Upāsaka Cattasallā (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cattasalla) wrote2025-04-27 03:31 pm
cattasalla) wrote2025-04-27 03:31 pm
What does "refuge" mean?
"Refuge" is a word that I had never connected with until about six months ago. We have this jargon, sometimes called "Buddhist Hybrid English" as a tongue-in-cheek reference to "Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit," a form of nonstandard (some would say mangled) Sanskrit used to write many Buddhist texts. Paul Griffiths introduces his article coining the term with the sardonic sentences, "Buddhist thought has a strange, and in many respects deplorable, effect upon language...and is now in the process of wreaking its havoc upon the English language, creating a dialect comprehensible only to the initiate...." English words used to translate Buddhist concepts from Pali a century ago have stuck with us, and they often require an entire essay to even begin to explain. "Refuge" was always one of those words for me.
What does "refuge" even mean? I suppose in modern parlance we could call it a "safe space." It's a shelter where you will be protected, where you will be safe from things that threaten you. A place where you can rest peacefully. In Buddhism we have the three refuges: The Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha. While my understanding of these is fresh and constantly evolving, I will go ahead and share my current thoughts on the matter, going through the refuges in reverse order from their usual presentation.
First, the Sangha. In the West, the word has come to mean any Buddhist community. I have even seen it used for any spiritual community that might be inspired by Indian philosophy, such as yoga groups. The older use restricted the word to either monastics or the noble ones (who have reached at least the first stage of enlightenment, stream entry). Some Western monastics are insisting we revert to the customary use, and instead use "assembly" (parisā) for the community that includes laity, but I think that is a lost cause for Western Buddhists, as the term has lodged into our vocabulary. In any event, I find all of these senses of the word helpful for understanding and finding refuge.
Whether you are Buddhist or not, community is important. Community sustains us. Humans are fundamentally social creatures, and we instinctively form bonds with others. We want to get together and cooperate. Contrary to those who insist that survival of the brutal process of natural selection is won by successful competition, it is our ability to work together that has enabled us to persist and thrive. When we have community, when we have others we trust and share our lives with, we can turn to them for material, emotional, and spiritual support. Many of our modern psychological maladjustments are not some kind of biological malady, but a result of the breakdown of our communities. When we know each other and can help each other, we are all healthier, physically and mentally.
Then there's the monastic community. The wisest and kindest people I've ever met are monastics. They are people I deeply trust and can confide in. People whose guidance I can accept...which for someone who has that "persistent drive for autonomy" (or less positively labeled "pathological demand avoidance") common to autistics and ADHDers, is a pretty big deal! To be sure, not all monastics are wise or even people I like or esteem, but even them I respect for making the choice to go forth. It's a choice I never made. They are "worthy of gifts, worthy of hospitality, worthy of respect," as the chant goes.
Finally, the community of the "noble ones." These are the people who have achieved some degree of enlightenment. They have eradicated some degree of their suffering. There are those who have eradicated it all. Some are monastics, but some are not, and if you spend time in Buddhist communities, you will meet them. They don't advertise their presence, so you can never know for sure, but there are people who have an air of peace and joy, who are fully present, and who quite simply can't do harm to others. People who are deeply happy. When you see them, you can trust them, and you can trust the practice.
Which leads us to the Dhamma. Different routes have led all of us to it. Maybe we met someone who has practiced for a long time and we were impressed by their countenance, and decided there must be something to this Buddhism thing. Or maybe we just came across the teachings in a book or online, and they immediately made sense or made sense after some reflection. And so we began to practice. But how is this practice a refuge?
As our practice deepens, profound transformations occur in our mental makeup. Those things which pushed us to harm ourselves or others are weeded out, and seeds of love, clarity, and wisdom are germinated and cultivated. Our nature becomes less about craving, clinging, and consequently suffering, and more about helping and lightening the loads of ourselves and others. As we shed that which obscures the inner wisdom that knows the best thing to do based on the information it has, we can truly begin to trust ourselves. Or rather, we can trust the practice, because at a certain point it stops becoming a matter of conceiving of ourselves as a person doing the practice, and more about the Dhamma coming alive so that we just have to get out of its way for it to do its work. The Dhamma becomes a shield protecting us, and we can trust it to guide us, and to help us heal and grow.
The Dhamma emerges when we gain clarity of heart and mind, which comes from finding stillness. This brings us to the first refuge: The Buddha.
Now, we can think of the Buddha as that wonderful man who lived and taught in what is now northwest India two and a half millennia ago. We can think of his admirable qualities, and have faith in his perfect enlightenment. But we can also think of the Buddha as the awakened mind itself, and all of us have that capacity for awakening. We might call it "buddha nature," or "natural mind" (or any other number of terms that those inclined to debate will debate about instead of trying to understand the concept at a deep level). It is what the Thai Forest Masters want us to get in touch with when we fix our minds on the syllable bud on inhalation and dho on exhalation. It is what the Zen masters mean when they say we are fully expressing our buddha nature when we sit in shikantaza, or what the Chan masters mean when they talk of silent illumination. It is the rigpa of Dzogchen. More generally, it is what the Mahāyana call the dharmakāya. It is a purified mind, endowed with the qualities of enlightenment, one that does not identify with anything, not even itself, and acts according to the wisdom that spontaneously arises in each moment according to the circumstances of the moment. That mind is the safest place we can be.
Now let’s take a moment to step back and look at the three refuges as a whole. The mind of a Buddha is in touch with Dhamma, and is embodied through the community of Sangha. The wisdom known by a clear and purified heart and mind is Dhamma, and letting go enough so that the Dhamma can find expression is an expression of the consciousness of the Buddha. Those who are in touch with this wisdom, and who carry out its actions in our world, building a community to support its expression, are the Sangha. The three refuges are one refuge, and taking refuge in any one is taking refuge in all three.
What does "refuge" even mean? I suppose in modern parlance we could call it a "safe space." It's a shelter where you will be protected, where you will be safe from things that threaten you. A place where you can rest peacefully. In Buddhism we have the three refuges: The Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha. While my understanding of these is fresh and constantly evolving, I will go ahead and share my current thoughts on the matter, going through the refuges in reverse order from their usual presentation.
First, the Sangha. In the West, the word has come to mean any Buddhist community. I have even seen it used for any spiritual community that might be inspired by Indian philosophy, such as yoga groups. The older use restricted the word to either monastics or the noble ones (who have reached at least the first stage of enlightenment, stream entry). Some Western monastics are insisting we revert to the customary use, and instead use "assembly" (parisā) for the community that includes laity, but I think that is a lost cause for Western Buddhists, as the term has lodged into our vocabulary. In any event, I find all of these senses of the word helpful for understanding and finding refuge.
Whether you are Buddhist or not, community is important. Community sustains us. Humans are fundamentally social creatures, and we instinctively form bonds with others. We want to get together and cooperate. Contrary to those who insist that survival of the brutal process of natural selection is won by successful competition, it is our ability to work together that has enabled us to persist and thrive. When we have community, when we have others we trust and share our lives with, we can turn to them for material, emotional, and spiritual support. Many of our modern psychological maladjustments are not some kind of biological malady, but a result of the breakdown of our communities. When we know each other and can help each other, we are all healthier, physically and mentally.
Then there's the monastic community. The wisest and kindest people I've ever met are monastics. They are people I deeply trust and can confide in. People whose guidance I can accept...which for someone who has that "persistent drive for autonomy" (or less positively labeled "pathological demand avoidance") common to autistics and ADHDers, is a pretty big deal! To be sure, not all monastics are wise or even people I like or esteem, but even them I respect for making the choice to go forth. It's a choice I never made. They are "worthy of gifts, worthy of hospitality, worthy of respect," as the chant goes.
Finally, the community of the "noble ones." These are the people who have achieved some degree of enlightenment. They have eradicated some degree of their suffering. There are those who have eradicated it all. Some are monastics, but some are not, and if you spend time in Buddhist communities, you will meet them. They don't advertise their presence, so you can never know for sure, but there are people who have an air of peace and joy, who are fully present, and who quite simply can't do harm to others. People who are deeply happy. When you see them, you can trust them, and you can trust the practice.
Which leads us to the Dhamma. Different routes have led all of us to it. Maybe we met someone who has practiced for a long time and we were impressed by their countenance, and decided there must be something to this Buddhism thing. Or maybe we just came across the teachings in a book or online, and they immediately made sense or made sense after some reflection. And so we began to practice. But how is this practice a refuge?
As our practice deepens, profound transformations occur in our mental makeup. Those things which pushed us to harm ourselves or others are weeded out, and seeds of love, clarity, and wisdom are germinated and cultivated. Our nature becomes less about craving, clinging, and consequently suffering, and more about helping and lightening the loads of ourselves and others. As we shed that which obscures the inner wisdom that knows the best thing to do based on the information it has, we can truly begin to trust ourselves. Or rather, we can trust the practice, because at a certain point it stops becoming a matter of conceiving of ourselves as a person doing the practice, and more about the Dhamma coming alive so that we just have to get out of its way for it to do its work. The Dhamma becomes a shield protecting us, and we can trust it to guide us, and to help us heal and grow.
The Dhamma emerges when we gain clarity of heart and mind, which comes from finding stillness. This brings us to the first refuge: The Buddha.
Now, we can think of the Buddha as that wonderful man who lived and taught in what is now northwest India two and a half millennia ago. We can think of his admirable qualities, and have faith in his perfect enlightenment. But we can also think of the Buddha as the awakened mind itself, and all of us have that capacity for awakening. We might call it "buddha nature," or "natural mind" (or any other number of terms that those inclined to debate will debate about instead of trying to understand the concept at a deep level). It is what the Thai Forest Masters want us to get in touch with when we fix our minds on the syllable bud on inhalation and dho on exhalation. It is what the Zen masters mean when they say we are fully expressing our buddha nature when we sit in shikantaza, or what the Chan masters mean when they talk of silent illumination. It is the rigpa of Dzogchen. More generally, it is what the Mahāyana call the dharmakāya. It is a purified mind, endowed with the qualities of enlightenment, one that does not identify with anything, not even itself, and acts according to the wisdom that spontaneously arises in each moment according to the circumstances of the moment. That mind is the safest place we can be.
Now let’s take a moment to step back and look at the three refuges as a whole. The mind of a Buddha is in touch with Dhamma, and is embodied through the community of Sangha. The wisdom known by a clear and purified heart and mind is Dhamma, and letting go enough so that the Dhamma can find expression is an expression of the consciousness of the Buddha. Those who are in touch with this wisdom, and who carry out its actions in our world, building a community to support its expression, are the Sangha. The three refuges are one refuge, and taking refuge in any one is taking refuge in all three.