Many spiritual perspectives I am reading about recently focus on the notion of mystery and initiation. Rather than seeing suffering and hardship as an isolated event which begins and ends with this body, these spiritual thinkers have a way of contextualizing suffering in terms of a never-ending process of learning and growth. Here, there is no way to 'contain' learning into a single life experience or even a single memory. This process of learning is not about trying to gain a vital piece of knowledge for one's own profit but about yielding to something that is mysterious and can never be completely known or captured. Mircea Eliade relates:
Death signifies the surpassing of the profane non-sanctified condition, the condition of the 'natural man', ignorant of religion and blind to the spiritual. The mystery of initiation discloses to the neophyte, little by little, the true dimensions of existence; by introducing him to the sacred, the mystery obliges him to assume the responsibilities of a man (quoted in Moore, 1994, p. 196)
This view is interesting to me because it doesn't see death as a total ending, but as some introduction to a deeper way of existence and thinking. In a sense, Eliade is confirming to me that there is no such thing as a 'real' death. For instance, when I meditate, thoughts might seem to arise and disappear, but something still remains that cannot be thought. It is a kind of nameless and colorless basis for every other phenomena. Loss of any kind can educate a person in not relying on the phenomena or taking it to be so real. In fact, there is simply no essence to things that is so fixed and permanent that we can say it is truly 'me'. So what we lose is only the illusion that identifies us with the things we own or love. But in the midst of losing and gaining, there is an alternate way of being: to yield to the mystery of impermanence and the comings and goings of form.
In his book Denial of Death, Ernest Becker roots most human activity to the wish to fulfill a heroic struggle or opportunity. In fact, Becker goes so far as to trace all symbolic activity (including language) to a conscious effort to immortalize the self. He remarks, "to become conscious of what one is doing to earn his feelings of heroism is the main self-analytic problem of life." (p.6) But if all heroic efforts are bound to end in some kind of dissolution or 'failure', what's the alternative way of living?
Thomas Moore talks about honoring the mystery of soul as a way of dealing with loss and failures, including the failures to fulfill personal expectations. He also sees loss as an initiation into a more soulful way of living which goes beyond individual existence, and he compares this realization to the 'dialogue between humans and the divine'. All this is wonderful, but it makes me wonder, how do I take this kind of soul learning into practice, or into daily life?
I think Eliade, Moore and Becker remind me that life's journey is not building an edifice around the self. Even when I learn something, the learning is incomplete and is bound to change over time. From the Buddhist perspective, consciousness continues into different lifetimes. To think that one life will ever 'complete' the learning cycle is illusory and somehow carries with it a feeling of having to do everything in one life cycle. But if you walk into any bookstore or library, you begin to realize that learning is limitless. There is no way for a single person to learn everything there is to know of all people's thoughts or insights. It would be like trying to pour all the oceans of the world into a thimble. There is simply not enough time or space to know or appreciate everything, or to taste all the different wines in all cups. So why not simply take a more playful approach to these philosophies and 'entertain' their possibilities, rather than thinking they are pieces of a puzzle that need 'completion' in a single lifetime? This way of looking might ease the need to perfect one's learning or one's self.
The scary thing about all this for me is realizing that knowledge is a kind of desire that can never be satiated. And the yielding to mystery that these authors describe is about renouncing the desire to satisfy one's craving to know, to experience everything in the mind, or to 'contain' it in a single self.
Becker, Ernest (1973), The Denial of Death. New York: Simon and Shuster
Moore, Thomas (1994), Soul Mates: Honoring the Mysteries of Love and Relationship. New York: Harper Perennial
Saturday, May 7, 2016
Friday, May 6, 2016
Authenticity and Cynicism
I was thinking tonight about the relationship between being 'authentic' and being cynical. And I put one of these words in quotations because it can be hard to tell what is really authentic and what is not so much. Quite often a person might think they know who they are and how they feel, but then what they are feeling might only be a reaction to some deeper pain that they haven't recognized or fully acknowledged. It's also possible that a person's entire makeup and way of being is a reaction to an unacknowledged, deep pain. So in that case, is a person who is reacting against her or his own repressed pain being 'authentic'? I think that care must be taken when using this word. Yet, many people use the term authenticity or its related expression of 'being oneself' to justify a life of reacting to pain rather than embracing pain fully.
How does a person avoid the situation of confusing authentic being with a kind of 'cynicism' that tries to skim over pain? This is something I am trying to practice in myself.. I find that in the mornings when my mind is fairly clear, I can do some meditation, and this can help me to be calm and not react to situations with like or dislikes. But over the course of the day, the more subtle reactions can start to take shape, such as emotional responses to work or the reactions we might feel to the body. Cynicism is a kind of short cut to dealing with the pain: it tends to generalize that things are 'terrible' when actually things are complex and nuanced, neither black or white. A cynical way of looking at a situation might be to dismiss oneself as not good enough to embrace a situation completely: "this is way too much for me to handle, I am not spiritual enough", a person might say, and doing so would lose their practice of being present. In this situation, I find it's important to remind myself of a pure intention to be lovingly present and accept every moment as it is. Even 'pain' can be embraced in this way, not looked upon as a fault in one's character, but as something that can be enjoyed fully as a conscious practice of 'being with'.
Another misunderstanding that sometimes leads to a cynical or 'burned out' view is the confusion between a doubting, outsider's perspective and genuine non-attachment. For instance, a person might say: "All my troubles come from the fact that I care too much, so I should stop trying to care, and then I will have fewer problems." But this kind of attitude only leads to complete, defensive disengagement, as well as fear of getting too involved in the details of life. And it also leads to a tired, almost rudderless approach to life. But this attitude does not need to be the only response to emotional challenges. An alternative would be to respect the kinds of polarities and tension of opposites that are contained in a challenge: the tension between going in confidently and running away, embracing change and upholding stability, solitude and support.
I find that a good practice for me is to look at the way I am thinking and to ask myself: from which attitude does this thought arise? If I am thinking I cannot handle a situation, is it coming from an accurate view of myself, or is it a form of trying to disengage from what I dislike or don't fully understand? When I find myself slipping into a detachment or self-deprecating view, I can adjust to ask myself what good it does me to harbor inferior views of who I am. In this way, I re-calibrate myself so that I am able to confidently behold mystery and delve deeper into a spiritual life.
How does a person avoid the situation of confusing authentic being with a kind of 'cynicism' that tries to skim over pain? This is something I am trying to practice in myself.. I find that in the mornings when my mind is fairly clear, I can do some meditation, and this can help me to be calm and not react to situations with like or dislikes. But over the course of the day, the more subtle reactions can start to take shape, such as emotional responses to work or the reactions we might feel to the body. Cynicism is a kind of short cut to dealing with the pain: it tends to generalize that things are 'terrible' when actually things are complex and nuanced, neither black or white. A cynical way of looking at a situation might be to dismiss oneself as not good enough to embrace a situation completely: "this is way too much for me to handle, I am not spiritual enough", a person might say, and doing so would lose their practice of being present. In this situation, I find it's important to remind myself of a pure intention to be lovingly present and accept every moment as it is. Even 'pain' can be embraced in this way, not looked upon as a fault in one's character, but as something that can be enjoyed fully as a conscious practice of 'being with'.
Another misunderstanding that sometimes leads to a cynical or 'burned out' view is the confusion between a doubting, outsider's perspective and genuine non-attachment. For instance, a person might say: "All my troubles come from the fact that I care too much, so I should stop trying to care, and then I will have fewer problems." But this kind of attitude only leads to complete, defensive disengagement, as well as fear of getting too involved in the details of life. And it also leads to a tired, almost rudderless approach to life. But this attitude does not need to be the only response to emotional challenges. An alternative would be to respect the kinds of polarities and tension of opposites that are contained in a challenge: the tension between going in confidently and running away, embracing change and upholding stability, solitude and support.
I find that a good practice for me is to look at the way I am thinking and to ask myself: from which attitude does this thought arise? If I am thinking I cannot handle a situation, is it coming from an accurate view of myself, or is it a form of trying to disengage from what I dislike or don't fully understand? When I find myself slipping into a detachment or self-deprecating view, I can adjust to ask myself what good it does me to harbor inferior views of who I am. In this way, I re-calibrate myself so that I am able to confidently behold mystery and delve deeper into a spiritual life.
Thursday, May 5, 2016
Sending out good, taking in bad
Pema Chodron writes about a particular practice called tonglen, where one is visualizing the process of taking in the pain of the world into one's body, while exhaling goodness toward other beings. While many meditation practices tend to focus on relaxing the body or getting oneself into a certain state, tonglen would work for those who suffer chronic pain, because it asks that a person makes use of her or his pain to extend compassion toward other beings. I think the fundamental part of tonglen that interests me is that it is not about self-blaming, self-victimization or even self-pity. Rather, it's the acknowledgement that suffering is a universal part of being human, and that my suffering can powerfully connect with all others. In fact, this dissatisfaction that is at the heart of human life is the way to open up to all life, a kind of universal compassion. Writes Chodron:
You breathe in so that you can really understand what the Buddha meant when he said that the first noble truth is that life is suffering. What does that mean? With every in-breath, you try to find out by acknowledging the truth of suffering, not as a mistake you made, not as a punishment, but as part of the human condition. (p.80-81)
I think that tonglen is a useful practice in the sense that it does something with suffering rather than scapegoating it or consigning it to something that is not desirable. All too often, when I am sitting in meditation and feel pains in my body, I pathologize the pain. In my mind, I am thinking, "this shouldn't be happening", and I even go to the place of thinking that the pain is punishment. But what is interesting about this practice is that it makes suffering of pain ontologically meaningful. Rather than viewing pain as some kind of mistake or a sign that something is deeply amiss, pain can become the signal to awaken to connection with others. It is this attaching meaning to pain that can allow the practice to have a purpose, and it also allows people to practice even in the midst of pain, rather than seeing it as a distraction.
I have often heard the argument in Chan that one should let go of the body in order to fully practice. It's interesting because at certain times in my practice, I am ready to do so, because I am seeing the changing nature of the body. Here, there is no sensation to cling to that is mine, 'my' body, or 'mine forever'. But there are other times when pain is so strong that it calls out to one's inner being, needing to be received in some way. It's not something I can simply label as 'impermanent' in those situations. I think tonglen is an effort to transform the real experience of pain into something inherently meaningful, rather than trying to bypass pain through a rational or intellectual distance. In fact, while the rationalizing might work in the short run, I have found that it simply falls apart during meditation. Most 'reasons' do fall apart, unless they connect to real experiences, such as concrete perceptions or sensations.
I think the important thing when meditating is not to see some experiences as 'distractions' while others are 'extra important'. All of this is mind, so it makes no sense in that moment to discriminate between something that is useful and something that is simply unimportant. Pain is also something that often gets labeled as a distraction, when in fact it is material we can use to practice inquiry into the source of the pain as well as how pain interconnects us to others. In that regard, pain can be a real friend to practice as well as a transforming agent.
Chodron, Pema (2010) Wisdom of No Escape. Boston: Shambhala
You breathe in so that you can really understand what the Buddha meant when he said that the first noble truth is that life is suffering. What does that mean? With every in-breath, you try to find out by acknowledging the truth of suffering, not as a mistake you made, not as a punishment, but as part of the human condition. (p.80-81)
I think that tonglen is a useful practice in the sense that it does something with suffering rather than scapegoating it or consigning it to something that is not desirable. All too often, when I am sitting in meditation and feel pains in my body, I pathologize the pain. In my mind, I am thinking, "this shouldn't be happening", and I even go to the place of thinking that the pain is punishment. But what is interesting about this practice is that it makes suffering of pain ontologically meaningful. Rather than viewing pain as some kind of mistake or a sign that something is deeply amiss, pain can become the signal to awaken to connection with others. It is this attaching meaning to pain that can allow the practice to have a purpose, and it also allows people to practice even in the midst of pain, rather than seeing it as a distraction.
I have often heard the argument in Chan that one should let go of the body in order to fully practice. It's interesting because at certain times in my practice, I am ready to do so, because I am seeing the changing nature of the body. Here, there is no sensation to cling to that is mine, 'my' body, or 'mine forever'. But there are other times when pain is so strong that it calls out to one's inner being, needing to be received in some way. It's not something I can simply label as 'impermanent' in those situations. I think tonglen is an effort to transform the real experience of pain into something inherently meaningful, rather than trying to bypass pain through a rational or intellectual distance. In fact, while the rationalizing might work in the short run, I have found that it simply falls apart during meditation. Most 'reasons' do fall apart, unless they connect to real experiences, such as concrete perceptions or sensations.
I think the important thing when meditating is not to see some experiences as 'distractions' while others are 'extra important'. All of this is mind, so it makes no sense in that moment to discriminate between something that is useful and something that is simply unimportant. Pain is also something that often gets labeled as a distraction, when in fact it is material we can use to practice inquiry into the source of the pain as well as how pain interconnects us to others. In that regard, pain can be a real friend to practice as well as a transforming agent.
Chodron, Pema (2010) Wisdom of No Escape. Boston: Shambhala
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
Illusions of Grandeur
Before hopping on the bus this morning, I looked toward the east as the sun was just rising. On the side of a skyscraper in the distance, there was an eerie reflective glow, looking almost as though there was a banner displayed against the building's edifice. It made me realize that from a distance, it's so easy to make things more than what they are, or to have illusions of grandeur. Saying that we will do something big for ourselves sets a good benchmark, but one should never confuse the benchmark for the reality.
The same, I found, is true about most things, including work. I usually have very optimistic ambitions coming into work. But I was just familiarizing myself with a relatively new process today, and thinking that somehow doing it repeatedly would get me 'in the groove' of the process. In reality, I was about halfway through my day when I started to think: man, this is so much harder than what I thought it would be, and I don't sense any progress in my numbers.. As soon as I finish processing one claim, a totally new one comes in, and I can only break even in terms of the numbers completed. So by the end of the day, I had to accept the fact that what I thought I was going to feel and experience wasn't the actual experience. And instead of comparing my outputs to the inputs, I had to focus on what I had achieved personally, compared to what I did yesterday. It's a modest comparison, but I suppose it's the best I can do.
In meditative practice, I believe that the mentality has to shift away from a quantitative one, and even an experiential one. This is so because meditation is not an experience to be collected. It's more like a space of pure being where there are no judges, no winners or losers. If I can simply be with the experience as a totality without judging the outcome. If I put a fence around that experience, I know that the fence is not meant to stick or protect anything, because the next moment the 'boundaries' simply won't apply. Even what I wrote yesterday about 'pure motivation' does not mean that my experience today is going to feel particularly good or bad. It's a matter of being able to see things through the eyes of equanimity. I just need to be aware that expectations I might harbor are bound to be disappointed, because things always change and nothing is what we think it's going to be.
Now, in light of this, I wonder what it means in terms of setting personal benchmarks at work. My thinking these days is that setting a benchmark in terms of numbers completed is necessary, but it's not sufficient. I say this because not everything can be quantified in a precise way (learning is one thing certainly that cannot be quantified). But the other thing is that if I am only quantifying my work, I am only learning how to have a strategic survival based mentality. I won't be able to develop other qualities if I continue to have this approach to life, including compassion. To put it in another way, if I only quantify what I do in terms of neat strict categories (numbers of things processed, completed, checked off, etc.) then soon I will be attached to the feelings of security that arise from it, and I will feel insecure if I am not meeting those targets. Even if I am not meeting them due to other commitments, I will feel that insecurity around numbers, not trusting that I am where I am for very specific reasons. When I contemplate those specific reasons instead of condemning myself for not meeting my quotas, I might find a space of compassion opening up. The compassion is not about having some sentimental attachment or pity, but more like seeing things as fraught with conditions, and respecting the conditions rather than trying to remake people into what we think they should be.
The same, I found, is true about most things, including work. I usually have very optimistic ambitions coming into work. But I was just familiarizing myself with a relatively new process today, and thinking that somehow doing it repeatedly would get me 'in the groove' of the process. In reality, I was about halfway through my day when I started to think: man, this is so much harder than what I thought it would be, and I don't sense any progress in my numbers.. As soon as I finish processing one claim, a totally new one comes in, and I can only break even in terms of the numbers completed. So by the end of the day, I had to accept the fact that what I thought I was going to feel and experience wasn't the actual experience. And instead of comparing my outputs to the inputs, I had to focus on what I had achieved personally, compared to what I did yesterday. It's a modest comparison, but I suppose it's the best I can do.
In meditative practice, I believe that the mentality has to shift away from a quantitative one, and even an experiential one. This is so because meditation is not an experience to be collected. It's more like a space of pure being where there are no judges, no winners or losers. If I can simply be with the experience as a totality without judging the outcome. If I put a fence around that experience, I know that the fence is not meant to stick or protect anything, because the next moment the 'boundaries' simply won't apply. Even what I wrote yesterday about 'pure motivation' does not mean that my experience today is going to feel particularly good or bad. It's a matter of being able to see things through the eyes of equanimity. I just need to be aware that expectations I might harbor are bound to be disappointed, because things always change and nothing is what we think it's going to be.
Now, in light of this, I wonder what it means in terms of setting personal benchmarks at work. My thinking these days is that setting a benchmark in terms of numbers completed is necessary, but it's not sufficient. I say this because not everything can be quantified in a precise way (learning is one thing certainly that cannot be quantified). But the other thing is that if I am only quantifying my work, I am only learning how to have a strategic survival based mentality. I won't be able to develop other qualities if I continue to have this approach to life, including compassion. To put it in another way, if I only quantify what I do in terms of neat strict categories (numbers of things processed, completed, checked off, etc.) then soon I will be attached to the feelings of security that arise from it, and I will feel insecure if I am not meeting those targets. Even if I am not meeting them due to other commitments, I will feel that insecurity around numbers, not trusting that I am where I am for very specific reasons. When I contemplate those specific reasons instead of condemning myself for not meeting my quotas, I might find a space of compassion opening up. The compassion is not about having some sentimental attachment or pity, but more like seeing things as fraught with conditions, and respecting the conditions rather than trying to remake people into what we think they should be.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Pure Motivation
As I was conferring with a colleague at work today, I had noticed a tiny sticky note stuck to her monitor, which read "If your motivation is pure, you will get the best results." When I see this kind of thing, I reflect on the miracle of being surrounded by Dharma teachings. Indeed, the idea that pure motivation brings about good results seems a very 'on the spot' Dharma teaching, if I have ever experienced one.
Of course, like most spiritual teachings, this one takes time to understand and embody. And the concept can be a bit mysterious to unpack. For example, what exactly does 'pure motivation' entail, anyway, and how can it be achieved in a fast-paced workplace where profit and measurable achievements seem to be the bottom line? I reflected on a couple of things on the bus ride home. The first is that having this kind of message can be empowering and uplifting, because it reminds me to focus on why the organization for which I work exists in the first place and who it aspires to serve. In the end, most business organizations are designed to serve something or someone, so there is always an altruistic and interconnected aspect to every business. Even when a business has the mandate to ruthlessly pursue profits, it still relies on inter-being for its survival. There isn't a single business out there I know of that pursues productivity and products only for their own sake. All products need to have a purpose which connects the business to others. This being said, the 'pure' motivation could be thought of as none other than the authentic goal of the organization: what it is trying to do for a community or an ecosystem. By going deeply into this kind of motivation, I am bound to be much more motivated to be productive. After all, work no longer becomes about me feeling good. Rather, it is about the beings I am serving. When I take this approach, it is much easier and more motivating to be mindful, because I am no longer just serving my feelings of the moment.
I notice that most books about the psychology of work rarely delve deeply into the why of work, especially related to the organization. It's as though a person working for Nike has the same purpose as someone working for Sony. Yet, if these organizations are serving completely different purposes, how can it be said that all workers have the same purpose in different companies? Yet, in a sense, every organization has its own soul, and this is the engine that rives the organization toward a specific path. That soul expresses itself in deeply different ways, from the company's vision to the aesthetic look of the office or general work environments.
If I were to take this to heart, I would say that unless an individual sees and is convinced of the greater purpose of the company or organization for whom she works, it will be hard to have a pure motivation. Instead of taking pride in the company and striving to deliver the highest quality, such a person only ends up working for her or himself if she cannot find the meaning of the organization as a totality.
But, as I am reading these words, I am also sensing the dangers of attaching purity to form, such as the form in which one works or an organization's character. After all, from a certain perspective, no phenomena are either pure or impure. It's only mind's attachment that makes phenomena pure and impure. So what would 'pure motivation' mean then? I think at that point, the pure motivation has nothing to do with individual vs. company, company vs. community, self vs. other...as these are all distinctions created in the mind. Rather, the pure motivation would simply be viewing the phenomena as having no self attached to it: no self-importance, no self-edification, no self-clinging. Okay, but what does this mean? I think it means that no matter what happens at work, I am not clinging to a self. If there is a criticism or a mistake, I don't need to congeal it around myself, or foist it onto someone else as an object of blame. Rather, the work just becomes the totality of my moment, and there is just no separating an 'I' from it when I deeply involve myself with work. I take the work to be mind, rather than separating work from individual self. I don't even need to judge me as being pure/impure at that point, since that remains is the doing of work. Once things cease to become markers of success/failure of the self, there is just the ability to act in the moment according to the emerging causes and conditions. At that point, the pure mind is not attached to any notion of purity or impurity, at which point it realizes the natural state of things.
Of course, like most spiritual teachings, this one takes time to understand and embody. And the concept can be a bit mysterious to unpack. For example, what exactly does 'pure motivation' entail, anyway, and how can it be achieved in a fast-paced workplace where profit and measurable achievements seem to be the bottom line? I reflected on a couple of things on the bus ride home. The first is that having this kind of message can be empowering and uplifting, because it reminds me to focus on why the organization for which I work exists in the first place and who it aspires to serve. In the end, most business organizations are designed to serve something or someone, so there is always an altruistic and interconnected aspect to every business. Even when a business has the mandate to ruthlessly pursue profits, it still relies on inter-being for its survival. There isn't a single business out there I know of that pursues productivity and products only for their own sake. All products need to have a purpose which connects the business to others. This being said, the 'pure' motivation could be thought of as none other than the authentic goal of the organization: what it is trying to do for a community or an ecosystem. By going deeply into this kind of motivation, I am bound to be much more motivated to be productive. After all, work no longer becomes about me feeling good. Rather, it is about the beings I am serving. When I take this approach, it is much easier and more motivating to be mindful, because I am no longer just serving my feelings of the moment.
I notice that most books about the psychology of work rarely delve deeply into the why of work, especially related to the organization. It's as though a person working for Nike has the same purpose as someone working for Sony. Yet, if these organizations are serving completely different purposes, how can it be said that all workers have the same purpose in different companies? Yet, in a sense, every organization has its own soul, and this is the engine that rives the organization toward a specific path. That soul expresses itself in deeply different ways, from the company's vision to the aesthetic look of the office or general work environments.
If I were to take this to heart, I would say that unless an individual sees and is convinced of the greater purpose of the company or organization for whom she works, it will be hard to have a pure motivation. Instead of taking pride in the company and striving to deliver the highest quality, such a person only ends up working for her or himself if she cannot find the meaning of the organization as a totality.
But, as I am reading these words, I am also sensing the dangers of attaching purity to form, such as the form in which one works or an organization's character. After all, from a certain perspective, no phenomena are either pure or impure. It's only mind's attachment that makes phenomena pure and impure. So what would 'pure motivation' mean then? I think at that point, the pure motivation has nothing to do with individual vs. company, company vs. community, self vs. other...as these are all distinctions created in the mind. Rather, the pure motivation would simply be viewing the phenomena as having no self attached to it: no self-importance, no self-edification, no self-clinging. Okay, but what does this mean? I think it means that no matter what happens at work, I am not clinging to a self. If there is a criticism or a mistake, I don't need to congeal it around myself, or foist it onto someone else as an object of blame. Rather, the work just becomes the totality of my moment, and there is just no separating an 'I' from it when I deeply involve myself with work. I take the work to be mind, rather than separating work from individual self. I don't even need to judge me as being pure/impure at that point, since that remains is the doing of work. Once things cease to become markers of success/failure of the self, there is just the ability to act in the moment according to the emerging causes and conditions. At that point, the pure mind is not attached to any notion of purity or impurity, at which point it realizes the natural state of things.
Monday, May 2, 2016
Mystery of Connection
Rupert Sheldrake's book The Sense of Being Stared At and Other Unexplained Powers of Human Minds is a very interesting glimpse into how humans and animals are able to pick up the stare of another being that is out of visual range. The book abounds with examples of anecdotal accounts, explaining why and how this is possible, including theories that relate to evolution. According to evolutionary theory, all animals would have been naturally selected to be able to 'sense' a predator's gaze. Without that ability to pick up on another's gaze or look, many animals and humans would have arguably died out. But as I am reading Sheldrake's explanation, I am led to wonder if this is the only explanation for such phenomena. Is the sense of being stared at something that evolved over time, or is it a more basic condition of mind? I believe that from the perspective of Buddhism and Surangama Sutra in particular, it is the mind that sees and not the eyes. Therefore there would not necessarily be a visual organ required to see.
The two explanations (evolutionary and Buddhist) offer different ways of understanding the same phenomena. The difference, to me, is that evolutionary theory assumes that creatures are born with separate minds. Sheldrake, at one point, remarks:
Over 5 million years a short period in geological time, there was an unprecedented burst of evolutionary activity known as the Cambrian Explosion. The number of basic kinds of animals, or phyla, increased from three to thirty-eight, as revealed most clearly by the fossil deposits in the Burgess Shale in the Canadian Rockies. What happened? The biologist Andrew Parker suggests that the key to all this was the evolution of eyes, leading to the birth of active predation. Suddenly there was enormous evolutionary pressure on prey animals to evolve defenses, and on predators to develop new means of capturing prey. Perhaps the sense of being stared at evolved along with eyes themselves. (p.65)
This view is common in scientific circles, and it makes sense if we look on the surface: animals kill other animals, so they must have evolved separate appendages to ward off predators or, conversely, consume prey. But this theory leads me to wonder: if animals behave separately, how are they able to communicate or even to sense other animals? Is there not something shared between all beings that allows them to connect with each other? The other related question is, if animals consume each other (as they do), where does one animal's consciousness begin and end? Can we say that there is one source of individuality in the animals' body, if it is constantly communicating with its environment to ward off dangers. I believe it was the biologist Gregory Bateson who had introduced me to the idea that organisms never live isolated but are in continuous feedback with systems of life. In a similar sense, there needs to be some background holding all this system into a cohesive form.
Is it possible, on the other hand, that all this sensing and knowing is perhaps an inherent aspect of having sentience, and that it is over-reliance on sense organs which has gotten people away from the sense of connection? I am thinking of the example Master Sheng Yen uses in discussing the illusory nature of seeing, in his book Until We Reach Buddhahood: Lectures on the Surangama Sutra:
You may believe what you see is real, but when you are tired, or if you stare at a certain point for a long period of time, your eyes tire and you may begin to see things. Your eyes see what really isn't there. Ordinary people will admit that what they see under these circumstances is probably unreal. But if they are awake, they take what is seen to be real. The sutra shows that what is seen brings forth innumerable feelings and emotions: anger, happiness, sadness, joy,. Your mind is directly affected by what you see. You may thing what you see is real, but your sight is really no different from that of a person with tired eyes (p.161-162)
The difference between evolutionary and Buddhist perspectives on seeing are quite striking. While evolution takes seeing as a survival tool that has developed over time, Buddhist perspective takes seeing itself to be an illusory by-product of over-reliance on sense organs and emotions. As long as there is attachment to a sense organ like the eyes, there is no true seeing, because the objects we see are treated as separate, fixed forms, rather than as impermanent impressions of mind.
These two explanations might offer different theories about the sense of being stared at. While evolutionary theory might see it as an 'add on' based on natural selection, I think the Buddhist view would see this sense as something original and inherent to mind that is not depending on senses at all.
Sheldrake, Rupert (2013) The Sense of Being Stared At and Other Unexplained Powers of Human Minds. Toronto: Park Street Press.
Sheng Yen (2015), Until We Reach Buddhahood: Lectures on the Surangama Sutra Volume 1. Elmhurst New York: Dharma Drum Publications
The two explanations (evolutionary and Buddhist) offer different ways of understanding the same phenomena. The difference, to me, is that evolutionary theory assumes that creatures are born with separate minds. Sheldrake, at one point, remarks:
Over 5 million years a short period in geological time, there was an unprecedented burst of evolutionary activity known as the Cambrian Explosion. The number of basic kinds of animals, or phyla, increased from three to thirty-eight, as revealed most clearly by the fossil deposits in the Burgess Shale in the Canadian Rockies. What happened? The biologist Andrew Parker suggests that the key to all this was the evolution of eyes, leading to the birth of active predation. Suddenly there was enormous evolutionary pressure on prey animals to evolve defenses, and on predators to develop new means of capturing prey. Perhaps the sense of being stared at evolved along with eyes themselves. (p.65)
This view is common in scientific circles, and it makes sense if we look on the surface: animals kill other animals, so they must have evolved separate appendages to ward off predators or, conversely, consume prey. But this theory leads me to wonder: if animals behave separately, how are they able to communicate or even to sense other animals? Is there not something shared between all beings that allows them to connect with each other? The other related question is, if animals consume each other (as they do), where does one animal's consciousness begin and end? Can we say that there is one source of individuality in the animals' body, if it is constantly communicating with its environment to ward off dangers. I believe it was the biologist Gregory Bateson who had introduced me to the idea that organisms never live isolated but are in continuous feedback with systems of life. In a similar sense, there needs to be some background holding all this system into a cohesive form.
Is it possible, on the other hand, that all this sensing and knowing is perhaps an inherent aspect of having sentience, and that it is over-reliance on sense organs which has gotten people away from the sense of connection? I am thinking of the example Master Sheng Yen uses in discussing the illusory nature of seeing, in his book Until We Reach Buddhahood: Lectures on the Surangama Sutra:
You may believe what you see is real, but when you are tired, or if you stare at a certain point for a long period of time, your eyes tire and you may begin to see things. Your eyes see what really isn't there. Ordinary people will admit that what they see under these circumstances is probably unreal. But if they are awake, they take what is seen to be real. The sutra shows that what is seen brings forth innumerable feelings and emotions: anger, happiness, sadness, joy,. Your mind is directly affected by what you see. You may thing what you see is real, but your sight is really no different from that of a person with tired eyes (p.161-162)
The difference between evolutionary and Buddhist perspectives on seeing are quite striking. While evolution takes seeing as a survival tool that has developed over time, Buddhist perspective takes seeing itself to be an illusory by-product of over-reliance on sense organs and emotions. As long as there is attachment to a sense organ like the eyes, there is no true seeing, because the objects we see are treated as separate, fixed forms, rather than as impermanent impressions of mind.
These two explanations might offer different theories about the sense of being stared at. While evolutionary theory might see it as an 'add on' based on natural selection, I think the Buddhist view would see this sense as something original and inherent to mind that is not depending on senses at all.
Sheldrake, Rupert (2013) The Sense of Being Stared At and Other Unexplained Powers of Human Minds. Toronto: Park Street Press.
Sheng Yen (2015), Until We Reach Buddhahood: Lectures on the Surangama Sutra Volume 1. Elmhurst New York: Dharma Drum Publications
Sunday, May 1, 2016
the sense of urgency
After the meditation this morning, someone in the group had raised a question: what happens when a thought comes up that seems to require attention? This person observed that at times, when her body and mind were most relaxed, the thoughts of what needed doing would come out stronger than in a non-meditative state. I think her question was coming from the perspective: is it more compassionate and wise to take care of the thought by reflecting on it, or is it important not to engage the thought at all and let go of it?
I have been thinking since then that most thought carry with them a sense of urgency. It's very rare that my thoughts will say something to the effect of "I'm not that important, you can take me or leave me." In fact, thoughts, like advertisements, seem designed to entice people to attend to them. Perhaps it's the evolutionary function of thoughts that they need to be fancy and enticing for people to pay attention to them and perpetuate their existence. I have even heard of the phrase "meme", coined by Richard Dawkins, to describe the way in which thoughts survive over time by having a kind of mental attraction over us.
I believe that one of the functions of meditation practice is to give people practice in not always having to engage every thought that comes to mind even if it seems attractive or enticing in some way. Without the practice of non-discursive awareness, how is it possible to discern a thought that needs tending and one which does not? Without practice in non-discursive, meditative practice, we may be continually following endless trains of thoughts, and becoming exhausted in the process. And there is no ability to simply rest the mind from thinking altogether.
I have also found meditative practice helpful in my research and reading practice. Without meditation as a tool for daily life, I often find myself getting either over-enthused by an idea I read about, or put off altogether: almost a kind of all-or-nothing mentality toward ideas. Rather than seeing an idea as 'just an idea', I might get so emotionally attached to promoting or disputing that idea that I am not able to clearly see its benefits and disadvantages. Through meditation, I have come to see a couple of tendencies. One is that ideas are never permanent: they come and go, like the weather, even when they appear to be good ideas. The other is that clinging to thoughts can create all kinds of vexations, especially when we are engaged in judging them as good or bad. So when I abide in awareness, I can start to see that ideas are neither absolutely good nor bad, but can be used according to the needs of the moment.
I have been thinking since then that most thought carry with them a sense of urgency. It's very rare that my thoughts will say something to the effect of "I'm not that important, you can take me or leave me." In fact, thoughts, like advertisements, seem designed to entice people to attend to them. Perhaps it's the evolutionary function of thoughts that they need to be fancy and enticing for people to pay attention to them and perpetuate their existence. I have even heard of the phrase "meme", coined by Richard Dawkins, to describe the way in which thoughts survive over time by having a kind of mental attraction over us.
I believe that one of the functions of meditation practice is to give people practice in not always having to engage every thought that comes to mind even if it seems attractive or enticing in some way. Without the practice of non-discursive awareness, how is it possible to discern a thought that needs tending and one which does not? Without practice in non-discursive, meditative practice, we may be continually following endless trains of thoughts, and becoming exhausted in the process. And there is no ability to simply rest the mind from thinking altogether.
I have also found meditative practice helpful in my research and reading practice. Without meditation as a tool for daily life, I often find myself getting either over-enthused by an idea I read about, or put off altogether: almost a kind of all-or-nothing mentality toward ideas. Rather than seeing an idea as 'just an idea', I might get so emotionally attached to promoting or disputing that idea that I am not able to clearly see its benefits and disadvantages. Through meditation, I have come to see a couple of tendencies. One is that ideas are never permanent: they come and go, like the weather, even when they appear to be good ideas. The other is that clinging to thoughts can create all kinds of vexations, especially when we are engaged in judging them as good or bad. So when I abide in awareness, I can start to see that ideas are neither absolutely good nor bad, but can be used according to the needs of the moment.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)