Opening to insight--the Four Noble Truths

According to tradition, the Buddha, as a young man living a life of privilege and ease, encountered dukkha, which can be translated as suffering or, perhaps more accurately, as dissatisfaction.  He sought to understand its nature and causes and the way it could be overcome.  Leaving his home and family, for six years he tried various contemplative and ascetic practices until he devised his own method and attained enlightenment.  At first he considered whether or not to teach what he had learned, but he decided to share his insight and met with a group of men with whom he had previously practiced.  He taught them the Four Noble Truths.  They became his first disciples.

Briefly put, the Four Noble Truths are as follows:

1)  Dukkha or suffering is a fundamental aspect of our experience.

2)  The cause of suffering is tanha or craving.

3)  The end of suffering is the cessation of craving, which is achieved in enlightenment or nibbana.

4)  The path to liberation from suffering is the Eightfold Noble Path (right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, right concentration, right intention and right view).  

Although craving is identified as the cause of suffering, it is not the first cause or the only cause of suffering; it is simply the immediate and most palpable cause of suffering (Walpola Rahula, 1978).  It is a linked in a chain of dependent origination preceded by feeling, contact, and so on, and ultimately back to ignorance.

Opening to insight--mindfulness

The movement towards mindfulness meditation as a therapy has been most deeply influenced by Jon Kabat-Zinn who originated the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction program at the University of Massachusetts Medical Center.  His definition of mindfulness, which has been largely adopted by the therapeutic community, is as follows:  “Mindfulness means paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgmentally” (1994, p. 4).

In a previous post (What is mindfulness?, March 12, 2012), I discussed this definition in some detail.  I will review some points I made earlier, accentuate some of the differences between the traditional Buddhist definition of mindfulness and Kabat-Zinn’s definition and suggest there is value to incorporating into therapy a definition more consistent with the Buddhist definition.

Mindfulness is an English translation of sati, a word in the Pali language in which the Buddhist scriptures were written.  The word’s original meaning had to do with memory or recollection, which is puzzling, because mindfulness is usually associated with being present-focused.  The meaning of sati has to do with the Buddhist concept of consciousness as being a discontinuous process of extremely brief moments that arise and pass away.  When we are mindful, it is not of something co-occurring but of something that has already past; the happening of which we are mindful may be experienced as present but only because of the close proximity in time of our mindfulness of it.  Mindfulness as sati has to do with keeping an object in mind, of not letting the object just slip away, of not forgetting it.  In fact, because mindfulness “holds” the immediately preceding object in attention, it facilitates later recollection of it (Veliz, 2011; Dreyfus, 2010).
   
Another dimension to mindfulness as sati is its evaluative aspect.  Mindfulness is not neutral as the Kabat-Zinn definition implies.  Accompanying sati is sampajañña or clear comprehension, another important Buddhist concept; it is clear comprehension that recognizes the quality of any given instance of consciousness as either wholesome or unwholesome, destructive or beneficial.  Right mindfulness, one of the eight components of the Buddhist path, integrates sati with sampajañña.

Various commentators (Wallace & Bodhi, 2006) trace the origin of the idea of non-judgmental mindfulness back to a description of mindfulness by a German-born, Sri Lankan monk, Nyanaponika Thera.  Nyanaponika Thera described mindfulness in terms of “bare attention,” a non-conceptual and non-evaluative form of attention in which we observe what is occurring without interference or judgment; it is a “a bare registering of the facts observed, without reacting to them by deed, speech or by mental comment which may be one of self-reference (like, dislike, etc.), judgment or reflection” (Nyanaponika, 1996, p. 30).  However, when later confronted with how his definition had been interpreted in the West, Nyanapokia Thera expressed consternation and clarified that bare attention is only an initial phase in mindfulness (Wallace & Bodhi, 2006).  The practice of bare attention is useful in breaking free from the attitudes that we tend to adopt to what appears before our mind – evaluation in terms of right and wrong, good and bad, pleasant and unpleasant.  Its value is that it lessens the reactivity (i.e., clinging and aversion) that goes with those attitudes.  However, bare attention is not all there is to mindfulness and should be accompanied by clear comprehension.

The cognitive and evaluative dimensions of mindfulness have been largely ignored in the Western therapeutic application of the concept of mindfulness (Dreyfus, 2010; Veliz, 2011).  Given the emphasis on mindfulness being present focused and non-judgmental, bringing in these dimensions may seem to muddle what otherwise seems to be a fairly straight-forward therapeutic approach to dealing with mental suffering.  On the other hand, the added sophistication of the Buddhist concepts may substantially improve the way we understand mental suffering and approach it therapeutically.  A few points about this may be suggestive.

It may be useful to work with the evaluative dimension in therapy, for instance, and explore how conventional attitudes dictate our reactions to our experiences.  We will likely find that, at the most basic level, our simple likes and dislikes, our largely non-reflective preferences, our habitual patterns govern our reactions.  What then are we to do?  This may be an interesting exercise, but we need a new framework for understanding how we are to break free of our reactivity.  We need a framework that helps us to understand what is truly good for us and what is not, so that we can respond skilfully rather than simply react.  Value-neutrality is of little help in this regard; we need a framework of values.  Identifying a set of values and working with them therefore becomes a new therapeutic focus.  Those values may be Buddhist values, they may come from some other religious or secular tradition or they may be discovered through inquiry and reflection.  Wherever they come from, they are critical for determining direction and giving purpose in life.

To understand the larger context of mindfulness, in posts that follow the theme of "opening to insight," I will cover what I consider to be the most basic relevant to meditation.

Dreyfus, G. (2010). Is Mindfulness Present-Centered and Nonjudgmental? A Discussion of the Cognitive Implications of Mindfulness. (Unpublished).

Kabat-Zinn, J. (1994).  Wherever you go, there you are:  Mindfulness meditations in everyday life. New York:  Hyperion

Nyanaponika Thera.  (1996).  The Heat of Buddhist Meditation.  York Beach, Maine:  Samuel Weiser, p. 30.

Veliz, Carissa.  (2011).  Equivocalities of the Definition and Practice of Mindfulness:  Comparing the Modern and Traditional Notions of the Term.  (Unpublished).

Wallace, A. & Bodhi, Bhikkhu. (2006)  The Nature of Mindfulness and its Role in Buddhist Meditation. A Correspondance between B. Alan Wallace & Bhikkhu Bodhii. (Unpublished).

Opening to insight--introduction

Mindfulness meditation is increasingly used as a therapy; it has become mainstream.  The origin of mindfulness therapy is in Buddhist practices, yet there is a growing awareness that mindfulness as it is conceived within psychological therapy diverges from mindfulness as it is conceived traditionally in Buddhism.  This is perhaps for good reason, as most of the people who seek out mindfulness as therapy are not about to become Buddhists.  However, I wonder if something more is being lost than just the religious context.

I would like to begin a discussion of this issue.  I am going to call it "opening to insight."  The idea is to look at some of the ways in which mindfulness is conceived in Buddhism and some of the related concepts that are central to Buddhism with the purpose of enlivening and enriching the practice of those who might have originally approached mindfulness meditation as a therapeutic modality, as a way of relaxing, quieting the mind or dealing with mental suffering.

In order to pursue this discussion, I need to provide some very basic information about Buddhist doctrine.  The idea is not to indoctrinate but to educate those who may not be familiar with these doctrines in order to provide a context for understanding the points I wish to make.  Since I am most familiar with Theravada Buddhism, I will focus on it.

revised--  March 15, 2013

Retreats in Myanmar (Burma)

I just returned from a month (February) in Myanmar.  In addition to travelling around for sight-seeing (Yangon, Mandalay and Bagan), I "sampled" two retreat centers, the Mahasi Center in Yangon and the Shwe Oo Min Center outside of Yangon.  I only stayed a week at each, which is the minimum period allowed.

Both meditation centers provide lodging and food without cost.  They rely entirely on donations.  Both are training centers for monks and nuns.  It is possible to ordain as a monastic while there (temporary ordination is common in Myanmar), but I presume that one would have to stay for at least a month to do so.  At the Mahasi Center foreigners (monastics and lay persons) stay in separate quarters, but they are mixed at the Shwe Oo Min Center.  At the Mahasi Center everyone eats in the same dining hall, although in different sections.  There is greater integration in the lodgings at the Shwe Oo Min Center, but monks are segregated for meals there.

Both centers have similar schedules for doing alternating sitting and walking meditation, although the Mahasi Center tags on a later session in the evening.  Wake-up is at 3:30 AM at both.  Neither center enforced the schedules (except for meals), and it was possible to follow one's own schedule for sitting and walking.  Rituals were at a minimum at both.  The expectation at the Mahasi Center is that one observe "noble silence," although there were occasions when one could engage in conversation with a willing participant.  At the Shwe Oo Min Center "noble silence" was observed in the meditation hall and during meals, but there were few restraints on conversation outside of that.  "Talking meditation" and what I would call "noble chatter" were practiced freely.    

At the Mahasi Center you are given a single room, but at the Shwe Oo Min Center you share a room with another yogi.  As it happened, the yogi with whom I shared a room there was a great guy who had meditated at that center over a long period, and we had many good conversations.

Although the Mahasi Center is in Yangon and the Shwe Oo Min Center is a "forest retreat" center in a semi-rural area, the Mahasi Center was much quieter.  The level of noise in Myanmar was quite a surprise to me.  The Burmese seem to tolerate loud speakers blaring out music, commercial messages, chanting, calls to prayer and religious talks during much of the day and even during the night.  The Shwe Oo Min Center is surrounded by monasteries and nunneries, and they seem to see it as their mission to let everyone in the vicinity know what they are up to.  I stayed at a monastery close to the Shwe Oo Min Center the first few nights I was in Myanmar so I was somewhat prepared, but, I must confess, I never really got used to so much racket.  The Burmese seem to just laugh it off.  One is almost forced to do "sound meditation" to observe one's reactions to all the noise.

The other factor that I found difficult to deal with was the heat.  I was prepared for it to be hot, but  I thought that February was not going to be as hot as it turned out to be.  The meditation hall at the Mahasi Center was air-conditioned for part of the day, and there were fans in the sleeping quarters, but there were just ceiling fans in the meditation hall at the Shwe Oo Min Center and no fans in the sleeping quarters.  When temperatures approached 40 C in the midday, I wimped out and tried to find a cool spot.  The only real relief was taking cold showers during the day.

Another disappointment for me was the level of interaction there was with the teacher, especially at the Mahasi Center.  I had an initial meeting with Sayadaw U Jatila, who is a very senior Monk at the Mahasi Center in charge of training foreigners.  He insisted I listen to a garbled tape of Mahasi instructions even though I said I had heard it many times previously.  While I was there, I had two interviews in groups.  He spoke basic English.  He gave good advice, but it was not particularly tailored to the individual.  His one dhamma talk was taped and was a repetition of a chapter from his book.  It was an exposition of a sutta.  We all had to sit through while the passages were read in other languages (Chinese, Japanese, Korean and Vietnamese).

There was only one scheduled group interview with Sayadaw U Tejaniya at the Shwe Oo Min Center.  However, he was quite accessible otherwise, and I was able to ask questions of him at other times.  His English is relatively good, and he seemed to grasp one's level of practice.  I witnessed his interactions with others, and he was very tolerant and kind.

The practice taught at the Mahasi Center is, as one would expect, entirely orthodox Mahasi practice.  The practice of Sayadaw Tejaniya is much more free-wheeling.  There is considerable emphasis in the Mahasi technique on concentration, whereas in his teaching, awareness is more the emphasized.  Effort is energetic in the Mahasi techique, whereas in his teaching, persistence is emphasized.  In the Mahasi technique, one moves over time from a body-centered focus to a more open focus, whereas in his teaching, one begins with an open focus.  In future posts, I will provide a more detailed analysis of the two techniques.

Overall, both centers offer a good setting for practice, but you have to be self-disciplined when there is not a lot of externally imposed structure.  If I returned, I would go earlier, probably in November when it is cooler.  Having seen a lot of sights, I would not need to travel around quite as much, and I could stay for a longer period of time in a retreat center to get the maximum benefit out of my stay.  I would probably continue my sampling in the hope of finding a setting most conducive to my practice.

Waves

The image of waves is helpful in understanding the happenings we observe while we meditate.

Everything that comes to be passes away.  In terms of consciousness or the mind, this is easily observable.  Sensations, thoughts, images and emotions appear and disappear.  This ceaseless change is a fundamental truth in Buddhism.  Without training, we tend to see whatever happens as being more or less continuous.  We may realize that our sensations, thoughts, imagery and emotions come and go, but we think that they last for a noticeable period of time, perhaps a second, minute, hour, day or even several days.  I am angry, and I have been angry for days.  I am happy, and I think that my happiness has been with me for some time.  But in Buddhist psychological theory, all these things occur in moments of extremely brief duration, on the order of nanoseconds.  Furthermore, there can be only one happening in consciousness at any given time.  So if we think that any of these happenings occur over an extended period of time, we are mistaken.  A happening comes to be and quickly passes away to be replaced by another happening, which may be so similar to the previous happenings that we do not realize that it is a discrete happening.

The image of a wave is useful because it captures the rising and falling of these discrete happenings.  Waves have properties of amplitude (how big they are) and frequency (how fast they occur).  There are big slow waves, small slow waves, big fast waves, small fast waves and everything in between.

We can think of the discrete happenings that occur while we meditate in terms of these waves.  We have to be very alert to see the rising of the wave and to observe the passing away.  If we push away the happenings as they appear, we do not see them pass away on their own.  The time frame is crucial.    In the beginning of practice, a thought or emotion may seem to be present for several seconds or minutes.  Perhaps they linger.  We could push them away, but that would be a form of avoidance or suppression.  We should let them go as they fade away.  This makes letting go so much easier.

In terms of waves, these happenings are very small in amplitude and very fast in their frequency.  But the untrained mind tends to experience them as big and rather slow waves depending on how strongly experienced they are and how long they seem to hang around.  The trained mind with wisdom would experience them more as they are, as discrete and momentary (although it may be nearly impossible to experience them at the speed in which they actually occur).

As you meditate, see if this idea of waves is helpful.  You can practice with your breath or abdominal movement or with any of the happenings that arise and pass away.  You will find that noting is a way of catching the wave, and, as you note, you should see the wave fading away, in which case you can return to focusing on the breath or abdominal movement or you can catch the next happening wave.

Happy surfing!

    

Curiosity versus detachment

What is the attitude to take towards what shows up while we meditate?

Several academics, following the tradition of mindfulness-based stress reduction and mindfulness-based cognitive therapy, have put forward a two-component operational definition of mindfulness (Bishop et al, 2004).  In this definition, the first component involves paying attention to immediate experience "in the present moment."  The second component involves adopting a particular orientation to our experiences, an orientation that is characterized by "curiosity, openness and acceptance."  The idea of curiosity being essential to mindfulness meditation is itself curious. 

Curiosity implies some kind of interest in the object before one.  I once had a client who showed a lot of curiosity.  I told her a story of how I had once been on retreat and had a remarkable experience of having a whole series of connected events from my life unfold before me as if on a video-tape.  She was a professional fiction writer and was clearly intrigued by this idea.  She reported to me in subsequent sessions viewing virtual video-tapes of her experiences as she meditated.  After several sessions in which she reported her experiences, I said to her that I thought she was a little too interested in these video-tapes and should let them go.

Nyanaponika Thera, in his classical work, The Power of Mindfulness, describes mindfulness as involving both activating and restraining forces. Mindfulness makes the mind active and alert, but it also restrains.  As he states, in its restraining aspect, mindfulness makes for "disentanglement and detachment."  He focuses the remaining discussion on this restraining aspect of mindfulness.
 
Curiosity, in contrast to detachment, appears to lack this restraining force.  It goes beyond the root function of mindfulness, which is to remember or recognize the object of meditation.  One can think of what shows up in meditation as having a wave-like character of coming to be and passing away.  We should be quick to see the rising of the wave and quick to let go as the wave subsides.  Curiosity is not a letting go or releasing, but an engagement with the phenomena that appear and, as such, would interfere with the process of letting go.

On the other hand, recommending curiosity about what appears while we meditate may have a useful pedagogical function in the initial stages of learning.  I use the "Mind Watch" exercise to introduce the concept of observing the mind.  Those who have never meditated may not have noticed or given much thought to how active their minds are, how there is a churning, buzzing, turmoil just below the surface.  When they turn inward to observe the mind and tune into it with curiosity, they are often amazed by what they discover.  This often motivates them to start a meditation practice in the interest of quieting the mind.  This attitude of curiosity continues for some time to have a function as a motivating factor in discovering the essential character of the mind.  However, over the long term, curiosity needs to be replaced with detachment.

Detachment has several bad connotations in English.  In some of its connotations it is associated with indifference or even callous disregard.  Clearly, mindfulness is neither.  This can be shown by an analysis of equanimity, which is one of the other wholesome mental factors that arises with mindfulness.

Equanimity has a number of different meanings in Buddhism.  The most relevant in this context is that of calmness in the face of whatever shows up, in other words, imperturbability or non-reactivity.  The constant change, the continually shifting of ups and downs, can be a source of suffering and reactivity.  However, with equanimity, you simply see things arise and pass away.  Bhante Khippapanno in Experiencing the Dhamma uses the example of pain:  "When painful sensation arises, you note “pain, pain.” You will see that the silent mind is neither saddened nor angry with that painful sensation. It just makes a note of that painful sensation and lets it go. If you keep practicing like that, gradually the silent mind will become more balanced, steady and stable. That is the mental state called Equanimity."  Bhante Khippapanno's remarks clearly illustrate that equanimity and the detachment of mindfulness are closely allied.

In a broader sense, equanimity is distinct from indifference in that, with equanimity, we understand that reacting with excitement or irritation is inappropriate, whereas with indifference we do not respond because we are unaware, don't care or can't be bothered.  Whereas equanimity comes from awareness, indifference comes from ignorance and selfishness.  

Sometimes the term non-attachment is preferred to detachment to describe the appropriate attitude in meditation.  It is thought that this avoids the unfortunate connotations of detachment.  However, the terms attachment and non-attachment carry with them all sorts of connotations both negative and positive.  In fact, sorting out what attachment means and why we should be non-attached is one of the more difficult tasks in explaining Buddhism.  For that reason alone, I am not sure the term non-attachment is an improvement on the term detachment .  I will leave the task of analyzing the nature of attachment to a future post.

Bottom line:  Let's be careful about curiosity as part of the operational definition of mindfulness.

Please note:  Your comments are always appreciated and make this blog more interactive.

Being perfect (2)

Is it possible to be enlightened?  Within the Theravada tradition, there are four stages of enlightenment.  The first stage is that of stream entry, which offers the adept a glimpse of Nibanna and the assurance that no more than seven rebirths are ahead.  The next stage is that of the once-returner, which involves at most one more rebirth.  The third stage is that of the non-returner, which involves no more rebirths in sensory abodes but rebirth in a pure abode.  The fourth stage is that of the arahant, who will not be reborn and thus will be released from all suffering.

I once was studying with a very senior monk.  I told him, I thought rather modestly, that my aim was stream entry.  He agreed with me; that was his aim as well.

When I first started meditating in the Soto Zen tradition, my aim was satori.  I was sure if I tried hard enough, I would attain enlightenment.  However, I quickly realized that this meditation thing was a bit more complicated than I thought.  I got discouraged after about a year of working on it and abandoned my practice.  I came to understand in my later years that aiming for enlightenment may not only be unrealistic but counter-productive as far as keeping up with the discipline of daily meditation practice.  When I started meditating again, I decided that all I really wanted to do was to improve myself:  to be less distracted, to be a little wiser, and to be a little more virtuous.  This motivated me to continue to meditate.  Once I realized that these goals were attainable, I was able to sustain my practice and keep up the discipline of daily meditation.

In the Mahasi tradition, there is a strong message that enlightenment or some stage of it can be attained "in this very life."  On retreats, especially prolonged ones, this goal at times seems possible, especially when there is an inspiring teacher who exhibits the qualities associated with being an enlightened person.  However, at other times, when one encounters the chaotic, confused and obsessive mind, it seems very much out of reach.  At times like these, I remind myself of the modest goals of being somewhat more focused, somewhat wiser, and somewhat more virtuous.  Because meditation is demonstrably beneficial in these ways, I continue with my practice.