Dialogue on Rongzom, Mere Appearance, Causal Efficacy, and Conventional Truth

Yan Hong An said:

I have found that Rongzom's concept of "mere appearance" is strikingly similar to John Tan's notion of "vivid happenings." Rongzom argues that we should not use logic and reasoning to establish objective conventional truths. For instance, when we state that fire can burn a person, we easily reify this into an objective physical law. We tend to substantialize rule, becoming fixated upon it.

Some individuals might feel their hands being burned upon touching fire in a dream, while others might not experience any burning sensation at all. This divergence is not dictated by some objective physical law, but is rather the result of a complex interplay of numerous causes and conditions. When we repackage appearances, which arise from a multitude of dependent causes and conditions, into "objective physical laws," we mistakenly elevate these laws, perceiving them as more efficacious and more "real." In reality, however, they possess no ontological superiority over any other phenomena.

Even on the level of conventional truth, there is no hierarchical distinction between dream phenomena and waking phenomena. Because both the phenomena of waking reality and those of dreams are dependently arisen.

He does not intend to deny the validity of physical laws. Rather, he is simply pointing out a crucial issue, we cannot merely uphold the "view of equality" at the level of ultimate truth while abandoning the view of equality at the level of conventional truth. Ultimate truth and conventional truth, dreams and waking reality, are essentially completely equal and equally valid.

Moreover, Rongzom seems to think that dependent origination is more important than lhun grub.

1. Rongzom’s illusionist epistemology presumes mere appearance as a basis upon which to advance a discourse on the phenomenological inseparability of the two truths. As such, phenomenological appearance comprises the primary site of epistemological interest in a world devoid of any ontological basis or existential root (gzhi med rtsa bral). 50 In this sense, the discourse does not work to resolve ontological and/or epistemological issues with obvious clarity within a systematic presentation.

2. In chapter 3 (§3.1.2), Rongzom asserts that “mere appearance” (snang tsam) constitutes the common ground for, or basis of, inter Buddhist debate. On this view, the relative truth or conventional reality of things is considered with respect to their mere phenomenological appearance alone, rather than in terms of some underlying ontological reality. Here, what we say about the relative truth of things thus amounts to what we say about mere appearances in our experience.

3. Rongzom uses the term “special mahāyāna” to reference discourse on the ontology of illusion in which the emphasis is on phenomenological “mere appearance” (snang ba tsam, pratibhāsamātra). The end point is a dissolution of epistemologically separable two truths. The presumption and delimitations of mere appearance shape doctrinal discourse on the ontology of illusion.

4. Lastly, and in the broadest context, Rongzom’s alogics root even illusory magical projections in causality. In this sense, the lack of emphasis on the dzokchen notion of spontaneity (lhun grub) so dominating the exegesis of Longchenpa is notable. Although such a comparison awaits further study, suffice it here to say that Longchenpa’s emphasis on spontaneity distinguishes it from Rongzom’s early dzokchen.

I wonder if you and John Tan would agree with these three viewpoints? Rongzom did not deny causal efficacy, but he seems to think that we should not be attached to it.

1. A critical issue in the discourse on conventional truth is criteria. If conventions are illusory, what could it possibly mean to say something is conventionally “true” or valid? What counts as the criteria of authentication for a convention if it is merely the product of a community’s use of language with no less arbitrary relation to reality? In one passage of Entering the Way of the Great Vehicle, there is a discussion of the validating criteria for conventions that invoke the specter of a war elephant’s marauding violence and the cruelty of agricultural practices.

Rongzom has already reminded us earlier (“Raging Rivers”) that relying on logical proof to establish the validity of conventions is an act of grasping at what merely appears to be stable but is not. Relying on logical proof to establish an unassailable and objective notion of conventional truth is naive and dangerous. It is likened to grasping onto a rotten root protruding from a river bank while being carried away by a raging river. It will not hold and one will eventually be carried away.

Conventions do have validating criteria, but they are purely contextual c(l)ues. The Madhyamaka view that asserts the valid establishment of conventions only for a moment is roughly equivalent to the view that there is no real entity given with respect to the character of an object. This interpretive move functions to obviate any difficulty obtaining between the approaches of the Madhyamaka proper and Rongzom’s Mahāyāna—that is, Dzogchen.

With that in mind, proper philosophical confirmation of a convention, Rongzom writes, is viable only insofar as it acts as a momentary proof (re shig tsam du sgrub kyang rung) with no entailment extended through time and space. This is the only acceptable form of proof for establishing a conventional truth. Rongzom’s life outside religion is evinced in the elements of animal husbandry used in the passage, which begins by questioning the scope of logical validity for something presumed to be illusory convention.

On his view, if a convention cannot even withstand the burden of its own validating criteria per se how can a mere convention even be established as valid? For example, if, unlike an elephant that is spurred by a bullhook (aṅkuśa) to eradicate an enemy while bearing a host of soldiers, a cow working to plow just a field while wearing a yoke is not even able to bear being spurred by the prod of a goad, how would the convention “working to plough a field” even apply? And what would then be the distinction between such an ineffective creature in the context of “working to plough a field” and, say, a drove of wethers?

Cows or other animals may be fitted with a yoke in order to till and harrow a field, thus preparing it for leveling, seeding, and the like. Rongzom practiced animal husbandry and thus recognized salient distinctions between cows and castrated goats or “wethers” that do useful philosophical work here. Several factors that distinguish them may be relevant. A farmer may see wethers as arduous, unprofitable, and ultimately useless. Wethers are hard to feed; their rate of gain is poor and they are small, cannot bear the yoke, do not provide any milk, and do not eat grass. Thus, the invocation of a drove of wethers amounts to folk knowledge as argument. If the cow can’t bear the prod of the goad, how can it function as a cow should? Rongzom’s “drove of wethers” analogy invokes an absurd—and humorous—inference.

2. Raging Rivers In classical discourse ascribed to the historical Buddha (sūtra), the trope of the raging river signifies desirous craving (tanha). It is a visceral image for the power of afflictive, sensuous desire to, as it were, carry us away in an overwhelming surge of emotion, thought, and sensation beyond our control. More broadly, hydraulic similes are used to illustrate the causal flow of phenomena from one condition (nidāna) that constitutes the fuel (āhāra) for the next condition to the next condition itself.

Beyond its role as an image of saṃsāric processes, the river also forms a metaphor for awakened activity in abhidharma analysis of mind. There, the search for the fundamentals of existence yields an analysis of human thought and awareness that is both derived from and a tool for meditative experience. This understanding of things is said to come from the Buddha and his “enlightened introspection,” which is said to be able to discern what ordinary beings cannot. According to Heim, this enlightened faculty of introspection in terms of the Buddha’s “ability to analyze mental experience in this way is regarded as extremely difficult, likened to a person at sea scooping up a handful of water and determining which drops in it came from which rivers.”

In the ninth chapter of Mahāyānasūtrālaṃkāra, treating Buddhahood (vv. 82–85), there is a river illustrating that all teachings—even seemingly opposed path models—are in fact on the same horizon of operations and moving toward the same end. In Entering the Way of the Great Vehicle, the metaphor shifts from desire to philosophical certainty, both of which are dangerous. Rather than desire, in this case, it is assuming the validity and authority of logical proofs as justification for one’s own philosophical view is not unlike being swept away by the raging waters of a river. Grasping at the path in the manner of our doubtful philosopher bird and fixating on what are right and correct conventions are “sinking weight[s] of bondage.”

In this critique, the Mādhyamika who insists upon the validity of correct conventions is like a person swept away in a raging river. Rongzom’s argument compares their insistence upon correct conventions to a panicked attempt to grasp at what has no basis: branches floating by (i.e., ideas). Beyond grasping on nonexistent bases, they will seize upon what is rotting: a decaying, unstable root (i.e., logically and linguistically precise philosophy) protruding from what appears to be a stable river bank (i.e., logicoepistemological philosophy). In the torrent, however, it quickly gives way, setting off another round of panicked grasping. Taking too much medicine is poison; those who grasp at the reality of philosophical conventions will no doubt grasp at the reality of the ultimate too:

Given the character of a person is unreal, how could a person’s activity constitute real entities? That kind of establishing proof is not unlike someone who, being carried away by the raging waters of a river, seizes upon a rotten root, thinking it will buoy him. In that case, someone might suggest that if ultimately establishing proof is insisted upon, and one is content not to analyze mere conventions, since, when analyzed, conventions cannot withstand the burden of proof, there would be no conflict, or contradiction, when conventions are negated through reason. Yet if reasoning is unnecessary for an establishing proof that is merely conventional, isn’t the statement that they are similar in appearance and that correct and incorrect conventions are arranged by virtue of distinctions in efficacy, or a lack thereof, itself a reason?

Any and every argument given in terms of object and attribute—a structure endemic to the predicative nature of language itself—inevitably amounts to a characterization of what we imagine to be the case.

In the next passage, the metaphor of the raging river of saṃsāra integrates a symbol of the Buddhadharma, which is depicted as a safety raft assembled ad hoc as a refuge:

Carried away by the waters of a rushing river, one searches for something stable on which to grab. Seizing the tip of a branch of a tree that has fallen in the water, the person thinks, “Since this branch is unstable, I can’t rely on it!” She quickly lets it go and clutches at a piece of the tree’s root and gradually pulls herself closer and closer to the base of the root thinking, “I’ve got dry land!” But because it is an unsound or diseased root, the water carries the person away and the segment of the root itself sinks into the water while she frantically searches for it. Upon seeing the tip of another root protruding from the river bank, the person would again make an effort in that direction, thinking,“Before, the part of the root I thought stable was in fact a sinking weight. Part of the tip of the branch that I thought was unstable can support and save me. Now, I will break it up into something useful. I will lean on the branch pieces, breaking up the branches. Some can be relied on, some act as shelter in the face of the wind, some act as an anchor against the wind, and some can be made into paddles so I can get out of here!” Such a person is as if freed from the water.

Various configurations of this simile are used in the tantric scriptures and commentaries, as well. Regardless of approach, to paraphrase Oscar Wilde, we are all in the raging river of saṃsāra— but some of us make do as we might, and without a panic.

Conventional truth is not meant to be a backdoor for the wont of reifying reality. It should balance pragmatic human interests and transformation. It is easy to lose sight of what is important. Shifting from rushing water to changing landscape, we might say that in their zest for logical precision, Mādhyamikas lose their way. That is, they lose the soteriological forest for the philosophical trees. Extending the metaphor, he writes, this practice of philosophy leads to an obsession and reification of the goal, which corrupts the practice. Those in the raging river who aspire to the path of Buddhadharma, first “clutch a worldly path. After perceiving it to be something totally imagined, they desire a path accompanied by a fruition free of the totally imagined—one that is, by its own nature, genuinely qualified as perfected. When they gradually investigate and search, they see that everything that is correctly imagined is unstable and unreal. As for how they traverse the path, if they grasp at one that is genuine, what need is there to even mention their predilection for grasping at something seized upon as the ultimate?” in 123 It surely makes little sense to argue that the unreality of saṃsāra, which includes ourselves, is remedied with something real that we—the unreal—recognize. This idea comes from going too far in one’s philosophical analysis. Insisting on ontological distinctions between ultimate and conventional realities and asserting the ultimate to be amenable to conventional truth may suggest a tendency toward solipsism in which everything is imagined except for one’s own ideas. Since the ultimate is ineffable, all philosophical representations of the ultimate are necessarily socially constructed conventions. As we shall see later (see “A War Elephant, a Yoked Cow, and a Drove of Wethers”), conventional proofs are compromised if they are asserted as valid for more than the moment of context. Just because the flotsam and jetsam in the raging river can help a person save themselves, that does not mean it is real or more than a fleeting means.

3. The Tragedy of Anantayaśā As we saw earlier, there are madhyamaka discourses organized around the validity of correct conventions. The issue concerns the doctrine of the two truths. The ultimate truth is emptiness that is beyond words and ideas; everything we know is merely conventionally true because, under Buddhist analyses, all posited entities dissolve, which is an indication of their ultimate lack of identity. Thus, everything knowable in the ordinary sense is an illusory convention. That being the case, what is the difference between true and false? If there is a difference in an illusory world, what criteria are there to determine whether or not something is true in the conventional sense? If conventional truth has no validating criteria, are Buddhist claims true in any significant sense? If so, how? This brings us to the tragedy of the mythic ruler Anantayaśā.

The tragedy of Anantayaśā is told in the Sanskrit Madhyamaka text, Pitāputrasamāgamanasūtra. Anantayaśā is a mythic king of old. His command of an endless host of soldiers, mounts, and chariots made him tantamount to an emperor. In a previous lifetime, he developed positive karma—a root of virtue—in the presence of a buddha. So powerful did Anantayaśā (literally, “unending renown”) become that he, by force of will, could make anything he wished for happen. Anantayaśā himself thought the merit fueling his power to be an inexhaustible resource and poured his energies into filling the world with any and every good thing he could imagine.

Then he decided to lead his host to the heavenly mountain abode of the lord of the gods, Śakra (Indra). Śakra saw the approaching host from a distance and split his own throne in half to share with and welcome his arriving guest. Anantayaśā sat on that throne at the invitation of the lord of the gods—and remained there for some long count of years, becoming something like a god himself. The tragedy of Anantayaśā, however, is found in his end. This allegory is presented in the context of Rongzom’s rejection of the Madhyamaka notion of correct conventional truth (§1.4). Commensurate with his broader and thoroughgoing critique of the folly of philosophical certainty, Rongzom invokes the tragedy of Anantayaśā in service of undermining the philosophical project of establishing the certainty of conventions via logic and rational criteria, even if ultimately they are illusory.

The worldly power of Anantayaśā made him equal to the lord of gods—and superior to all other people—but he never rid himself of mental attachments. The fierce winds of such debasing fixations continued to buffet his mind, and over time, he became blind to the reality of things. Rongzom advances this narrative as an argument against something he holds to be philosophically adolescent: stipulating a real entity of affliction to be abandoned along the path in the Madhyamaka view. That is, if one’s position is that the ultimate consists in utter simplicity (spros med) and that this ultimate simplicity renders all conventions the same, whether “true” or “false,” it makes no sense to assert the logical validity of correct conventions. Rather than argue this via citation of a scriptural passage presenting a logical entailment or argument, we are presented with the narrative of Anantayaśā’s tragedy. Especially for a practitioner of Vajrayāna, holding such a dislocated [madhyamaka] view indeed boggles the mind. A case in point is Anantayaśā, the ancient sovereign whose unending personal aspirations took him to the world of the Trāyastriṃśa heaven where the Lord of Gods, Indra, split his throne in half to make a seat for Anantayaśā, who indeed gained enjoyments equal to those of Indra. This turn of events, however, provoked in him a fierce mind of covetous desire through the force of which he fell from heaven back down to the earth. Confused [about the world upon arrival, dazed and acting as if a madman], he pleaded with people [to inform him where he was, entreating others to tell him] “what land this is?”

“We hear from elder generations that this land is that of its first sovereign, Anantayaśā,” they said. “With an impassioned mind, he died, like a lamp buffeted by winds; such is what people have heard—that he was born into quite an astonishing state!” they said. “Anantayaśā, who emitted the seven precious stones from the crown of his head, was on par with Indra—no person surpassed him. Yet, dying from an inflamed mind as he did, there was no person more lowly than him. Alas, it is a mystery.

It is just such a stupefied state that is totally unable to conceive of how inapt it is to hold, vis-à-vis the character of correct convention, that there is some real entity that should be either given up or adopted while maintaining there is no establishing proof for anything because all phenomena are, in the end, undisturbed qua conceptual elaboration.

The tragedy of Anantayaśā lies in his mind. None of his worldly or otherworldly powers could remove the malaise of Anantayaśā’s covetous afflictions—or perhaps he chose not to eliminate them out of a lack of concern. In Rongzom’s telling, we do not know whether Anantayaśā’s obsessions were willful or subconscious, but clearly, they were overwhelming. Also clear is the lowly state to which they took him. This powerful man’s mind is battered by winds of attachment that untether and unsettle his mind. In one sense, he is the greatest human being in existence—“equal to the lord of the gods.” Yet that equality is rendered moot by his intoxication with power and his mental obsessions, both of which inhibit his inability to see things for what they are—that is, an illusion. For Rongzom, the madhyamaka position is not unlike claiming everything is unreal, including affliction, while insisting, without good evidence, that your words are real. To assert that everything is unreal while maintaining that your utterance pertains to some real dimension of the world is, in short, a form of philosophical madness. Clearly, Rongzom is animated by the project of showing that the Madhyamaka view of true convention is undercut by the insistence upon the reality of the entity of affliction that is gotten rid of by means of the path. Logical insistence upon the validity of correct conventions collapses the veracity and impact of the claim that nothing is established ultimately.

Rongzom ends this passage by aligning his view of the unreality of any real entity that must be rejected on the Buddhist path with what he sees as the best madhyamaka approach—that is, an approach that, at most, insists on the validity of a convention in a given moment, no more.

I believe he was reading this book:

https://www.amazon.com/Early-Tibetan-Practice-Buddhist-Philosophy/dp/0813954290/

I see

He replied:

Thank you both very much. I believe Rongzom placed great importance on ethics and causal efficacy, as the author of the book notes: "Thus, Rongzom’s tantric 'charter' or chayik (bca’ yig) in Tibetan, a term also translated as 'constitution' and 'written set of guidelines,' formalizes or codifies the rules for his own community of ordained householders dedicated to the practicing Vajrayāna Buddhism—that is, mantrins (sngags pa). The Charter of Mantrins is an inward-facing document governing interpersonal relations. It is also an outward-facing document meant to shore up the group’s reputation."

Additionally, in that book, Rongzom cites 17 passages from Tilopa's work, the Acintyamahāmudrā, which the author has translated into English. I have compiled these 17 passages into a PDF file. I thought you both might be interested in it, since the Acintyamahāmudrā is rarely translated into English.

Acintyamah%C4%81mudr%C4%81.pdf • 8 pages document omitted (Soh: uploaded to https://files.awakeningtoreality.com/Acintyamah%C4%81mudr%C4%81.pdf)