Matthieu Ricard explored the concept of Sukkha as well-being, an optimal state, a healthy quality that suffuses all emotional states and conditions. It is a wholesome way of being that endures in all conditions; regardless of the weather at sea, the sea itself is clean and unpolluted.
Hedonic pleasures: get old and eventually prove exhausting.
Well-being/sukkha: confers strength, freedom, compassion; continued experience and understanding of it allows it to deepen and endure.
Exacerbated self-concern is a prime source of insecurity. (Remember, we learned that perceived attack on the “self” leads to physical pathology.)
Genuine self-confidence in not about a triumphant ego, but lies in breaking the bubble of the Self, dissolving the target, and gives rise to a deep compassion, work for the benefit of others, and an end to hopelessness.
(I love this guy!)
Sukkha, as a particular kind of well-being, addresses themes of self-interest, anxiety and true health.
Practice progresses slowly—like watching the hands of a clock. If the hands haven’t moved after some time—if you aren’t more compassionate and less anxious, then the practice isn’t working!
Father Keating: Early Christians accepted two types of revelations: scriptures and nature (!) He said the proceedings are “telling me more about G-d than anything else. Because I’ve read the scriptures.”
The Garden of Eden story is fundamentally about humans tempted to become G-d. Do you want to become G-d on G-d’s terms? Or on your own terms? If the latter, you’re out of paradise, bereft, and don’t become G-d at all.
This is very significant for the health professions: life “on my own terms” is an illusion that doesn’t work, and doesn’t make us healthy or happy. People have no idea where true happiness is to be found, and are seeking in all the wrong places. Or if they find some truth, the person is too morally weak to do anything about it.
To be “healthy” is to accept our weakness, to acknowledge that we need others, and to see the fate of others seeking happiness in all the wrong places.
He spoke of the “post-conceptual, intuitive presence of Reality,” called Love. Love is knowing at the deepest level, beyond a “self.” This is seeing G-d (however you name It—“God has been called a lot worse things than ‘God’!”) on its own terms.
Our whole being emerges from this presence—this is tender, loving, motherly, concerned—health-giving—and given gratuitously, with the invitation that, as G-d is our host, so are we to pass on to humanity the great truth that we are receiving.
Fr. Keating continued by saying that his work now is in recovering the Christian contemplative tradition, which has fallen into neglect, and some opposition. Christians need to be converted!
Of the practice of Silence, he said this is listening more deeply than ears or heart can go. Listening to that energy which is everything, and nothing.
It doesn’t matter how you sit, but you must discontinue habits of looking for happiness in the wrong places. It is this which makes us ill.
Someone at this point noted, “The greatest impediment to knowledge is not ignorance by the illusion of knowledge.”
His Holiness: The validity of a moment of cognition can only be determined in relation to other elements.
A theory or discipline should be checked-out by comparing notes with other, perhaps radically-different, perspective.
Some misconceptions about religion, and interreligious dialogue:
-- That religions contradict one another, and “cancel out”, leaving only science as a measure of truth.
-- that the contemplative traditions involve progress towards some “right” answer, to be verified or rejected by one’s teacher
He further advocated a return to empiricism, not resting with doctrinal answers, but comparing notes on the deepest experiential level to see if a convergence between religions can be found.
Sylvia Boorstein: Compassion is easy to hold as an ideal, but kindness, its active manifestation, is often held to be a secondary virtue, something to settle for if you can’t have power, etc. In fact, kindness is a major force for wholesomeness and good!
She then asked the Dalai Lama how compassion related to one’s ability to do something about a problem.
He responded that compassion is about more than empathy; aided by wisdom, it also involves seeing the causes of a situation, and the possibility of freedom from suffering. Compassion as the simple wish to not see others suffer can lead to a sense of helplessness. Insight into the situation enables us to see how we can help. The apogee of compassion is “Great Compassion”, the motivation to seek enlightenment for the benefit of all beings.
Jon Kabat-Zinn wrapped things up thus:
we have a fleeting chance in this human lifetime to move closer to What We Actually Are, to really embody mindful awareness.
”The bell has rung,” the reverberations will continue, and their impact is yet unknown.
Your job is to ask where your deepest questions come from—What is my job on this planet? As a sentient human, awake to my own awareness and vast potential, how can I be of service?
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Letter from Nothern Ireland 2
11-24-05
Hi Meave,
The task of charming my way through the North of Ireland continues. I had the pleasure of spending the first part of the day with two gentlemen I met last night at a small zen sitting at a “Peace Farm” outside of Portstewart. Michael met me in the morning and took me out to see Giant’s Causeway. The stepping-stones themselves are not as dramatic as they make it look in the postcards, but everything else was just tremendous.
The day was so windy and blustery that the sea was a mas of white, just roiling and sudsy. Gusts of wind would fling clouds of sea foam in to the air, and they’d be airborne thirty feet up, and land like little jellyfish on the heather. The path wound around the side of a cliff, and the wind was so strong that it was hard to walk. I never thought you could be blown backward while walking downhill! It was quite exhausting.
The columnar basalt hexagons that make up the walkway pavers are about the size you could wrap your arms around, but in places they reach up to the sky, it seems.
My camera batteries chose this time to expire.
Michael and I walked back uphill, knowing we’d have some help from the wind, but never suspecting what would happen. You stretch out your arms, lift up your feet and…you’re running. Running out of control, pushed by the wind. Up a very steep hill!
We had a snack of bananas and yogurt looking at Dunluce Castle, and talked. Michael was born in the Bogside in Derry and was sent to live with relatives in Donegal when he was little. Before television came, nobody in this little fishing village knew they were poor. They had thatched roofs and cooked in kettles hung over the fire. At his uncle’s place, fish hung to dry in the rafters. At night, people would leave their doors open and go visiting up and down. In the late 50s his aunt got one of the first televisions. When a program was over, they’d look up and see that the room was full of neighbors who’d crept in to watch.
Although Michael never thought of himself as disadvantaged, there was one time he caught sight of a little Protestant boy with huge shiny cheeks on him, and Michael remembers thinking that nobody he knew was in a position to have extra fat like that.
When he was in Donegal his uncle arranged for him to meet the oldest man in the area, who was 108. Little Michael was met by the man’s son, who had come to town with some money his father had given him in order to buy shoes. The son was 79 years old, with bleary eyes, and Michael could hardly fathom that this very old man himself had a father. The oldest man turned out to be tiny, just a wee shrunken man with bright eyes and a long white beard. He was so happy to have a guest, and he chattered away at the little boy.
On our way too and from the Causeway, we passed through the town of Bushmills. Although it’s seen as a quintessentially “Irish” whiskey elsewhere in the world, Bushmills is so Loyalist as to be Scottish. The town had that hard edge of a community that is fighting against something; there was a tangible forbidding air to it. It wasn’t a place you’d want to stop for tea.
Michael said when he went to Israel, he was told, “if you get a Palestinian guide, you’ll be Palestinian; if you get an Israeli guide, you’ll be Israeli.” After a morning hearing about life as a Catholic in an era when Catholics were poor and had no civil rights, I was about to visit the other side.
We met Billy, my other host from the meditation group, at a café with a sweeping view of the Portstewart waterfront. The wind was still whipping things up, and the waves were crashing over the sea wall in places.Time for a cup of tea.
Billy and I drove to Derry, through Limavady, the area where he grew up. It was some of the most beautiful farmland I’ve ever seen. We went for a walk round Derry’s town wall, which is a stunning piece of human work. Really worth a visit. The walls held King James at bay for over a hundred days, and the people inside were eating dogs and rats and whatever they could find.
Billy told me about being a little boy and how exciting it was to see the marches and merriment leading up to Christmas. Right outside his house in the town, they would burn a thirty-foot effigy of the man who tried to sue for peace during King James’ siege of Derry. A group of apprentice boys grabbed the keys and prevented him turning over the city. Finally the king left, and the apprentice boys were heroes, the peacemaker the villain. It was thrilling to see that burning man every year-- no trip to a remote desert required!
As we got over to the Bogside area, we could look down from the wall and see some of the murals and the back of the“You are Now entering Free Derry” sign. Billy pointed out the Catholic cathedral whose courtyard figured in Bloody Sunday, and the mural of Bernadette Devlin, the Republican who bodily attacked the Home Secretary on the floor of Parliament the next day. The shock of those events was still evident in his voice.
Everywhere there are survelliance cameras, even more than in most towns in the North. A looming radio survelliance tower on the Bogside side of the city wall is to be torn down; it really is a threatening-looking behemoth of fear. In any public place, you are on at least five cameras. It's quite disconcerting, and I'm thinking I won't go back there after my sidetrip to Galway.
I find that I’m not very interested in visiting “political” hotspots. Driving through Bushmills was enough to remind me that partisan graffitti, murals, flags, etc. are all hallmarks of a festering wound. Investigating the wound and renewing its sting in my own heart doesn’t interest me. I am very interested, however, in how people turn towards healing it.
It shouldn’t be surprising, but I am quite impressed that the Zen pracitioners I’ve met are a mixed-background lot, and that they are able to talk about the rhetorical excesses of each side with equanimity and humor. To pursue an interest in meditation seems to require a proclivity for thinking outside the confines of sectarian boundaries. To hear the practitioners in Belfast talk about the well-meaning missteps of the Ulster-Scots language movement was like hearing Portlanders discuss the bizarre habits of stereotypical small-town Oregonians.
Among the more charming un-PC missteps involved in transalating offical government documents into Robert-Burns-style dialect: "disabled children" comes out as "wee dafties." Modern terms are a challenge as well. For "telephone" they came up with "langblather"!
I have a sore throat and have been losing my voice. Interestingly enough, this makes my accent much less prominent.
Take care, sweetie,
Delia
Hi Meave,
The task of charming my way through the North of Ireland continues. I had the pleasure of spending the first part of the day with two gentlemen I met last night at a small zen sitting at a “Peace Farm” outside of Portstewart. Michael met me in the morning and took me out to see Giant’s Causeway. The stepping-stones themselves are not as dramatic as they make it look in the postcards, but everything else was just tremendous.
The day was so windy and blustery that the sea was a mas of white, just roiling and sudsy. Gusts of wind would fling clouds of sea foam in to the air, and they’d be airborne thirty feet up, and land like little jellyfish on the heather. The path wound around the side of a cliff, and the wind was so strong that it was hard to walk. I never thought you could be blown backward while walking downhill! It was quite exhausting.
The columnar basalt hexagons that make up the walkway pavers are about the size you could wrap your arms around, but in places they reach up to the sky, it seems.
My camera batteries chose this time to expire.
Michael and I walked back uphill, knowing we’d have some help from the wind, but never suspecting what would happen. You stretch out your arms, lift up your feet and…you’re running. Running out of control, pushed by the wind. Up a very steep hill!
We had a snack of bananas and yogurt looking at Dunluce Castle, and talked. Michael was born in the Bogside in Derry and was sent to live with relatives in Donegal when he was little. Before television came, nobody in this little fishing village knew they were poor. They had thatched roofs and cooked in kettles hung over the fire. At his uncle’s place, fish hung to dry in the rafters. At night, people would leave their doors open and go visiting up and down. In the late 50s his aunt got one of the first televisions. When a program was over, they’d look up and see that the room was full of neighbors who’d crept in to watch.
Although Michael never thought of himself as disadvantaged, there was one time he caught sight of a little Protestant boy with huge shiny cheeks on him, and Michael remembers thinking that nobody he knew was in a position to have extra fat like that.
When he was in Donegal his uncle arranged for him to meet the oldest man in the area, who was 108. Little Michael was met by the man’s son, who had come to town with some money his father had given him in order to buy shoes. The son was 79 years old, with bleary eyes, and Michael could hardly fathom that this very old man himself had a father. The oldest man turned out to be tiny, just a wee shrunken man with bright eyes and a long white beard. He was so happy to have a guest, and he chattered away at the little boy.
On our way too and from the Causeway, we passed through the town of Bushmills. Although it’s seen as a quintessentially “Irish” whiskey elsewhere in the world, Bushmills is so Loyalist as to be Scottish. The town had that hard edge of a community that is fighting against something; there was a tangible forbidding air to it. It wasn’t a place you’d want to stop for tea.
Michael said when he went to Israel, he was told, “if you get a Palestinian guide, you’ll be Palestinian; if you get an Israeli guide, you’ll be Israeli.” After a morning hearing about life as a Catholic in an era when Catholics were poor and had no civil rights, I was about to visit the other side.
We met Billy, my other host from the meditation group, at a café with a sweeping view of the Portstewart waterfront. The wind was still whipping things up, and the waves were crashing over the sea wall in places.Time for a cup of tea.
Billy and I drove to Derry, through Limavady, the area where he grew up. It was some of the most beautiful farmland I’ve ever seen. We went for a walk round Derry’s town wall, which is a stunning piece of human work. Really worth a visit. The walls held King James at bay for over a hundred days, and the people inside were eating dogs and rats and whatever they could find.
Billy told me about being a little boy and how exciting it was to see the marches and merriment leading up to Christmas. Right outside his house in the town, they would burn a thirty-foot effigy of the man who tried to sue for peace during King James’ siege of Derry. A group of apprentice boys grabbed the keys and prevented him turning over the city. Finally the king left, and the apprentice boys were heroes, the peacemaker the villain. It was thrilling to see that burning man every year-- no trip to a remote desert required!
As we got over to the Bogside area, we could look down from the wall and see some of the murals and the back of the“You are Now entering Free Derry” sign. Billy pointed out the Catholic cathedral whose courtyard figured in Bloody Sunday, and the mural of Bernadette Devlin, the Republican who bodily attacked the Home Secretary on the floor of Parliament the next day. The shock of those events was still evident in his voice.
Everywhere there are survelliance cameras, even more than in most towns in the North. A looming radio survelliance tower on the Bogside side of the city wall is to be torn down; it really is a threatening-looking behemoth of fear. In any public place, you are on at least five cameras. It's quite disconcerting, and I'm thinking I won't go back there after my sidetrip to Galway.
I find that I’m not very interested in visiting “political” hotspots. Driving through Bushmills was enough to remind me that partisan graffitti, murals, flags, etc. are all hallmarks of a festering wound. Investigating the wound and renewing its sting in my own heart doesn’t interest me. I am very interested, however, in how people turn towards healing it.
It shouldn’t be surprising, but I am quite impressed that the Zen pracitioners I’ve met are a mixed-background lot, and that they are able to talk about the rhetorical excesses of each side with equanimity and humor. To pursue an interest in meditation seems to require a proclivity for thinking outside the confines of sectarian boundaries. To hear the practitioners in Belfast talk about the well-meaning missteps of the Ulster-Scots language movement was like hearing Portlanders discuss the bizarre habits of stereotypical small-town Oregonians.
Among the more charming un-PC missteps involved in transalating offical government documents into Robert-Burns-style dialect: "disabled children" comes out as "wee dafties." Modern terms are a challenge as well. For "telephone" they came up with "langblather"!
I have a sore throat and have been losing my voice. Interestingly enough, this makes my accent much less prominent.
Take care, sweetie,
Delia
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Letter from Northern Ireland
11-23-05
Hi Meave,
I didn't like Lithuania at all. I didn't know such a thing was possible.The people are pretty harsh and restrained in public, although they are very helpful if you ask for help, and blush slightly when you compliment their english. They do speak very well, and it’s no wonder Delta airlines and other complanies are opening customer service centers there. People might work like the dickens for $600 a month. Adds up to good business sense, eh? There just seemed to be an atmosphere of fear in the place. LT itself is like a dark fairy tale, and just feels...fearful. This may have something to do with losing a third of their population during the Nazi and Soviet occupations………
I am supposed to go back for 2 days and 3 nights before flying back to the states with Dan (on all the same flights) and I really don't want to. The original idea had been to go back to LT to follow up on whatever dental work needed to be done: to install caps on my teeth that would have been fabricated while I was in Ireland, for instance. But I don't need to go back to the dentist: everything was done with in under 90 minutes (combined) over two visits!
Belfast was a breath of fresh air. Everyone is so incredibly sweet. I saw the Dalai Lama (again) at the big cathedral here. People packed in, and waited outside in the cold for two hours after the doors were closed. Their earnestness was just incredible. The visit has huge significance for them. Belfast, meanwhile is blooming and catching up and looking really good. Everybody is optimistic and happy.
The Zen folks here are very nice. I stayed out late with two very sweet guys my age, visiting the holiday night market and talking till late over hot cocoa and tea. in a minute, I'll collect my bags at the visitor centre (they're holding them for me) and take a taxi to the bus station for a visit to Portrush and Giant's Causeway.
Lots of Love,
D.
Hi Meave,
I didn't like Lithuania at all. I didn't know such a thing was possible.The people are pretty harsh and restrained in public, although they are very helpful if you ask for help, and blush slightly when you compliment their english. They do speak very well, and it’s no wonder Delta airlines and other complanies are opening customer service centers there. People might work like the dickens for $600 a month. Adds up to good business sense, eh? There just seemed to be an atmosphere of fear in the place. LT itself is like a dark fairy tale, and just feels...fearful. This may have something to do with losing a third of their population during the Nazi and Soviet occupations………
I am supposed to go back for 2 days and 3 nights before flying back to the states with Dan (on all the same flights) and I really don't want to. The original idea had been to go back to LT to follow up on whatever dental work needed to be done: to install caps on my teeth that would have been fabricated while I was in Ireland, for instance. But I don't need to go back to the dentist: everything was done with in under 90 minutes (combined) over two visits!
Belfast was a breath of fresh air. Everyone is so incredibly sweet. I saw the Dalai Lama (again) at the big cathedral here. People packed in, and waited outside in the cold for two hours after the doors were closed. Their earnestness was just incredible. The visit has huge significance for them. Belfast, meanwhile is blooming and catching up and looking really good. Everybody is optimistic and happy.
The Zen folks here are very nice. I stayed out late with two very sweet guys my age, visiting the holiday night market and talking till late over hot cocoa and tea. in a minute, I'll collect my bags at the visitor centre (they're holding them for me) and take a taxi to the bus station for a visit to Portrush and Giant's Causeway.
Lots of Love,
D.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Dalai Lama: “The Universe in a Single Atom”, Chapter 1
The following is from the Dalai Lama's newest book:
For me, science is first and foremost an empirical discipline that provides humanity with a powerful access to understanding the nature of the physical andliving world. It is essentially a mode of inquiry that gives us fantasically detailed knowledge of the empirical world and the underlying laws of nature…. Within this model, many aspects of human exsitence, including values, creativity and spirtuality, as well as deeper metaphysical questions, lie outside the scope of scientific inquiry.
Though there are many areas of life outside the domain of science, I have noticed that many people hold an assumption that the scientific view of the world should be the basis for all knowledge and all that is knowable. This is scientific materialism. Although I am not aware of a school of thought that explicitly propounds this notion, it seems to be a common unexamined presupposition. This view upholds a belief in an objective world, independent of the contingency of its observers. It assumes that the data being analyzed within an experiment are independent of the preconceptions, perceptions, and experience of the scientist analyzing them.
Underlying this view is the assumption that, in the final analyisis, matter, as it can be described by physics and as it is governed by the lawsof physiscs, is all there is. …The view that all aspects of reality can be reduced to matter and its various particles is, to my mind, as much a metaphysical position as the view that an organizing intelligence created and controls reality.
One of the principle problems with a radical scientific materialism is the narrowness of vision that results and the potential for nihilism that might ensue. Nihilism, materialism, and reductionism are above all problems from a philosophical and above all a human perspective, since they can potentially impoverish the way we see ourselves. For example, whether we see ourselves as random biological creatures or as speical beings endowed with the dimension of consciousness and moral capacity to make an impact on how we feel about ourselves and treat others. In this view many dimentsions of the full reality of what it means to be human—art, ethics, spirituality, goodness, beauty, and above all, consciousness—either are reduced to the chemical reactions of firing neurons or are seen as a matter of purely imaginary constructs. The danger then is that human beings may be reduced to nothing more than biological machines, the products of pure chance in the random combination of genes, with no purpose other than the biological imperative of reproduction.
It is difficult to see how questions such as the meaning of life or good and evil can be accomodated within such a worldview. The problem is not with the empirical data of science but with the contention that these data alone constitute the legitimate ground for developing a comprehensive worldview or an adequate means for responding to the world’s problems. There is more to human existence and to reality itself than current science can ever give us access to.
By the same token, spirituality must be tempered by the insights and discoveries of science. If as spiritual practitioners we ignore the discoveries of science, our practice is also impoverished, as this mind-set can lead to fundamentalism. This is one of the reasons I encourage my Buddhist colleagues to undertake the study of science, so that its insights can be integrated into the Buddhist worldview.
For me, science is first and foremost an empirical discipline that provides humanity with a powerful access to understanding the nature of the physical andliving world. It is essentially a mode of inquiry that gives us fantasically detailed knowledge of the empirical world and the underlying laws of nature…. Within this model, many aspects of human exsitence, including values, creativity and spirtuality, as well as deeper metaphysical questions, lie outside the scope of scientific inquiry.
Though there are many areas of life outside the domain of science, I have noticed that many people hold an assumption that the scientific view of the world should be the basis for all knowledge and all that is knowable. This is scientific materialism. Although I am not aware of a school of thought that explicitly propounds this notion, it seems to be a common unexamined presupposition. This view upholds a belief in an objective world, independent of the contingency of its observers. It assumes that the data being analyzed within an experiment are independent of the preconceptions, perceptions, and experience of the scientist analyzing them.
Underlying this view is the assumption that, in the final analyisis, matter, as it can be described by physics and as it is governed by the lawsof physiscs, is all there is. …The view that all aspects of reality can be reduced to matter and its various particles is, to my mind, as much a metaphysical position as the view that an organizing intelligence created and controls reality.
One of the principle problems with a radical scientific materialism is the narrowness of vision that results and the potential for nihilism that might ensue. Nihilism, materialism, and reductionism are above all problems from a philosophical and above all a human perspective, since they can potentially impoverish the way we see ourselves. For example, whether we see ourselves as random biological creatures or as speical beings endowed with the dimension of consciousness and moral capacity to make an impact on how we feel about ourselves and treat others. In this view many dimentsions of the full reality of what it means to be human—art, ethics, spirituality, goodness, beauty, and above all, consciousness—either are reduced to the chemical reactions of firing neurons or are seen as a matter of purely imaginary constructs. The danger then is that human beings may be reduced to nothing more than biological machines, the products of pure chance in the random combination of genes, with no purpose other than the biological imperative of reproduction.
It is difficult to see how questions such as the meaning of life or good and evil can be accomodated within such a worldview. The problem is not with the empirical data of science but with the contention that these data alone constitute the legitimate ground for developing a comprehensive worldview or an adequate means for responding to the world’s problems. There is more to human existence and to reality itself than current science can ever give us access to.
By the same token, spirituality must be tempered by the insights and discoveries of science. If as spiritual practitioners we ignore the discoveries of science, our practice is also impoverished, as this mind-set can lead to fundamentalism. This is one of the reasons I encourage my Buddhist colleagues to undertake the study of science, so that its insights can be integrated into the Buddhist worldview.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Mind and Life XII/Session 4: "Social Stress is Killing You"
I was a bit exhausted and didn't take the best notes during presentations by David Sheps and John Sheridan. I summarized many of the commentators' themes in the previous post regarding session III (private to Josh: not "sesshin III")
The gist was:
Social Stress-- embarrassment, anxiety, humiliation, frustration has a number of physiological effects. One is the release of glucocorticoids (immunosuppressants). Another is constriction of cardiac arteries (dramatically demonstrated in patients with a history of heart disease who were asked to do a public speaking task). For the most part stress is detrimental to health, although the picture isn't completely uniform: some forms of social stress do increase resistance to bacterial infection.
Commentator Margaret Kemeny (of UCSF) pointed out that all mammal groups establish hierarchies, and that social stress is therefore integral to their lives. Interestingly, these physiological effects aren't seen in people who are undisturbed by events that others find stressful. The perception of a "threat to the self" elicits an emotional response that is immunologically and physiologially significant. People who feel threatened by events are the ones who show these responses. If you don't fall into negative self-judgement ("I really screwed up") or negative self-consciousness (shame, humiliation), you don't bear the medical consequences (or the mental ones, of course).
The goal of practice, and healthcare, should be not to eliminate social stress, but to address the impulsive, dissipated mind that generates a disordered response to stress. Obviously Buddhism has some ideas about how to cultivate the ability to perceive the world accurately; His Holiness emphasized yet again the importance of keeping the secular and religious worlds separate. "No Self" is a Buddhist concept; relying on the universal human values is more appropriate.
(Interestingly, many in the West don't seem to think of Buddhism as a religion so much as a fun, peaceful approach to interior decorating. An exception would be certain fundamentalist Christian sects who think it's Satanic; in a bizarre way, that view actually respects the Dharma by taking it seriously.)
The means of addressing and finally purifying the afflicted mind are well-known in Buddhism. His Holiness said that the afflicted mind arises in dependence on two mechanisms:
1. Consciously relating to objects on the gross level in a way that is reactive and deluded
2. A deeper level of dysfunctional intelligence that operates from a sense of being a "Separate Self"
Paraphrasing him: Through a prolonged and gradual process which may or may not include "enlightenment" episodes, a deep understanding of No Self is arrived at. Even an advanced practitioner who has had great insights may continue to experience the world in terms of Self-and-Other, and have feelings based on that misunderstanding.
He also opined that it is really impossible to understand mental phenomena in an isolated context. Finding an absolute, independent "answer" divorced from the broader picture is impossible-- you can't find anything absolute and permanent anywhere in the Universe. Rather than focusing solely on the *location* of things in the brain, he advocated a wholistic view as being more productive. Neuroanatomy tells us about the physcial basis of a mental event--it's not an independent truth all on its own.
That night I sat with Earth Sangha, a group that whose practices include service, in the form of environmental restoration projects, and zazen. Teacher Lisa Bright was extremely helpful and lucid, and the visit was exactly what I needed.
I realized the choice that was coalescing--to abandon laboratory research as a means of finding the truth of my life-- was about much more than liking or disliking the affects of the scientists versus the meditators onstage at the conference. The scientific paradigm is inherently limited, and those limits are necessary if questions are to be asked and answered in an empirical manner. But that paradigm gives rise to a way of looking at the world that many people see as all there is. Having a choice in the matter, and not feeling intensely compelled to do science, I would rather cultivate a way of looking at the world that embraces the "metaphysical" side. (His Holiness discusses this beautifully in his new book, and rather than attempt summarize it, I'll post the passage here as soon as my internet access allows.)
The gist was:
Social Stress-- embarrassment, anxiety, humiliation, frustration has a number of physiological effects. One is the release of glucocorticoids (immunosuppressants). Another is constriction of cardiac arteries (dramatically demonstrated in patients with a history of heart disease who were asked to do a public speaking task). For the most part stress is detrimental to health, although the picture isn't completely uniform: some forms of social stress do increase resistance to bacterial infection.
Commentator Margaret Kemeny (of UCSF) pointed out that all mammal groups establish hierarchies, and that social stress is therefore integral to their lives. Interestingly, these physiological effects aren't seen in people who are undisturbed by events that others find stressful. The perception of a "threat to the self" elicits an emotional response that is immunologically and physiologially significant. People who feel threatened by events are the ones who show these responses. If you don't fall into negative self-judgement ("I really screwed up") or negative self-consciousness (shame, humiliation), you don't bear the medical consequences (or the mental ones, of course).
The goal of practice, and healthcare, should be not to eliminate social stress, but to address the impulsive, dissipated mind that generates a disordered response to stress. Obviously Buddhism has some ideas about how to cultivate the ability to perceive the world accurately; His Holiness emphasized yet again the importance of keeping the secular and religious worlds separate. "No Self" is a Buddhist concept; relying on the universal human values is more appropriate.
(Interestingly, many in the West don't seem to think of Buddhism as a religion so much as a fun, peaceful approach to interior decorating. An exception would be certain fundamentalist Christian sects who think it's Satanic; in a bizarre way, that view actually respects the Dharma by taking it seriously.)
The means of addressing and finally purifying the afflicted mind are well-known in Buddhism. His Holiness said that the afflicted mind arises in dependence on two mechanisms:
1. Consciously relating to objects on the gross level in a way that is reactive and deluded
2. A deeper level of dysfunctional intelligence that operates from a sense of being a "Separate Self"
Paraphrasing him: Through a prolonged and gradual process which may or may not include "enlightenment" episodes, a deep understanding of No Self is arrived at. Even an advanced practitioner who has had great insights may continue to experience the world in terms of Self-and-Other, and have feelings based on that misunderstanding.
He also opined that it is really impossible to understand mental phenomena in an isolated context. Finding an absolute, independent "answer" divorced from the broader picture is impossible-- you can't find anything absolute and permanent anywhere in the Universe. Rather than focusing solely on the *location* of things in the brain, he advocated a wholistic view as being more productive. Neuroanatomy tells us about the physcial basis of a mental event--it's not an independent truth all on its own.
That night I sat with Earth Sangha, a group that whose practices include service, in the form of environmental restoration projects, and zazen. Teacher Lisa Bright was extremely helpful and lucid, and the visit was exactly what I needed.
I realized the choice that was coalescing--to abandon laboratory research as a means of finding the truth of my life-- was about much more than liking or disliking the affects of the scientists versus the meditators onstage at the conference. The scientific paradigm is inherently limited, and those limits are necessary if questions are to be asked and answered in an empirical manner. But that paradigm gives rise to a way of looking at the world that many people see as all there is. Having a choice in the matter, and not feeling intensely compelled to do science, I would rather cultivate a way of looking at the world that embraces the "metaphysical" side. (His Holiness discusses this beautifully in his new book, and rather than attempt summarize it, I'll post the passage here as soon as my internet access allows.)
Shugetsu Life Path Musings
I realize that the question about which discipline to pursue goes much deeper than liking or disliking the personalities and affects of meditators versus scientists. The question is likewise not a speculative one regarding whether it’s possible to do science and be a happy and fulfilled human being? Although they’re not the norm, there are happy researchers out there, including ones whose work I admire and whose company I’d be willing to keep.
The fundamental question is “what do I want to be,” and the answer is “you become what you cultivate.” My favorite saying these days is, “if you keep on doing what you’ve been doing, you’ll keep on getting what you’ve been getting.” The scientific mode of inquiry is both extremely powerful and fundamentally limited. Having worked within it, I have some sense of the habits of mind it feeds, and I realize I’m not interested in cultivating that approach to reality. I support others in doing this work, but I also feel that I would know by now if I was deeply drawn to science. The fact of the matter is, I don’t yearn to do research, so speculating about being able to hold the philosophical dichotomy is moot.
Meanwhile, a day without practice is unthinkable. Everywhere there are beings who, just like me, want only to be happy. In every moment, another breath and another opportunity for awareness. I could bring this to a lab, but I’d much rather address psychological suffering, my own included, in a direct and applied manner. With my background, I’m able to evaluate data (there were some very suspcious error bars and y-axes as the meeting, by the way…).
The fundamental question is “what do I want to be,” and the answer is “you become what you cultivate.” My favorite saying these days is, “if you keep on doing what you’ve been doing, you’ll keep on getting what you’ve been getting.” The scientific mode of inquiry is both extremely powerful and fundamentally limited. Having worked within it, I have some sense of the habits of mind it feeds, and I realize I’m not interested in cultivating that approach to reality. I support others in doing this work, but I also feel that I would know by now if I was deeply drawn to science. The fact of the matter is, I don’t yearn to do research, so speculating about being able to hold the philosophical dichotomy is moot.
Meanwhile, a day without practice is unthinkable. Everywhere there are beings who, just like me, want only to be happy. In every moment, another breath and another opportunity for awareness. I could bring this to a lab, but I’d much rather address psychological suffering, my own included, in a direct and applied manner. With my background, I’m able to evaluate data (there were some very suspcious error bars and y-axes as the meeting, by the way…).
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Dispatch from a Lithuanian Market
15–19 November 2005:Ukmergé, Lithuania
We went to the market this morning. Unlike the many people walking along the road in the frost, we drove the mile or so to the marketplace.
Dan had parked the car in a lot that he described as being more secure than the muddy strip outside his building. The Lithuanians are extremely talented at taking apart and refurbishing cars: this was a great blessingwhen he took his car in to have the trunk refinished. It came back completely repainted, looking better than it ever had. This automotive skill also meansthat auto theft for parts is a popular pastime. One of Dan’s neighbors, a German, had parked her green Opel near the building, and came down three days later to discover that her natty little car had been taken, and a dummy matching in size and color had been left behind. He didn’t know if she used it or not.
The secure lot didn’t seem very promising—it seemed to be junkyard and parts yard, which would suggest that maybe you wouldn’t want to park there. There was no gate or camera. So I was perplexed until we were accosted by the junkyard dog, a fearless little thing that scared the spit out of me. The dog actually likes Dan, as dogs seem to do. There’s some mystical chemistry he seems to have with dogs, although it turns out that a good deal of his skill is technique. He told me that my response (bolting in fear) was all wrong (oddly enough). You should stand still and not make eye contact until the dog has had a chance to sniff you. Only then do you talk to it and see if it would like to be petted. This particular dog would like to be petted, but only by Dan.
The other part of the security system is the owner of the yard, who sauntered by. He knows who Dan is (not a thief), so there was no further technique necssary. Smiling or saying hi would be out of line, in fact.
The farmer’s market was a blast from the past: vans and trucks congregated in a icy lot, and the vendors opened the rear doors and stood around in the cold, with piles of cabbage, onions, potatoes and carrots at their feet. There were a lot of older people in rubber boots and button-flap hats and babushkas. One stall sold twig brooms (you could choose your broom head and handle separately). If you weren’t from a culture where these are utilitarian objects, they’d seem quaint, or look like witches’ brooms.
Dan bought an armload of carrots—maybe seven pounds--for $2.50, and a 10-pound sack of onions for $3. Considering what you pay in the grocery store, which seemed dirt cheap five days ago, this is a much better bargain. This is a poor country: your job, which might start at 6:30 in the morning as our neighbor’s does, might only earn you around $700 per month.
The grocery store has a few things I didn’t see at the market: cigarettes for one. You have to pass a gaunlet of smokes to get through the checkout counter. They’re arrayed at eye level to form a tunnel of tobacco. Not that the galaxy of candy, batteries, tabloids, and fashion-porn we enjoy in the States is really preferable.
Nearby was a second market, with non-farm items. A majority of the stalls were selling clothes, and I got a dandy pair of black thinsulate gloves for $4. Also on the menu: shoes, old tools, fake flowers and covered candles for gravesites, oceans of baked goods, coffee and tea, and ladies’ underwear. I don’t think most of the old ladies were interested in the thongs or multiude of brightly-colored pushup bras, but their granddaughters certainly are. You dress up if you can, and the girls are really something in their supertight jeans and fur-edged parkas. Although the styles communicate prosperity, one fact contradicts it: no young person is fat. In fact, the girls are rail-thin; it’s just how you are.
In an indoor section of the market, hundreds of people were buying fresh meat from long rows of cases. Automatically, I found myself breathing the Jizo mantra for all that butchered life. If we maintained an awareness of what meat actually is, we’d all eat a lot more carefully.
We went to the market this morning. Unlike the many people walking along the road in the frost, we drove the mile or so to the marketplace.
Dan had parked the car in a lot that he described as being more secure than the muddy strip outside his building. The Lithuanians are extremely talented at taking apart and refurbishing cars: this was a great blessingwhen he took his car in to have the trunk refinished. It came back completely repainted, looking better than it ever had. This automotive skill also meansthat auto theft for parts is a popular pastime. One of Dan’s neighbors, a German, had parked her green Opel near the building, and came down three days later to discover that her natty little car had been taken, and a dummy matching in size and color had been left behind. He didn’t know if she used it or not.
The secure lot didn’t seem very promising—it seemed to be junkyard and parts yard, which would suggest that maybe you wouldn’t want to park there. There was no gate or camera. So I was perplexed until we were accosted by the junkyard dog, a fearless little thing that scared the spit out of me. The dog actually likes Dan, as dogs seem to do. There’s some mystical chemistry he seems to have with dogs, although it turns out that a good deal of his skill is technique. He told me that my response (bolting in fear) was all wrong (oddly enough). You should stand still and not make eye contact until the dog has had a chance to sniff you. Only then do you talk to it and see if it would like to be petted. This particular dog would like to be petted, but only by Dan.
The other part of the security system is the owner of the yard, who sauntered by. He knows who Dan is (not a thief), so there was no further technique necssary. Smiling or saying hi would be out of line, in fact.
The farmer’s market was a blast from the past: vans and trucks congregated in a icy lot, and the vendors opened the rear doors and stood around in the cold, with piles of cabbage, onions, potatoes and carrots at their feet. There were a lot of older people in rubber boots and button-flap hats and babushkas. One stall sold twig brooms (you could choose your broom head and handle separately). If you weren’t from a culture where these are utilitarian objects, they’d seem quaint, or look like witches’ brooms.
Dan bought an armload of carrots—maybe seven pounds--for $2.50, and a 10-pound sack of onions for $3. Considering what you pay in the grocery store, which seemed dirt cheap five days ago, this is a much better bargain. This is a poor country: your job, which might start at 6:30 in the morning as our neighbor’s does, might only earn you around $700 per month.
The grocery store has a few things I didn’t see at the market: cigarettes for one. You have to pass a gaunlet of smokes to get through the checkout counter. They’re arrayed at eye level to form a tunnel of tobacco. Not that the galaxy of candy, batteries, tabloids, and fashion-porn we enjoy in the States is really preferable.
Nearby was a second market, with non-farm items. A majority of the stalls were selling clothes, and I got a dandy pair of black thinsulate gloves for $4. Also on the menu: shoes, old tools, fake flowers and covered candles for gravesites, oceans of baked goods, coffee and tea, and ladies’ underwear. I don’t think most of the old ladies were interested in the thongs or multiude of brightly-colored pushup bras, but their granddaughters certainly are. You dress up if you can, and the girls are really something in their supertight jeans and fur-edged parkas. Although the styles communicate prosperity, one fact contradicts it: no young person is fat. In fact, the girls are rail-thin; it’s just how you are.
In an indoor section of the market, hundreds of people were buying fresh meat from long rows of cases. Automatically, I found myself breathing the Jizo mantra for all that butchered life. If we maintained an awareness of what meat actually is, we’d all eat a lot more carefully.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Signs of Civilization a la Francais
"Entertainment" in French is pronounced "Distraction"
(And "migration" is "mutation.")_
The Charles de Gaulle airport would not be mistaken for Atlanta or Chicago. There are no broad spaces, and the layout is compact to the point of being cramped. There is a marvellous, and very relaxing, "ambient environment" of lavender-colored light, and mirrored archways reflecting into infinity.
The French are easy to "read" when you don't understand and better yet, they're really thin. Not just "not fat" but really svelte, so that there's plenty of room on the plane. Meals are hot and cold in all the right places, and the wine is flowing. I tried to save the little foil-wrapped chunk of Camembert for later, but it melted in my pocket.
(And "migration" is "mutation.")_
The Charles de Gaulle airport would not be mistaken for Atlanta or Chicago. There are no broad spaces, and the layout is compact to the point of being cramped. There is a marvellous, and very relaxing, "ambient environment" of lavender-colored light, and mirrored archways reflecting into infinity.
The French are easy to "read" when you don't understand and better yet, they're really thin. Not just "not fat" but really svelte, so that there's plenty of room on the plane. Meals are hot and cold in all the right places, and the wine is flowing. I tried to save the little foil-wrapped chunk of Camembert for later, but it melted in my pocket.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Hindu Wedding #1
I just saw an exboyfriend get married— arguably a cause for pensiveness and psychogenic exhaustion, even in a friendly drama-free relationship, such as Rajeev and I have.
I do know I'm not jealous. No way could I imagine being up there, with hennaed hands and dangling ornaments. Reema carried it off beautifully, and was gracious and lovely even after the two-hour ceremony. Rajeev has found a good person with whom to share his life.
While the groom, bride, her family members, and the priest were performing various rites and incantations under a canopy, a refreshing informality prevailed among the guests. Chai and coffee were served midway through; it seemed quite civilized to sip tea and chat while watching the ceremony unfold.
The new couple got a chance to snack too: multiple symbolic bits of food were consumed, and puffed rice was offered to a small brazier-bound fire. In what other tradition does a celebrant show up to perform a wedding toting a plastic sack of groceries and box of fragrant firewood?
The vows themselves were lengthy and quite specific. Forty years ago in a Catholic ceremony, my mother promised to "love, honor and obey" my father. Reema promised that, and Rajeev promised more. The other guests were happy to translate for me as they chuckled at the various vows. One man told me that they were designed to protect the bride's human rights in an historically very challenging situation. Among the more thought-pledges: Rajeev is not to obstruct Reema's spiritual life by preventing her from going on pilgrimage or retreat; he promised to consult her before purchasing any big-ticket items; he must not get angry if she beat a path back to her mother's house without warning.
Rajeev looked pretty jovial during all this, and in no danger of doing a one-eighty back to bachelorhood. It was good to see him looking so satisfied.
I will always be fond of Rajeev, because we've been good friends for thirteen years, and because we were lovers for three of those years. When you're physically involved with someone, you end up bonded in ways that no one understands, and I think the exhaustion I feel has something to do with that.
The ceremony was quite powerful: deities were invoked, strings were tied around wrists, fires were circumnambulated, brows were annointed, and so forth. In the midst of this, I felt as if my past with Rajeev was a contaminant.
My sense of things, and the asymmetry of the vows, all suggest that a double standard is at work, so that the groom's "history" is not a big deal (I wouldn't post this if I thought it was). And the vows Rajeev took are promises for the future, and what happened between us is years in the past. Even so, I found myself fervently hoping that whatever ritual purification had been performed had "worked", so that Rajeev could go forward wholeheartedly and cleanly.
It is my sincere hope that they love and trust one another, and have a deeply happy life together. With that intention, I set off on the train to visit my sister in Philadelphia, and let the reception happen without me.
------------
Initially, I took this post down because it seemed sensitive; I didn’t want to embarrass Rajeev or hamper a happy start to his marriage. But does anyone in the world imagine that he hasn’t had girlfriends? Of course not. My discomfort during the ceremony came from the sense that the ceremony was sanctifying a fresh start—and ardently hoping that it would be unsullied by imprints of other women. My decision to repost anyway comes from the impression that those in a position to know are not in any way shocked that the groom has had girlfriends. (This is helped by the fact that Rajeev concealed my status from his parents.)
Whether this might be true for the bride is another matter: I see that, in this marriage and others, young women come from India to marry men who are 10-15 years their senior. If Reema’s past mirrored Rajeev’s would it be an issue, something to keep to oneself?
I do know I'm not jealous. No way could I imagine being up there, with hennaed hands and dangling ornaments. Reema carried it off beautifully, and was gracious and lovely even after the two-hour ceremony. Rajeev has found a good person with whom to share his life.
While the groom, bride, her family members, and the priest were performing various rites and incantations under a canopy, a refreshing informality prevailed among the guests. Chai and coffee were served midway through; it seemed quite civilized to sip tea and chat while watching the ceremony unfold.
The new couple got a chance to snack too: multiple symbolic bits of food were consumed, and puffed rice was offered to a small brazier-bound fire. In what other tradition does a celebrant show up to perform a wedding toting a plastic sack of groceries and box of fragrant firewood?
The vows themselves were lengthy and quite specific. Forty years ago in a Catholic ceremony, my mother promised to "love, honor and obey" my father. Reema promised that, and Rajeev promised more. The other guests were happy to translate for me as they chuckled at the various vows. One man told me that they were designed to protect the bride's human rights in an historically very challenging situation. Among the more thought-pledges: Rajeev is not to obstruct Reema's spiritual life by preventing her from going on pilgrimage or retreat; he promised to consult her before purchasing any big-ticket items; he must not get angry if she beat a path back to her mother's house without warning.
Rajeev looked pretty jovial during all this, and in no danger of doing a one-eighty back to bachelorhood. It was good to see him looking so satisfied.
I will always be fond of Rajeev, because we've been good friends for thirteen years, and because we were lovers for three of those years. When you're physically involved with someone, you end up bonded in ways that no one understands, and I think the exhaustion I feel has something to do with that.
The ceremony was quite powerful: deities were invoked, strings were tied around wrists, fires were circumnambulated, brows were annointed, and so forth. In the midst of this, I felt as if my past with Rajeev was a contaminant.
My sense of things, and the asymmetry of the vows, all suggest that a double standard is at work, so that the groom's "history" is not a big deal (I wouldn't post this if I thought it was). And the vows Rajeev took are promises for the future, and what happened between us is years in the past. Even so, I found myself fervently hoping that whatever ritual purification had been performed had "worked", so that Rajeev could go forward wholeheartedly and cleanly.
It is my sincere hope that they love and trust one another, and have a deeply happy life together. With that intention, I set off on the train to visit my sister in Philadelphia, and let the reception happen without me.
------------
Initially, I took this post down because it seemed sensitive; I didn’t want to embarrass Rajeev or hamper a happy start to his marriage. But does anyone in the world imagine that he hasn’t had girlfriends? Of course not. My discomfort during the ceremony came from the sense that the ceremony was sanctifying a fresh start—and ardently hoping that it would be unsullied by imprints of other women. My decision to repost anyway comes from the impression that those in a position to know are not in any way shocked that the groom has had girlfriends. (This is helped by the fact that Rajeev concealed my status from his parents.)
Whether this might be true for the bride is another matter: I see that, in this marriage and others, young women come from India to marry men who are 10-15 years their senior. If Reema’s past mirrored Rajeev’s would it be an issue, something to keep to oneself?
Friday, November 11, 2005
Mind & Life XIII--Day 2 Interlude by Alan Wallace
That afternoon, His Holiness met with President Bush and Condoleezza Rice. Although we didn’t learn anything about the visit, we were entertained in the meantime by Allan Wallace, who gave a beautiful lecturette on the development of Buddhist and scientific thought systems.
He noted that Western scientist attempted to study the mind through introspection for about thirty years, at which point they realized “they sucked” at it. People (especially untrained people) simply aren’t able to provide data about their internal states; behavioral and cognitive approaches rose to prominence instead.
Meanwhile, over centuries of advanced introspection and dissection of the elements of consciousness, Buddhism never developed a theory of the brain as the seat or the source of anything. The senses were thought to reside in the sense organs themselves, and the heart was the seat of the apparent “soul.” In other words, said Wallace, Buddhists are accepting neuroscience on faith. That got a good laugh.
He defined the metaphysical as “that which science hasn’t been able to study yet,” At one time, atomic theory was metaphysical; there was no way to study such minute phenomena. The Buddhist science of mind brings 2500 years of study to a “metaphysical” discipline.
By the same token, Wallace noted, a “theory” is a cognitive framework, a way of viewing the truth that both supports and stems from one’s own views. Theories are certinaly useful, but to ignore the limtations of a knowledge system is both shortsighted and occasionally dangerous.
Mr. Wallace also explored the notions of “eudaimonic well-being” as a target state distinct from gratification. He quoted His Holiness as saying, “The very motion of our life is towards happiness.” Eudaimonic well-being was defined as “the integrated pursuit of inner happiness, truth and virtue.” It’s not contingent upon material things or pleasant stimuli.
The ancient Buddhist university of Nalanda embodied the interdisciplinary cultivation of eudaimonic well-being. Broadly, the realms of poetry, rhetoric, logic, philosophy, music, &c. studied there are, in fact, “dharma”, the disciplines that foster eudamonia.
In the conversation that followed, the ideal of openhearted engagement with one’s life was echoed by Ajahn Amaro, who oted the four requirements for success (which apply to anything):
-Interest
-Energy
-Contemplation
-Feedback (evaluation/indication of success from outside)
He noted that Western scientist attempted to study the mind through introspection for about thirty years, at which point they realized “they sucked” at it. People (especially untrained people) simply aren’t able to provide data about their internal states; behavioral and cognitive approaches rose to prominence instead.
Meanwhile, over centuries of advanced introspection and dissection of the elements of consciousness, Buddhism never developed a theory of the brain as the seat or the source of anything. The senses were thought to reside in the sense organs themselves, and the heart was the seat of the apparent “soul.” In other words, said Wallace, Buddhists are accepting neuroscience on faith. That got a good laugh.
He defined the metaphysical as “that which science hasn’t been able to study yet,” At one time, atomic theory was metaphysical; there was no way to study such minute phenomena. The Buddhist science of mind brings 2500 years of study to a “metaphysical” discipline.
By the same token, Wallace noted, a “theory” is a cognitive framework, a way of viewing the truth that both supports and stems from one’s own views. Theories are certinaly useful, but to ignore the limtations of a knowledge system is both shortsighted and occasionally dangerous.
Mr. Wallace also explored the notions of “eudaimonic well-being” as a target state distinct from gratification. He quoted His Holiness as saying, “The very motion of our life is towards happiness.” Eudaimonic well-being was defined as “the integrated pursuit of inner happiness, truth and virtue.” It’s not contingent upon material things or pleasant stimuli.
The ancient Buddhist university of Nalanda embodied the interdisciplinary cultivation of eudaimonic well-being. Broadly, the realms of poetry, rhetoric, logic, philosophy, music, &c. studied there are, in fact, “dharma”, the disciplines that foster eudamonia.
In the conversation that followed, the ideal of openhearted engagement with one’s life was echoed by Ajahn Amaro, who oted the four requirements for success (which apply to anything):
-Interest
-Energy
-Contemplation
-Feedback (evaluation/indication of success from outside)
Mind & Life XIII--Day 2/Sessin 3 Depression and "No Self"
As I continue to digest the Mind & Life conference, I realize the discussions about depression provided some of the most striking actual content. (I learned a great deal at the conference, but most of it was subtle, implicit information.)
When asked to comment, Chozen Roshi stated that “skeptical doubt”—a Buddhist term for corrosive negativity and pessimism -- fuels depression and destroys spiritual practice. People who are stuck in depression are buried by the First Noble Truth, and intervention of some sort may be required to move them out of it. But the fact of the deep suffering of the world, is incontrovertible. And the human critical capacity has its uses: depressed people, she said, do better in games of chance. The Buddha himself, in the time leading up to his enlightenment, endured visits from Mara as Inner Critic, who chided him both for being lazy in practice and for driving himself too hard. Feeding a hypercritical sensibility gives rise to a neuroticized realism that drives us to despair.
His Holiness the Dalai Lama pointed out that although the benefits of meditation practice have been common knowledge (in some circles!) for thousands of years, in secularizing aspects of meditation into a psychological therapy there is a risk of veering toward the religious aspects of Buddhism. The doctrine of “no self” is, after all, a doctrine, and one that is unique to Buddhism. Funny, but when I think of religion being forced on people, I imagine being pressured to believe in a deity. In Buddhism, philosophies can be deities, too—helpful to a point, but subject to experiential verification and rejection. Later, HH pointed out, quite distinctly, that a theistic approach may really be best for some people. Shaken again, I realized a latent absolutist impulse lies within: I assume that doctrines are not only the absolute truth, but should be presented as such, even if others may not be able to relate.
Later on, His Holiness said that “no self” is emphasized as a doctrine because it is an antidote to a very serious malady: the multifarious modes of suffering wrought by an undisciplined mind are rooted in the grasping of a false self. (There are two aspects of self-grasping: one is evaluating self and others in a relative framework, deciding that I am better or worse than others. The other mistake is in imputing a self onto things in the first place, seeing them as concrete entities.) The mechanisms by which afflictions are generated by a restless undisciplined mind are complex, but they involve a dysfunctional intelligence rooted in a sense of self, as well as a predisposition to function in the gross, “physical” realm of reality.
He went on to say that coming to an understanding of “no self” involves a prolonged and gradual process, which may or may not ( emphasis on “may not”) include episodes of profound insight – presumably meaning “openings” or kensho. Even a person of great understanding will continue to experience self-and-other and to have experiences based on that misconception.
It was wonderful to hear all this. Even simple points of dharma had a particular punch when delivered by His Holiness. Hearing him say--carefully, and with complete confidence-- “There is no fixed, permanent ‘I’,” made my blood quiver.
When asked to comment, Chozen Roshi stated that “skeptical doubt”—a Buddhist term for corrosive negativity and pessimism -- fuels depression and destroys spiritual practice. People who are stuck in depression are buried by the First Noble Truth, and intervention of some sort may be required to move them out of it. But the fact of the deep suffering of the world, is incontrovertible. And the human critical capacity has its uses: depressed people, she said, do better in games of chance. The Buddha himself, in the time leading up to his enlightenment, endured visits from Mara as Inner Critic, who chided him both for being lazy in practice and for driving himself too hard. Feeding a hypercritical sensibility gives rise to a neuroticized realism that drives us to despair.
His Holiness the Dalai Lama pointed out that although the benefits of meditation practice have been common knowledge (in some circles!) for thousands of years, in secularizing aspects of meditation into a psychological therapy there is a risk of veering toward the religious aspects of Buddhism. The doctrine of “no self” is, after all, a doctrine, and one that is unique to Buddhism. Funny, but when I think of religion being forced on people, I imagine being pressured to believe in a deity. In Buddhism, philosophies can be deities, too—helpful to a point, but subject to experiential verification and rejection. Later, HH pointed out, quite distinctly, that a theistic approach may really be best for some people. Shaken again, I realized a latent absolutist impulse lies within: I assume that doctrines are not only the absolute truth, but should be presented as such, even if others may not be able to relate.
Later on, His Holiness said that “no self” is emphasized as a doctrine because it is an antidote to a very serious malady: the multifarious modes of suffering wrought by an undisciplined mind are rooted in the grasping of a false self. (There are two aspects of self-grasping: one is evaluating self and others in a relative framework, deciding that I am better or worse than others. The other mistake is in imputing a self onto things in the first place, seeing them as concrete entities.) The mechanisms by which afflictions are generated by a restless undisciplined mind are complex, but they involve a dysfunctional intelligence rooted in a sense of self, as well as a predisposition to function in the gross, “physical” realm of reality.
He went on to say that coming to an understanding of “no self” involves a prolonged and gradual process, which may or may not ( emphasis on “may not”) include episodes of profound insight – presumably meaning “openings” or kensho. Even a person of great understanding will continue to experience self-and-other and to have experiences based on that misconception.
It was wonderful to hear all this. Even simple points of dharma had a particular punch when delivered by His Holiness. Hearing him say--carefully, and with complete confidence-- “There is no fixed, permanent ‘I’,” made my blood quiver.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
1956 West Point Visit
One of the delights of visiting Washington DC has been the opportunity to connect with my cousin Margaret Garigan. She showed me this photo from my Uncle Tom's days at West Point. Both my paternal grandparents died before I was born, and I don't have much of a sense of who they were. Perhaps for that reason, I find this an incredibly sweet picture. My dad is the young man on the right. Next to him, my darling Aunt Pat holds a tiny Cousin Mike.
Margaret's brother (also Tom Garigan) had this and other photos as slides, hence the very nice color quality. Click on the photo to see it and others on my Flickr site.
Margaret's brother (also Tom Garigan) had this and other photos as slides, hence the very nice color quality. Click on the photo to see it and others on my Flickr site.
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