Fetters
It
sounds like cheese, but it isn’t. So, what is a fetter? They are
typically defined as intrapsychic phenomena. Intra- indicates internal,
psychic refers to psychological processes. Fetters then refer to
structures that are embedded within the mental and emotional faculties
of an individual. Another way to consider them is as binding elements
that bind us to the cyclical nature of habitual states of being and
experiencing. Phenomenologically, it might be better to define them as
psycho-emotional patterns embedded, or centred, around a phantom-I
supported by fictional narratives. In either case, they are expressed
through habitual behaviour, thought patterns, feelings, beliefs and
assumptions both visible and buried, hidden under layers of conditioned
senses. There is of course a clear relationship between our inner
me-making and the social norms that affirm the I as existing and that
support its maintenance.
Our
whole social reality is based on creating subjects, consistent persons
that interact through reliable identities that are shaped from birth to
adulthood. One of the limits of Buddhism is that it fails to appreciate
the collective dimension of me-making and therefore is likely unable to
provide sufficient means for breaking through our embeddedness in the
collective me-making of our society, culture, generation, historical
phase, etc. Because it inadequately performs in the collective me-making
field, it can only watch passively, or offer a Buddhist identity as an
alternative means for navigating such terrain. Both are insufficient.
This probably helps to explain why those genuinely invested in
self-knowledge often end up in therapy, or simply leave Buddhism behind.
The
self can be understood as a story that we tell ourselves: we refine,
change trivial elements but basically maintain what is familiar. Since
we do not really have a single accurate definition of what mind is and
considering that Buddhist definitions are both contradictory and at
times clearly wrong, it is hard, at least for me, to define these
fetters as truths that exist within the structure of the brain, or
within consciousness. At this point recourse to a phenomenological
exploration of these fetters and how they might be experienced by an
average individual is the most logical option if we want to take this
model into consideration, because ontological arguments will likely lead
us in the wrong direction as far as the purpose of this essay is
concerned. A map is a map after all, it is not the geographical features
it attempts to record. I shall take Bas Van Fraassen’s
conclusions regarding Constructive Empiricism and take the Four Path
stages as the most workable option I have for now for attempting to get
at the thing, rather than an accurate representation of the truth of the
stages of the path. Taking a phenomenological approach, the question
that arises is how do these phenomena get experienced by a person and
how do we define those experiences in human terms?
First Stage: stream entry
Taking
nirvana as implying freedom from, the four stages can be defined in
terms of what we progressively get free of. The three fetters are given
as the following at the first stage;
1. Identity view/self-identity (seeing through the self-making compulsion)
2. Sceptical
doubt (specifically regarding; the truth of non-self, impermanence and
its implications, the root causes of the suffering-self)
3. Clinging
to rites and rituals (gaining sobriety on the nature of external form
& its relationship to actual, direct experience/addressing
dissonance) + (losing enamoredness for solely symbolic forms, or the
stabilisers of identity)
The
first fetter is concerned with how we actively view the self, or the I.
We might simply state that the first fetter involves the illusion of a
fixed and permanent self-existing I that is apart from the world,
connected yes, but separate somehow. Gaining freedom from this fetter
then would imply that we free ourselves of this illusion and begin to
see how the self as we thought it to exist is empty of any solid, fixed
features: it is basically hollow. As an intrapsychic phenomenon, that is
as a psycho-emotional structure, gaining freedom from this fetter
would imply more than mere visual perception. We recognise ourselves as
embodied through our senses and through our thoughts. Phenomenologically
speaking it needs to be experienced in the body and through tangible
sensations and not only understood intellectually, so that awakening
from the illusion of a solid, separate self and perception into its
mechanisms of support comes about through a unification of the sense
fields, otherwise known as synaesthesia. It is as if we need to be
convinced in as complete a sense as possible so that mere perception is
insufficient. This fetter is really the most important of all. Not only
does it represent the key Buddhist insight, but it opens the possibility
of us viewing others, experience and phenomena as also being devoid of a
permanent fixed self or nature. It is funny really, because this in
itself is not such a big deal. We know objectively through the sciences,
but also through western philosophy dating back to Hume that nothing is
fixed and eternal. To know it firsthand and to experience it override
the delusion of an atomistic I pushes against so much of what
constitutes our sense of self that it is easier said than done though.
That does not mean it is not possible however, or something that needs
to be relegated to future lifetimes or decades from now.
The
second fetter regards sceptical doubt. Typically this is worded as
sceptical doubt regarding Buddhist teachings. Now, shorn of Buddhism as a
social construct, how does such a thing exist and dissolve for a person
who is not a Buddhist. That is to say if a non-Buddhist gains freedom
from this fetter, how does he or she experience it and know it to be so?
If sceptical doubt traditionally refers to the Buddha’s teachings,
which teachings should we assume are confirmed by this process? Do we
include moral injunctions to avoid oral sex for example? A crude example
I admit, but the point should be clear, doubt in this case has to be
towards phenomena that are not restricted to Buddhism. Sceptical doubt
then ought only to refer to phenomena that are directly visible and
knowable in the world we inhabit. Direct insight into impermanence, the
absence of separate selves, the nature of the suffering-self/selves and
the need for some form of ethical behaviour if we are to avoid creating
unnecessary suffering are the best candidates and none are the property,
real of otherwise, of Buddhism.
The
third fetter is the most unusual, that is to say it clearly relates to
forms of behaviour and belief and in its wording appears to imply
religious or spiritual activity. I have always found this an odd
occurrence to take place at the initial stage of awakening. Buddhism is
abound with both rites and rituals so my initial thought was why would
this be the case. In attempting to tease this model from the hands of
Buddhism, I began to think about it differently. If the self is a
narrative that is sustained by habits, both in feelings, actions,
thoughts and ideas, then what we have immediately is a sense of how to
proceed. We are by nature ritual creatures, and rites might be
redefined, not as exclusively religious or spiritual behaviour, but as
the acts that we carry out to affirm the feelings, conclusions,
sensations, thoughts and beliefs that make up the scaffolding that
surrounds the phantom-self. We engage in rituals collectively too that
have the same function of maintaining agreed upon ideas regarding
identity and the range of experiences we can have, emotions we can feel,
thoughts we can explore. We might not define them in such terms but any
sociologist will tell you that society and relationships are
ritualistic by nature. Seeing through such forms may actually then lend
itself to a radical liberation from the ideological prisons that make up
our self-structure, absorbed and adopted from the society, familial
circumstances and education that we were moulded by. I don’t know about
you, but that starts to sound a lot more interesting, and a lot more
radical and potentially game changing than talk of how many lifetimes
are left before the samsaric prison break.
Stream
entry as metaphor may then be understood in a new light. The stream may
actually be thought of as the continuous and uninterrupted flow of
being. What takes place within that is a continuous meeting between the
infinite (emptiness, meaninglessness if you prefer) and our limited
concept juggling conventional-self. Phenomenologically we may experience
a flow of ever widening perception into the illusion of the self and
the selves and be met with, for want of a better term, the
remarkableness of being. What emerges is increasing room to respond
creatively to ongoing circumstances and an openness and curiosity to
boot. This becomes possible once we discard the suffocating nature of
self-obsession and the compulsion of atomistic self-referential
behaviour. Along with this there is an immense reduction in the types of
suffering categorised under the term dukkha and this brings us into line with the main promise of Buddhism.
Stage Two: once returner
At
the second stage new fetters are not dissolved, but the individual
makes a breakthrough in weakening their relationship to desire and ill
will, the next two fetters on the list, which are definitively discarded
at the third stage. It should come as no surprise that both desire – to
be defined below – and ill will might require considerable effort to
address as they are representative of the underlying forces of
attraction and repulsion which drive all impulsive behaviour.
The
name of this stage indicates that an individual here will be born just
once more. If we are to deny the possibility of interpreting this model
in terms of reincarnation, then not only do we have to leave aside talk
of how many lives are required before we reach the final lap, but we
also have, more importantly, to get at what this all means within a view
in which we are confined to this earth for the rest of our days with no
promise of heavenly realms to come after. That is not to say that they
might not exist, but rather that, returning to Van Fraassesn’s insights
into models and truth, we actually do not know what will be discovered
at a later date and rather than hold out and hope that talk of heavenly
happy after is real, we should really focus our attention on what we can
know and that alas always brings us back to this life, this earth and
the limits and wonders of both. The implication is then that we do
actually have to participate in this life, this world, this moment in
history. We cannot stand on the fence. Not only does this free us up
from concerning ourselves with what comes next, it acts as a motivator
for participating in the events we have in front of us instead of
indulging in dreams of eventual escape. This world of matter and
material and the social reality in which we exist actually has immense
need of us and a full commitment to this world is often lacking amongst
those who invest in the idea of impending salvation, or a better
afterlife. Participation does not imply all pervasive mindfulness of the
kind encouraged by Thich Nhat Hanh either, where immense devotion to
washing dishes, changing bed sheets and drinking tea is basically
construed as the primary practice of a good Buddhist. To cease to be
distracted, to be lost in day dreams and wishful thinking is of course a
prerequisite to attentive engagement with the world, but often it stops
there and present state awareness is reified and romanticised when
really it ought to be considered as simply providing the basis for
meaningful engagement and acts.
The
one Buddhist truth that is consequential outside of our personal sphere
of existence is suffering. If we care enough to participate in this
world, then addressing the causes of suffering is a must; a moral
obligation not driven by external ethical demands, but by the
acknowledgement that there is nowhere else to go and that we are
literally all in this together. If we take dukkha as that umbrella term
for suffering, dissatisfaction, confusion, incompleteness, separation
then we can have a sense of how we might help individuals, but we can
also, hopefully, realise that these expressions of suffering are not
separate from the wider social factors that give rise to them and that
action is required in order to make a difference. Once we recognise that
there is no elsewhere to go, then showing up has to become the basis of
what it means to engage in both meditative techniques and the ongoing
refinement of our relationships with others and the physical spaces we
inhabit and that to reduce suffering in the world will require us to get
our hands dirty.
Participation
is ideally driven by the consequences of embracing the truth of
impending death and of the uncertainty of when it will occur. Now, in
traditional Buddhist literature meditating on death is often aimed at
developing an appreciation of the preciousness of this life, and the
need to practice diligently due to the rare occasion that a person is
born in human form. In Tibetan Buddhism, it is often expressed as a
panic of sorts: practice, or you will end up being born in a hell realm,
or as a slug next time round! Appreciation is a thoroughly useful
sentiment, but these other commands are antiquated at best and rather
theatrical. A consequence that is perhaps more immediate on a daily
level is that grasping the real significance of the uncertainty and
reality of death robs us of the adolescent delusion that we will live
forever and leads us to appreciate that this day counts, this
experience, this still moving moment counts. Again, this does not means
we have to become obsessed with living each moment fully a la Thich Nhat
Han, which comes across as solipsistic. Instead it forces us to be
vigilant to any tendency to drift off and not participate in the days
and events of our lives, and to move beyond the paranoia that may
initially be inspired by deeply considering death, to conceiving of this
state of affairs as fact: after romance, hopefully comes sobriety.
Please
note, I am deliberately using the term moving with moment, hopefully
for obvious reasons. The idea of ‘this moment’ and the ‘here-and-now’
are in part deluded and likely contribute to the false notion that the
present moment is fixed somewhere and the here-and-now can be grasped
at. These concepts only make sense if they become dynamic and capture
the real sense of a moving inhabited reality that is in constant flux.
The present moment may actually be a distorting concept because the
moment is nowhere out there. This may be obvious to many of you, but to
others such pop dharma phrases may give the impression that stillness is
to be sought somewhere, and that refuge from external movement and
chaos is the goal. The present is really only an applied label that
works to contain a given experiential possibility. The present is
constant, not fixed and is certainly not frozen time. As we
compartmentalise ourselves and our relationships, so we compartmentalise
days, hours, minutes and experiences into sections. Constant flux,
shift and change, both subtle and gross are the norm and our ability to
be awake to our circumstances is in part based on our ability to
appreciate this and further our commitment to deconstructing such
compartmentalising tendencies in every arena, including meditation
practice.
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