In Buddhism, stories are often used to convey the intent of the dharma in a relatable way. We can find examples in sutras or other writings such as the Jataka Tales. We call this “skillful means,” or upāya in Sanskrit (hōben in Japanese). If the stories are memorable, it gives us a chance to ponder them over time, and perhaps we might arrive at a deeper insight into such things as human nature, life, and our perspective on it. We need not rely only on stories from traditional Buddhist sources since the dharma is dynamic and exists at all times, in all places, for everyone. We are often brought to reflect on reality through media like art, movies, and literature that we encounter and enjoy in our everyday lives.
About a hundred years ago, H.G. Wells wrote a short story titled “The Country of the Blind.” The story goes that a man is mountain-climbing in the Ecuadorean Andes when he slips and falls down a precipitous slope. However, cushioned by the snow, he survives the great descent and eventually discovers that further below, there is a lush and inhabited valley. Venturing into the village, he notices that there is something odd, not only about the buildings and surroundings, but also about the demeanor of the people. And then it strikes him: the people are all blind, hence the curbs on the paths and the absence of windows. He had heard of the fabled Country of the Blind. Legend was that hundreds of years before, people escaping the Spanish Conquistadors had fled to this deep mountain valley and soon after, an earthquake cut off their exit. Then a disease struck the colony and caused everyone to become blind. Children were born with the disease and were also blind. However, the people learned to survive. Their other senses became stronger and after a several generations, the villagers had no concept of sight and what beings were capable of seeing with it. They explained the world according to what they knew or surmised, and lived by what they were used to.
The mountaineer remembers the proverb, “In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king,” and thinks that perhaps this may come true for him. He is quickly disabused of this notion when it becomes clear that the villagers have no idea what he is talking about when he tries to describe sight to them. They simply think he is crazy when he does not stop babbling about this thing that they cannot even imagine, and for which they are certain is of no use.
He falls in love with a woman but the village elders oppose the marriage because of his constant lunatic raving about sight. Still, they are sympathetic and an elder suggests that the problem seems to be the two protuberances on the man’s face that he refers to as eyes (theirs by now have become sunken and still, while his seem to flutter at their touch). Perhaps if they remove his eyes, the man will come to his senses and see the world as everyone else does, the way it has always been. Because he has come to like the people, the man agrees, but then he thinks about sunrise and sunset and all the things he has seen in his life. In the original version, he leaves but eventually dies in the mountains. Later, H.G. Wells revised the ending. The man sees that there will be a devastating rock slide and tries to warn the villagers, but they scorn his “imaginary” vision. Only he and his loved one escape and are freed.
How can we use this story to become more aware of our own condition? There’s more than one way of looking at it. Can you imagine if someone were trying to explain a sense that you didn’t have, or something you couldn’t see? Or, maybe our karmic causes and conditions make us view the same thing in different ways. Have you ever wondered why someone doesn’t see things the way you do, or vice versa? It’s as though they were blind! Can we always (or ever) see things as they truly are? And would you be willing to give something up, such as a sense, or a value, or a conviction, just to be like everyone else? Do you ever think, say, or do things just because everyone else does them, or because they’ve always been done that way, or because you limit yourself by imaginary boundaries? Are we being helped in our lives by something beyond our ego-awareness? These are just questions to ponder to gain a deeper insight into your true self.
From the Jodo Shinshu perspective, I suppose we could say that the story reminds us that even as we exist in the darkness of ignorance, the Light of Compassion shines upon us regardless. Being brought to this awareness, in the brief moments in which our eyes are really opened, the Nembutsu of gratitude spontaneously arises.
