People love beliefs; especially when they come in groups and can be articulated in concise epithets. The reason for this is that beliefs seem to provide protection against the unknown. That's precisely why systems are considered better than individual beliefs--one stone makes a poorer wall than many. And that's also why the ability to easily state a belief is so important. How much protection can it give if it's too complicated to invoke?
When we talk about protecting ourselves from the unknown, what are we really trying to protect ourselves from? Are we truly afraid of what we do not know? Or are we afraid of what we fear may not be? If we believe there is a god -- a benevolent supreme being -- do we not naturally fear what it would mean if there were no such thing -- to live alone in a hostile universe?
The Opposite of Belief
But while it is our inclination -- and often our indoctrination -- to believe that doubt is something to be opposed by belief, and that greater belief is a stronger opposition to doubt, in reality belief and doubt are one and the same. Every belief is the negation of a doubt; and every doubt is the negation of a belief. If I say, "I believe in a benevolent supreme being," I am negating the doubt that such a thing does not exist in order to eliminate the fear that arises in contemplation of that possibility. So if belief and doubt are not opposites but are the same, then what is their opposite?
Let's take this one step at a time. Belief and doubt are not knowing. That is, both are a way of addressing what is not known by accepting some surrogate -- the belief or the doubt -- in place of actual knowing. In the presence of actual knowing, there is no place for belief or doubt. But knowing occurs in a different part of the awareness than belief; belief is a structure of ego used to insulate itself from what it perceives as the threat of annihilation by death or loss of identity. Knowing comes from the inner place of being, the deeper awareness of spirit. And while spirit seeks expression through the physical incarnation, the physical expression is never the true reality of spirit. Which means that nobody can speak from a place of knowing; nobody can speak of knowing; nobody can speak what is known.
The eternal Tao cannot be spoken; that which can be spoken is not the eternal Tao. Anybody who's cracked Tao Te Ching should have gotten this far since it's the first line. Which begs the question, why begin a volume of written word with this? Lao Tzu obviously understood that, "...to point at the moon a finger is needed, but woe to those who take the finger for the moon... " (Wei Wu Wei) -- that truth cannot ever be spoken. Yet we are driven to speak of truth, so we must understand the difference between the finger and the moon.
The Apple or the Crunch
We can sit around all day talking about apples, and claiming to understand the "is-ness" of the apple, but it's just words, just a reflection of the experience of an apple through a flawed mirror. Or rather, reflecting between a multiplicity of mirrors, each of which has its own unique flaws. And by flaws, I do not disparage the mirrors (us), rather I just point out that we are incapable of perfectly reflecting truth as long as we have not achieved a spirit-driven coexistence with the ego. Zen Master Seung Sahn said that the enlightened "don't know" is like a mirror: when a red balloon is in front of it, it reflects red; when a white balloon is in front of it it reflects white.
But that's not how the egoic mind reflects. So I say, "I ate an apple; it was round and red." What does that tell you of my experience? When I tell you that, your mind becomes active, recollecting events and emotions related to the apple (and possibly red balloons, depending on how closely you're focusing your attention on what I'm saying). So all I have done is bring to your mind your own experience. You don't reflect red, you reflect what red means to you.
So if I continue to tell you, "The apple was delicious, and there can be nothing so delicious as this apple," your mind is going to cross-check that assertion against your own experience. Now I am actively inviting you to reflect what red means to you. So if the last time you ate an apple you got sick, you're not likely to agree with my claim; in fact, you're likely to oppose it strongly, claiming that, "Apples just make you sick." And you would be right. Now, if you were feeling combative, you could go on to say, "You must have been deceived by another fruit presenting itself as an apple," or, "You are deviant, giving in to the forbidden pleasure of the devil fruit."
Ridiculous, isn't it? Not because we're arguing about apples, or because it's an obvious parody of so much of religious debate. But because both sides are asserting their own interpretation of their own experience as absolute truth, on one hand forgetting that there are other good fruits besides apples, and on the other that one bad apple doesn't mean apples are bad. But this is not a case for religious pluralism; "live and let live" is the postmodern ideal, but even that is to be transcended to the understanding that apple is the whole of the experience -- the sickness and the savor -- but none of the interpretation or judgment. The interpretation is just a marker for experience, for knowing that is beyond conveyance.
If you will, close your eyes and imagine you are holding an apple. See the bright color, the sheen of the skin. Imagine how it feels in your hand, light and firm, round but uneven. See yourself raising the apple to your mouth, feel your teeth pressing against the skin, slipping a bit then grabbing and cutting into the fruit, and CRUNCH!
If you have a good imagination, you should realize that the first bite of an apple, burst of juice and flavor, and the cracking sound as the first bite separates from the fruit...that cannot be conveyed by any description. My words cannot create that experience for you if you have not experienced it for yourself, and if you have my words simply recall your own experience. If I have chosen my words well, they may even lead you to the place of knowing where you directly recall the experience towards which I am pointing, and not just the descriptions of the experience.
The Place of Knowing
The problem I so often see is that in order to further reinforce a belief, people often speak of it in terms of knowing. And by redefining knowing as something that can be spoken, they leave no space in their mind for the experience of knowing that cannot be spoken.
But the minute you articulate that belief -- especially under such a strong assertion as knowing -- you've drawn a big bullseye around your ego. Which means you engage ego to defend and protect that belief, removing you further from the experience of knowing that lead you to embrace that belief, leading you further away from spirit, where that belief should have been taking you in the first place.
Divinity is something to be experienced, firsthand. There is no record that can convey the direct experience of the divine. There is no testimony that can validate the knowing of spirit. When Jesus said, "Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you," (Matthew 7:6), he was teaching that as we experience the divine, we must keep that sacred. The minute we hold up that experience up to interpretation, to articulation, and to the judgment of others, we have given it over to the ego to use against us to protect the transitory identity. We have lost the essence and value of that experience and cut ourselves off from further communion with the divine -- both that which is within us and that which exists beyond us.
That's what is ridiculous! That the vast infinity of god is available to us, yet we would rather ingratiate our temporal identity than seek that which is of lasting value. Why is that? (Ask yourself; don't state a conclusion.)
I guess you can lead a person to an apple, but you can't make them crunch.
