On Moving Beyond Myopic Musings - Seeing the Elephant as it is

The Blind Men and the Elephant

Scattered throughout the literature of ancient India, the parable of the blind men and the elephant has been told in variations preserved in Jain, Buddhist, and Hindu sources. It paints an image of the violence and vitriol that may erupt in the clash between different interpretations of reality, each surmised from a limited vantage point. We here examine one version of the story in detail, its early Buddhist depiction based on the Tittha Sutta of the Pāli Canon.



In exploring the parable of the blind men and the elephant, we aim to draw out its implications for our present state of affairs in a world characterized largely by contention and competing views, many of them starkly contrasting. In untangling the perspectives from the story, we hope they may be pieced together to allow for a collaborative understanding of the bigger picture, allowing the elephant to be seen as a whole rather than parts mistaken for something they are not.

Myopic Musings

The Buddhist version of the blind men and the elephant offers a critique of the tendency toward myopic musings, the narrow-minded and short-sighted perspectives we may be prone to entertain, informed by distorted perceptions of the world. Providing some context, the narration begins by setting the scene.

“There were many contemplatives, brahmans, & wanderers of various sects living around Sāvatthī with differing views, differing opinions, differing beliefs, dependent for support on their differing views.”

Here, the participants in the story are described as being in some way attached and identified with competing sets of doctrine, on which they depend for the sake of sustenance or status in society. For them, their prized views have become a crutch, the basis for their sense of self. Any challenge to such views is taken as a direct threat to their identity.



This attachment and identification is a felt reality for many in the modern world as much as in ancient times, lending itself to the emergence of divided factions in politics and religion. Pitting their precious views against each other, each camp advocates its own perspective as ultimate reality while dismissing all others as unworthy even of consideration.

“Only this is true; anything otherwise is worthless.”

In such a declaration, a single truth is pushed to the exclusion of all competing perspectives. We may witness this all around us, especially in light of differing portrayals of the coronavirus pandemic in the media by various sources, each laying sole claim to reality. In obsessing over their myopic musings, they lose sight of the bigger picture.

Missing the Bigger Picture

Not only do these individuals attach to and identify with their theories, they furiously debate over them, inflicting harm upon each other in the process.

“They kept on arguing, quarreling, & disputing, wounding one another with weapons of the mouth, saying, ‘The Dhamma is like this, it’s not like that. The Dhamma’s not like that, it’s like this.’”

The harm that comes from such vehement attachment and identification is evidenced throughout history up to the present day by wars waged and lives taken over doctrines and dogmas. Illustrating the absurdity of clinging to myopic perspectives, the Buddha in the Tittha Sutta compares these sectarians who quarrel over their cherished views to blind men arguing over their limited understanding of an elephant when coming into contact with but one of its various parts.


From their limited vantage points, each insists that the part they perceive (the trunk, the tail, etc.) is all there is, as illustrated by the image opening our reflections here. Not only that, they fail to even recognize the trunk as a trunk, mistaking it for a pole. The same applies to each of the elephant's various other body parts.

“Saying, ‘The elephant is like this, it’s not like that. The elephant’s not like that, it’s like this,’ they struck one another with their fists.”
Each of these men neglect the forest for the trees, over which they fight each another relentlessly, hacking away at the forest itself. In their frenzy, they miss the bigger picture. Much like many today, they are blinded by their narrow-minded, short-sighted insistence on their own perspectives. Their refusal to closely examine others stands in the way of seeing clearly.

Settled Clarity

We are thus reminded of the importance in considering experience collectively. In Jain contexts, here is where the notion of anekāntavāda or "many-sidedness" comes into play. The parts of the elephant function as valuable pieces of the puzzle, but such parts must be accurately discerned with settled clarity rather than mistaken for something they are not.

In a Hindu version of the story, the blind men conclude that each of them must have encountered an entirely different animal, and so they are at least spared of the fundamental delusion of mistaking parts of the elephant for inanimate objects found lying around the house or yard. However, this does not go far enough.

Rather, we are invited to consider the possibility that we perceive different sides of the elephant. If one can understand the elephant's trunk as the elephant's trunk, the elephant's tail as the elephant's tail, and so on, all belonging to the same elephant, then eventually one may piece the parts together and perceive the elephant as a unified whole, as it actually is.


In contemplative contexts, this discerning capacity is chiseled by practices such as meditation to facilitate the mind's settling and clarifying processes. By bringing such settled clarity into our everyday activities, we may develop greater immunity to the forces of attachment and identification, psychological drives that draw us into unwholesome relationships with our unchecked versions of reality, often informed by obstructions to settled clarity in vision. In so doing, we stand to widen our perspective.

Even so, successfully integrating such a widening of perspective into the broader realm of politics in an effort to resolve interpersonal conflict continues to prove itself an immense challenge.

Some "blind men" of our day and age refuse to step back and entertain any perspective other than their own. In those cases, without stirring up more dust to obscure both our own and their vision, we may attempt to calmly and clearly demonstrate to them, to whatever extent is possible in individual exchanges, that a rope is a rope and not the snake for which they mistake it. This may at least begin to shift the directional momentum of perspectives on the whole from a contracting to expanding orientation. To be continued.

The Katha Upanishad - Mortality and Immortality Personified

The Katha Upanishad ...

In one sense a "children's" story, which may find good company amidst a creepy campfire collection, yet with surprisingly advanced themes, the Katha Upanishad (कठोपनिषद् / कठ उपनिषद्) is a Sanskrit text of India dating to roughly the fifth century before the common era. It tells the tale of a young boy, Naciketas, son of the sage Vājashravas, and his encounters with the personification of Death.

Existential in content, the Katha Upanishad depicts lessons imparted by Death to the young Naciketas about the nature of the soul, Ātman, and its liberation, Moksha/Mokṣa. Despite his youth, Naciketas bravely confronts the reality of morality. Such topics are by no means off limits. Even children may die young.

Here dissect both the flesh and bones of death, examining the chapter-wise structure of the Katha Upanishad, its skeleton, while also fleshing out its content, the beating heart and soul that fills it with life, animating the text as corpus, as corpse. Halloween may be behind us, but death is always looming.

Mortality and Immortality

Setting the stage for the Katha Upanishad is an impactful image of death, shown to us at the very outset of its treatment of mortality. At the beginning of the text, in its very first chapter, the young Naciketas beholds an existential scene unfolding before his eyes. Watching cows being led to their slaughter, for the sake of ritual sacrifice, the curious child asks his father: Who will receive the sacrifice? In response to his son's inquiry, Vājashravas names "Death."

Naciketas thus begins his confrontation with life's final moments and the afterlife that follows. In the course of his education, both mortality and immortality show their faces. During his contemplations, Naciketas symbolically stays as “guest” in the “house” of Death, a central character in the encounter who oddly grants him three wishes.

Interestingly, Naciketas asks:

• 1. To be greeted with joy upon death


• 2. For "Death" (the character) to explain how a man with faith enjoys immortality in heaven


• 3. Whether a man who is dead exists or does not exist

Skirting around these questions, particularly the last, the personification of Death replies that such an inquiry is too complex — even the gods do not understand the nature of death and existence. Being but a child, perhaps Death underestimates Naciketas, dismissing him as lacking the spiritual maturity to comprehend what even the gods cannot fathom. Thus, Naciketas is asked to make an alternative wish in place of his question.

A stubborn child, perhaps determined to find an answer, Naciketas stands by his original question about death. Attempting to dissuade him, the character "Death" offers to fulfill Naciketas’s desires with material goods. Even so, Naciketas is unrelenting, acknowledging that material wealth is impermanent and ultimately unsatisfactory, demanding an answer to his question instead.

The Abode of Death

Given the child's unyielding persistence, Death realizes that Naciketas genuinely yearns for knowledge. Indeed, Death is forced to admit that the young boy, unusual for a mortal, much more for a child, remains unblinded by worldly desires. Evidently quite mature for his age, Naciketas confirms his advanced insights, noting, “What you call a treasure, I know to be transient; for by fleeting things one cannot gain the perennial.” Recognizing the boy's sincerity, Death reflects that for the vast majority, “satisfying desire is the foundation of the world,” but seeing that Naciketas has gone beyond this, offers the boy his “house.”

Accepting this invitation, Naciketas enters the abode of Death.

Deeming Naciketas as worthy of an answer upon bravely entering the abode of Death, it comes time to impart a core contemplative practice for the young boy's use. Given their undeniable presence and persistence, his spiritual inclinations should be nurtured. Death thus reveals the syllable “Om” (ॐ) which he deems the secret to obtaining one’s every wish. Psychologically, the vibrations its chanting induces exert a powerful calming and quieting effect over the otherwise scattered mind. In response to his question, Naciketas is informed by Death that the wise one is not born and does not die. Such is the eternal, imperishable soul, Ātman.

The Chariot

In the Katha Upanishad's discussion of Ātman, broadly representing the self or soul, we find the image of the chariot make its appearance. Also employed in Buddhist contexts, in the Katha Upanishad the chariot stands for the body. Its rider, the one holding the reins, is the eternal self, imperishable soul, Ātman.

All that is composed of myriad component parts must also decompose, dis-integrate, deteriorate—a lesson of the Katha Upanishad instilled in the young Naciketas by none other than Death, himself. Only Ātman is eternal, unified, whole without parts. The analogy is outlined in detail:

Ātman is the rider, while the body is the chariot.
Intellect is the charioteer, while mind is symbolized by the reins.
The senses are horses, while sense objects are the paths around them.

With these parallels, one may perhaps visualize a battle scene, with each character, each aspect of what we may typically consider a "being," depicted by each symbol. Ātman takes up the body as its vehicle, like a rider in a chariot, with its senses galloping toward sense objects, like horses navigating winding paths. Naciketas learns that Ātman is "the one who enjoys," the one who remains even when the chariot falls apart and its horses scatter.

Self-Control

Upon receiving this metaphor of the chariot, Naciketas also learns the importance of self control. As a young boy, he intuitively grasps what often takes people decades to understand, some entering old age without ever having learned. Namely, with mind uncontrolled, the senses disobey their master and one experiences sorrow, dissatisfaction, unease. However, with mind controlled, the senses obey their master and one experiences the complete and utter bliss of self-control. In like manner to a charioteer's reins controlling the direction taken by horses, the mind routes and re-routes the senses.

Mastery of this ability requires extensive training in self-control, but once achieved, the imperishable Ātman is at complete peace.

Consistent with other Upanishadic teachings, Naciketas also learns that God, Brahman is supreme. Not only that, but God is not separate from us. The contemplative path, which includes exercises in self-control, reunites us with God. For Upanishadic contemplatives, Brahman is the ultimate reality — the immortal, the pure, the source of all. Given their non-separation, both Brahman and Ātman are radiant, like light.

Most importantly, Naciketas learns that while fools seek externally for the divine, the wise look within. Here, one experiences liberation, Moksha/Mokṣa.

Yoga as Union

This reorientation, from seeking externally to turning within, reconnects us to God in the broad "Hindu" tradition, largely shaped by texts such as the Katha Upanishad. Drawing a distinction between the material and the immaterial worlds, the Katha Upanishad teaches that the soul is its own substance distinct from yet interacting with the senses and body. Whereas the senses and body come and go, only Brahman and Ātman are eternal.

Naciketas learns that knowing Brahman and Ātman, not merely intellectually, but in their totality through spiritual contemplation is the practice of yoga. Here, we may understand yoga as union, the seamless yoking together of Brahman and Ātman, which were never separate in the first place but are only misperceived as such by the unsettled mind. Understanding their union entails access to true immortality in the Upanishadic worldview.

We hope this abbreviated exploration of the Katha Upanishad illuminates the timeless wisdom of this Indian classic and its relevance to continued encounters with Death, a timeless existential truth. To be continued.

Contemplative Characters Contemporary to the Buddha

Contemplative Characters ...

In an age of doctrinal diversity, the modern era filled to its brim with competing political factions, religious sects, and personality cults, a basic "literacy" of such positions is helpful for navigating the increasingly uncertain ideological terrain that lies before us. Likewise for the Buddha's time.

Most know that the Buddha lived in what we now know to be northern India near the border with Nepal, his earliest teachings preserved in the Pāli language, others in Sanskrit and related dialects. While those encountering Buddhism in the present day and age are usually aware of the broad context in which the Buddha lived and taught, few are familiar with other spiritual teachers active in the same period. The Buddha certainly was not the only contemplative of his time.

Perhaps we may acquire a clearer understanding of the philosophies relevant and contemporary to the Buddha by investigating those philosophers he addresses by name, including, most notably, all who receive mention in an early text of the Pāli Canon from the Dīgha Nikāya, titled the Sāmaññaphala Sutta.

In particular, these teachers mentioned by the Buddha include:

• Pūraṇa Kassapa
• Makkhali Gosāla
• Ajita Kesakambalī
• Pakudha Kaccāyana
• Sañjaya Belaṭṭhiputta
• Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta

Each contemplative, in turn, had his own worldview or philosophy, his own teaching which he sought to impart to others. In this article, we wish to provide brief doctrinal biographies of contemplative characters contemporary to the Buddha for the sake of better understanding the contemplative context in which he lived and taught.

Amoralism and Pūraṇa Kassapa the Naturalist

The first contemplative to be mentioned in the Sāmaññaphala Sutta went by the name Pūraṇa Kassapa. He was a contemplative of the Buddha's time associated with amoralism, summarized by the Pāli term "akiriyaṃ," reflecting his belief that there are no evil acts or fruits of evil acts. Likewise, for Pūraṇa Kassapa, there were no good acts nor fruits of good acts. The kiriya in the term "akiriyaṃ" means "action" or "activity" and is closely associated with the more commonly recognized form karma in Sanskrit, or kamma in Pāli. Pūraṇa Kassapa was also known as an ahetuvadin, a denier of causality.

By asserting that there are neither actions nor the fruits (or results) of actions, Pūraṇa Kassapa denied the operation of karma. While it is important to note that there are multiple versions of karma, the pre-Buddhist notion tending toward a deterministic version and the Buddhist variation allowing a significant place for the role of intention or volition, all theories of karma entailed some understanding of the connection between cause and effect, act and result.

Pūraṇa Kassapa, however, believed that there would be no reward for good acts and no punishment for evil acts. One could practice giving and other virtuous acts but acquire no merit whatsoever. One could murder and steal yet not reap any consequences, in his view. The Buddha found this perspective to be dangerous and thus rejected it. Notably, Pūraṇa Kassapa, who believed himself to be omniscient, is said to have committed suicide by drowning, perhaps finding no point in living, death being his destiny anyway. We start off on a somewhat dark note by summarizing his doctrinal biography here.

Determinism and Makkhali Gosāla the Fatalist

Makkhali Gosāla, on the other hand, was a devoted "ājīvika," literally one who acts according to livelihood, also contemporary to the Buddha. He was a proponent of determinism or fatalism (niyativāda), according to which all that one experiences has been written in stone and there is no changing the course of events inscribed in one's fate. Makkhali Gosāla and his supporters followed their "ājīvika" livelihood not out of choice, but because it was pre-ordained.

Notably, Makkhali Gosāla used the notion of "saṃsārasuddhiṃ" (wandering on) to advance the belief that there are no causes or conditions within one's control for defilement or purification. In other words, one is absolutely powerless, as these factors are pre-destined. He and his followers denied the existence of free will.

What purpose, then, is there to any activity whatsoever? On face value, such a philosophy could easily lend itself to the spectrum of passive indifference, catatonia, or to a form of hedonism in which anything goes given that it's all pre-determined and outside one's control anyway. Makkhali Gosāla's teachings may have been popular among some, but the Buddha was not impressed.

Annihilationism and Ajita Kesakambalī the Materialist

Also contemporary to the Buddha was a contemplative character by the name of Ajita Kesakambalī, who taught a form of annihilation, according to which everything is annihilated, destroyed, obliterated upon death. His response to questions about his teaching can be summed up by the Pāli term "ucchedaṃ," literally referring to complete destruction.

Also associated with materialism (lokāyata), Ajita Kesakambalī emphasized only the present life, without recourse to past or future lifetimes. In other words, this life is all we have. According to Ajita Kesakambalī and the materlialists, all we are is composed of matter that is doomed to decay. Nothing survives or continues post-mortem.

Such a materialist and annihilationist worldview in the Buddha's time most often lent itself to a denial of morality. Even if moral causality operates within a single lifetime, it ends upon death. The Buddha avoided this sort of slippery slope by rejecting the extreme view of annihilationism, finding it limiting and even unskillful to teach. Others could easily get the wrong idea and begin to act irresponsibly, thinking "you only live once" and neglecting to take future ramifications into consideration.

Eternalism and Pakudha Kaccāyana the Amoral Atomist

Meanwhile, another contemplative named Pakudha Kaccāyana who was around at the same time as the Buddha advocated a form of eternalism (sassatavāda) based on a Pāli statement attributed to him, "aññena aññaṃ," meaning "something else" and amounting to a form of evasion. Rather than moral teachings, Pakudha Kaccāyana was pre-occupied with other matters.

Taking a somewhat scientific turn, Pakudha Kaccāyana was a contemplative mainly concerned with atomic theory. He summarized his insights to his followers through reference to seven eternal, non-interacting "elements," including earth, water, fire, air, pleasure, pain, and life. We may recognize and acknowledge the first four as elements, but to include pleasure, pain, and life as elements perhaps sounds unusual. Regardless of its peculiarity, Pakudha Kaccāyana regarded each as eternal building-blocks comprising reality as we know it.

Drawing from this theories of eternalism and atomism, Pakudha Kaccāyana proposed a form of amoralism, denying, for instance, that there is anyone who kills and no act of killing despite what otherwise would count as murder. Pakudha Kaccāyana claimed, in a rather reductionist manner, that a bladed weapon, when used against another, passes only through the seven substances. Nothing more. Nothing moral. The atoms would merely disperse and, given their eternality, would re-assemble elsewhere. This is a startling conclusion to reach, and the Buddha rejected it outright.

Agnosticism and Sañjaya Belaṭṭhiputta the Eel-Wriggler

Sañjaya Belaṭṭhiputta, a rather curious contemplative character, is associated with agnosticism (ajñana, literally not knowing or without knowledge) due to his strategic use of a debate technique known at the Buddha's time as "vikkhepaṃ" or evasion and equivocation.

Rather than put forth any coherent philosophy, Sañjaya Belaṭṭhiputta remained skeptical and uncommitted, which became a doctrine of its own, known in Pāli as amarāvikkhepavada, connoting endless equivocation. His response was often some variety of, "I don't think so. I don't think in that way. I don't think otherwise. I don't think not. I don't think not not."

Due to his use of this "neti neti" ("neither this nor that") response, Sañjaya Belaṭṭhiputta became associated with the "eel-wrigglers" (amarāvikkhepika) whose name characterizes their evasive efforts to wriggle themselves out of providing an answer when questioned, like a slippery eel squirming out of its catcher's grasp. The Buddha remained unimpressed with this sort of evasiveness. Whenever the Buddha, for instance, decided not to provide an answer to a question, he gave a legitimate reason. To merely go around saying "I don't think this, I don't think that" perhaps came across as deceptive or even lazy. Dissatisfied, several of Sañjaya Belaṭṭhiputta's followers left him, joining the Buddha instead.

Asceticism and Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta the Jain

Perhaps most familiar to us, as well as to the Buddha, might be Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta, otherwise known as Mahavira, the founder of Jainism. While the other teachers never gathered as much momentum, only Mahavira and the Buddha's legacies became recognized as religions. In fact, Buddhism and Jainism developed side by side, in the same place at the same time. Even visual depictions of Mahavira closely resemble the Buddha, and although their teachings were quite different in several ways, the statues that have been made of them are often confused for each other. While the previous teachers are likely brand new to most of us, Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta founded a major tradition still alive to this day.

Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta's teaching, which has developed into what we now know as Jainism, emphasized the importance of extreme observances, as depicted by the Pāli term "cātuyāmasaṃvaraṃ," meaning "fourfold restraint," as a means of burning off all karma without creating any anew. Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta taught his followers to go to extreme lengths in order to avoid any activity that would generate further existence.

Such methods involved severe dietary restrictions and avoiding even accidental harm to insects and invisible or microscopic beings in the spirit of absolute non-violence. Followers of Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta were asked to abstain from eating all animal products whatsoever, to avoid root vegetables because harvesting them would injure insects in the soil as well as kill the plant and prevent it from re-growing, and carefully filter their water in case there were any microscopic beings inside. Those who still practice Jainism, strictly observing Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta's regulations, may even refrain from walking on grass to avoid stepping on insects, gently sweep the path in front of them to clear it of ants, wear a breathing mask to prevent inhaling invisibly small beings, and so on. While commendable on one hand, the Buddha nonetheless found such observances impractical to demand of everyone and disagreed with the extremes that characterize strict Jainism.

Contemporary to the Buddha

Given that each of these contemplative characters lived contemporary to the Buddha, they undoubtedly influenced the context in which the Buddha formulated his own understanding of the world. We hope that by providing a brief doctrinal biography of each, we have shed light on the core features of their philosophies. While a mere three paragraphs each cannot do justice to the complexities and intricacies of their teachings, we hope they serve as a launching pad for further investigation.

Why should any of this matter to us? That the Buddha was familiar with the doctrines of other contemplatives, despite disagreeing with them, showcases his openness to hearing the perspectives of others. Rather than remaining willfully ignorant of his contemporaries, he made himself aware of what was going on in the contemplative world around him, building a sort of philosophical and contemplative literacy with regard to other emerging traditions.

Likewise, in our present experience, we encounter doctrines from diverse factions, many of them proclaiming themselves to be the sole truth. Rather that grow hostile toward them, or remain ignorant of their messages, we may at least try to understand what they teach. We are not required to agree with any of them in the slightest in the process of learning more about them.

Too often, we assume that multiple points of view cannot coexist in harmony. If we collectively work toward opening space for an understanding that unity can be found within plurality as opposed to conformity, we stand to grow substantially as a global community.

Certainly, if particular beliefs have a tendency to lead to harm for individuals or societies, they should be actively questioned, but not without understanding where they originate, what motivates and fuels them. The Buddha objected to each of the above listed contemplatives and even dismantled many of their doctrines, doing so not from a competitive quest to be the best, but out of a collectively minded effort to discern what conduces to suffering and what conduces to freedom. May all experience the freedom of clear discernment and unity within plurality. Feel free to leave us a comment below.