent/Ascent, Efflux/Reflux in all its various forms, some version of which is found in virtually every Great Tradition, is the attempted answer to that question; and some version of that—such as the Lankavatara Sutra’s—is still viable today whenever that question is sincerely asked.
It’s important to realize that, for Yogachara, it’s not phenomena (or manifest events or the elements of samsara) that cause illusion and suffering, but rather viewing phenomena as objects, viewing them through the subject–object duality. Instead of viewing objects as one with the viewer, they are seen as existing “out there,” separate, isolated, dualistically independent, tearing the wholeness of Reality into two realms—a subject versus objects. This product of the dualistic self-contraction of the manas and the tainted alaya-vijnana converts Reality in its Suchness or Thusness or pure Isness into an illusory, broken, fragmented, dualistic world, attachment to which causes bondage and suffering.
This state of bondage, itself illusory, can be seen through by “a sudden revulsion, turning, or re-turning of the ālaya vijñāna back into its original state of purity [alaya-jnana]….The mind returns to [or is recognized as] its original condition of non-attachment, non-discrimination, and non-duality [pure alaya-jnana]”—in other words, by recognizing the ever-present state of nonduality, or the union of Emptiness and Form.3 Although most Yogacharins insisted that the end state of Emptiness of Madhyamaka is the same as in Yogachara, there is an unmistakably more positive tone to the Yogachara—certainly in the concept of the nature of Mind, but also in how nonduality is conceived. For Madhyamaka, nonduality is virtually an utter blank, at least to the mind’s conceptions, although that blankness is actually seeing Reality exactly as it is, in its Suchness or Thusness, without names, concepts, categories, or prejudices. While Yogachara wouldn’t specifically disagree, it more positively sees Emptiness and nonduality as “the absence of duality between perceiving subject and the perceived object,” which allows for the grand radiance, or luminosity, of Emptiness to be better recognized in the very midst of manifestation. Again, it’s not phenomena that are illusory or suffering inducing, but seeing phenomena as objects, as items set apart from awareness or the subject and existing as independent entities out there. Once they are separated from us, then we can either desire them or fear them, both eventually causing suffering, alienation, and bondage.
Now this slightly more positive view of Emptiness, not to mention its connection to ordinary awareness (as Zen would put it, following the Lankavatara Sutra, “The ordinary mind, just that is the Tao [or ‘the way of Truth’]),” acted to unify Emptiness and Form in an even stronger way than Madhyamaka’s revolutionary nonduality. When Emptiness and Form are truly seen to be one, then Form itself is seen as the radiance and luminosity of Emptiness, and all of reality becomes a rainbow of luminous transparency, whole and complete, free and full, a realm of joy and celebration. The union of Emptiness and Form becomes the union of Emptiness and Luminosity, and playing with radiant luminosity—in the form of our own immediate Presence and brilliant Clarity—becomes a direct, daily occurrence.
All of this had a direct hand in the creation of Tantra (and its close cousin, Vajrayana Buddhism), the real flowering of the Third Great Turning. (As already noted, a few Buddhists, in fact, count Tantra/Vajrayana as a Fourth Turning, although this is not as well known. But if we do so, then of course this volume would be talking about the possibility of a Fifth Turning. But since this is less well known, we’ll stick with the standard Three Turnings as presented here, and then go to discuss a possible Fourth Turning.)
Tantra was especially developed at the great Nalanda University in India from the eighth to the eleventh centuries CE. For Tantra, what Early Buddhism (and most other religions) considered sins, poisons, or defilements were actually—precisely because of the union of Emptiness and Form—the seeds of great transcendental wisdom. The poison of anger, for example, instead of being denied, uprooted, or repressed, as in so many other spiritual approaches, is rather entered directly with nondual Awareness, whereupon it discloses its core wisdom, that of pure brilliant clarity. Passion, when entered and embraced with nondual Awareness, transmutes into universal compassion. And so on.
Thus, in Tantric initiations, it was common to use the “Five M’s”—five items that most religions considered totally sinful (such as alcohol, meat, and sex)—and directly introduce them in the initiation ceremony in order to emphasize that all things, without exception, are ornaments of, and fully one with, Spirit itself.4 This nondual realization applies as well to all of our own “sinful” qualities—all of our feelings, thoughts, and actions, no matter how apparently negative, are at heart nothing other than Godhead or nondual Spirit, and are to be seen and experienced exactly as such.
Where the First Turning was the way of renunciation, denying negative states as part of despised samsara, and the Second Turning was the way of transformation, working on a negative state with wisdom until it converted to a positive transcendental state, the Third Turning and its Tantric correlate was the way not of renunciation or transformation but of transmutation—of looking directly into a negative state of Form in order to directly recognize its already present state of Emptiness or Primordial Wisdom. The motto here is “Bring everything to the Path.” Nothing, absolutely nothing, is taboo; food, alcohol, sex, money—all are to be deeply befriended and lovingly embraced (within, of course, sane limits) as being ornaments of Spirit itself, direct manifestations of the ultimate Divine. There is only Spirit. There is only Tathagatagarbha (womb of Suchness). There is only Svabhavikakaya (Integral Body of Buddha). And all of this is because the sacred and the profane, the infinite and the finite, nirvana and samsara, Emptiness and Form, are not two different, separate, and fragmented realms, but co-arising, mutually existing, complementary aspects of one Whole Reality, equally to be embraced and cherished.
Looking at the nonduality of Emptiness and Form, we can say that Enlightenment “transcends and includes” the entire manifest world. With Emptiness, the entire world is transcended, is let go of, is seen through as a shimmering transparency, is understood to have no separate-self existence at all, is seen as a seamless (not featureless) Whole—and thus we are radically free from the torment and torture of identifying with partial, finite objects and things and events (including a small, finite, fragmented, skin-encapsulated ego), all of which are typically and normally seen as separate and “other.” As the Upanishads put it, “Wherever there is other, there is fear.”5 Samsara is being caught in the hell of others (as Sartre might say). It is identifying with various ornaments of the Divine but without an awareness of the Divine itself—being in a genuine heaven but without a genuine Spirit (Emptiness) anywhere to be found. But recognize Emptiness, and then one’s identity with any particular, separate, isolated thing or event evaporates instantly, leaving an identity, not with the small, separate-self sense, but with the entire world of Form. Since Reality is the union of Emptiness and Form, to discover Emptiness is to be free of any specific or isolated Form, and instead to become one with ALL Form, a radical Fullness that is the Form side of the radical Freedom of Emptiness—with infinite and finite, nirvana and samsara, Emptiness and Form, Freedom and Fullness, all nondual. You no longer look at a mountain, you are the mountain. You no longer hear the rain, you are the rain. You no longer see the clouds float by, you are the clouds floating by. There is no “other” here, because there is no longer anything outside of you that could hurt, harm, or torture you, or that you could crave, lust after, or hungrily grasp. There is simply the entire timeless Now, the ever-present Present, containing the entire manifest world, and you ARE all that. To quote the Upanishads again, Tat Tvam asi—“Thou art That”—where “That” is the divine Wholeness of the entire universe. In Emptiness, radical Freedom; in Form, radical Fullness—and both are “not-two.”
Now, when it comes to the manifest world, where evolution is so prominently on display, Emptiness itself does not evolve. It has no moving parts, and thus nothing to evolve; it is the absence of absence of absence (if anything), and thus, again, nothing concrete to actually evolve. It is not apart from samsara or Form; it is the emptiness (or transparency or “wetness”) of all samsara and Form. A sage who, two thousand years ago, directly realized Emptiness would discover and “possess” the same, identical Freedom as a sage who experienced Emptiness today, even though the world has evolved considerably in the meantime. But when it comes to Form, to the world of Form—well, that is exactly where evolution has occurred. And the world of Form has indeed evolved over the last two thousand years, becoming (as all evolution does) more and more conscious, more complex, more caring, more loving, more creative, and more self-organized, containing higher and higher Wholes (as we will see in more detail).
And thus, more truths have emerged. Two thousand years ago, humanity thought the earth was flat; slavery was taken to be part of the natural, normal state of nature; women were largely treated as second-class citizens, if citizens at all; there was no understanding of, say, brain neurochemistry and neurotransmitters such as dopamine, serotonin, GABA, acetylcholine, nor medical advances that have added an average of forty years to the typical lifespan. Likewise, new psychological and sociological truths have emerged and evolved, advancing considerably our understanding of what it means to be human. The world of Form, in short, has become considerably more complex and Full, and although an experience of Enlightenment—of the unity of Emptiness and Form—is no Freer today than it was two thousand years ago (Emptiness is the same, then and now), it is most definitely Fuller (Form has most definitely increased, grown, and evolved). Evolution itself operates by transcending and including, transcending and including, transcending and including—and thus a human being today transcends and includes most of the fundamental emergent phenomena going all the way back to the Big Bang. Humans today literally contain quarks, atoms, molecules, cells, a photosynthetic Kreb’s cycle, organ systems, neural nets, a reptilian brain stem, a mammalian limbic system, a primate cortex, and—as its own “transcending” addition—a complex neocortex (which contains more possible neural connections than there are stars in the known universe). All of this is “transcended and included” in a human being.
Likewise, across the board with goodness, truth, and beauty. The world today has access to all of the great premodern Wisdom Traditions (and their meditative access to ultimate Truth and Enlightened Awareness) plus all of modernity’s staggering advances in the natural sciences (physics, chemistry, biology, medicine, hygiene—stretching from a cure for polio, to putting a human on the moon, to the invention of radio, television, and computers that now contain more information than the sum total of all human brains) plus all of postmodernity’s sophisticated understanding about the contextual and constructed nature of relative truths, and the central role of perspective in all relative ideas. Shouldn’t the world’s Great Wisdom Traditions keep up with the modern and postmodern additions to our knowledge and understanding? After all, what is it that is evolving in all of this? Why, of course, Spirit! Evolution is simply Spirit-in-action: Brahman, Tao, Buddha-nature, Godhead, Allah, YHWH, the Great Perfection, Ati, the Ground of all Being, One without a Second. Whitehead, we noted, divided Spirit into two dimensions: the “Primordial Nature of God” (timeless and unchanging; for us, Emptiness) and the “Consequent Nature of God” (the sum total of all evolution to date; Form). And while the Primordial Nature of God has not changed one iota from the Big Bang and before, the Consequent Nature of God has grown magnificently and substantially. There are commonly understood truths now that would have simply staggered the premodern mind, from the nature of brain activity (a brain that, as noted, has more neural synaptic connections than there are known stars in the entire universe) to the extraordinary unfoldings of a self-organizing and self-transcending evolution, to the nature of the Big Bang itself in its first nanoseconds. Not to mention the Singularity that is in all likelihood bearing down on us now in technology and will change the world more than any other single change in human history.
Buddhism is a unique spiritual system in many ways, while also sharing some fundamental similarities with the other Great Wisdom Traditions of humankind. But perhaps one its most unique features is its understanding, in some schools, that its own system is evolving or developing. This is generally expressed in the notion of the Three Great Turnings of Buddhism, the three major stages of unfolding that Buddhism has undergone, according to Buddhism itself. The First Turning of the Wheel is Early Buddhism, now generally believed to be represented by the Theravada school and thought to contain the historical Gautama Buddha’s original teachings, which developed in the great Axial period around the sixth century BCE. The Second Turning of the Wheel, represented by the Madhyamaka school, was founded by the genius philosopher-sage Nagarjuna around the second century CE. The Third and final (to date) Great Turning of the Wheel, represented by the Yogachara school, originated in the second century CE but had its period of greatest productivity in the fourth century CE with the brothers Asanga and Vasubandhu. All Three Turnings had profound impacts on every school of Buddhism that came after them.
The Madhyamaka school, although critical of Early Buddhism in many ways, nonetheless transcends and includes many of its foundational teachings, while criticizing those notions it finds partial, limited, or incomplete. And many Yogachara schools attempted to integrate and synthesize all Three Turnings. This was an ongoing, cumulative, synthesizing unfolding, as if Buddhism was plugged into the great evolution of Spirit itself.
In other words, many adherents of Buddhism had a view that Buddhism itself was unfolding, with each new turning adding something new and important to the overall Buddhist teaching itself. My point can now be put simply: many contemporary Buddhist teachers, agreeing with psychologists and sociologists that the world itself, at least in several important ways, is undergoing a global transformation, believe that this transformation will affect also Buddhism, adding to it yet newer and more significant truths, and resulting in yet another unfolding, a Fourth Great Turning, of Buddhism itself. (Some people view the rise of Tantric Buddhism, or occasionally Vajrayana Buddhism, as a Fourth Turning, and from that perspective, we are speaking of a possible Fifth Turning. But generally we will remain with the more common Three Turnings and take it from there.) This Fourth Turning retains all the previous great truths of Buddhism but also adds newer findings from fields as diverse as evolutionary biology and developmental psychology—but only to the extent that they are in fundamental agreement with the foundational tenets of Buddhism itself, simply extending them to some degree, as it were. Known by various names—from evolutionary Buddhism to Integral Buddhism—the Fourth Turning, like all the previous turnings, transcends yet includes its predecessors, adding new material while retaining all the essentials. And what is so remarkable about this development is that it is completely in keeping with this general understanding of itself that Buddhism has grasped—namely, that Buddhadharma (“Buddhist Truth”) is itself unfolding, growing, and evolving, responding to new circumstances and discoveries as it does so. Even the Dalai Lama has said, for example, that Buddhism must keep pace with modern science or it will grow old and obsolete.
A brief glance at Buddhist history will show what is involved. Original Buddhism was founded on such notions as the difference between samsara (the source of suffering) and nirvana (the source of Enlightenment or Awakening); the three marks of samsaric existence; that is dukkha (suffering), anicca (impermanence), and anatta (no-self); and the Four Noble Truths: (1) life as lived in samsara is suffering, (2) the cause of this suffering is craving or grasping, (3) to end craving or grasping is to end suffering, and (4) there is a way to end grasping, namely, the eightfold way—right view, right intention, right speech, right actions, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right unitive awareness.
The ultimate goal of Early Buddhism was to escape samsara—the manifest realm of life, death, rebirth, old age, suffering, and sickness—entirely, by following the eightfold way and attaining nirvana. “Nirvana” means, essentially, formless extinction. The prefix “nir-” means “without,” and “vana” means everything from desire to grasping to lust to craving itself. The overall meaning is “blown out” or “extinguished”—as if a lit candle were handed to you, and you leaned over and blew out the flame. What is extinguished or “blown out”? All the typical marks of samsara itself—including suffering, the angst that comes from craving for permanence, the separate-self sense, or self-contraction (often called “ego”), and its inherent fear, anxiety, and depression. The state of nirvana is sometimes said to be a state similar to deep dreamless sleep, in which, of course, there is no ego, no suffering, no hankering for permanence, no space, no time, no separation—if anything, there is simply the boundless peace or vast equanimity of being liberated from the torture of samsara and its suffering-inducing ways. According to some schools, there is even an end limit, or “extreme” form of nirvana, called nirodh—complete cessation—where neither consciousness nor objects arise at all, and that might be thought of as an infinite formlessness of pure freedom. Be that as it may, the goal is clear: get out of samsara and into nirvana.
According to Buddhist history, Gautama Siddhartha (“Buddha” is not a name but a title, and means “Awakened,” and was added to his name after his Enlightenment) was raised as a prince, with all the princely affluence of palace life, and with a father who protected him closely, so that he wouldn’t be exposed to the typical horrors of everyday life in India at that time. But then one day, Gautama escaped from the palace walls and, in wandering around the surrounding city, saw three sights that severely disturbed him—a very sick person, an old and decrepit person, and a dead person. “These are something my palatial life cannot protect me from,” he thought, and he promptly left the palace and began a six-year search, studying under various holy men, looking for an answer to life’s problems that he had witnessed wandering in his city. But after six years, nothing proved satisfactory, and, exhausted and frustrated, he sat down under the Bodhi tree and vowed not to arise until he had discovered the answer.
Early one morning, glancing at the starry heavens, Gautama had a profound experience. “Aha! I’ve found you! Never again will I be deceived!” he exclaimed, as much with utter joy as complete exhaustion. What did he find? Whatever it was, it converted him from “ignorance” to “Enlightenment.” Different responses as to what he saw and understood have been given by various schools, all of them believable. One was the “twelvefold chain of dependent origination,” a profound understanding of the completely interwoven nature of all reality and the inexorable role of causality in tying them all together—all of which conspire to inevitably cause suffering when driven by grasping. Another was the three marks of existence itself (impermanence, suffering, and selflessness) and the eightfold way to end their hold on the human being. According to Zen, Gautama had a profound satori, a deep awakening experience, awakening to his own true Buddha-nature and his fundamental oneness with the entire Ground of Being (or Dharmakaya), ending his separate-self sense, and with it, suffering. Whatever exactly it was, it did indeed soon become formalized in the three marks of existence, the twelvefold chain, and the eightfold way. Gautama Siddhartha had sat down under the Bodhi tree an ordinary individual and got up from it an Enlightened or Awakened being, a Buddha. When Buddha was asked if he was a God or supernatural being, he replied, “No.” “What was he?” “Awakened,” is all that he replied.
Such was the basic form of Buddhism as practiced for almost eight hundred years—until, that is, Nagarjuna, who began paying attention to this strange duality between samsara and nirvana. For Nagarjuna, this duality tore Reality in half and didn’t produce liberation but subtle illusion. For him, there is no ontological difference between samsara and nirvana. The difference is merely epistemological. That is, Reality looked at through concepts and categories appears as samsara, while the very same Reality looked at free of concepts and categories is nirvana. Samsara and nirvana are thus not-two, or “nondual.” And this caused a major revolution in Buddhist thought and practice.
Gautama Buddha had discovered the “emptiness,” or ultimately illusory nature of, the separate-self sense; but he had not discovered the emptiness—the shunyata—of all of what is usually called “reality” (including not only all subjects, or selves, but all objects, or “dharmas”). Buddhism had just taken its second major Turn in its illustrious history, adding a novel and profound element to its already accepted discoveries.
Nagarjuna relies on the “Two Truths” doctrine—there is relative, or conventional, truth, and there is absolute, or ultimate Truth. Relative truth can be categorized and characterized, and is the basis of disciplines such as science, history, law, and so on. That a molecule of water consists of two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom is a relative truth, for example. But ultimate Truth cannot be categorized at all (including that statement). Any category or quality or characteristic makes sense only in terms of its opposite, but ultimate Reality has no opposite. Based on what is known as the “Four Inexpressibles,” you can’t, according to Nagarjuna, say that ultimate Reality is Being, or not-Being, or both, or neither. You cannot say it is Self (atman), or no-self (anatman or anatta), or both, or neither. You can’t say it’s implicate, or explicate, or both, or neither. You can’t say that it’s immanent in Gaia, or that it transcends Gaia, or both, or neither. You can’t say it’s a timeless Now, or a temporal everlastingness, or both, or neither. And so on for any category or quality. The reason is, as we were saying, that any concept you come up with makes sense only in terms of its opposite (liberated versus bound, infinite versus finite, something versus nothing, implicate versus explicate, pleasure versus pain, free versus limited, temporal versus timeless, good versus evil, true versus false, and so on), yet ultimate Reality has no opposite. As the Upanishads put it, “Brahman [ultimate Reality] is one without a second” and “free of the pairs”—the pairs of opposites, that is—and thus can’t be categorized at all (including that statement, which would also be formally denied). Nagarjuna says, “It is neither void, nor not void, nor both, nor neither, but in order to point it out, it is called the Void.” The Void, shunyata, or Emptiness. It’s a radical “neti, neti”—“not this, not that”—except “neti, neti” is also denied as a characteristic.
Now what this does mean is that Emptiness, or ultimate Reality, is not separate from anything that is arising. (Technically, even that statement would be denied; but we are now talking metaphorically to get across the general gist of Emptiness—because the main point is that although it cannot be said, it can be shown, or directly realized. More on this as we continue.) Not being separate from anything (“not having a second”), it is the Emptiness of everything that is arising. Emptiness isn’t a realm separate from other realms, it is the Emptiness, or Transparency, of all realms. Looked at free from conceptualization or categorization, everything that is arising is Emptiness, or Emptiness is the Reality of each and every thing in the manifest and unmanifest world—it is their very Suchness, their Thusness, their Isness. Looked at through concepts and categories, the universe appears as samsara—as built of radically separate and isolated things and events—and grasping after those things and attachment to them causes suffering because, ultimately, everything eventually falls apart, and thus whatever you’re attached to will sooner or later cause suffering as it falls apart. But looked at with prajna (or jnana)—nonconceptual choiceless awareness—the world of samsara is actually self-liberated nirvana. (In the word jnana, the root “jna,” by the way, in English is “kno,” as in “knowledge,” or “gno,” as in “gnosis.”) Jnana is a nondual, unqualifiable knowledge or timeless Present awareness, the realization of which brings Enlightenment or Awakening. Awakening to what? The radical Freedom or infinite Liberation or radical Luminosity-Love of pure Emptiness, though those terms, again, are at best metaphors.
Since there is no radical separation between samsara and nirvana (samsara and nirvana being “not-two,” or as the Heart Sutra summarizes nonduality, “That which is Emptiness is not other than Form; that which is Form is not other than Emptiness”), liberating Emptiness can be found anywhere in the world of Form—any and all Form is one with Emptiness. It is not a particular state of mind or state of consciousness but the very fabric or “isness” of consciousness itself.
A commonly used metaphor to explain the relationship of Emptiness to Form is the ocean and its waves. Typical, limited, bounded states of consciousness—from looking at a mountain, to experiencing happiness, to feeling fear, to watching a bird in flight, to listening to Mozart’s music—are all partial states and thus separate from each other; they all have a beginning (or are “born”), and they all have an ending (or “die”). They are like the individual waves in the ocean; each starts, has a certain size (from “small,” to “medium,” to “huge”), and eventually ends, and, of course, they are all different from each other.
But Emptiness—the Reality of each moment, its sheer transparent being, its simple “Suchness” or “Thusness” or “Isness”—is like the wetness of the ocean. And no wave is wetter than another. One wave can certainly be bigger than another, but it is not wetter. All waves are equally wet; all waves are equally Emptiness, or equally Spirit, or equally Godhead or Brahman or Tao. And that means that the very nature of this and every moment, just as it is, is pure Spirit—Spirit is not hard to reach but is impossible to avoid! And one wave can last longer than another wave, but it is still not wetter; it has no more Suchness or Thusness than the smallest wave in the entire ocean. And that means that whatever state of mind you have, right here, right now, is equally Enlightened; you can no more attain Enlightenment than you can attain your feet (or a wave can become wet). Enlightenment, and the “Big Mind/Big Heart” that reveals it, is absolutely ever-present Presence; all you have to do is recognize it (about which, more later).
But this being so, one no longer has to retreat to a monastery—away from the world, away from Form, away from samsara—in order to find Liberation. Samsara and nirvana have been joined, united, brought together into a single or nondual Reality. The goal is no longer to become the isolated saint or arhat—looking to get off of samsara entirely—but the socially and environmentally engaged “bodhisattva”—which literally means “being of Enlightened mind”—whose vow is not to get off samsara and retreat into an isolated nirvana, but a promise to fully embrace samsara and vow to gain Enlightenment as quickly as possible so as to help all sentient beings recognize their own deepest spiritual reality or Buddha-nature, and hence Enlightenment.
In one sweep, the two halves of the universe, so to speak—samsara and nirvana, Form and Emptiness—were joined into one, whole, seamless (not featureless) Reality, and Buddhist practitioners were set free to embrace the entire manifest realm of samsara and Form, not to avoid it. The vow of the bodhisattva likewise became paradoxical, reflecting both members of the pairs of opposites, not just one: no longer “There are no others to save (because samsara is illusory),” which is the arhat’s chant, but “There are no others to save, therefore I vow to save them all!”—which reflects the truth of a samsara and nirvana paradoxically joined, no longer torn in two.
The Madhyamaka notion of Emptiness henceforth became the foundation of virtually every Mahayana and Vajrayana school of Buddhism, becoming, as the title of T. R. V. Murti’s book has it, The Central Philosophy of Buddhism (although “philosophy” is perhaps not the best word for a system whose goal is to recognize that which transcends thought entirely).1
One of the most demanding challenges for the historian of any country is to explain the underlying processes of history and national character, what the British historian A. J. P. Taylor referred to as “the profound forces,” that impel a nation along one course rather than another.1 Modern Japan’s history has been particularly difficult to explain and understand. Japan’s international behavior has fluctuated widely and wildly—from isolation to enthusiastic borrowing from foreign cultures, from emperor worship to democracy, from militarism to pacifism. Since the middle of the nineteenth century, when its leaders abruptly ended national isolation and undertook the reorganization of their institutions after the model of the West, Japan has been marked by its pendulum-like swings in national policy. None has been more dramatic than the 180-degree turn from a brutal imperialism to withdrawal from international politics and a sustained drive for commercial prowess after World War II.
Japan’s role as a merchant nation brought astonishing results. Staying on the sidelines of the Cold War, it recovered rapidly from wartime devastation to become the world’s second-ranked economic power. Through its widely envied choice of avoiding the military spending and involvements that encumbered other nations, Japan was able to make the long-term investments in science, education, and technology that would speed its advancement. Japan’s financial markets garnered massive wealth and influence. Its mastery of the skills of organizing a modern industrial society provoked universal admiration as foreign observers grasped for superlatives to describe its achievement. In 1979, a Harvard sociologist ranked Japan simply “number one” in the world. Two years later, a popular French writer regarded it as “a model to all the world.”2
After 1990, however, the nation again surprised the world. Japan abruptly entered into a puzzling period of paralysis; its economic ascent stalled and its government ceased to function as effectively as it once had. Foreign observers were at a loss to explain Japan’s failure to take steps to revive its moribund economy. U.S. policymakers spared no opportunity to advise their slumping ally on the reforms required. The “Japanese economic miracle” was soon eclipsed by the rise of the neighboring colossus. The 1990s became Japan’s “lost decade,” and China’s emergence as an economic giant dimmed the memories of Japan’s achievement.
In retrospect, this period of stagnation may well be seen as a transition time. Early in the new century there are many indications that Japan is on the verge of another sea change in its international orientation. The belligerence of North Korea, the growing rivalry with a newly powerful China, and the uncertainties of an age of terrorism all have awakened Japanese security consciousness. A new generation of Japanese leaders is impatient with the low political profile that came with Japan’s role as a merchant nation. Japan is moving from a period of single-minded pursuit of economic power to a more orthodox international role in which it will be deeply engaged in political-military affairs. After more than half a century of national pacifism and isolationism, the nation is preparing to become a major player in the strategic struggles of the twenty-first century.
These recurrent wide swings in national policy raise persistent questions about the motivations of the Japanese in their national life. What are the common threads that bind together the divergent strategies of modern Japan? Japan’s national purpose and the perceived traits of its national character are subjects of scrutiny among its neighbors and can be sources of distrust. Japan’s imperialist depredations are still fresh in the minds of Chinese and Koreans. Memories of their bitter experience as victims of Japanese expansion are stoked by their rising nationalism. Signs that Japan might be abandoning its postwar pacifism are disturbing and cause for outcry.
For Americans, in contrast, the apparent readiness of Japan to adopt a more active security role is a welcome change and the fulfillment of a goal long pursued. The alliance with Japan, now extending more than half a century, has often frustrated U.S. leaders because it seemed to provide Japan with unfair economic advantage: While the United States provided security guarantees for Japan, Japan pursued economic growth, often in competition with U.S. interests. Preoccupied with the war on terrorism and the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, and at the same time aiming to maintain an effective balance with China, a rising power, the United States now seeks to rework the alliance with Japan to meet new conditions. Drawing Japan into a more active role in its global strategy is a major objective of U.S. policy.
Despite more than a century of alliance experience, American understanding of Japanese character, motivation, and purpose remains shaky. Japanese patterns of behavior have been a source of frequent puzzlement for Americans, whose history has been tightly intertwined with Japan but whose social values and national experience are utterly different. As Henry Kissinger pointed out, Japan’s unique civilization presents the United States with an ally possessing “intangibles of culture that America is ill-prepared to understand fully.”3 What are the driving forces that influence how Japan will act in the international system? Are there recurrent patterns in Japan’s modern experience that will help to explain how its leaders may respond to the emerging environment of world politics? These questions are relevant not only in looking back at Japan’s remarkable history but also in observing contemporary Japan and pondering its future at a critical time of change and uncertainty in Asia and the world. U.S. policymakers have been wrong about—or surprised by—Japan’s behavior many times in the past. As Japan returns to great-power politics and the alliance enters a new and problematic phase, a clear understanding of Japanese character and purpose and its new role takes on renewed importance.
“Yoga is the science of the self. It is a practical science that validates the knowledge that the self of the individual is the self of the universe. When you are one with the Source of existence, you are one with infinite abundance and with the unlimited potential of all manifestation. This jewel of a book will show you how to tap into your inner intelligence, the ultimate and supreme genius that mirrors the wisdom of the cosmos. Cultivate wealth consciousness, and affluence and prosperity will effortlessly flow toward you in all their manifestations.”
— Deepak Chopra, bestselling author of The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success and You Are the Universe
“The Jewel of Abundance will inspire, challenge, and motivate readers to discover and express their innate potential to experience excellence in all aspects of life. Having known Ellen Grace O’Brian for almost four decades, I am pleased to affirm her good character and total commitment to living the principles she so clearly explains.”
— Roy Eugene Davis, founder and director of Center for Spiritual Awareness and author of Paramahansa Yogananda as I Knew Him
“The Jewel of Abundance lays out a well-defined perspective on prosperity, wealth, and abundance. It presents a balanced view that takes into account common human needs and shows us simple ways to find happiness and satisfaction that lie beyond the accumulation of material objects. Ellen Grace O’Brian carefully and simply presents ancient wisdom so that one can easily begin to make the necessary changes to one’s lifestyle. One does not have to be a saint to follow the path of righteousness; one simply has to learn the ways of dharma, kama, and artha and apply them to one’s daily life. The Jewel of Abundance is a very valuable book containing gems of wisdom. It can help the world change its course from the present crisis of materialism to a sustainable lifestyle.”
— Ela Gandhi, peace activist and founder of the Gandhi Development Trust
Gradually, bit by bit, India’s vast and venerable storehouse of knowledge has filtered into the West, informing disciplines from philosophy to psychology to medicine, and transforming how we understand religion and express our spirituality. Each new translation of a sacred or philosophical text, each new guru, each new scholarly article, each new pilgrim to swamis and yoga masters in India, and of course each new interpretive book, like this one, adds to the wealth of Indic resources for novice seekers and veteran yogis alike. The ongoing transmission of Vedic knowledge, now more than two hundred years in the making, penetrates our culture more widely and deeply every day. But while large numbers of Westerners are now familiar with concepts like karma and mind-body technologies like meditation and postural yoga, much of the Vedic treasure trove remains untapped or underappreciated. The four purusharthas — the proper aims of life or objects of pursuit — are among those neglected precepts. With this wise and practical book, Ellen Grace O’Brian admirably fills the gap.
Two of the purusharthas, dharma and moksha, are actually quite well known among yogis, meditators, and students of Eastern philosophy. This is because the purveyors of yogic knowledge have discussed those concepts at length in speech and writing and also because no precise equivalents exist in Western philosophical and religious systems. As a result, with varying degrees of depth and seriousness, seekers have delved into the understanding of dharma, a complex term that boils down to action that supports individual spiritual development and the well-being of the larger community; and of moksha, the liberation of the soul in yogic union with the divine. The other two purusharthas, kama (pleasure) and artha (prosperity, the focus of this book), have received far less attention.
The Indian teachers who journeyed West did not exactly neglect the human drive for material comfort and worldly enjoyment. They did not discourage anyone from enjoying life’s safe, simple pleasures, and as leaders of organizations, they were fully aware of the positive uses of money; they had to pay bills, after all, and raise money to finance their work. More important, their success in reaching Western seekers depended on their ability to adapt and articulate age-old wisdom to the people who came to them for guidance. Paramahansa Yogananda and Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (to cite the twentieth century’s best-known gurus in the West) emphasized that the yogic teachings they espoused had value not only for the rare ascetics but for people with jobs and families. They taught that material comfort is compatible with spiritual development and can actually support it by freeing one’s time and energy for spiritual pursuits. They also taught that the reverse is true: Yogic methods that expand consciousness and open the heart can enhance the kind of thinking, acting, and relating that supports material success.
Yogacharya O’Brian is in that lineage, both literally (Yogananda was the guru of her guru, Roy Eugene Davis) and because her perspective accords with the inner/outer, spiritual/material complementarity advocated by the yogic missionaries. Her interpretation of artha, the aim of life addressed in this book, is consistent with that of the gurus who directed their teachings to householders.
This book is commendable for many reasons, among them its unfailingly practical orientation and its lucid explanation of yogic concepts that are often rendered in obtuse prose. Also, O’Brian understands that the purusharthas are connected, intertwined, and mutually reinforcing. As with the legs of a table, when you move one, the others also move. Hence, when pursued correctly, growth in one of the four aims of life enhances growth in the others. In the case of artha, properly obtained prosperity enhances pleasure, the fulfillment of dharma, and progress toward moksha — and, similarly, growth in any of the other three can enhance one’s chances of becoming more prosperous.
Equally admirable is the author’s treatment of prosperity as something more than financial success and material comfort. In her view, spiritual abundance is part and parcel of the proper definition of artha. She recognizes that abundance acquired in the absence of spiritual growth is relatively empty and unfulfilling — and, she contends, ambitious seekers of wealth are advised not to ignore their inner lives, for doing so can actually be detrimental to their material goals.
If you think this sounds as though Yogacharya O’Brian is echoing the many voices that have, for years, urged Americans to find a balance between work and home, or career advancement and personal happiness, you are only partially correct. Her yogic perspective extends beyond ordinary happiness and mental health, pointing the reader to the highest levels of human development and encouraging action that serves the larger society as well as personal goals — not in addition to material success but as integral to the very definition of prosperity.
By presenting this elevated vision of life balance and human aspiration, The Jewel of Abundance is a useful antidote to the hyper-materialism that poisons modern life. And for those who seek the fulfillment of both their souls and their material desires, the book is a wellspring of inspiration and intelligent guidance.
— Philip Goldberg, author of The Life of Yogananda: The Story of the Yogi Who Became the First Modern Guru and American Veda: From Emerson and the Beatles to Yoga and Meditation, How Indian Spirituality Changed the West
We are born to thrive. If we look, we can see this — everything in nature, including us, is geared toward the growth and fulfillment of its purpose. The sapling Red Delicious apple tree in the garden stretches toward the sun, and given the right conditions, it blossoms and bears sweet fruit. How we delight to witness that same impetus of blossoming growth in a baby! We applaud as she first lifts her head, then rocks on all fours and crawls forth to pursue adventure and taste the world. What next? She stands up, speaks, falls down, gets up, and runs off to school with the innate imperative to thrive that is her birthright.
The inclination to thrive, prosper, and fulfill our potential is the natural impulse of our divine capacity as spiritual beings. The same energy that gives birth to stars in the cosmos inspires music, literature, architecture, medicine, dance, technology — any and all forms of creative expression and manifestation. That energy is unlimited; it pervades all of nature, relentlessly encouraging all of life to realize its full potential: Thrive! it implores. It whispers in our dreams and stirs our imagination with its evolutionary call: Prosper! Live your full life; do what you came here to do. Follow the impulse to prosper and become all that you truly are in your fullness.
As a child, do you remember being asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Even as a young girl in the 1950s and 1960s, when career options were more restricted for women, I thought about what I might do when I got older. I dreamed of who I might become. But like many young people even today, I didn’t have a context for my dreams. I was not aware of a structure other than cultural expectations that could illumine the path ahead. Over the years, I’ve heard many spiritual seekers share a similar story. They often say something like, “Wouldn’t it be great if life came with an instruction manual?”
That seemingly missing instruction manual can be found in ancient Vedic how-to-live teachings for seekers of all ages. One of the most important instructions we find there is what is called purushartha — the four universal goals of human life. This sublime and practical guidance is one of the precious jewels of Sanatana Dharma. Also known as the Eternal Way, Sanatana Dharma is the traditional name for the Vedic philosophical principles and spiritual practices that became known as Hinduism. Based on our individual connection to cosmic order, this comprehensive approach to spiritually conscious living is for all people and for all time.
The literal meaning of the Sanskrit term purushartha is “for the purpose of the soul.”1 That’s it! What we do in life — our dreams, our aims, our goals, and our accomplishments — are to serve the soul, to support our spiritual destiny.
Pursuit of the four aims of life contributes to living with balance, integrity, and joy. When rightly understood and used as a guidepost, the four goals help us develop on all levels. We become both spiritually aware and worldly wise.
The first goal is dharma, which encompasses realizing our higher purpose and fulfilling our destiny in this lifetime. The word dharma is rich with meaning: the way of righteousness, purpose, duty, support, law, or a goal of life. Dharma is the fundamental law of life, the underlying cosmic order. Literally, it means “what holds together.” Consider this “holding together” as the connection between divine order and our individual lives and destiny. Our lives are intertwined with the cosmic order. An intelligent, enlivening power is nurturing our universe and we can learn to cooperate with it.2 Each of us has a purpose, a place, a duty, and a divine destiny.
The overarching dharma or universal purpose of life is to awaken to our essential spiritual nature. Waking up spiritually is Self-realization and God-realization — realizing the truth of our being and having knowledge and direct insight into Ultimate Reality. When we wake up, we can live in harmony with divine order, actualize our innate potential, and make a positive contribution to life. Beyond all else we are inspired to do, it is this highest priority that promises lasting fulfillment. Dharma is our north star. But dharma does not shine alone — its brilliance is set off by the three other life goals that surround it.
The second goal, artha, or prosperity, is the primary focus of this book. The aim of artha is to prosper in every way — to develop the consciousness and the skills to attract whatever is needed to fulfill our dharma or higher purpose. In this context, prosperity is understood as a spiritual goal — not for its own sake, but for the sake of the soul. It provides the means to live fully and freely. When prosperity is equated with material wealth attained for its own sake, the word prosperity loses its deep meaning. True prosperity is experienced in a spiritual context. Because this truth is frequently missed, the words prosperity and wealth are often narrowly defined or understood at the level of material accomplishment alone. But as you work through the teachings of this book with me, you’ll see that these words can rightly be applied and understood in the highest way as spiritual goals. And that makes all the difference.
The third goal is kama, which is pleasure or enjoyment. This, too, is for the sake of the soul. Our inclination to seek pleasure springs from the simple joy of being alive and is linked to our higher quest for ananda, the soul’s bliss. It doesn’t take that long to realize that playing with pleasure is playing with fire; pleasure and pain are linked. To effectively embrace pleasure as one of life’s essential goals without getting burned by it, we need to understand it. And we can. This requires discerning what enhances our joy and what depletes it. Ultimately, this life aim points us in the direction of the soul’s bliss, where our search for unending joy can be realized. Life is meant to be lived fully and enjoyed.
The fourth goal is moksha. Moksha is the absolute freedom that blossoms from enlightenment. It is the liberation of consciousness from the errors of perception that cause identification with our small, personal self. It is the realization of our true, divine Self that makes it possible to live spontaneously, freely, and joyfully in the world. The first three aims are oriented toward this one. Live with purpose. Prosper. Enjoy life. Set your sights on freedom. Living with higher purpose, doing what is ours to do, thriving, enjoying life — all are meant to point us in the direction of ultimate fulfillment and freedom. Jesus highlighted this so well with the question, “What does it profit us to gain the entire world if we lose our soul?” Or, as Paramahansa Yogananda encouraged, “Why not live in the highest way?”3
Artha and kama, the goals to thrive and enjoy life, are supported, clarified, and constrained by dharma — purpose and duty — and moksha — the liberation of consciousness. Seen in this way, we live both a full and a balanced life. Too much spiritual striving, as if fulfillment is found at the end, neglects the aim of kama — to live joyfully now. Without the illumination of higher purpose, unbounded pursuit of either pleasure or wealth ultimately leads to a life of distraction and pain.
These four universal life goals offer a context for our life, the guiding light we yearn for. Our desire for a meaningful life is even greater than our desire for happiness. It’s universal. No matter what our culture, ethnicity, gender, religion, spiritual path, or the particular time we live in — we are here to awaken and fulfill our potential. It’s the soul’s journey from the darkness of ignorance to the light of Self-realization, from confusion about who we are and what our purpose is to clarity and self-actualization.
Once we recognize the primary dharmic goal to awaken, we can see that our life is perfectly arranged to support us in doing just that. Not only that, we discover lasting fulfillment along the way as conscious partners in a world awakening to its potential. From the dark ages to the technological advances of today, we are ready for the greatest evolutionary jump the world has ever known — the awakening of our hearts and our minds to the unity of all life. Awakening, prospering, and fulfilling our potential is inextricably tied to the well-being of all. What we do matters. We are powerful agents, not only of personal prosperity, but of essential social change and planetary healing, so that all may prosper.
How do we do it? We wake up. We realize who we are as spiritual beings in a spiritual universe, joyously and inescapably connected in the one divine Ultimate Reality expressing itself as all that is. We grow up. We free ourselves from the shackles of blame and welcome responsibility for our life. We mature beyond the adolescent egocentric level of consciousness that fosters greed, the disease at the root of both personal and planetary malaise. And we show up. We discover how to prosper — how to realize our potential and bring forth our profound offering to life.
Gradually, bit by bit, India’s vast and venerable storehouse of knowledge has filtered into the West, informing disciplines from philosophy to psychology to medicine, and transforming how we understand religion and express our spirituality. Each new translation of a sacred or philosophical text, each new guru, each new scholarly article, each new pilgrim to swamis and yoga masters in India, and of course each new interpretive book, like this one, adds to the wealth of Indic resources for novice seekers and veteran yogis alike. The ongoing transmission of Vedic knowledge, now more than two hundred years in the making, penetrates our culture more widely and deeply every day. But while large numbers of Westerners are now familiar with concepts like karma and mind-body technologies like meditation and postural yoga, much of the Vedic treasure trove remains untapped or underappreciated. The four purusharthas — the proper aims of life or objects of pursuit — are among those neglected precepts. With this wise and practical book, Ellen Grace O’Brian admirably fills the gap.
Two of the purusharthas, dharma and moksha, are actually quite well known among yogis, meditators, and students of Eastern philosophy. This is because the purveyors of yogic knowledge have discussed those concepts at length in speech and writing and also because no precise equivalents exist in Western philosophical and religious systems. As a result, with varying degrees of depth and seriousness, seekers have delved into the understanding of dharma, a complex term that boils down to action that supports individual spiritual development and the well-being of the larger community; and of moksha, the liberation of the soul in yogic union with the divine. The other two purusharthas, kama (pleasure) and artha (prosperity, the focus of this book), have received far less attention.
The Indian teachers who journeyed West did not exactly neglect the human drive for material comfort and worldly enjoyment. They did not discourage anyone from enjoying life’s safe, simple pleasures, and as leaders of organizations, they were fully aware of the positive uses of money; they had to pay bills, after all, and raise money to finance their work. More important, their success in reaching Western seekers depended on their ability to adapt and articulate age-old wisdom to the people who came to them for guidance. Paramahansa Yogananda and Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (to cite the twentieth century’s best-known gurus in the West) emphasized that the yogic teachings they espoused had value not only for the rare ascetics but for people with jobs and families. They taught that material comfort is compatible with spiritual development and can actually support it by freeing one’s time and energy for spiritual pursuits. They also taught that the reverse is true: Yogic methods that expand consciousness and open the heart can enhance the kind of thinking, acting, and relating that supports material success.
Yogacharya O’Brian is in that lineage, both literally (Yogananda was the guru of her guru, Roy Eugene Davis) and because her perspective accords with the inner/outer, spiritual/material complementarity advocated by the yogic missionaries. Her interpretation of artha, the aim of life addressed in this book, is consistent with that of the gurus who directed their teachings to householders.
This book is commendable for many reasons, among them its unfailingly practical orientation and its lucid explanation of yogic concepts that are often rendered in obtuse prose. Also, O’Brian understands that the purusharthas are connected, intertwined, and mutually reinforcing. As with the legs of a table, when you move one, the others also move. Hence, when pursued correctly, growth in one of the four aims of life enhances growth in the others. In the case of artha, properly obtained prosperity enhances pleasure, the fulfillment of dharma, and progress toward moksha — and, similarly, growth in any of the other three can enhance one’s chances of becoming more prosperous.
Equally admirable is the author’s treatment of prosperity as something more than financial success and material comfort. In her view, spiritual abundance is part and parcel of the proper definition of artha. She recognizes that abundance acquired in the absence of spiritual growth is relatively empty and unfulfilling — and, she contends, ambitious seekers of wealth are advised not to ignore their inner lives, for doing so can actually be detrimental to their material goals.
If you think this sounds as though Yogacharya O’Brian is echoing the many voices that have, for years, urged Americans to find a balance between work and home, or career advancement and personal happiness, you are only partially correct. Her yogic perspective extends beyond ordinary happiness and mental health, pointing the reader to the highest levels of human development and encouraging action that serves the larger society as well as personal goals — not in addition to material success but as integral to the very definition of prosperity.
By presenting this elevated vision of life balance and human aspiration, The Jewel of Abundance is a useful antidote to the hyper-materialism that poisons modern life. And for those who seek the fulfillment of both their souls and their material desires, the book is a wellspring of inspiration and intelligent guidance.
— Philip Goldberg, author of The Life of Yogananda: The Story of the Yogi Who Became the First Modern Guru and American Veda: From Emerson and the Beatles to Yoga and Meditation, How Indian Spirituality Changed the West
We know what fear and hatred and bigotry would do. The question of our time is, what would love do? My book A POLITICS OF LOVE is a handbook for a new American revolution.
I believe that @MarWilliamson is a fresh, dynamic presence on the political stage and represents our deepest yearnings for a leader with authenticity, integrity, responsibility and the highest calling to serve. ❤️
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