By Jed McKenna

Being critical of Buddhism isn't easy.

Buddhism is most likable of major religions, and Buddhists are perennial good guys of modern spirituality. Beautiful traditions, lovely architecture, inspiring statuary, ancient history, Dalai Lama — what's not to like?

Everything about Buddhsim is just so... nice. No fatwahs or jihads, no inquisitions or crusades, no terrorists or pederasts, just nice people being nice. In fact, Buddhism means niceness. Nice-ism.

At least, it should.

Buddha means Awakened One, so Buddhism can be taken to mean Awake-ism. Awakism. It would therefore be natural to think that if you were looking to wake up, then Buddhism, i.e., Awakism, would be place to look.

::: The Light is Better Over Here

Such thinking, however, would reveal a dangerous lack of respect for opposition. Maya, goddess of delusion, has been doing her job with supreme mastery since first spark of self-awareness flickered in some chimp's noggin, and idea that neophyte truth-seeker can just sign up with Buddhists, read some books, embrace some new concepts and slam her to mat might be a bit on naive side.

On other hand, why not? How’d this get so turned around? It’s just truth. Shouldn’t truth be, like, simplest thing? Shouldn’t someone who wants to find something as ubiquitous as truth be able to do so? And here’s this venerable organization supposedly dedicated to just that very thing, even named for it, so what’s problem?

::: Why doesn’t Buddhism produce Buddhas?

The problem arises from fact that Buddhists, like everyone else, insist on reconciling irreconcilable. They don’t just want to awaken to true, they also want to make sense of untrue. They want to have their cake and eat it too, so they end up with nonsensical theories, divergent schools, sagacious doubletalk, and zero Buddhas.

Typical of Buddhist insistence on reconciling irreconcilable is concept of Two Truths, a poignant two-word joke they don’t seem to get, and yet this sort of perversely irrational thinking is at very heart of failed search for truth. We don’t want truth, we want a particular truth; one that doesn't threaten ego, one that doesn’t exist. We insist on a truth that makes sense given what we know, not knowing that we don't know anything.

Nothing about Buddhism is more revealing than Four Noble Truths which, not being true, are of pretty dubious nobility. They form basis of Buddhism, so it's clear from outset that Buddhists have whipped up a proprietary version of truth shaped more by market forces than any particular concern for less consumer-friendly, albeit true, truth.

By Jed McKenna

"No man is a prophet in his own country."

That line keeps running through my mind as I sit over lunch with my sister who I haven't seen in several years. These days I'm enlightened guy, but to her I'm just bratty kid who couldn't make eye contact when she wore a bikini.

It's summer '01 and we're having lunch in lower Manhattan. She read a preview copy of Damnedest and has had a few months to digest it. It was very nice of her to read it because it's really not her kind of thing. She's a good citizen; a successful executive, wife, mother, Republican, tennis nut, Christian-ish, and all-round productive member of society. (She once told me she was raising her children to be productive members of society and I winced so hard I almost chipped a tooth.) She's a wonderful person, but not a member of demographic book speaks to.

There's a plate of chilled pasta in front of me and a salad in front of her. We're both drinking iced tea. She's runs creative side of a medium-sized ad agency and, I have no doubt, she's very good at it. She's taking time out of a busy schedule to have lunch with me. After this, I'm going to park to lay in grass and watch people play with their dogs.

Visiting your sister and having lunch shouldn't be a confusing ordeal, but it is. Is she really my sister? What does that mean? We share some history and acquaintances, such as childhood and parents. Are my parents really my parents? Genetically they are related to my body, but person who lived my childhood is no longer here. The past I share with this person is about as real and important to me as if I'd read it in a brochure.

The problem is that these people, my family, are all related to my shell, and I'm not. They're looking at outer Jed McKenna and assuming an inner Jed McKenna. I'm inside Jed McKenna looking out and I can't really remember what he's supposed to do or say. It's all fakery. I'm an actor playing a role with for which I feel no connection and have no motivation. There cannot be anything genuine in my dealings with people who are dealing with my outer garment. (The whole thing is further entangled by fact that there's no "I" inhabiting my shell, just a fading echo, but let's not go down that road just now.)

Actually, it's not really confusing. I possess not least shred of doubt about who and what I am. The tricky thing is that who and what I am is not related to this pretty, professional, salad-eating woman across from me. By coming to this lunch I have inserted myself into a situation where I do not belong. I am an imposter. I have some residual fondness for my sister and if she died I'd be saddened to think that she was no longer in world, but simple fact is that our former relationship no longer exists.

Okay, so why am I telling you this?

Because that's what I do. I try to hold this enlightenment thing up for display and this seems like an interesting aspect of whole deal. How do you relate to people who were most important to you before awakening from dream of segregated self?

She asks why I'm in town.

"My astrologers told me it was a good time to get away and not try to accomplish anything. They said that ketu and rahu wouldn't be letting me get anything done for awhile anyway..."

I look up and see that she has stopped chewing in mid-mouthful and is staring at me incredulously.

"What?"

"My astrologers..."

"You're not serious. You have astrologers?"

Oh yeah. I guess that sounds weird. I was vaguely aware that I was trying to be funny by starting a sentence with "My astrologers told me..." but what's a little amusing to me is other-worldly to her. Might as well have fun with it.

"I have dozens of astrologers. I can't swing a dead cat without hitting someone who's doing my chart or explaining how my future will unfold; advising me on pretty much everything."

Her expression doesn't change. "You have astrologers?"

"Lots. Gotta beat 'em off with a stick."

"And they tell you... They tell you what future holds? What you should do? When you should do it? What you should avoid? Is that what we're talking about?"

"I suppose."

She resumes chewing but wide-eyed gaze remains. There's a chasm in this conversation across which there's no point trying to communicate. She knows I'm into some serious weirdness, but not how much or what kind. I don't really have astrologers, of course, but in those days it did seem like I was surrounded by students of Eastern and Western astrology who were always very eager to share their readings.

"What do you do with all that information?"