The Greatly Underrated Teachings of the Buddha
It’s been a long time since I last wrote.
Some friends have asked me, "Since your public account hasn’t been updated for so long, are you publishing on another platform?"
No, all my articles are initially published on this account (Lin Mu Qing Jing).
Others have asked me if I’ve organized any in-person meditation retreats or provided online guidance for meditation.
Not yet. So far, I haven’t officially taught anyone meditation.
Over the past three years of sharing my meditation experiences online, many people have hoped I could create study groups or provide in-person meditation guidance. I’ve often considered this, but I believe that to teach others, I must not only master the practice myself but also share it with others accurately and effectively.
Every time I consider teaching meditation, I organize my own experiences and methods, simulating the process of guiding others step-by-step from theory to practice as if I were teaching a live audience.
Then, I put myself in the listeners' shoes to examine these theories and methods, identifying any potential questions they might have and addressing them.
If I encounter questions I can’t answer, it means my understanding is still incomplete. At that point, I stop the simulation and focus on reflecting or researching relevant teachings. If I still can’t resolve the issue, I abandon the idea of teaching others and return to my own practice.
If I encounter no questions that I can’t answer, I jot down the key points and organize them into articles. Then I approach my summarized methods as a beginner would, practicing them step-by-step. Throughout this process, I continually refine and improve the methods until I’m confident they are effective. After that, I set them aside and return to my own meditation practice.
I reason that only if, after a long time, I revisit these theories and methods and still find no issues with them, would they be suitable for teaching others. But more often than not, after a few days or weeks, as my meditation practice progresses, I notice flaws in those ideas. Consequently, I abandon my teaching plans until the thought of teaching resurfaces, and I repeat the process again.
Sometimes, when I feel it’s been too long since I last posted, I’ll organize some ideas I’m relatively satisfied with at the time and share them online. Yet before long, I invariably notice their deficiencies again. Hence, my updates have become less frequent, and I’ve yet to establish any systematic teaching.
Although this hasn’t provided much help to others, it has benefited me tremendously. Each time I summarize, it’s an opportunity to review and consolidate my progress in meditation, deepening my understanding and uncovering issues promptly. Moreover, putting myself in others’ shoes and examining my theories prevents me from being confined by my own perspective, often revealing my own shortcomings.
In particular, over the past two years, as I’ve hoped to introduce meditation to family and friends without any foundation in Buddhist teachings, I’ve expanded my target audience to include laypeople. This requires explaining concepts in plain, everyday language rather than relying on specialized Buddhist terminology.
When simulating this approach, I realized that many of the terms I took for granted were, in fact, shallowly or even incorrectly understood by me. Consequently, when I tried to express these ideas in modern, accessible language, the theories often appeared vague, illogical, or riddled with contradictions.
For example, take the concept of rupa (form) in the five aggregates (skandhas). I used to think it referred to objective matter or the smallest unit of physical existence. However, if one replaces the term rupa in sutras with "matter," passages like "When craving arises, form arises; when craving ceases, form ceases" become difficult to comprehend. How can objective matter depend on personal preferences to appear or disappear?
Another example is vedana (feeling). It includes pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral sensations. But what are pleasure and pain? They are emotions. What are emotions? They are mental activities. What are mental activities? They involve thought, emotion, will, etc. But what are these?... It seems that the more one explains, the clearer it becomes, yet truly grasping it remains elusive, like scratching an itch through a barrier.
Consider the term skandha (aggregate). It is commonly explained as a "collection." But how exactly does this "collection" occur? Does it mean certain things come together to form vedana, sanna (perception), sankhara (mental formations), and vinnana (consciousness)? Or does it mean many smallest units of vedana gather into a heap of vedana?... If a person is a "collection" of the five aggregates, what exactly is the mechanism of this "collection"?
Another example: "The impermanence of the five aggregates is suffering; suffering is not-self." In the Buddha’s era, this seemed like common sense. Disciples and non-Buddhists alike answered this way when questioned by the Buddha. But when interpreted with modern definitions—impermanence as change or non-permanence, suffering as painful or undesirable, and self as the ego—this reasoning lacks logical coherence.
Things can change for the worse or for the better. Who would consider all change inherently bad or painful? If everything suddenly froze in time—good or bad—never changing or fading away, how many could truly accept that? Even if everything were "good," humans often crave novelty. Wouldn’t a static, unchanging state become unbearable for many?
Even if some don’t see it this way, the reasoning that suffering implies non-self seems even less causal. How does someone’s self-concept change with pleasure or pain? If people always dismissed painful experiences as "not-self," wouldn’t they grow more detached the more they suffered? Who, then, would feel pain?
The same issues arise in understanding the Four Noble Truths, the Four Foundations of Mindfulness, the Five Desires, the Six Sense Bases, the Seven Factors of Awakening, the Eightfold Path, the links of Dependent Origination, and theories on causation. Many interpretations seem problematic. I’ve read numerous commentaries by ancient scholars and modern meditation masters, but they often feel forced or replace one vague term with another.
Yet these concepts are the foundations of Buddhism and the core of the Buddha’s teachings. If I can’t personally grasp their true and precise meaning—clearly, directly, and experientially—how can I teach others?
Thus, on one hand, I began exploring meditation more deeply, meticulously, and independently, striving to personally verify even the smallest details of Buddhist knowledge. I avoided relying on others’ views or interpretations.
On the other hand, I started studying the Agamas line by line. Instead of assuming modern meanings for words, I researched the linguistic usage of translators from their time and earlier periods. I also compared different translations of the same passages in the Tripitaka by ancient translators. Combining this with direct meditative experience, I approached the scriptures objectively and factually.
After a long period of in-depth study and experiential validation, I was astonished to find that this pursuit of truth itself is the path to liberation. What’s even more incredible is that as I bridged the gap between theory and practice, I discovered a version of Buddhism completely different from today’s understanding—one in which the Buddha’s teachings are conveyed in the clearest, most straightforward manner, revealing their true meaning.
Many may wonder, how can I be sure this is the true teaching (dhamma)?
The reason is simple: the true teaching, the dhamma, is an absolute truth. No matter the era, no matter how the world or life evolves, no matter how far science, philosophy, or religion progress, and regardless of whether Buddhism exists, anyone who discovers it will instinctively know it to be the ultimate truth.
Even if the entire world believes in another doctrine and deems it the truth, this realization remains unshakable. Even if a being claiming to be the Buddha stands before them, asserting their understanding is wrong and proclaiming another teaching as the true dhamma, they would know that this being is a false Buddha.
Such certainty doesn’t arise from special experiences, unwavering faith, or extraordinary abilities. Rather, it stems from the fact that the true dhamma isn’t just a means of liberation—it is a profound wisdom that reveals the essence of the world and the truth of life. It’s a wisdom capable of discerning the correctness and origin of all viewpoints.
In simple terms, it is the universal theory that countless scientists and philosophers have long dreamed of—a theory capable of offering the ultimate explanation for the universe and life. It is an unassailable theory that cannot be falsified, one that resolves all philosophical questions.
Moreover, through the skillful teachings of the Blessed One (Buddha), it is a theory that anyone, upon hearing it, can personally verify through careful observation and contemplation. It is a theory that anyone can immediately put into practice upon understanding it. It is a theory that allows one to eliminate all suffering, afflictions, and even the cycle of birth and death at the very moment of practice.
The world has greatly underestimated and misunderstood the true Dharma taught by the Blessed One. One could say that people today understand the true Dharma only at the level of its textual expression, while remaining almost entirely ignorant of its actual implications.
In fact, a shift in perspective would reveal that it has only been a little over 2,000 years since the Buddha's passing. Meanwhile, fields like physics, biology, chemistry, astronomy, and psychology—each only a few centuries old—have already falsified many of the theoretical aspects of Buddhism as people understand them today. The remaining aspects are often preserved with explanations like "it can only be understood through actual practice," "it can only be seen in meditation," or "don’t overthink it; the Dharma is inconceivable." If these disciplines continue to develop for another thousand or ten thousand years, how much of the Dharma, as currently understood, would still stand up to scrutiny?
If what the Blessed One taught was merely such a Dharma, how could he claim to have completely understood the world, to be the teacher of humans and gods, to be the most revered among all beings, and to have no equal until the next Buddha arises?
Therefore, regardless of your current understanding of the Dharma—whether you are just beginning to explore it or are already teaching it to others—it is worth reflecting on whether the Dharma you believe in truly lives up to the ten epithets of the Blessed One. Does it truly resolve all doubts, including those concerning philosophical questions? On what grounds can it claim to be an eternal, unfalsifiable truth?