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UNCONSCIOUS BELIEFS IN BUDDHIST
PHILOSOPHY: A COMPARATIVE
PERSPECTIVE
David Burton
The notion that our minds have unconscious depths has become commonplace
due to the popularity of psychoanalytic and related therapeutic techniques.
Our conscious minds—that is, those mental processes of which we are aware—are
just the tip of the iceberg, as the clich´ , says. Most mental activity occurs below
the surface, as it were, inaccessible to and often concealed from consciousness.
The two great early-twentieth-century theorists of the unconscious, Sigmund
Freud and Carl Jung, are largely responsible for its wide acceptance in our culture
today. According to Freud, the unconscious is primarily the repository of repressed
impulses, especially those of a sexual nature, that are considered to be socially
unacceptable. Michael Palmer (1997, 94 – 5) remarks that, in Freud’s view, ‘the
unconscious is, as it were, the underside of consciousness: it is that extensive and
dynamic field of mental life in which repose ideas and memories censored from
the conscious mind through the powerful mechanisms of repression.’ And Jung
(1953, 66) writes that the unconscious consists of ‘lost memories, painful ideas that
are repressed on purpose (i.e., forgotten on purpose), subliminal perceptions, by
which are meant sense-perceptions that were not strong enough to reach
consciousness, and finally, contents that are not yet ripe for consciousness.’
Moreover, for Jung, the mind contains a deeper, shared level—that is,
the collective unconscious—which consists of archetypes, such as the animus,
the anima, the hero, the divine mother, and so forth, psychic patterns or
predispositions supposedly common to all human beings. As Palmer (1997, 100)
writes, ‘the collective unconscious represents the impersonal and transpersonal
foundation of the psyche, undergirding both consciousness and the personal
unconscious.’ According to Jung, the symbolism and myths of religion, as well as
the artistic and literary imagination, draw on and give expression to these
archetypes that, Jung claims, occur trans-culturally as the common psychic
bedrock of the human mind.
There have, of course, been many criticisms of Freud and Jung’s theories.
Nevertheless, they are indisputably of huge impor‘tance as popularisers and
Contemporary Buddhism, Vol. 6, No. 2, November 2005
ISSN 1463-9947 print/1476-7953 online/05/020117-130
q 2005 Taylor & Francis DOI: 10.1080/14639940500435620
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118 D. BURTON
systematisers of the notion of the unconscious mind. However, as significant as
Freud and Jung’s contributions are, it seems clear that thinkers from various
cultures have long been aware that the mind has unplumbed depths. One need
look no further than Plato, with his theory that knowledge is recollection of what
one already knows (i.e., the eternal, immutable Forms), which needs to be
retrieved from the hidden recesses of memory, to find evidence of an inchoate
notion of the unconscious mind at the root of the Western philosophical tradition.
And when Achilles declares in Troilus and Cressida (III, iii, 308 – 9) that ‘my mind
is troubled, like a fountain stirr’d; And I myself cannot see the bottom of it’
(Blakemore Evans 1974, 474), we can be sure that the idea that one’s mind’s
contents can be concealed from oneself is not confined to ancient Greeks and
modern psychologists. Shakespeare was also aware that one’s own impulses,
desires, and beliefs are frequently unfathomed and perhaps sometimes
unfathomable. Lancelot Law Whyte (1960) argues that the explicit idea of the
unconscious arose in reaction to Cartesian dualism; the benighted Descartes, in
dividing the world into just two substances, res cogitans and res extensia, and
identifying consciousness as a characteristic essential to the former and absent
from the latter, envisaged the mind as a translucent entity with no hidden depths.
For Descartes, to have a mind is to be self-aware, always to know what one
is thinking and feeling. According to Whyte (1960, 27 – 8), it was in response to
Descartes’ choice of awareness ‘as the defining characteristic of an independent
mode of being called mind’ that the idea and eventually the term ‘unconscious
mind’ entered Western thought as a corrective to Cartesianism. Many thinkers
prior to Descartes had, Whyte (1960, 27) contends, ‘taken for granted factors lying
outside but influencing immediate awareness’; after Descartes’ influential and,
according to Whyte, erroneous theory, there was a need to make explicit and
defend the position that awareness is not the defining characteristic of mentality
and one’s mind contains dimensions that are not accessible to consciousness.
Whyte’s book is almost entirely focused on Western thought, with just brief
and rather superficial references to Eastern traditions (see, for example, Whyte
1960, 12). My intention in this paper is to help fill this lacuna by providing an
analysis of what I will call ‘unconscious beliefs’ in Buddhism. Of course, scholars
such as Lambert Schmithausen (1987), Padmasiri De Silva (2000) and William
S. Waldron (2003) have already given admirable and detailed textually based
studies of the rich vein of Buddhist speculations about what might be termed the
unconscious mind. In addition, Jungian psychology and its offshoots make much
of Buddhist visual representations and myths concerning Buddhas and
Bodhisattvas, ma _ n dalas, and so forth, as expressive of the archetypes of the
collective unconscious. However, unlike previous studies, this paper will explore
a typology of unconscious beliefs developed by the contemporary Western
epistemologists Nicholas Everitt and Alec Fisher (1995, 54 – 5). They identify three
distinct senses in which beliefs can be unconscious. Although they at no point
make any reference to Buddhist or any other Eastern thinkers, I will argue that
UNCONSCIOUS BELIEFS IN BUDDHIST PHILOSOPHY 119
Everitt and Fisher’s taxonomy can be used to identify ways in which, for Buddhism,
one might have a belief and yet be unaware of it.
This paper is thus an exercise in what is sometimes called comparative
philosophy; it will take ideas developed by two Western thinkers and use them to
explicate and reflect on Buddhist ideas that were not originally formulated using
such a typology. Of course, critics of such comparative studies claim that they tend
to be superficial and pointless. It is uninteresting, they claim, to demonstrate that
the thought of a particular thinker or tradition in the East is in certain respects
similar to the reflections of a philosopher or philosophers in the West. So what,
they will ask? Indeed, it is possible for comparative philosophy to descend
into banality. However, I hope to show that, in this case, such comparison
can contribute significantly to our understanding and interpretation of the
unconscious in Buddhism, helping us to reflect on the issues it raises about
the mind and human nature.
Detractors may also argue that such comparison is actually intellectual
colonialism, where violence is unwittingly done to Buddhist ideas in order to make
them conform to Western categories. However, this objection smacks to me
of relativism run amuck. Different cultures are not hermetically sealed monads
without any prospect of interaction or dialogue. While acknowledging that there
is always a tendency to misconstrue the unfamiliar in terms of one’s own culturally
informed biases and interests, I am not so sceptical about the prospects for
genuine conversation between contemporary Western philosophy and Buddhism
or any other system of thought. After all, prejudices can be challenged and not just
confirmed in such an encounter. Nevertheless, there is undeniably a degree of
interpretation and appropriation in this study, given that Buddhists themselves,
as far as I am aware, have not traditionally used any term that could accurately be
translated as ‘unconscious belief’, let alone distinguishing three types! Perhaps
I am guilty of imposing a Western concept onto Buddhist thought, although
I would argue that it is a creative synthesis and development rather than an
imposition. Buddhism is not a museum piece, incapable of adaptation and
transformation when confronted by new ideas. Applying Everitt and Fisher’s
typology to Buddhism will, I think, illuminate Buddhist attitudes to the mind,
providing an opportunity for reflection on and assessment of them.
Beliefs as dispositions
Everitt and Fisher claim that one has some beliefs of which one is not
conscious, and never has been conscious. Is this not paradoxical, for surely one has
to have been conscious at some point of one’s belief in order for it to be one’s
belief? It might seem non-sensical to claim that one might have a belief without
ever having been aware of it. However, Everitt and Fisher think not. As an example,
they give the proposition that ‘there are more than ninety-nine ants in the world.’
This is a proposition that, presumably, I have not thought about in the past.
Yet, when it is brought to my attention, I assent to it. Furthermore, this proposition
120 D. BURTON
does not strike me as a revelation; it as though I believed it all along without ever
having thought about it. Bimal Matilal (1986, 102) gives the example of the belief
that ‘the floor will not melt under my feet’, a belief that ‘I may not have wondered
[sic] or apprehended consciously until today’ but which ‘my action of walking has
always assumed.’ We might choose, with Freud (1971, 102 – 4), to label these
beliefs as pre-conscious, for they are contents of our mind of which we have not
ever been aware. In other words, there are propositions that we are disposed to
accept, but we have never consciously considered—and Everitt and Fisher are
claiming that these dispositions are unconscious beliefs.
This theory has the consequence that each of us has a vast number of
beliefs. There appear to be an indefinitely large number of propositions to which
one would give one’s assent but about which one has never thought (see Moser
et al., 1998, 53 – 4). For instance, not only do I believe that ‘there are more than
ninety-nine ants in the world’, but I also believe ‘there are more than one hundred
ants in the world’, that ‘there are more than one hundred and one ants in the
world’, and so on. In addition, I believe that ‘there are more than ninety-nine
moths in the world’, and so forth. I have never thought about these propositions,
but I would accept them if they were brought to my attention.
Propositions that we have never thought about but that we are disposed to
accept are very significant in Buddhism. An important notion in the Therav ¯ da
scriptures is the anusaya, defined by the Pali – English dictionary as ‘a bent, bias,
proclivity, the persistence of a dormant or latent disposition, predisposition,
tendency’ (Rhys Davids and Stede 1995, 44). Waldron (2003, 40 – 1) points out that
these anusayas are described at Majjhima Nik¯ya I 303 as being of three varieties:
the tendency to lust (r¯g¯nusaya), the tendency to aversion ( patigh¯ nusaya), and
the tendency to ignorance (avijj¯nusaya). In other words, there are both emotional
and cognitive hidden proclivities. The anusayas underlie our conscious minds,
and, when the conditions are right, they burst forward as active afflictions (kilesa);
that is, manifest experiences of craving, hatred and wrong views.
De Silva (1991, 43) writes that, according to Therav¯ da Buddhism, there
are wrong beliefs that exist in the minds of Unawakened people, unbeknownst
to themselves: ‘Wrong beliefs exist at the level of dormant dispositions
(ditth¯nusaya) and account for the unconscious roots of prejudices and strong
biases which colour our emotional life.’ Most important among these prejudices is
the ‘personality view’ (sakk¯yaditthi); that is, the belief that one has a permanent,
unchanging self. The Majjhima Nik¯ya I 432 – 3, for instance, claims that: ‘The young
tender infant lying prone does not even have the notion “personality”, so how could
personality view arise in him? Yet the underlying tendency [anusaya ] to personality
etc. lies within him’ (trans. ˜ ¯ _ namoli and Bodhi 1995, 537).
De Silva (2000 , 75) also highlights the frequent use of the term ‘¯ sava’ in the
P¯ li scriptures; this term is often translated as ‘taint’ or ‘canker’ and is associated
with the metaphors of an intoxicating extract of a flower or tree and the discharge
of a sore or wound. As with the anusayas, they are thought to be cognitive as well
as emotional. The ¯ savas explain our tendency to ignorance and also selfish desire.
UNCONSCIOUS BELIEFS IN BUDDHIST PHILOSOPHY 121
The mind is said to be tainted or intoxicated by an ¯ sava, which produces the
wrong view that there is a permanent self or soul. It is deeply engrained in the
human psyche even if it has not necessarily been articulated as an explicit view.
Metaphors abound in a variety of Buddhist traditions for the latent
disposition to ignorance. For instance, the Sautr¯ ntika Buddhists refer to it as
a seed (b¯ja) or scent (v¯san¯) that lies dormant, persisting as a potentiality
underlying the flow of momentary conscious mental events, and which comes to
fruition as the wrong view that there is a permanent self. Adopting the Sautr¯ ntika
imagery, and piling metaphor on metaphor, the Yog ¯ c ¯ ra Buddhists claim that the
seed or scent exists, along with many others, in the storehouse consciousness
(¯ layavij˜ ¯na) that, they claim, exists like a subterranean stream below the ever-
changing modes of manifest consciousness ( pravrttivij˜ ¯na); it is the subliminal,
hidden aspect of the mind (see Schmithausen 1987; Waldron 2003).
Clearly, the disposition to accept the permanence of the self is thought to
explain the prevalence of religious and philosophical views that assert the
existence of such an entity. Waldron (2003, 40) notes that, according to Buddhism,
the anusaya manifests in adults as a developed capacity that traps and obsesses
them. For example, it occurs as the religious belief that one has an eternal soul.
The Abhidharmako´a V, 19 (cited in Waldron 2003, 118) distinguishes an innate
view that there is a permanent self (sahaj ¯ satk ¯ yadr sti), said to exist even in
non-human animals, from a deliberated (vikalpita) view that humans hold
when they make explicit, articulate and elaborate the innate view. In Tibetan
Buddhism, Tsong kha pa (see Napper 1987, 84 – 7) and his disciple mKhas grub rje
(see Cabez´ n 1992, 128 – 35) mirror the Abhidharmako´a by distinguishing the
innate or inborn (lhan skyes) misconception, which exists in all sentient beings,
from philosophical (kun brtags) misconceptions, which are an expression and
elaboration of the innate misconception. These Buddhists clearly think there is
a deep-rooted and misguided proclivity to accept the permanence of the self.
They claim that it exists in us whether or not we are aware of it, and it is extremely
difficult to eradicate. Indeed, mKhas grub rje claims that refuting philosophical
misconceptions is preliminary and relatively superficial; this can be merely
a stepping-stone to the removal of the innate misconception. Fundamentally, it is
the innate misconception, although often not articulated and unconscious, that
influences behaviour; it fuels the selfish desire and attachment that causes
suffering and continued rebirth.
But why does this disposition exist? The common Buddhist answer is that all
of the dispositions, both emotional and cognitive, are karmic formations
(sankhar¯ , samsk¯ r¯) that exist as innate personality traits and are psychological
tendencies that occur as consequences of actions in previous lives. There is no soul
that is reborn, but the process of physical and mental events that is the present life
contains relatively stable affective and cognitive proclivities that are passed on
from past lives. However, this is obviously question begging, as an explanation
needs to be given for the existence of the latent dispositions in previous
existences. Indeed, the Buddhists’ position appears to entail an infinite regress,
Zgłoś jeśli naruszono regulamin