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etc.) nor a wholesome and beneficent womb of human life (so long as
it is not tampered with by the evils of technology, industrialization,
urban living, etc., it is our loving and caretaking iriother). Riffing
on Donald Rumsfeld's list of wartime epistemological criteria (the
"unknown unknowns" that surprised the Bush government in their Iraq
adventure), Zizek argues that ecology is rife with false consciousness
and the "unknown knowns" (ibid., 457) of our unconscious ideological
assumptions:
Ecology often lends itself to ideological mystifications: as a pretext
for New Age obscurantisms (praising pre-modem "paradigms," and
so forth), or for neo-colonialism (First World complaints that the fast
development of Third World countries like Brazil or China threatens
us all"by destroying the Amazon rainforests, the Brazilians are
killing the lungs of our Earth"), or as an honorable cause for "liberal
communists" (buy green, recycle . . . as if taking ecology into account
justifies capitalist exploitation), (ibid., 439)
As did Nietzsche before him, Zizek warns of the difficulty of breaking
our metaphysical addiction to ultimate meaning. Far more terrifying
than any specific threat, nihilism, as the revelation that there is no
supersensible order to either nature or human nature, "the terror of there
being no big Other," confronts us with the unmooring force of ultimate
absurdity"the fact there is nothing to fear is the most terrifying fact
imaginable" (ibid., 434). As Nietzsche famously diagnosed the problem
in the Genealogy^ "the will would rather will nothing than not will at all,"
so deep do our attachments run! "Nature" is just another obscurantist
delusion by which we deny that "there is no firm foundation, place of
retreat, on which one can safely count" (ibid., 442). Scientists expose
the manipulability and fragility of nature (and hence make it harder
and harder to maintain our nostaligic fantasies) while at the same time
being both irrationally abstractwhat good is the formula for water to
a sailor drowning at sea?and a new church and inquisition, dismissing
all other approaches as irrational and untrue.
At the same time our immersion in the "life-world" and common
sense dulls both our ethical imagination and our awareness of just how
severe the ecological crisis is.
I know very well (that global warming is a threat to the entire
humanity), but nonetheless... (I cannot really believe it). It is enough
to see the natural world to which my mind is connected: green grass
and trees, the sighing of the breeze, the rising of the sun . . . can one
really imagine that all this will be disturbed? (ibid., 445)
DOGEN AND THE UNKNOWN KNOWNS: THE WILD AFTER THE END OF NATURE
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DOGEN AND THE UNKNOWN KNOWNS: THE WILD AFTER THE END OF NATURE
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the iSea which, as Badiou has argued, made possible the forgetting of
the presentation of ii)i;<n in concentrating on the "evident aspect of what is
offered-it is the 'surface,' the 'faade'
What is decisive in the Platonic
turn, following which nature forgets (|5vai, is not that <j)vcri should have
been characterized as iSct, but that iSscx should have become the sole
and decisive interpretation of being" (Badiou 2006, 124). Badiou also
provocatively argues, however, that the poetic disclosure of {j)i)ffi does
not prevent a "second disposition," namely the radical rethinking of
the power of the matheme (mathematical notation), beyond the danger
of nostalgia for a pre-Platonic originary manner of thinking. Poetic
mourning is not our only philosophically astute manner of retrieving
(jjvai, indeed it does not account for the power of philosophy as such,^
and the introduction of the iSsa does not necessarily spell the loss of the
self-presentation of nature. Badiou rethinks nature as the problem of
the multiple, which becomes "natural" when it consistently "counts as
one,"* but which in itself can only be given the proper name of the void
and the empty set, hence avoiding "any reference to Nature, in which
it is still too easy to read the substitutive reign of the cosmological
one" (ibid., 148). There is nothing that is nature in itself. Schelling had
already argued in his Naturphilosophie for the belonging together of the
scientific and the poetic, both of which allowed, each in their own way,
NAN to manifest, neither as the cosmological one nor the beneficent
womb, but as the philosophical problem par excellence.
This post-opiated manifestation of NAN, in which there is room for
the originary dimensions of both science and art, is the concern of the
present essay. Although Dogen will be my primary interlocutor, others
who have taught us to hear and see NAN, like John Muir, Friedrich
Schelling, Milan Kundera, and Gary Snyder, will assist him, but in the
end it is this question itself that will guide these present reflections,
which I have divided into three complementary sections.
3. "I willingly admit that absolutely originary thought occurs in poetics and
in the letting-be of appearing. This is proven by the immemorial character of
the poem and poetry, and by its established and constant suture to the theme
of nature. However, this immemoriality testifies against the eventual emergence
of philosophy in Greece . . . What constituted the Greek event is rather the
second orientation, which thinks being subtractively in the mode of an ideal or
axiomatic thought" (Badiou 2006,125-26). For another way to approach these
two dispositions, see Sallis 2012. See also in this respect Schelling's ongoing
attempt, beginning in the Weltalter period, to derive a "formula of the world."
See, for example. The Ages ofthe World (Schelling 2000).
4. "A natural multiple is a superior form of the internal cohesion of the
multiple" (Badiou 2006, 127); "for us stability necessarily derives from the
count-as-one, because all consistency proceeds from the count" (ibid., 127);
"naturalness is the intrinsic normality ofa situation" (ibid., 128).
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JASON M. WIRTH
OFNATURE
45
both are there for the taking). The earth is something objective for the
autonomous human subject.
I n the 1806 Darlegung des wahren Verhltnis der Naturphilosophie zu der
Colors\^ Dogen turned to the elemental words of the great Song poet
and lay Buddha Dharma practitioner. Su Tung-p'o (1037-1101, in
Pinyin Su Dongpo and also known as Su Shi and in Japanese, Toba).
Su was enlightened when he heard the sound of a mountain stream
flowing in the night.
In his poem "We Wash Our Bowls in This Water" from Mountains
and Rivers Without End, Snyder quotes Dogen's commentary on Su's
remarkable words in the poem that Su had successfully presented to
his teacher, Chang-tsung, as proof of his awakening (1996,137-9). Su,
who "sat one whole night by a creek on the slopes of Mt. Lu," began:
"The stream with its sounds is a long broad tongue / The looming
mountain is a wide-awake body" (ibid., 138). The voice of the water
with its encompassing tongue alludes to one of the Buddha's canonical
32 characteristics. The river, covered in darkness, was the Buddha
speaking. The imposing form "looming"of the mountain, that
is, the mountain suggesting the looming of all form as such, is the
manifesting body of the Buddha, whose ongoing wakefulness calls us to
awaken. Mountains and rivers, form and emptiness, are the inseparable,
impermanent earth song of the Buddha. One can say that what one
hears is the active silence of the Buddha speaking (the wordless word)
through the voices of nature as well as that what one sees [the forms
and shapes and colors present to the eye and mind] is the formless or
empty ("pure" or unconditioned) body of the Buddha. That is to say,
one simultaneously "hears" and "sees" the silent emptiness of what is
7. The title poetically speaks of River Valley (kei) voices or sounds (sei),
mountain (sar^ colors or forms (shik), that is, nature (sansui., mountains and
waters), as it gives itself to be heard (the waters speaking) and seen (mountains
showing themselves in their dramatic forms and colors). I adapt this brief
discussion of the title from the prefatory paragraph to the translation of this
fascicle in Dogen 1994, 85.
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JASON M.
WIRTH
(Snyder1996, 138-39)
How does one transmit the Dharma? How does, as Schelling tried to do,
provoke (fodern), let arise, and let ori^nate before the eyes of the reader
\yor dem Augen des Lesers tnisieh^n zu lassmY (Schelling 1927,1/2,11) the
coming to be seen and heard of nature in its silence and audibility, its
visible, singing objects and its invisible, still, and pure subject? Yet Su
has spoken! The question now becomes how will we hear what he has
told us and see what he has shown us? When the finger points to the
moon, will we quibble over it after we have hypostasized it yet another
dogmatic doctrine vying for universal validity? One can only see
8. The characters for "song after song" are sometimes read as referring to the
eighty-four thousand verses, a classical way of evoking the immense breadth
and variety of the Buddha's teaching, although it can also be heard as saying
the immense breadth and variety of the Buddha Dharma and its vast and varied
historical manifestations around the world.
47
what has been shown by the Buddha eye with one's own Buddha eye.
Communication for Dogen is not an exchange of information or the
success of a logical demonstration. One does not communicate person
to person, but from enlightened mind to enlightened mind, Buddha
to Buddha. It is alwaysyuibutsuyobutsu, "only Buddha and Buddha." In
a sense, one could say that communication is the possibility of two or
more people speaking the language of nature.
This poem, Dogen tells us, was approved by his Zen Master, but
Dogen also entreated his monks to think more carefully at the nature of
Layman Su's accomplishment. Did he hear nature as if it were an object
to be heard? And did he hear it because he applied Zen Master Changtsung's teaching to the sounds of the river-valley? Is this something he
did, or the master did, or nature itself did? Dogen suggested that the
Master's teachings "have not stopped echoing, but are secretly mingling
with the sounds of the mountain stream in the night" (Dogen 1994,87).
Nature is awakening; nature is realizing itself in language, and this is
therefore also to say that Su is awakening, that whoever hears the wide
and long tongue awakens to hear the constant awakening of the wide
and long tongue.
One could protest at this point that Dgen's and Snyder's respective
efforts are in this context just a variation of Heidegger's poetic
reawakening of ^iiaiq. Certainly the Zen tradition has always insisted
on some kind of radical awakening, and there is, as Heidegger himself
obliquely recognized, genuine resonances between his project and the
Zen tradition.^ It would be silly to suggest, however, that Song China
and Kamakura Japan were under the sway of the Platonic iSea and had
to resort to Zen practice to reawaken the self-presentation of nature.
Nor would it suffice to say that Dogen and Snyder oppose the poetic
word to all forms of discursivity. One need only look at the remarkable
work of the great Chilean neurobiologist Francisco Vrela to see the
power of Buddha Dharma on scientific thinking (see Vrela 1997).
If anything, the Buddha Dharma account of the three poisons (our
delusional attachments and aversions) and its role in the painful and
pernicious emergence of the self-standing subject offers a much more
profound and less mythic account of what amounts to an ancient yet
still pervasive practice of false consciousness and the reign of "unknown
knowns." Nature (in the sense of NAN) is neither the guarantor of the
subject nor its refuge, but rather its annihilation.
Just as death comes unbidden, so does our obsession with speaking
about ourselvesas if our hyper auto-narrativity emerged because we
9. In addition to Heidegger's meetings and work with many of the luminaries
of twentieth-century Japanese philosophy (Kuki, Tanabe, Nishitani, Daisetz
Suzuki, Hisamatsu, etc.), see May 1996 as well as Bchner 1989.
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JASOXM.
WIRTH
are just that curious about each other. The ego is the nub of the reign
of the unknown knowns. In Milan Kundera's novel. The Book ofLaughter
and Forgetting^ Tamina endeavors to help her colleague Bibi to meet
the writer Banaka in order to help her write a novel although Tamina
"knew that there wasn't a single book at Bibi's and that reading bored
her" (1996, 122). When Bibi and Banaka meet. Bibi announces that
she wants to write a novel "about the world as I see it" (123). Banaka
astutely informs her that a novel has many different kinds of characters,
many of whom might see the world differently from Bibisurely she
could not be interested in that! But neither is Banaka who considers
novels the "fruit" of the "illusion of the power to understand others.
But what do we know of one another?" (123-24). Banaka draws the
obvious conclusion: "All anyone can do . . . is give a report on oneself.
Anything else is an abuse of power. Anything else is a lie" (124). Bibi
is overjoyed. All she had wanted to do was to offer up such a report.
Yet what had Bibi done? Not much in terms of adventures and other
great actions. But Bibi does have a much more interesting feeling "that
my experience iriside is worth writing about and could be interesting to
everybody" (124). Banaka is sympathetic, explaining that since Joyce
brought Homer's Odyss^ into the realm of interior life, and even though
we have done little with our lives, we are all great adventurers and it is
the way of great adventurers to want to share their stories with everyone.
Bibi can hardly contain herself or her narratives:
I often have the impression my whole body isfilledwith the desire
to express itself. To speak. To make itself heard. Sometimes I think
I'm going erazy, beeause I'm so bursting with it I have an urge to
scream. . . . I want to express my life and my feelings, whieh I know
are absolutely original. (125)
And so goes the great war of all narratives against all narratives as we fill
the stores and clog bandwidth with our books and blogs, interrupting
each other to make sure that it is our narrative that is heard. Listening to
the narrative of another becomes a momentary pause before we pounce,
changing the subject to our own experiences. Oh, yes, that reminds me
of when I. . . .
This self which is driven to speak but not listen, write but not read,
is an experience of the first noble truth odukkha (turmoil and suffering),
of the self comprised of the three poisons by which the delusion of
selfhood emerges from the congestion of attachment and aversion, the
parts of our lives that we love and hence make permanent features of
ourselves and the parts of our lives that we detest and cast out as long
as we can. This feverish self, whose senses are aflame with the delusions
bom of these loves and hates, is a lonely, alienated self, a self separated
49
from its living soil. It is also a highly aggressive self, a self whose master
narrative is driven to master all other narratives.
This is part of what drove the Buddha away from the eternalism of
the tman and toward antman. In the Pli Canon we learn of the bhikkhu
Sati who held and attributed to the Buddha the "pernicious" view that it
is the "same consciousness, and not another, which transmigrates" and is
subject to samsara (Holder 2006, 61). The Buddha famously dismantles
Sti's adherence to a fixed self by exposing all of the relations codependently working together that underlie the self. Pratityasamutpda,
dependent co-origination, demonstrates that the independent, free
standing self is nothing but abstraction that if taken to heart causes
turmoil. The self is dependent on its relations just as there is no absolute
fire, but rather only fire that is dependent upon what it burns"a fire
that burns dependent on a log is reckoned as a 'log-fire'; a fire that
burns dependent on kindling is reckoned as a 'kindling-fire'" (ibid., 63),
and so on.
In the Mahyna traditions, this perniciously incomplete
understanding is sometimes referred to as the Senika Heresy, after
the lamentable intellectual efforts of the Brahmacarin called Senika
in the Nirvana Sutra who argued for an eternal self that, much like the
Western conception of the soul, eternally survives its incarnations.
In the famous early fascicle Bendowa, Dogen takes the Senika heresy
straight on, refusing to accept that there can even be a mind (or soul)
wholly separate from a body (they stand in correlation and have no
independent standing). When one goes, so goes the other. Dogen also
denies that life and death are something that we even need to escape or
transcend. "To think that birth-and-death must be rejected is the mistake
of ignoring buddha dharma" (Dogen 2010,15). Dogen dismissed such
views as ihsane"don't listen to the tongues of mad people" (ibid!,
15)perhaps also suggesting that our aggressive war of narratives,
our bellicose agon of self-spinning, is so consummately insane that its
master stroke is to declare itself sane, normal, and healthy. Yes, Bibi had
been driven insane by dukkha.
The annihilation of the subject, however, is not mere nihilism, but
rather an awakening to the multiplicity ofnature. This was, for instance,
the teaching of tathgata-garbha and Buddha nature in the Lankvatra
Sutra, a text that was pivotal to the East Asian development of Zen
practice (Bodhidharma legendarily gave it to Huike as part of the first
transmission of Zen practice.) The Buddha explains that the tathgatagarbha is "taught to attract those members of other paths who are
attached to a self so that they will give up their projection of an unreal
self" (The Lankavatara Sutra, 110). NAN emerges as the non-entitative
Buddha nature of all beings.
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JASOJM.
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DCEXAMD THE UlfKKOWK KjfOWKS: THE WILD AFTER THE ExD OE NATURE
51
end, is always conservation for us. This is not in any way to dismiss the
interests that govern conservation, but its overdetermination can perhaps
in a practice of the wild be tempered by a radical extension of the veil of
ignorance of the Rawlsian original position: if you did not know what
species you would instantiate, which species would you preserve? In any
given ecology, if you did not know if you would be a human being or an
owl, to whom would you give priority? Conservation assumes that the
survival of others be measured against the preeminence of the human,
whereas preservation has at least the radical possibility of gauging its
success from the fate of the least (at least from a human perspective) of
its co-inhabitants. As such, it is not that preservation and conservation
are flip sides of the same coin, but rather that a radicalization of the
preservation ethic, that is, the cultivation of the practice of the wild,
is the home within which to weigh'our responsibilities to conserve.
Preservation teaches us another measure of conservation.
In order to protect the divine raiments of nature from plunder, there
was an understandable imperative to accentuate the singular beauty of
lands designated for protection. If the parks were full of appreciative
visitors, then this would add value to them and thereby help stave off
those who would assess them as repositories of raw materials. Yet when
nature becomes the hot commodity of must-see scenery, the effort to
show that it was more valuable as a product for tourist consumption
led to the pressure of unsustainable throngs of well-intentioned visitors.
The extreme beauty of the parts of nature designated as parks
shames and inspires us, and this is for the good. Many visitors as a
result find themselves reinvigorated, more willing than ever to preserve
the fragile domains that call our ordinary mindset into question and
that quicken the pulse of our imaginations. As powerful and worthy as
this contrast is, as a contrast, it runs the risk of hypostasizing the poles
of the contrast, creating a sense that we leave our homes in order to
journey into the wild, which, wholly other than the artifice of human
living, is the journey into the wild as the journey into our lost opposite.
John Muir famously refused this simple opposition. In his reflections
on "The Wild Parks and Forest Reservations of the West," Muir
applauded the emerging interest in wilderness hiking. "Thousands of
tired, nerve-shaken over-civilized people are beginning to find out that
going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity; and
that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of
timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life" (1997, 721).
Civilization as such was not the sickness, but rather over-civilization,
that is, civilization in its mode of being sick and thereby destructive of
the hfe whose prolongation it is doubtless extending, but at the expense
of denigrating human life to the default fact that it lives simply because
it has not yet died. The mass promotion of the quantity of human life
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JASOXM. WIRTH
has compromised the quality of human life. Sickness, too, is a life, but
its movement runs counter to the vitality of the wild. The dull quantity
of the long but not well lived life is suddenly exposed to the electroshock of "tracing rivers to their sources, getting in touch with the nerves
of Mother Earth; jumping from rock to rock, feeling the life of them,
learning the songs of them, panting in whole-souled exercise, and
rejoicing in deep, long drawn breaths of pure wildness" (ibid., 721).
From the perspective of the over-civilized, wildness is something
like how the young mind, longing for flight from its confinement in
dull institutions, tends to mis-read what Nietzsche had called the
Dionysian. Rather than the wild life at the heart of form, it is merely
the call for form to go wild, to be crazy and excessive, to become "party
animals," and to become lost in an irresponsible intoxication where
all is permitted and everything is everything else. My advice: do not
go hiking in such a Dionysian state. That such a misreading prevails
is an indication of the hold of over-civilizationa way of thinking the
collectivity of the subject hypnotized in the life-spherewhose death
grip makes one imagine that its repressed life is reckless and spastic,
that disorganization as such is preferable to cultivating the generativity
of new forms of life. One forgets that Nietzsche, whose Zarathustra
counseled us to remain "faithful \treii\ to the earth," that is, to be a
better, more loyal lover (for the betrayal was the mere conservation of
the wild in over-civilization), conceived these ideas while wandering in
the Alps around Sils Maria, engaged in his own practice of the wild.
In Muir's practice of the wild, the domains are no longer separate,
but rather "the nerves of Mother-Earth" are the home out of which the
conservation of human civilization emerges. It is the home of the
human house and the interaction between the two is not the divorce
of the two, but rather their non-dual belonging together in a more
complete ("whole-souled") home. In the home of all, including human
civilization, as well as the many other forms congregating and being in
packs that pulsate through life, one comes to see that even rocks are alive,
that they too have their own songs, songs particular to their own living
geology. Already by 1797, in his Ideasfor a Philosophy ofNature, Schelling
had denied the duality of the organic and the inorganic, the living and
the dead. All of nature was self-organizing, that is organic, determined
not from some transcendent creator from without, but from within its
own self-progressing immanence."'This insight is also clearly present in
10. "But no mechanism [determinism from an external cause] alone is far from
being what constitutes nature. For as soon as we enter the icdXm oorganic nature
all mechanical linkage of cause and effect ceases for us. Every organic product
exists for itself. . . . The organic . . . produces itself, arises out of itself (Schellin
1988, 30).
53
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JASOJM. WIRTH
History ofthe West (Loy 2002), among other works, Loy argues that the Buddha's
three poisons should not be understood only on an individual level, but on
a social and institutional level as well. Witness this trenchant critique from A
Buddhist History ofthe West as Dr. Loy assesses the great defiling poisons or klesas
(defilements that cloud the mind)/oM (or rga in Sanskrit), greed, dosa (or
dve?a in Sanskrit), malice, hostility, and ill-will, and moha (or avidy), delusion
at work in the very fabric of our way of life: "Our economic system promotes
and requires greed in at least two ways: desire for profit is necessary to fuel
the engine of economic growth, and consumers must be insatiable in order to
maintain the markets for what can be produced. Although justified as raising
the standards living worldwide, economic globalization seems rather to be
increasing inequality, unemployment, and environmental degradation. . . .
Long after the end of the Cold War, the U. S. federal government continue to
devote the largest percentage of its resources to maintaining an enormously
expensive war machine. Most other countries continue to spend more on arms
than social services. . . . The media that might inform us about these problems
distract us with 'infotainment' and sports spectacles to promote their real
function, advertising. One would expect universities to be encouraging and
developing the critical thinking necessary to reflect on these developments,
but in the midst of the greatest economic expansion in history we are told
that budget cutbacks are necessary because there is less money available for
DOGEN AND THE UNKNOWN KNOWNS: THE WILD AFTER THE END OF NATURE
55
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JASON M.
WIRTH
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JASOX.M.
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In what manner can the Dharma, the very matter that is transmitted
from Buddha Dharma to Buddhist negotiator, be translated as the wild?
It all depends on how one hears the word "wild."
Typically "wild" and "feral" (ferus) are "largely defined in our
dictionaries by whatfrom a human standpointit is not. It cannot be
seen by this approach for what it j" (ibid., 9). Hence, a wild animal is an
animal that has not been trained to live in our house (undomesticated)
and has not been successfully subjected to our rule (unruly). When
we break the rules of our normalized lives, we go "wild," and become
"party animals."
What happens though if we "turn it the other way"? What is the wild
to the wild? Animals become "free agents, each with its own endowments,
living within natural systems" (9). As Snyder begins to explore this
turn, he indicates the ways in which the wild "comes very close to being
how the Chinese define the term Dao^ the way of Great Nature: eluding
analysis, beyond categories, self-organizing, self-informing, playful,
surprising, impermanent, insubstantial, independent, complete,
orderly, unmediated . . ." (10). And the Dao, as we know from the rich
interpntration of Mahyna and Daoist traditions in East Asia, is "not
far from the Buddhist term Dharma with its original senses of forming
and firming" (10).
In a sense, the fundamental practice of Dharma, of negotiating Dao,
is the practice of the wild. Dgen's Sansui-ky (1240), Mountainsand Waters
Stra^ brought many things together for Snyder. Dgen's title alludes
to Chinese landscape painting, a spectacular example of which opens
Snyder's Mountains and Rivers Without End. Snyder had already studied
this tradition with the great Chiura Obata at Berkeley, becoming "aware
of how the energies of mist, white water, rock formations, air swirlsa
chaotic universe where everything is in placeare so much a part of the
East Asian painter's world" (1996,153). When Dogen attempts to allow
this chaotic but not disorderly universe to speak, he resorts to phrases
like the "whole earth without an inch of soil left out."
Dgen's Sansui-ky is not itself a sutra (ky), nor is it a commentary
on a canonical sutra. Tlie sutra is the wild itself, which Dogen, following
a venerable Chinese tradition, calls sansui (Chinese shan-shui, \h^->
mountains and waters). This is the term for something like "landscape,"
especially with reference to paintings, but it is not landscape in the
typical sense of a panoptic view of scenery. Rather it is earth as the
interpntration of yin and yang, waters and solids, emptiness and
form, free, unconditioned ground and interdependent beings, in the
spontaneous, organic auto-generation of Dao. San, mountain, rises into
form in the most formidable of ways, as if it were an especially violent
expression of form's self-insistence, yet, it tooflows,for JMZ, water, is pure
elasticity, having no form of its own, yet capable of taking any form.
59
"nothingness is shapeliness"
Mountains mill be Buddhas then
(ibid., 145)
It is not, therefore, that we oppose our homes to nature, as if we can
only be at home in the domain of human artifice or, failing that, amidst
impending ecological disaster, we become nostalgic for the lost Eden
ofnature that never was. We are not alienated from nature as if it were
something outside of us (Hegel's force of the negative) or inside our
ideological epochs. The problem is more fundamentally that we are alienated from
our home, the biore^ons, nottheideolo^es, that pve us our bang. We are not in these
bioregions. We are these bioregions, these great unknown knowns that are
our invitation to practice.
References
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JASON M.
WIRTH
DGEXAXD THE UxKXOWX KxOWXS: THE WILD AFTER THE ExD OF NATVRE
61
Wirth, Jason M., and Patrick Burke, eds. 2013. The Barbarian Prinple: Merleau-Ponty,
Sehelling, and the Question of Mature. Albany, NY: State University of New York
Press.
Wolin, Sheldon S. 2008. Denwaacy Incorporated: Managed Democracy and the Specter of
Inverted Totalitarianism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Zizek, Slavoj. 2008. In Defense ofLost Causes. London and New York: Verso.
. 2009. Erst as. Tragedy, Then as Farce. London and New York: Verso.
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