Unskillfulness and Sin

Christians believe in a variety of sins: original, venal, mortal. An external Evil Agent, Satan, tempts us into it.

Jews believe in an innate יצר הרע (yetzer hara) or evil inclination that entices us to stray from God.

In either case, sin is Evil with a capital “E” and denotes a rupture in our relationship with God. Certain things are sinful because they violate God’s commandments. They are sinful because God has ordained it so.

Buddhism has no concept equivalent to that of sin. While there may be gods in Buddhism, there is no God, The Eternal Creator and Judge. In Buddhism actions are judged by their utilitarian value: whether they lead to greater happiness for the person and affected others, and whether they lead to better karma, rebirth, and progress on the path to Enlightenment. The Buddhist terms for judging whether actions have a felicitous or unfelicitious effect are (in the Pali language) kusala and akusala, which usually gets translated as either wholesome and unwholesome, or skillful and unskillful. The utilitarian nature of these concepts is made clear in the Kusala Sutta (Anguttara Nikaya 2.19):

“Abandon what is unskillful, monks. It is possible to abandon what is unskillful. If it were not possible to abandon what is unskillful, I would not say to you, ‘Abandon what is unskillful.’ But because it is possible to abandon what is unskillful, I say to you, ‘Abandon what is unskillful.’ If this abandoning of what is unskillful were conducive to harm and pain, I would not say to you, ‘Abandon what is unskillful.’ But because this abandoning of what is unskillful is conducive to benefit and pleasure, I say to you, ‘Abandon what is unskillful.’

“Develop what is skillful, monks. It is possible to develop what is skillful. If it were not possible to develop what is skillful, I would not say to you, ‘Develop what is skillful.’ But because it is possible to develop what is skillful, I say to you, ‘Develop what is skillful.’ If this development of what is skillful were conducive to harm and pain, I would not say to you, ‘Develop what is skillful.’ But because this development of what is skillful is conducive to benefit and pleasure, I say to you, ‘Develop what is skillful.’”
Kusala Sutta [1]

When we say that skillful actions promote happiness, we are not just talking about the happiness of the individual. In Buddhism the individual and others in the community have equal claims to happiness. Buddhism is, as Shohaku Okumura has observed, [2] neither individualist nor collectivist, but represents a middle-way between these dialectical opposites. This is, in part, a consequence of the Buddhist emphasis on emptiness, the interdependence of all things. It is also due to the Buddhist view of the absolute truth of the oneness of all things balanced against the relative truth of our individual uniqueness. Skillful actions promote the happiness of the individual and the community synchronistically.

Just as something unskilful, like an addictive behavior, brings ruin to the individual and his family and involves broader social costs, skillful actions bring happiness to the individual, his social group, and the larger social order. Selfish behavior does not bring genuine happiness, but only fleeting sense pleasures and ego gratification. Selfishness disturbs our loving social ties with others, creates dissension in the community, and makes us slaves to the hedonic treadmill of transient pleasure. The Buddha (like Aristotle in his Nichomachean Ethics) believed that real happiness came from the cultivation of wisdom and character. Aristotle differentiated eudamonia, or genuine well-being, from hedonia, or sense-based pleasure. Contemporary Positive Psychology is demonstrating the truth of the Aristotelian-Buddhist idea of a deeper, more worthwhile sense of well-being that is wisdom and character based.

Not only can actions be unskillful, but thoughts, which are really interiorized actions, can also be unskillful. Thoughts are often the first stirrings of action, with skillful thoughts leading to skillful actions, unskillful thoughts to unskillful ones. We are what we think. If we are to live skillfully we must first establish some degree of control over our unruly minds. This is where mindfulness comes in. If we’re heedless of thoughts we’re driven by them like a leaves in the wind. If we’re mindful of thoughts, we can exercise discerning judgment about them. We can discern whether or not a thought is skillful and then decide whether or not to rehearse, practice, nurture, and reinforce it.

Thinking about actions as being unskillful rather than sinful allows us to take responsibility for behavior without the added burden of surplus guilt. We avoid unskillful behavior because we want ourselves and others to be happy, not because we’re afraid of Hellfire or God’s wrath. The only source of retribution we really need worry about is the one we ought to: Cause-and-Effect. This is true whether one believes in the Buddhist concept of karma, or the modern scientific understanding of cause and effect.

Go and sin no more.



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  1. [1] –translation by Thanissaro Bhikkhu
  2. [2] Okumura, S. (2010). Realizing Genjokoan, Boston:Wisdom

What Practice Is

Every moment of our lives is practice: every breath, movement, and gesture.  There is no edge, no boundary where our practice life ends and some other non-practice life begins.

When we meditate we are practicing, but we are also practicing when we meet and engage another human being, and at the very moment when we decide to either open or close our eyes to what we see around us.

Our practice is to keep our eyes open.

Our practice is to not turn away.

Our practice is to accept reality and to respond to it.

Our practice is to attend to and to take care of every single thing that happens to fall within the little circle of our lives.

What does it mean to not turn away? To be responsive to what we see?

You and I are, after all, only one person. The world is so large. There are so many causes. Our time and energy is so limited.

What exactly does it mean to fulfill the Bodhisattva vow: “Sentient beings are numberless, I vow to liberate them all?”

It seems so hopeless, so impossible.

There is a great temptation to contract one’s circle of caring; to just take care of one’s kith and kin and tend to one’s own garden.

This is not the Buddhist way.

The Buddhist way is that family, friends, and strangers are one and the same; all are to be responded to wisely and compassionately.

Our Buddha nature is one that is spacious and ceaselessly responsive.

The 8th Century sage Shantideva wrote the following:

“For all those ailing in the world,

Until their every sickness has been healed,

May I myself become for them

The doctor, the nurse, the medicine itself.

Raining down a flood of food and drink,

May I dispel the ills of thirst and famine.

And in ages marked by scarcity and want,

May I appear as drink and sustenance.

For sentient beings, poor and destitute,

May I become a treasure ever plentiful,

And lie before them closely in their reach,

A varied source of all that they may need.

May I be a guard for those who are protectorless,

A guide for those who journey on the road.

For those who wish to go across the water,

May I be a boat, a raft, a bridge.

May I be an isle for those who yearn for landfall,

And a lamp for those who long for light;

For those who need a resting place, a bed;

For all who need a servant, may I be their slave.

Thus for every thing that lives,

As far as the limits of the sky,

May I provide their livelihood and nourishment

Until they pass beyond the bonds of suffering.” [1]

How overwhelming this all sounds!  What a challenge to our usual way of being!  What does this mean to explore this as an ideal?  What does it mean to manifest this as a reality?

This is what practice is.

Not just sitting on a cushion.

Not just forming the intention to be kind to all beings.

Practice is putting our intentions to work in the world.

It is wondering what it is to be more open and compassionate.

It is finding ways to manifest that in the world right now.

Practice has 84,000 manifestations:

  • Organizing
  • Voting
  • Donating
  • Educating
  • Volunteering
  • Tending to the sick
  • Investing in companies that respect workers and protect the earth
  • Reducing your carbon footprint
  • Working at a job that is consistent with your values
  • Raising children to be tolerant and compassionate

This is the practice of Buddhism.

(A version of this was given as a Dharma talk at Change Your Mind Day 2006 in New Haven, Connecticut.)

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  1. [1] Shantideva (2003). The Way of the Bodhisattva. Boston: Shambhala.

Good News For Amateurs

At age sixty-two, I’m a beginning classical piano student. I’m usually pretty disciplined and practice most days. I’m terrible at it, but love everything about it, including the hours of practice I put in each week. I suspect I’ll never be very good at it. I lack a certain natural aptitude and I’m getting a late start. I’ll never be a concert pianist.

My meditation practice is a little like my piano playing. I love everything about it, but I’m never going to be an olympic-level meditator. My concentration is only fair. I’ll probably never go on a traditional Tibetan three-year retreat or even a three month insight meditation retreat. I’ll never spend years sitting in a Himalayan cave. I’m strictly amateur.

Why practice either piano or meditation despite the fact that I’ll never advance beyond amateur status?

A) Because I love the practice itself.

B) Because there are benefits to each.

Playing piano increases my understanding and appreciation for music. I can hear and appreciate more when I listen to Chopin’s nocturnes and Bach’s Goldberg Variations.

Meditating builds mindfulness and equanimity in my daily life. It allows me to understand and appreciate life more deeply.

Jean Kristeller, the Director of the Center for the Study of Health, Religion, and Spirituality at Indiana State University, first brought this idea of different levels of meditative practice to my attention in her chapter “Finding the Buddha/Finding the Self: Seeing with the Third Eye” for my book Encountering Buddhism: Western Psychology and Buddhist Teachings (SUNY Press: 2003).

Jean noted that while she found meditation practice extremely valuable, she was not a “natural contemplative.” She went on to say:

“While more practice may bring with it better ability to access the contemplative side of being, there is a danger in imposing expectations better suited to those seeking a particular state of “enlightenment” or level of mastery. Considering a parallel to training ourselves in other aspects of human endeavor, such as music or athletics, is helpful. We now realize that maintaining physical fitness is a process, the effects of which can be best understood as lying along a continuum, rather than in a dichotomy of the “unfit” versus the star athlete. Even elderly individuals in nursing homes are now known to benefit remarkably from mild exercise. A less dramatic contrast can be considered with musical training. Few would argue that virtually everyone has some ability to appreciate and understand music — and that such understanding is improved with even modest training. We don’t mistake the skills needed to provide such training to school children with the discipline and skill needed to become a professional classical musician, nor do we minimize or disparage the value to the individual of whatever level of musical experience someone wishes to seek out.”

Amen, Jean!

So it was with great interest that I read a recent scientific study suggesting that even very modest meditation experience can make measurable changes in the brain.

The study is called “Short-term Meditation Induces White Matter Changes in the Anterior Cingulate,” and it will appear shortly in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Science. Its authors are Yi-Yuan Tanga, Qilin Lua, Xiujuan Geng, Elliot Stein, Yihong Yang, and Michael Posner. The study involved the collaboration of researchers at the University of Oregon and the Institute of Neuroinformatics and Lab for Body and Mind, Dalian University of Technology. Long live East-West collaboration!

In this study, forty-five college students received a mere 11 hours of training in what the authors called “integrative mind-body training,” or IMBT. IBMT involved body relaxation, mental imagery, and mindfulness training. It involved “no effort to control thoughts, but instead a state of restful alertness that allows a high degree of awareness of body and mind.”

Sounds a lot like mindfulness meditation, huh?

Here comes the technical part:

After the college students received the 11 hours of training, the researchers performed a type of brain imaging scan called Diffusion Tensor Imaging to examine the anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) of their brains. The ACC is responsible for monitoring and resolving conflict among competing response tendencies. Problems in ACC activation have been implicated in a wide variety of mental disorders including attention deficit disorder, addictions, dementia, depression, and schizophrenia.

The results? The college students who were trained in IMBT showed increased fractional ansiotropy in brain regions associated with the ACC, meaning that the neural fiber tracts in that region either underwent a certain degree of reorganization or increased their myelination. In plain English, there were measurable brain changes associated with the meditation. Were those brain changes beneficial ones? Prior research with IMBT showed that it could improve conflict scores on an attention network test, lower anxiety, depression, anger, and fatigue, decrease stress-related cortisol, and increase immunoreactivity. It sounds all good to me.

There have been previous studies that have shown brain cortical changes in meditators. Back in 2005, Sara Lazar and her colleagues found increased cortical thickness in dedicated long-term insight meditation practitioners. What’s remarkable about this new study, however, is how little practice was needed to result in measurable brain changes.

So, fellow amateurs, keep up with your meditation practice, even if your practice is not perfect. Even if you don’t sit every single day. It’s good for you. (This is not, by the way, an invitation to slack off in your practice. More practice, more improvement.)

Not that you needed any brain studies to tell you that. You knew that already, didn’t you?

Still, for those of us who love and respect hard science, its nice to see science “validate” what we already know from our own introspection.

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Taming the Mind

“Whatever harm an enemy may do to an enemy, or a hater to a hater, an ill-directed mind inflicts on oneself a greater harm.

Neither mother, father, nor any other relative can do one greater good than one’s own well-directed mind.”

–The Dhammapada

Meditation is often misunderstood as entering into a kind of hypnotic trance or a blanking-out of the mind.  It’s actually just the opposite: a deliberate and intentional paying attention to whatever we are experiencing right now.  It’s an opening-up and awakening rather than a closing-off or shutting-down.

We do it sitting motionlessly in a non-stimulating environment to simplify our field of attention.  If we went rushing about in a stimulus-rich environment we couldn’t develop and cultivate intimate attention.  Too much would be happening too fast.  Meditation is a slow walk down a country road rather than a fast drive down a superhighway.  We can take our time to notice things.  We can begin to discover what kind of listening and being is possible in any given moment.

As you sit down to meditate, the first things you may notice are sensations, sounds, and  thoughts.

Thoughts like:

“Am I doing this right?  What is it I’m supposed to be doing?  This is boring!  I can’t believe I’m going to have to sit here for a full 30 minutes!  Uh, oh!  I don’t like the position I’m in.  I’d like to change to a different posture.  There’s an itch!  I sure want to scratch it, but the directions are I’m not supposed to move.  But who will notice if I move?  These are dumb directions.  I can’t stand this itch for the whole rest of the time! Uh, oh!  My ears are beginning to ring.  I wonder why?  Uh, oh!  My leg is going to sleep. Will I get gangrene if I don’t move?  Is the thirty minutes up yet?  Maybe I didn’t set the timer right.  Uh, oh!  Someone outside is blasting a boom box.  How on earth can I meditate with that infernal racket?”

These thoughts generate and maintain a series of corresponding emotional states: irritation, boredom, frustration, worry, and so on.

All of these thoughts and their ensuing emotional states are mental objects we can attend to, just as we can attend to the itch on our face, the sound of the boom box, or the feel of our breath.

We pay attention to it with the light, nonjudgmental attention known as mindfulness.

When we are mindful of mental phenomena we are aware of them but not ensnared by them.

When the thought  <I can’t stand this itch> occurs without mindfulness we assume the thought is reality.   As a result, we can’t stand the itch; we end up scratching instead of observing, reacting without reflecting.

On the other hand, if we’re mindful of the thought <I can’t stand this itch>, it’s just a thought, neither true nor untrue; just an object of observation itself.  It doesn’t lead to action; we just sit and pay attention.  Over time we discover the itch doesn’t last forever; it goes away on its own accord.

Why is it so important to learn <I can’t stand this itch> is just a thought?

Because there are a great many just like it that cause harm to ourselves and others.

Thoughts like:

“I’ll go crazy if I don’t have a drink of alcohol right now.”

“That chocolate cake looks so good.  I can’t resist it, even though I’m supposed to be on a diet.”

“I can’t stand being lonely!  I need a relationship right now, even if it isn’t a good one.”

“I can’t hold this anger in forever.  I need to explode.”

Cravings and impulses are transient mind states that pass on their own if we do nothing to satisfy them.

It can be particularly useful to pay attention to the moment in your meditation when you have the desire to leave off.  Maybe you set the timer for 30 minutes, and somewhere 15 minutes into your meditation you experience an urge to cut it short.  Usually there’s some unpleasant mind state occurring at that moment: boredom, frustration, restlessness, discomfort.  When this occurs, it’s useful to focus your meditative attention on this unpleasant mind state and identify the qualities of the mind state and the thoughts that are generating and maintaining it.  Often they are thoughts related to your desires for how your meditation ought to be instead of how it actually is.  If you can let go of attachment to these desires and invest new interest in how the moment actually is, a valuable lesson can be learned.  This is how meditation teaches us to unhook from unskillful attachment in our daily lives.

It’s also useful to explore what’s happening at the moment before you lose focus on the present moment.  Often there’s some very subtle mind state that makes staying with the present moment uninteresting or unpleasant, and makes going with thoughts and reveries more interesting and enticing.  As we deepen our meditation practice, we become more skillful in identifying these subtle mental states and not allowing them to control us.

Learning to be mindful of mental states that lead to harmful behavior and the thoughts that generate and maintain them is a first step towards liberation.  Through mindfulness and the application of skillful means we learn to tame our minds and come into full possession of ourselves.

“Mind precedes all mental states. Mind is their chief; they are all mind-wrought. If with an impure mind a person speaks or acts suffering follows him like the wheel that follows the foot of the ox.

“Mind precedes all mental states. Mind is their chief; they are all mind-wrought. If with a pure mind a person speaks or acts happiness follows him like his never-departing shadow.”

–The Dhammapada

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Too Darned Hot

A monk asked Tozan, “When cold and heat come, how should one avoid them?”

Tozan said, “Why not go to a place where there is neither cold nor heat?”

The monk said, “What kind of place is it where there is neither cold nor heat?”

Tozan said, “When it is cold, the cold kills you; when it is hot, the heat kills you.”

The Blue Cliff Record, Case 43

Russ was away, so we opened the Zendo ourselves for the evening sitting.  We turned on the lights but couldn’t figure out how to operate the overhead fans.  It must have been 90℉ inside: we sat, breathed and, sweated.  For one night, the buzzing of the cicadas and the chirping of the crickets could be heard instead of the whirr of the fans.  Something is lost, something is gained.

That day the temperature in Moscow was over 100℉.

July in New York had been the second hottest month on record.

This summer’s heat is just one more data point in the thousands of data points providing overwhelming evidence of global warming.

Annual Average Temperature (Departure from the 1901-2000 Average)

Our planet is rapidly warming with predictable results: floods, draughts, intense storms, desertification, shifts in flora and fauna, changes in disease transmission vectors, and one hot Zendo.  Despite scientists’s warnings, nation states have been disinclined to take effective action.  Coal and oil lobbyists together with political conservatives (who are distrustful of government action, ecological causes, and science in general) have succeeded in stirring up doubt in the public mind. As a result, the public remains aloof and skeptical, and politicians feel no great pressure to act.  Even the modest (and probably ineffectual) cap-and-trade bill stalled in the senate last month.

Maybe today’s heat can help concentrate minds.

As aware human beings who inhabit this planet, we have an ethical responsibility to stay informed, to communicate our concerns to our representatives, and to do whatever we can within the small circle of our lives to contribute to the Earth’s well-being.  We can and should hold our politician’s responsible for supporting solutions on a national and global level.  At the same time, we can and should examine our own lifestyles to see how we may be contributing to the problem through profligate energy use and thoughtless waste.

What is effective action?  Writing your congressman?  Writing letters to the editor? Reducing your own carbon footprint?  Something to sit and think about on a hot summer’s evening.

“Cold and heat are right in your face, right on your head!  Where are you?”

Yuan-wu’s Notes on Case 43


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My Problem With Enlightenment

Sensei tells me to believe in Enlightenment.

“It’s real,” he says.  “Trust me.”

“I can’t,” I reply.

Sensei is a lovely man: charming, warm, direct.  He gives a great dharma talk.

But I’m a wary customer.  I’m incapable of belief without evidence.

When I first went searching for a teacher, I was attracted to Toni Packer.  When Toni was asked if all this sitting ever got us anywhere, she responded “why not try it and find out.”  I liked her because she never asked me to believe her, but invited me to see for myself.  (A few year later I asked Toni privately whether all that sitting had gotten her anywhere.  She replied it had.  She said she spent many hours each day in a state of undivided awareness, and when she was kicked out of it she found it easy to resume. I had no reason to doubt her.)

But Enlightenment? With a capital “E?”  What am I being asked to believe?

The words awakening or enlightenment mean different things within different Buddhist traditions.  A non-exhaustive list of various meanings might include 1) a permanent end to the arising of states of desire, aversion, and ignorance, 2) an end to rebirth, 3) the realization of emptiness, and 4) the attainment of (depending on your tradition) either arhathood or Buddhahood.

I have never seen any persuasive evidence for believing in reincarnation.  From what I understand about the human central nervous system, I find it difficult to believe that human beings can completely cease having desires.  I also have never, to my knowledge, met a living Buddha or arhat.  Lots of wonderful, inspiring spiritual teachers… but no fully Enlightened beings.

So I guess I can’t really believe in Enlightenment with a capital “E.”

That’s not to say Enlightenment doesn’t exist.  Just that I’m indisposed to believe in it.

Is there something enlightenment-like that I can believe in?

I can believe in awakening as a gradual process with Enlightenment as its hypothetical end-point: a far horizon aimed for but never reached.

I can believe in increasingly developing our capacity for mindfulness, compassion, lovingkindness, and equanimity through continued practice.

I can believe in learning to become less self-centered.

I can believe in becoming less reflexively attached to our personal narratives of who we are.

I can believe in striving to increase who we include in our circle of caring.

I can believe in striving to become more ethical in our dealings with others.

I can believe in consolidating and integrating these attainments so that they become increasingly manifested in our behavior across situations and domains.

Is this Enlightenment-Lite®?

Is it enough?  Am I aiming too low?

Others might argue that big goals bring big attainment, small goals, small attainment.

Without the goal of unexcelled and complete awakening am I cheating myself out of what I’m really capable of?  William James argued in The Will to Believe that there are cases where “a fact cannot come at all unless a preliminary faith exists in its coming.”   Ajahn Jayasaro argued in his dharma talk Faith in the Quest that “Nobody can prove that there is such a thing as enlightenment but if we don’t have faith that there is, our practice is unlikely to go very far.”

Maybe.

But I can only do what I can do.  I can only believe what I can believe.

Unlike the White Queen in Alice in Wonderland, I can’t believe six impossible things before breakfast.

It seems to me, however, that the gradual process of awakening, the one that I can believe in, the one without a perfect achievable endpoint, is good enough.

It gets me to continue my practice.

It will have to do.

Provisionally.

For now.

(Many thanks to Brooke Schedneck‘s post “Lacking Faith in the Western Buddhist Communities” in Wandering Dhamma for making me aware of the Ajahn Jayasaro quote.)

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Minding the Body

We rediscover our bodies in meditation.  It’s as if a previously silent realm has begun to speak.

The brain normally privileges vision and hearing and assigns a lesser priority to somatic sensations (unless they are quite strong) arising from the body.  The brain also prioritizes sensations and perceptions that are socially relevant, or that pertain to either our safety or successfully attaining our goals.

When we meditate, however, we avoid all the sensory data we usually privilege or seek out. We limit incoming visual and auditory sensation and suspend (or at least try to!) goal-directed striving. Neglected streams of information blossom into awareness.  For many first-time meditators, listening to the body can come as a revelation.

Many people ignore their bodies, either due to deliberate inattention, habituation to repetitive information, or information processing style.  The sexually abused, for example, often learn to ignore sexually-related sensations.  People who habitually tense their forehead, shoulders, or abdomen when stressed often habituate to sensations from those muscles; they aren’t even aware they are tensed-up.  Intellectuals live in their heads, experiencing themselves as purely mental beings who dwell behind their eyes and between their ears; their bodies are a means of transportation for their mental selves, but their bodies are not them.  These dissociations from the body all weaken and unravel, however, when one begins to meditate and the body begins to speak.

Novice meditators are often surprised by just how “noisy” their bodies are.  The body, which was formerly thought to be relatively silent, is now a veritable three-ring circus, with messages streaming forth from every square centimeter of skin and from the muscles, joints, and organs.  The mouth, for example, contains a torrent of sensations from the lips, tongue, gums, palate, throat, salivary glands and teeth.  As we breathe we become aware of the movement of the ribs,  diaphragm, intercostal muscles, abdomen, chest, spine and shoulders; we also become aware of  the sensations of air moving through our the nostrils, windpipe, chest, and sinuses. We become aware of feelings of warmth and tingling in our limbs, aware of our pulse and the circulation of our blood.  All of these sensations compete for our attention in an ever-changing kaleidoscopic cacophony.  How is it possible that we didn’t even notice this world before, except when we were ill or in pain?

As we attend to this awakened world of the body we begin to notice the subtle connections between body and mind.  We notice the thoughts that arise in response to physical sensations and how they feed back and alter the perception of the sensations themselves.  For example, we may become aware of pain.  We then may notice a cascade of thoughts in response to the pain:

“Oh, no!  Not this again! I can’t stand this pain!  Is it going to last for the whole rest of this meditation period?  What’s causing this pain?  Is it due to serious illness?  I hate the way this pain is ruining the tranquillity I’m supposed to be feeling while meditating!”

We might notice how the muscles around the area of pain tense up.  We might notice how our mind withdraws from the pain and tries to distract itself.  We may also become aware of ways to alter our response to pain.  What if instead of treating these pain-related thoughts as reality we  observed them as just thoughts?  What if we relaxed into the pain?  What if  we observe pain as pure sensation without reaction?  What happens when we do that?

As we begin to re-own our bodies we can hear what our bodies are saying. This body that we inhabit, or better yet, this bodymind which we are, needs proper care and attention.  We need to listen to internal messages that tell us when things are out of joint.  If we are constantly on the verge of drowsing off, this is our body’s message that we are sleep deprived.  If we hear rasps and rales in our breath, this is our body’s message that we need to stop smoking.  If we can’t breath freely because we’re overweight, this is our body’s message that it’s time to eat less.  If we experience lower-back pain, this is our body’s message that we need to  lift objects more skillfully.  These messages are often ignored during the normal daily rush of ongoing activities.  Listening to the rasps and rales of our breath during meditation, however, with the instruction to “pay attention!” can be a powerful transformative experience.

We often have negative attitudes towards our bodies.  We hate our size or shape.  If we have straight hair we want curly hair; if we have curly hair, we want straight hair.  We hate the infirm and damaged parts of ourselves.  We hate the way we age.  This negative narrative about the body often eclipses our direct experience of the actual body.  In meditation we experience our actual bodies. We also become aware that our narrative is just narrative, not reality.  We can  compare the fresh lived experience of the body with our stale old narrative about it.  We can let the old stories drop off and let our bodies be.  This is how we can grow into self-acceptance.

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Why Aren’t We Happy Yet?

So why aren’t we happy yet?  What’s the problem?

Well, as it turns out, there isn’t just one problem, but a whole bunch of them.  (Things are never that simple.  I’ve gone ahead and bundled them into seven categories. I’m a bit of a category nut):

  1. The Problem of Conflicting Desires
  2. The Problem of Illegitimate Desires
  3. The Problem of Enchantment: Translating Desires into Needs
  4. The Problem of Supply and Distribution
  5. The Problem of Impermanence
  6. The Problem of Other People’s Imperfections
  7. The Problem of Our Own Imperfection

Each of these problems needs a little bit of explanation and elaboration.

The Problem of Conflicting Desires

We sometimes have several desires at once which are incompatible with each other.  For example, we want to eat everything that appeals to us, but we also want to be thin.  Or we want to have lots of money, but we don’t want to work too hard.  Or we want to have a relationship with Sally, but we also want one with Joan.  Or we want to please our parents, but we also want to do things our own way.  We want to have our cake and eat it too. This is our unfortunate human condition.  The world seems to have been arranged so that we just can’t have everything we want because the things we want are contradictory and exclude each other.  In fact, it seems to be a general rule that whenever we chose something, we are not choosing something else.  Every time we make a choice we are closing off other options.  There is nothing we can do about this problem: this is something we just have to suck up.

The Problem of Illegitimate Desires

Sometimes we have a desire, but we’ve been told by our parents, partners, or teachers that we shouldn’t have it.  We’ve been taught that the desire is illegitimate.  When this happens, we may blame ourselves for having the desire, or we may pretend the desire doesn’t really exist.  For example, you may be told that you shouldn’t have certain sexual desires: you shouldn’t feel like masturbating, or having sex outside of marriage, or having sex with a member of the same gender or a different race.  Or you may have been told that you shouldn’t be selfish, or acquisitive, or independent, or aggressive.  Or that you shouldn’t be soft-hearted, trusting, or sentimental.  Or that you shouldn’t be curious, questioning, and innovative.

If one is going to think sanely about this issue, it is important to make a distinction between having desires and acting on them.  Desires just happen, and we don’t ask to have them.  We don’t ask, for example, to be homosexual or heterosexual, or have high or low sex drives.  We just have certain desires or we don’t.  We also can’t ask not to have them without ending up pretending and lying to ourselves.  We do have the ability, however, to decide whether to try to fulfill those desires or not.  A person might discover, for example, a desire for sex outside of his or her marriage and decide that it would be morally wrong to act on that desire.  The important thing here is not to blame oneself or someone else for having the desire in the first place. So much human misery has been caused by the self-blame and low self-esteem that comes from believing one is bad because one has illegitimate desires.  It is wiser to accept oneself fully in terms of recognizing one’s true desires; then one can control the satisfaction and frustration of those desires in accordance with the way one wants to live.

It’s a simple fact that we can better manage our desires when we see them and understand them correctly and without blame.  The alcoholic who denies he’s really an alcoholic doesn’t make the decision to avoid alcohol at all costs.  The alcoholic who is honest but not self-blaming can make wise choices and stay out of the bar.  The alcoholic, however, who recognizes the desire but labels himself or herself as “bad” for having it just has one more reason to go out and get drunk.

When we don’t properly appreciate and understand our own desires, we often end up making our lives and the lives of others around us miserable.  Think for a moment of a male homosexual who denies to himself that he is “gay,” and marries a woman just to prove to himself that he is “straight.”  You can predict the results a few years down the road: an unhappy husband, an unhappy wife, and in the wake of the probable divorce, unhappy children.  You see this same predicament in people who choose the wrong profession for themselves, or in couples who marry when they only think they are in love.  Socrates’ injunction to “Know Thyself” involves our ability to know our true desires.

The Problem of Enchantment: Translating Desires into Needs

One problem with desire is that we often magically over-evaluate the thing we desire.  On a ten-point Intensity of Desire Scale, we often assign the desired object a score of “11”.  When we are in love, the person we love has no flaws, and is more wonderful than any other person who ever lived.  We would give up everything to win their love in return; sometimes we do.  When there is stylish dress, or a new cutting-edge electronic device, or a classy automobile we just have to have, the item we want changes from an object to an obsession, and there is enormous energy that arises as part of the yearning and wishing.  Once we actually possess the loved one, or the dress, or the car, our evaluation of it begins to decline: our desiring loses some of its charge, excitement, and energy.  How often have you noticed that our anticipation of attending a social event, for example, is often more fun that the event itself?

This initial intense charge, this infatuation, makes for a certain kind of enchantment by things: the desired object has us in its power.  We are bewitched.  What ought be just a desire has become a need in our own mental calculus.  Once a desire has been turned into a need, it takes on a pre-eminent importance to us above what it should have, and this means that we will give more to obtain it than we ought to.  It also means that if our attempts to obtain it are frustrated, we become angrier and more frustrated and upset than we would otherwise be.  It can become something we would die for, or would kill for.

Learning to see desires as just desires and not as needs is an important part of making things right-sized in our lives.  We can see how irrational our teenage children are when they need a special brand of clothing, or need to attend a particular party.  From our special place of hard-earned maturity, we can see how childish they are.  What is harder to see is just how childish we are when we need that bigger house, or that boat, or that promotion, or that elective office, or that early retirement.  Or when we need to be thin, or to not look old, or to not become infirm.  Learning how to live with what is reasonably possible, and to accept what is inevitable is an important part of learning how to be happy.

The Problem of Supply and Distribution

Economics has been called “the dismal science” because one of its central axioms is that desire always outstrips the ability of the world to satisfy it.  There isn’t enough money, oil, gold, or diamonds to meet everyone’s wishes for them.  There aren’t enough supermodels and hunks to go around as spouses for everyone.  There aren’t enough brainy genes to make everyone a genius.  Scarcity often makes things more valuable: the more rare it is, the more people want it.  On the other hand, if something isn’t desirable, there often seems to be more than enough to go around: more than enough flu viruses, more than enough dust, more than enough mosquitoes.

To make things worse, when things are desirable, they aren’t distributed evenly.  The powerful and important people get more than their fair share of things, and the rest of us make do with less.  Or none.  That’s not just true in capitalist societies.  In feudal societies the nobility had it all and the peasants had next to nothing.  In communist countries, the commissars had their dachas (vacation homes) on the Black Sea and the special schools for their children, and the best of healthcare, and the masses shared the poverty of the collective farm. The old joke has it that under Capitalism man exploits man, while under Communism, it’s just the opposite.

While some societies share the wealth more fairly than others, Western Europe, for example, is more equitable in sharing its wealth than is the United States, no society has even remotely done away with inequality.  Some people are born into more advantaged families, genders, nations, or races, or they are bigger, faster, brighter, stronger, more beautiful, or more unscrupulous than others, and voila, there you have it: inequality.

As a result, you will never have everything you want, and there will always be someone who has something more than what you have. For some people this is an unmitigated  tragedy and a cause of unending bitterness, for others it is “just life.”  You get to choose which attitude you want to take towards it.  Guess which one makes you happier?

In saying this I am not arguing in favor of inequality, and I am not suggesting we should not make real efforts to try to make the world fairer.  I am just arguing for the wisdom of the Serenity Prayer that is recited in Alcoholics Anonymous meetings: May you be granted the serenity to change the things you can, accept the things you can’t, and the wisdom to know the difference between them.

The Problem of Impermanence

If you succeed in getting the thing you desire, your next problem is that it won’t last.  Nothing lasts forever.  People grow old and sick and die.  They fall out of love and they move away.  You get that great new job, and the boss changes, or the company gets bought out or folds. Houses need painting and repair, car engines wear out and get thick with sludge.  Mountains erode, climates change, nations rise and fall. Objects decay, entropy intrudes, times change.  Eventually the sun will burn out and the universe will run down.  Trust me. The Buddha said that all “compound phenomena are subject to decay.”  By “compound phenomena,” he meant things that were made up of other things, namely, everything.  Heraclitus said “You can’t step in the same river twice.”

Not only is the world constantly changing, but our feelings about the world are constantly changing too.  There is a psychological law called habituation which basically says that the brain tires of responding to the same old same old.  The first bite of Ben and Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk Ice Cream is sublime.  The 100th bite, not quite as delicious.  The first time you hear that new hit song, it’s delightful.  After a while you feel like you’ll scream if you hear it one  more time.

Not only is the world always changing, and our emotional response to it always changing, but the contents of our minds is always changing, too.  If you just sit and observe your thoughts, feelings, and sensations, you will see how they are all constantly changing.  We are continuously learning new things and forgetting old things (unless we have Alzheimer’s Disease, in which case we forget the new even faster than we forget the old).  We change our moods, our opinions, and our minds.

Our desires change as well.   The books and movies we love as teenagers are not the same books and movies we love in old age.  As a youngster I hated olives and anchovies, now I love them. The vocation you aspired to in grade school is not probably not the same vocation you are in, or want to be in, today.

While the law of impermanence says we can never be permanently happy because what we want changes and the things we acquire change, there is a bright side to it: it’s not all gloom and doom.  If there was no change, we would never grow wiser or smarter, we would never overcome bad habits, and we would not learn new skills and information.  We would never better our condition or invent or create something new.   Change allows for the good as well as the bad.  So let’s hear one cheer for the Law of Impermanence: Hooray.

The Problem of Other People’s Imperfections

Nobody’s perfect.  And when it comes to other people, nobody’s even close.  In fact, to tell the truth, most people are disappointing and annoying a reasonable percentage of the time.   Even, or maybe especially, the people that you love.   They have all these bad habits, and they do all these dumb things.  Part of the problem is genetic.  Half the population is below average.  And humans share over 99% of their DNA with chimpanzees, so other people really aren’t much smarter or better behaved than chimpanzees.  How could they be?  Their biggest problem is that they don’t always put our own interests first.  They often care more about themselves than they do about us. How selfish!  And they aren’t always sufficiently attentive and appreciative of us.  Can you imagine?  They don’t hang on our every word, they don’t think all of our ideas are great ideas, and they don’t always anticipate our every need and satisfy them.

Even the best of people have all these flaws.

The Problem of Our Own Imperfection

There’s no doubt about it: We’re not perfect either: We’re not powerful enough to control the world.  We’re not powerful enough to control our bodies and stop them from aging or becoming ill.  We’re not even powerful enough to control our own minds.  If you need proof of this, just try counting from one to ten without thinking about a white rabbit.  Or try to have no thoughts at all for the next ten seconds.

There are certain kinds of errors we’re prone to making just simply because we’re human beings.  As a species we tend to be irrational, impulsive, and overly focused on short-term gain.  Think of those as design flaws.

In addition, we have limited vision and tend to be short-sighted.  When chess masters are playing an opponent, they try to anticipate how their opponent will counter their next move, and what they will do in response, and how their opponent will respond to that.  But even the best chess masters can only see several moves ahead.  Our brains are only so big.  As a result, our actions often have unintended consequences which we failed to anticipate.

As a result of our limited vision, all of our solutions to problems seem to create new problems.  This is why there will never be a problem shortage.  When the automobile was invented it was seen as an ingenious and affordable method for getting rapidly from Point A to Point B.  No one back then guessed it would contribute to global warming, to air pollution, to dependency on the Middle East for oil, or to tens of thousands of deaths and brain injuries per year.  When Thalidomide was prescribed by European gynecologists for morning sickness in their patients, they didn’t anticipate it would lead to an epidemic of birth defects.  When air conditioners and cooling systems were invented to make the summer heat more tolerable, no one anticipated that they would become reservoirs for the microorganism that causes Legionnaire’s Disease.  When Paris took Helen to be his wife, he didn’t expect the Trojan War.

As much as we try to think ahead and come up with “environmental impact statements” or other guestimates of the future impact of our decisions, we’ll always be woefully wrong.  The variables that affect the future are so numerous, we can never fully take all of them into account.  We’re like people lost in the night-time fog with little flashlights.  We can shine the flashlight on the ground and see a few footsteps ahead, but not much further.

So there you have it.  The seven reasons why you aren’t permanently and deliriously happy yet.     I hope you’re satisfied.

I wish I could be satisfied with the list, but I’m not.  I must have left something out, given my own imperfection.  If you come up with any additional reasons, please post them here.

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Repetitive Thought Patterns

If we make meditation a daily part of our lives, if we set aside a half-hour or hour every day to sit and watch the contents of our experience, we begin to notice certain regularities in the way our minds function.  Certain thoughts return again and again, certain themes come up again and again.  We get lost in fantasizing and daydreaming instead of paying attention, and if we catch these fantasies and daydreams and reflect on them, we can see there is a certain unnerving regularity to them.  They often relate, for example, to unfulfilled desires for love, respect, admiration, power, status, or accomplishment.  We may drift into imagining that we are doing great things, saying great things, or obtaining great things.  Maybe we are defending ourselves and our actions and beliefs before an imaginary audience.  Maybe we are reacting to some almost insignificant slight, or some small crumb of craved for recognition and acknowledgment.  The Self is consumed with aggrandizing itself, defending itself, justifying itself, looking good in the estimation of others, satisfying itself.  Or conversely, the Self is an anxious Self, anticipating all the ways that what it craves will be taken away, and restlessly thinking about how to avoid this loss or that loss, this danger or that danger.  The unrelenting focus of the anxious Self is on safety and self-preservation.

When one gets to watch this same routinized narcissistic or anxious pattern over and over again day in and day out in meditation practice, one wearies of it.  We want it to change and be different.  We want to have selfless thoughts, prettier thoughts, thoughts that will win approval for us as wise and virtuous beings.  But wait a minute!  This is just another form of wanting to be better, wanting approval for the Self.  It’s the same old trap again!  Maybe when we see this we laugh a bit and chuckle to ourselves. We’ve caught ourselves in the act of being ourselves once again!  We begin to appreciate that this is who we are and will seemingly always be.  We cannot transform ourselves into another kind of being.

At this point there can be a moment of acceptance of ourselves, seeing ourselves as we are and  seeing through ourselves.  We can take ourselves more lightly.  We can momentarily experience our familiar obsessions with greater humor and compassion.  This is a true moment of self-transcendence and liberation.  The sweetness of the moment doesn’t last very long, however.  A few moments later our minds are caught again in the usual ruts, fueled by the same self-absorbed obsessions.  But for a moment we have had a delicious taste of freedom.  If we continue to meditate month in and month out, those moments of liberation can become a more regular part of the fabric of our existence.  This is the nature of gradually awakening to ourselves.

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Paying Attention to Life

It’s not very hard to discover how much of the time we are running on automatic pilot.  One can easily discover this for oneself by taking the time to pay attention to whatever one is doing at the moment.  Next time you get dressed, or take a shower, or eat breakfast, or drive to work, try to see how long you can pay sustained attention to what you are doing without getting distracted and having your mind wander.  Anything well-learned and well-rehearsed quickly becomes “boring” to the brain which restlessly scans the environment for something new, interesting, important, or more “fun.”  If there isn’t anything of that nature in the environment, the brain creates its own interesting fun in the form of daydreams, imagined conversations, and rehearsals for upcoming events.

If we start out trying to pay attention to our sensations in the shower, for example, we start out noting the water temperature and how the water feels as it touches our skin, and we notice the sensations in our muscles as we move about, and how the place where the water strikes our body keeps on shifting.  It feels interesting and pleasurable.  The thought arises, “How gratifying this is! Why don’t I do this all of the time?”  We then notice that the shower stall is less clean than we would like it to be, and make a mental note to ourselves to clean it later in the day.  Maybe we get mad at ourselves for not putting enough effort into our housework.  Maybe we begin thinking about our shortcomings, and wonder why we never seem to get our act together.  Maybe we imagine our spouse noticing that we haven’t cleaned the bathroom sufficiently and feel a sense of shame.  Maybe we then counter that sense of shame by evoking a sense of righteous indignation against our spouse for what a “nag” he or she is.  We then remember we are supposed to be paying attention to our shower.  We leave these thoughts (if they haven’t already triggered a neurochemical cascade that makes them hard to let go of) and pull ourselves back to the pleasant sensations of our body moving through the pulsating warm water.  In just a few moments, however, our mind is off and running again, thinking about what we are going to tell our boss at that meeting this afternoon and before long we have “missed” most of our shower, and find ourselves wondering “now did I already shampoo my hair or not?” and wondering whether it is better to risk doing it for a second time, or to risk stepping out of the shower with our hair not shampooed at all.

Don’t get the idea there’s anything wrong with this distraction process.  It doesn’t mean you have attention-deficit disorder; you don’t need to run out and get medication.  This process is wired very deeply into our nervous systems and conveys a certain degree of advantage to us as organisms.  Scanning the environment for new and useful information, or scanning for danger or changing circumstances is adaptive.  Judging past performance or planning for and anticipating the future is also useful. The problem is that all this scanning-and-planning keeps us constantly leaving what is right in front of us so that we never really get to be here with the way things are.  We forget what is right under our noses.  And if that happens to us continually, we lose two of the main ingredients for true happiness:  Our ability to see our habitual life and de-automatize it when it becomes dysfunctional, and our ability to be fully with the present just as it is in an attentive and accepting way.

Learning to be with the present is important because one can never be truly unhappy if one is in the present.  Regret, fear, mourning, anger all come from comparing the present moment with a past, future, or alternative moment, from the tension between this moment and that moment: “I wish that hadn’t happened,” “I’m afraid this is going to happen,”  “This should have happened instead of that.”  All negative emotions involve a judging of the present, a rejection of it, and the comparison of this moment with another.  If the mind is just in this moment and leaves off with its judging and comparing, there is just being with what is here, and that is almost always tolerable.  Then one can ask the most profound question one can ever ask: What is the wisest way to be with this moment as it is? How do I respond to it not as I want it, but as it is?

Another reason why being with the present is so important is that our sense of being most alive and most freshly in-touch with the world can only come from being in the present.  As long as our life is something we are only half-paying attention to, how much pleasure can we wrest from it?  As long as we are rushing through life on automatic-pilot, how can we ever notice the surprises and delights that come from noticing the rich and detailed texture of our lives?  If you are reading the cereal box or listening to the news on the radio while you are eating your breakfast cereal, how will you ever really taste that cereal?  How will you ever discover if that is really what you want to be putting into your body?  Is that cereal box really that interesting?  How many times have you read it before?  How important are the factoids you are listening to on the radio news to your own long-term happiness?  Is this how you really want to be spending your morning?  Maybe that cereal is really delicious and you are missing the best thing that will happen to you that morning.  Maybe you will discover that you are filling both your body and your mind with junk, and that you would be better off and happier if you spent your morning in a different way.  You’ll never know until you pay attention.

Paying attention to our lives gives us the ability to see what we are doing and to have real choice about what we do.  It allows us to change.  It also allows us to be more deeply in touch with the texture of our lives, the fine details, in which a good deal of potential pleasure has been missed through the routinization of daily life.

When we ask people to keep diaries of pleasurable events during the course of a week, the most frequent pleasurable events people recount are not momentous events like winning the lottery, or getting a raise, or finding a wonderful new romantic partner.  The moments of joy are usually “little” moments, and almost always moments of “contact,” whether contact with another person, contact with nature, or contact with a deeper part of ourselves.  People report that the best moment of the week was watching their baby smile, or having their partner say something endearing, or being outside for a moment with nature, or experiencing a moment of still quiet inside themselves.  If we let these moments go by, or even worse, if we do not allow time for them in our lives, we miss our lives.

The sense of missing one’s life can sometimes become quite profound.  Many people suffer greatly because they feel that they have lost themselves in some way, or their life has taken a wrong turn and they are not quite sure where.  They have not been paying attention to themselves, and end up having lived with a partner for 20 years whom they never really loved in the first place. Perhaps they can recall a tiny moment of awareness that they weren’t really in love at the very moment when they were standing at the marriage altar, an awareness which they brushed aside and didn’t pay attention to.  Or they find themselves working at a job they hate, never having explored what might have made them happier.  Or they wake up one morning and find that they have no close friendships, that there is no genuine intimacy in their lives, that there is a yawning gap between themselves and their now adult children.  Or they discover that their spiritual life lacks authenticity and vitality, and they have never really asked themselves the question of what their life is really about.  This sense of impoverishment due to missed attention is the bread-and-butter of the psychotherapist’s trade.  The only way to regain one’s life is by investing it with fresh attention.

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