In that tower of ancient wisdom which is Shakyamuni’s teaching, there are myriad different levels. All but one rest atop some other, dependent thereupon for both their position and their support. At the very top we find its pinnacle: the doctrine of Emptiness. A spire of reason, rarified and ethereal in the extreme, it tapers vanishingly into infinity. As a cosmic truth, of course, it has no intrinsic need of support. But as a path it is most commonly approached via a graduated, multi-stage route, as few minds can make the leap directly. Of those who can, most will have already done so.
Of the vast majority remaining, many find ourselves weighted down by karmic obstructions. These complicate our ascent; and we must therefor go up by stages, glad of every hand- and foot-hold. Upward we struggle, mental fingers ever groping for the next ledge, toes pushing off from the one just past, a concatenation of successive realizations serving as our ladder to infinity. Upward upon it must we clamber, rung by rung, for numberless eons. Picture a carefully welded framework of intertwining logical arguments, intuitions and observations. (Monkey bars for the monkey mind?) Here and there we find storied platforms, representing the major concepts---interpretations of Buddha’s dharma coalesced into solid reason. And at the base of it all there must be a foundation; this we know as the Eightfold Path. But beneath even that (sometimes so deep as to escape our notice) lay the footings of the foundation: the Four Noble Truths.
What part then, is most essential? From among the countless in-between levels, demolish half their number at random and still the structure would serve its purpose; efforts made in its remaining alcoves would continue to bare immeasurable fruit. In addition, strike off also the pinnacle itself, and those few shattered walls left standing would still shelter practice of enormous value. Bulldoze it down to the lowest sub-basement, excavating the very foundation, and even then there’d still remain enough of an outline to guide the intuitive toward its possible reconstruction. But take out any one of the footings and the whole must tumble into ruins. Lacking these it cannot stand.
Spiritual practice which does not rise up, straight and true, centered vertically upon the Four Noble Truths cannot be called in any wise Buddhist. This is a point stressed unequivocally under Right View in the Eightfold Path. To this, nowhere in the Mahayana or Vajrayana do we find any contradiction whatever. Should we lose mindfulness of these four, thereby do we abandon the view. Abandoning the view, we strike off on paths which are not the Eightfold. And it obviously follows that we will not likely attain to the further truths should we lose our way so early on.
Thus it was that my own first encounter with an official Buddhist group turned out vastly disappointing. Having disposed of both the foundation and its footings, and having cast away the pinnacle as well, this one sect in particular had for more than seven centuries focused exclusively upon but one, and only one, teaching. Narrowly defining even that, they gave their attention wholly over to but two chapters of that single sutra. The meaning of these they further distilled into a solitary phrase of just six syllables. This very group, which shouts from the hilltops of Buddha’s prophesy about a false dharma due to arise in the latter days fails to realize that they are that one.
Let me tell you how I was taken in. Being long starved of all contact with any manner of Buddhists whatever, I over-eagerly signed myself up without having made the least inquiry into their actual doctrine and practice. And once in, too attached to give up my new status as a recognized official Buddhist, I clung tenaciously for most of a decade. Thereby did I utterly misspend much time and considerable effort.
Later on, having finally severed ties, I found myself without a practice. What to do? For a year or so following, not yet ready to seek out another genuine connection, I set myself to re-study the basics. Rearranging my altar in a non-sectarian, generic format, I re-invented my morning ritual. Where I had formerly knelt and chanted the same two chapters five times over, followed by endless repetitions of the six syllables for up to an hour, all of this in machine gun rapid, archaic Japanese from the thirteenth century, I’d substitute something more personally relevant. Slowly and deliberately, I’d recite aloud in plainest English from the Lord’s first sermon, given at the Deer Park in Benares: his first turning of the Wheel of Law. Why this? Hereby did the Perfect One choose to introduce his former companions to the ultimate truth which he had discovered. Hereby did he set the footings of all future Dharma in solid bedrock. Before too long, I had succeeded in committing the passage to memory.
For anyone looking to just start out (or perhaps start over) here truly is an inspiring first practice. Recite the words and reflect on their meaning. Return to it often in your later years. Spiritual progress is a lot like rowing; often you cannot look ahead, but always you can see behind. Hold a true course from where you started, sighting along the wake which you trail, and you need not fear for veering away from your destination.