The Power of Mindfulness
An Inquiry into
the Scope of Bare Attention
and the Principal Sources of its Strength
by
Nyanaponika Thera
The Wheel Publication No. 121/122
ISBN 955-24-000 2-3
Copyright (C) 1986
Buddhist Publication Society
Buddhist Publication
Society
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54, Sangharaja Mawatha
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Contents
Introduction
Is mindfulness actually a power in its
own right as claimed by the title of this essay? Seen from the viewpoint
of the ordinary pursuits of life, it does not seem so. From that angle
mindfulness, or attention, has a rather modest place among many other seemingly
more important mental faculties serving the purpose of variegated wish-fulfillment.
Here, mindfulness means just "to watch one's steps" so that one may not
stumble or miss a chance in the pursuit of one's aims. Only in the case
of specific tasks and skills is mindfulness sometimes cultivated more deliberately,
but here too it is still regarded as a subservient function, and its wider
scope and possibilities are not recognized.
Even if one turns to the Buddha's
doctrine, taking only a surface view of the various classifications and
lists of mental factors in which mindfulness appears, one may be inclined
to regard this faculty just as "one among many." Again one may get the
impression that it has a rather subordinate place and is easily surpassed
in significance by other faculties.
Mindfulness in fact has, if we may
personify it, a rather unassuming character. Compared with it, mental factors
such as devotion, energy, imagination, and intelligence, are certainly
more colorful personalities, making an immediate and strong impact on people
and situations. Their conquests are sometimes rapid and vast, though often
insecure. Mindfulness, on the other hand, is of an unobtrusive nature.
Its virtues shine inwardly, and in ordinary life most of its merits are
passed on to other mental faculties which generally receive all the credit.
One must know mindfulness well and cultivate its acquaintance before one
can appreciate its value and its silent penetrative influence. Mindfulness
walks slowly and deliberately, and its daily task is of a rather humdrum
nature. Yet where it places its feet it cannot easily be dislodged, and
it acquires and bestows true mastery of the ground it covers.
Mental faculties of such a nature,
like actual personalities of a similar type, are often overlooked or underrated.
In the case of mindfulness, it required a genius like the Buddha to discover
the "hidden talent" in the modest garb, and to develop the vast inherent
power of that potent seed. It is, indeed, the mark of a genius to perceive
and to harness the power of the seemingly small. Here, truly, it happens
that "what is little becomes much." A revaluation of values takes place.
The standards of greatness and smallness change. Through the master mind
of the Buddha, mindfulness is finally revealed as the Archimedean point
where the vast revolving mass of world suffering is levered out of its
twofold anchorage in ignorance and craving.
The Buddha spoke of the power of
mindfulness in a very emphatic way:
"Mindfulness, I declare,
is all-helpful" (Samyutta, 46:59).
"All things can be mastered by mindfulness"
(Anguttara, 8:83).
Further, there is that solemn and weighty
utterance opening and concluding the Satipatthana Sutta, the Discourse
on the Foundations of Mindfulness:
"This is the only way, monks,
for the purification of beings, for the overcoming of sorrow and lamentation,
for the destruction of pain and grief, for reaching the right path, for
the attainment of Nibbana, namely the four foundations of mindfulness."
In ordinary life, if mindfulness, or
attention, is directed to any object, it is rarely sustained long enough
for the purpose of careful and factual observation. Generally it is followed
immediately by emotional reaction, discriminative thought, reflection,
or purposeful action. In a life and thought governed by the Buddha's teaching
too, mindfulness (sati) is mostly linked with clear comprehension
(sampaja??a) of the right purpose or suitability of an action, and
other considerations. Thus again it is not viewed in itself. But to tap
the actual and potential power of mindfulness it is necessary to
understand and deliberately cultivate it in its basic, unalloyed form,
which we shall call bare attention.
By bare attention we understand the
clear and single-minded awareness of what actually happens to us
and in us, at the successive moments of perception. It is called
"bare" because it attends to the bare facts of a perception without reacting
to them by deed, speech or mental comment. Ordinarily, that purely receptive
state of mind is, as we said, just a very brief phase of the thought process
of which one is often scarcely aware. But in the methodical development
of mindfulness aimed at the unfolding of its latent powers, bare attention
is sustained for as long a time as one's strength of concentration permits.
Bare attention then becomes the key to the meditative practice of satipatthana,
opening the door to mind's mastery and final liberation.
Bare attention is developed in two
ways: (1) as a methodical meditative practice with selected objects; (2)
as applied, as far as practicable, to the normal events of the day, together
with a general attitude of mindfulness and clear comprehension. The details
of the practice have been described elsewhere, and need not be repeated
here.[1]
The primary purpose of this essay
is to demonstrate and explain the efficacy of this method, that is, to
show the actual power of mindfulness. Particularly in an age like ours,
with its superstitious worship of ceaseless external activity, there will
be those who ask: "How can such a passive attitude of mind as that of bare
attention possibly lead to the great results claimed for it?" In reply,
one may be inclined to suggest to the questioner not to rely on the words
of others, but to put these assertions of the Buddha to the test of personal
experience. But those who do not yet know the Buddha's teaching well enough
to accept it as a reliable guide, may hesitate to take up, without good
reasons, a practice that just on account of its radical simplicity may
appear strange to them. In the following a number of such "good reasons"
are therefore proffered for the reader's scrutiny. They are also meant
as an introduction to the general spirit of satipatthana and as pointers
to its wide and significant perspectives. Furthermore, it is hoped that
he who has taken up the methodical training will recognize in the following
observations certain features of his own practice, and be encouraged to
cultivate them deliberately.
Four Sources of Power in Bare Attention
We shall now deal with four aspects
of bare attention, which are the mainsprings of the power of mindfulness.
they are not the only sources of its strength, but they are the principal
ones to which the efficacy of this method of mental development is due.
These four are:
1. The functions
of "tidying-up" and "naming" exercised by bare attention.
2. its non-violent, non-coercive
procedure;
3. the capacity of stopping
and slowing down;
4. the directness of vision
bestowed by bare attention.
1. The Functions of "Tidying" and "Naming"
Tidying Up the Mental Household
If anyone whose mind is not harmonized
and controlled through methodical meditative training should take a close
look at his own everyday thoughts and activities, he will meet with a rather
disconcerting sight. Apart from the few main channels of his purposeful
thoughts and activities, he will everywhere be faced with a tangled mass
of perceptions, thoughts, feelings, and casual bodily movements showing
a disorderliness and confusion which he would certainly not tolerate in
his living-room. Yet this is the state of affairs that we take for granted
within a considerable portion of our waking life and our normal mental
activity. Let us now look at the details of that rather untidy picture.
First we meet a vast number of casual
sense-impressions such as sights and sounds, passing constantly through
our mind. Most of them remain vague and fragmentary; some are even based
on faulty perceptions and misjudgments. Carrying these inherent weaknesses,
they often form the untested basis for judgements and decisions on a higher
level of consciousness. True, all these casual sense impressions need not
and cannot be objects of focused attention. A stone on the road that happens
to meet our glance will have a claim on our attention only if it obstructs
our progress or is of interest to us for some reason. Yet if we neglect
these casual impressions too often, we may stumble over many stones lying
on our road and also overlook many gems.
Besides the casual sense impressions,
there are those more significant and definite perceptions, thoughts, feelings
and volitions which have a closer connection with our purposeful life.
Here too, we find that a very high proportion of them are in a state of
utter confusion. Hundreds of cross-currents flash through the mind, and
everywhere there are "bits and ends" of unfinished thoughts, stifled emotions
and passing moods. Many meet a premature death. Owing to their innately
feeble nature, our lack of concentration or suppression by new and stronger
impressions, they do not persist and develop. If we observe our own mind,
we shall notice how easily diverted our thoughts are, how often they behave
like undisciplined disputants constantly interrupting each other and refusing
to listen to the other side's arguments. Again, many lines of thought remain
rudimentary or are left untranslated into will and action, because courage
is lacking to accept their practical, moral or intellectual consequences.
If we continue to examine more closely our average perceptions, thoughts
or judgements, we shall have to admit that many of them are unreliable.
They are just the products of habit, led by prejudices of intellect or
emotion, by our pet preferences or aversions, by laziness or selfishness,
by faulty or superficial observations.
Such a look into long-neglected quarters
of the mind will come as a wholesome shock to the observer. It will convince
him of the urgent need for methodical mental culture extending below the
thin surface layer of the mind to those vast twilight regions of consciousness
we have just visited. The observer will then become aware that the relatively
small sector of the mind that stands in the intense light of purposeful
will and thought is not a reliable standard of the inner strength and lucidity
of consciousness in its totality. He will also see that the quality of
individual consciousness cannot be judged by a few optimal results of mental
activity achieved in brief, intermittent periods. The decisive factor in
determining the quality of consciousness is self-understanding and self-control:
whether that dim awareness characteristic of our everyday mind and the
uncontrolled portion of everyday activity tends to increase or decrease.
It is the daily little negligence
in thoughts, words and deeds going on for many years of our life (and as
the Buddha teaches, for many existences), that is chiefly responsible for
the untidiness and confusion we find in our minds. This negligence creates
the trouble and allows it to continue. Thus the old Buddhist teachers have
said: "Negligence produces a lot of dirt. As in a house, so in the mind,
only a very little dirt collects in a day or two, but if it goes on for
many years, it will grow into a vast heap of refuse."[2]
The dark, untidy corners of the mind
are the hideouts of our most dangerous enemies. From there they attack
us unawares, and much too often succeed in defeating us. That twilight
world peopled by frustrated desires and suppressed resentments, by vacillations,
whims, and many other shadowy figures, forms a background from which upsurging
passions -- greed and lust, hatred and anger -- may derive powerful support.
Besides, the obscure and obscuring nature of that twilight region is the
very element and mother-soil of the third and strongest of the three roots
of evil (akusala mula), ignorance or delusion.
Attempts at eliminating the mind's
main defilements -- greed, hate and delusion -- must fail as long as these
defilements find refuge and support in the uncontrolled dim regions of
the mind; as long as the close and complex tissue of those half-articulate
thoughts and emotions forms the basic texture of mind into which just a
few golden strands of noble and lucid thought are woven. But how are we
to deal with that unwieldy, tangled mass? Usually we try to ignore it and
to rely on the counteracting energies of our surface mind. But the only
safe remedy is to face it -- with mindfulness. Nothing more difficult is
needed than to acquire the habit of directing bare attention to these rudimentary
thoughts as often as possible. The working principle here is the simple
fact that two thoughts cannot coexist at the same time: if the clear light
of mindfulness is present, there is no room for mental twilight. When sustained
mindfulness has secured a firm foothold, it will be a matter of comparatively
secondary importance how the mind will then deal with those rudimentary
thoughts, moods and emotions. One may just dismiss them and replace them
by purposeful thoughts; or one may allow and even compel them to complete
what they have to say. In the latter case they will often reveal how poor
and weak they actually are, and it will then not be difficult to dispose
of them once they are forced into the open. This procedure of bare attention
is very simple and effective; the difficulty is only the persistence in
applying it.
Observing a complex thing means identifying
its component parts, singling out the separate strands forming that intricate
tissue. If this is applied to the complex currents of mental and practical
life, automatically a strong regulating influence will be noticeable. As
if ashamed in the presence of the calmly observing eye, the course of thoughts
will proceed in a less disorderly and wayward manner; it will not be so
easily diverted, and will resemble more and more a well-regulated river.
During decades of the present life
and throughout millennia of previous lives traversing the round of existence,
there has steadily grown within each individual a closely knit system of
intellectual and emotional prejudices, of bodily and mental habits that
are no longer questioned as to their rightful position and useful function
in human life. Here again, the application of bare attention loosens the
hard soil of these often very ancient layers of the human mind, preparing
thus the ground for sowing the seed of methodical mental training. Bare
attention identifies and pursues the single threads of that closely interwoven
tissue of our habits. It sorts out carefully the subsequent justifications
of passionate impulses and the pretended motives of our prejudices. Fearlessly
it questions old habits often grown meaningless. It uncovers their roots,
and thus helps abolish all that is seen to be harmful. In brief, bare attention
lays open the minute crevices in the seemingly impenetrable structure of
unquestioned mental processes. Then the sword of wisdom wielded by the
strong arm of constant meditative practice will be able to penetrate these
crevices, and finally to break up that structure where required. If the
inner connection between the single parts of a seemingly compact whole
become intelligible, they then cease to be inaccessible.
When the facts and details of the
mind's conditioned nature are uncovered by meditative practice, there is
an increased chance to effect fundamental changes in the mind. In that
way, not only those hitherto unquestioned habits of the mind, its twilight
regions and its normal processes as well, but even those seemingly solid,
indisputable facts of the world of matter -- all will become "questionable"
and lose much of their self-assurance. Many people are so impressed and
intimidated by that bland self-assurance of assumed "solid facts," that
they hesitate to take up any spiritual training, doubting that it can effect
anything worthwhile. The application of bare attention to the task of tidying
and regulating the mind will bring perceptible results -- results which
will dispel their doubts and encourage them to enter more fully a spiritual
path.
The tidying or regulating function
of bare attention, we should note, is of fundamental importance for the
"purification of beings" mentioned by the Buddha as the first aim of satipatthana.
This phrase refers, of course, to the purification of their minds, and
here the very first step is to bring initial order into the functioning
of the mental processes. We have seen how this is done by bare attention.
In that sense, the commentary to the "Discourse on the Foundation of Mindfulness"
explains the words "for the purification of beings" as follows:
"It is said: 'Mental taints
defile beings; mental clarity purifies them.' That mental clarity comes
to be by this way of mindfulness (satipatthana magga).
Naming
We said before that bare attention "tidies
up" or regulates the mind by sorting out and identifying the various confused
strands of the mental process. That identifying function, like any other
mental activity, is connected with a verbal formulation. In other words,
"identifying" proceeds by way of expressly "naming" the respective mental
processes.
Primitive man believed that words
could exercise a magical power: "things that could be named had lost their
secret power over man, the horror of the unknown. To know the name of a
force, a being or an object was (to primitive man) identical with the mastery
over it."[3] That
ancient belief in the magical potency of names appears also in many fairy
tales and myths, where the power of a demon is broken just by facing him
courageously and pronouncing his name.
There is an element of truth in the
"word-magic" of primitive man, and in the practice of bare attention we
will find the power of naming confirmed. The "twilight demons" of the mind
-- our passionate impulses and obscure thoughts -- cannot bear the simple
but clarifying questions about their "names," much less the knowledge of
these names. Hence, this is often alone sufficient to diminish their strength.
The calmly observant glance of mindfulness discovers the demons in their
hiding-places. The practice of calling them by their names drives them
out into the open, into the daylight of consciousness. There they will
feel embarrassed and obliged to justify themselves, although at this stage
of bare attention they have not yet even been subjected to any closer questioning
except about their names, their identity. If forced into the open while
still in an incipient stage, they will be incapable of withstanding scrutiny
and will just dwindle away. Thus a first victory over them may be won,
even at an early stage of the practice.
The appearance in the mind of undesirable
and ignoble thoughts, even if they are very fleeting and only half-articulate,
has an unpleasant effect upon one's self-esteem. Therefore such thoughts
are often shoved aside, unattended to and unopposed. Often they are also
camouflaged by more pleasing and respectable labels which hide their true
nature. Thoughts disposed of in either of these two ways will strengthen
the accumulated power of ignoble tendencies in the subconscious. Furthermore,
these procedures will weaken one's will to resist the arising and the dominance
of mental defilements, and strengthen the tendency to evade the issues.
But by applying the simple method of clearly and honestly naming or registering
any undesirable thoughts, these two harmful devices, ignorance and camouflage,
are excluded. Thence their detrimental consequences on the structure of
the subconscious and their diversion of mental effort will be avoided.
When ignoble thoughts or personal
shortcomings are called by their right names, the mind will develop an
inner resistance and even repugnance against them. In time it may well
succeed in keeping them in check and finally eliminating them. Even if
these means do not bring undesirable tendencies fully under control at
once, they will stamp upon them the impact of repeated resistance which
will weaken them whenever they reappear. To continue our personification,
we may say that unwholesome thoughts will no longer be the unopposed masters
of the scene, and this diffidence of theirs will make them considerably
easier to deal with. It is the power of moral shame (hiri-bala)
that has been mustered here as an ally, methodically strengthened by these
simple yet subtle psychological techniques.
The method of naming and registering
also extends, of course, to noble thoughts and impulses which will be encouraged
and strengthened. Without being given deliberate attention, such wholesome
tendencies often pass unnoticed and remain barren. But when clear awareness
is applied to them, it will stimulate their growth.
It is one of the most beneficial
features of right mindfulness, and particularly of bare attention, that
it enables us to utilize all external events and inner mental events for
our progress. Even the unsalutary can be made a starting point for the
salutary if, through the device of naming or registering, it becomes an
object of detached knowledge.
In several passages of the Satipatthana
Sutta the function of naming or "bare registering" seems to be indicated
by formulating the respective statements by way of direct speech. There
are no less than four such instances in the discourse:
(1) "When experiencing a
pleasant feeling, he knows 'I experience a pleasant feeling'," etc.;
(2) "He knows a lustful (state of)
mind, 'Mind is lustful'," etc.;
(3) "If (the hindrance of) sense
desire is present in him, he knows, 'Sense desire is present in me'," etc.;
(4) "If the enlightenment factor
mindfulness is present in him, he knows, 'The enlightenment factor mindfulness
is present in me'," etc.
In concluding this section, we briefly
point out that the tidying-up and naming of mental processes
is the indispensable preparation for fully understanding them in their
true nature, the task of insight (vipassana). These functions, exercised
by bare attention, will help dispel the illusion that the mental processes
are compact. They will also help us to discern their specific nature or
characteristics, and to notice their momentary rise and fall.
The Non-coercive Procedure
Obstacles to Meditation
Both the world surrounding us and the
world of our own minds are full of hostile and conflicting forces causing
us pain and frustration. We know from our own bitter experience that we
are not strong enough to meet and conquer all these antagonistic forces
in open combat. In the external world we cannot have everything exactly
as we want it, while in the inner world of the mind, our passions, impulses,
and whims often override the demands of duty, reason and our higher aspirations.
We further learn that often an undesirable
situation will only worsen if excessive pressure is used against it. Passionate
desires may grow in intensity if one tries to silence them by sheer force
of will. Disputes and quarrels will go on endlessly and grow fiercer if
they are fanned again and again by angry retorts or by vain attempts to
crush the other man's position. A disturbance during work, rest or meditation
will be felt more strongly and will have a longer-lasting impact if one
reacts to it by resentment and anger and attempts to suppress it.
Thus, again and again, we meet with
situations in life where we cannot force issues. But there are ways
of mastering the vicissitudes of life and conflicts of mind without applications
of force. Non-violent means may often succeed where attempts at coercion,
internal or external, fail. Such a non-violent way of mastering life and
mind is satipatthana. By the methodical application of bare attention,
the basic practice in the development of right mindfulness, all the latent
powers of a non-coercive approach will gradually unfold, with the beneficial
results and their wide and unexpected implications. In this context we
are mainly concerned with the benefits of Satipatthana for the mastery
of mind, and for the progress in meditation that may result from a non-coercive
procedure. But we shall also cast occasional side glances at its repercussions
on everyday life. It will not be difficult for a thoughtful reader to make
more detailed application to his own problems.
The antagonistic forces that appear
in meditation and that are liable to upset its smooth course are of three
kinds:
1. external disturbances,
such as noise;
2. mental defilements (kilesa),
such as lust, anger, restlessness, dissatisfaction, or sloth, which may
arise at any time during meditation; and
3. various incidental stray thoughts,
or surrender to day-dreaming.
These distractions are the great stumbling
blocks for a beginner in meditation who has not yet acquired sufficient
dexterity to deal with them effectively. To give thought to those disturbing
factors only when they actually arise at the time of meditation is insufficient.
If caught unprepared in one's defence, one will struggle with them in a
more or less haphazard and ineffective way, and with a feeling of irritation
which will itself be an additional impediment. If disturbances of any kind
and unskillful reactions to them occur several times during one session,
one may come to feel utterly frustrated and irritated and give up further
attempts to meditate, at least for the present occasion.
In fact, even meditators who are
quite well informed by books or a teacher about all the details concerning
their subject of meditation often lack instruction on how to deal skillfully
with the disturbances they may meet. The feeling of helplessness in facing
them is the most formidable difficulty for a beginning meditator. At that
point many accept defeat, abandoning prematurely any further effort at
methodical practice. As in worldly affairs, so in meditation, one's way
of dealing with the "initial difficulties" will often be decisive for success
or failure.
When faced by inner and outer disturbances,
the inexperienced or uninstructed beginner will generally react in two
ways. He will first try to shove them away lightly, and if he fails in
that, he will try to suppress them by sheer force of will. But these disturbances
are like insolent flies: by whisking -- first lightly and then with increasing
vigor and anger -- one may perhaps succeed in driving them away for a while,
but usually they will return with an exasperating constancy, and the effort
and vexation of whisking will have produced only an additional disturbance
of one's composure.
Satipatthana, through its method
of bare attention, offers a non-violent alternative to those futile and
even harmful attempts at suppression by force. A successful non-violent
procedure in mind-control has to start with the right attitude. There must
be first the full cognizance and sober acceptance of the fact that those
three disturbing factors are co-inhabitants of the world we live in, whether
we like it or not. Our disapproval of them will not alter the fact. With
some we shall have to come to terms, and concerning the others -- the mental
defilements -- we shall have to learn how to deal with them effectively
until they are finally conquered.
1. Since we are not the sole inhabitants
of this densely populated world, there are bound to be external disturbances
of various kinds, such as noise and interruptions by visitors. We cannot
always live in "splendid isolation," "from the noise of men and dogs untroubled,"
or "ivory towers" high above the crowd. Right meditation is not escapism;
it is not meant to provide hiding-places for temporary oblivion. Realistic
meditation has the purpose of training the mind to face, to understand
and to conquer this very world in which we live. And this world inevitably
includes numerous obstacles to the life of meditation.
2. The Burmese meditation master,
the Venerable Mahasi Sayadaw said: "In an unliberated worldling mental
defilements are sure to arise again and again. He has to face that
fact and know these defilements well in order to apply again and again
the appropriate remedy of Satipatthana. Then they will grow weaker, more
short-lived, and will finally disappear." To know the occurrence and nature
of defilements is therefore as important for a meditator as to know the
occurrence of his noble thoughts.
By facing one's own defilements one
will be stirred to increase the effort to eliminate them. On the other
hand, if out of a false shame or pride one tries to avert one's glance
when they arise, one will never truly join issue with them, and will always
evade the final and decisive encounter. By hitting blindly at them, one
will only exhaust or even hurt oneself. But by observing carefully their
nature and behavior when they arise in one's own mind, one will be able
to meet them well prepared, to forestall them often, and finally to banish
them fully. Therefore meet your defilements with a free and open glance!
Be not ashamed, afraid or discouraged!
3. The third group of intruders disturbing
the meditator's mind are stray thoughts and daydreams. These
may consist of various memories and images of the past, recent or remote,
including those emerging from subconscious depths; thoughts of the future
-- planning, imagining, fearing, hoping; and the casual sense-perceptions
that may occur at the very time of meditation, often dragging after them
a long trail of associated ideas. Whenever concentration and mindfulness
slacken, stray thoughts or daydreams appear and fill the vacuum. Though
they seem insignificant in themselves, through their frequent occurrence
they form a most formidable obstacle, not only for the beginner, but in
all cases when the mind is restless or distracted. However, when these
invaders can be kept at bay, even long continuous periods of meditation
can be achieved. As in the case of the mental defilements, stray thoughts
will be entirely excluded only at the stage of Arahatship, when the perfect
mindfulness thereby obtained keeps unfailing watch at the door of the mind.
If they are to shape our attitude,
all these facts about the three kinds of disturbing factors must be given
full weight and be fully absorbed by our mind. Then, in these three disturbing
factors, the noble truth of suffering will manifest itself to the meditator
very incisively through his own personal experience: "Not to obtain what
one wants is suffering." The three other noble truths should also be exemplified
by reference to the same situation. In such a way, even when dealing with
impediments, the meditator will be within the domain of Satipatthana. He
will be engaged in the mindful awareness of the Four Noble Truths -- a
part of the contemplation of mental objects (dhammanupassana).[4]
It is characteristic of right mindfulness, and one of its tasks, to relate
the actual experiences of life to the truth of the Dhamma, and to use them
as opportunities for its practical realization. Already at the preliminary
stage devoted to the shaping of a correct and helpful attitude, we have
the first successful test of our peaceful weapons: by understanding our
adversaries better, we have consolidated our position which was formerly
weakened by an emotional approach; and by transforming these adversaries
into teachers of the truths, we have won the first advantage over them.
Three Countermeasures
If we are mentally prepared by a realistic
view of these three factors antagonistic to meditation, we shall be less
inclined to react at once by irritation when they actually arise. We shall
be emotionally in a better position to meet them with the non-violent weapons
of which we shall now speak.
There are three devices for countering
disturbances that arise in meditation. The three should be applied in succession
whenever the preceding device has failed to dispose of the disturbance.
All three are applications of bare attention; they differ in the degree
and duration of attention given to the disturbance. The guiding rule here
is: to give no more mental emphasis to the respective disturbance than
is actually required by circumstances.
1. First, one should notice the disturbance
clearly, but lightly: that is, without emphasis and without attention to
details. After that brief act of noticing, one should try to return to
the original subject of meditation. If the disturbance was weak or one's
preceding concentration fairly strong, one may well succeed in resuming
contemplation. At that stage, by being careful not to get involved in any
"conversation" or argument with the intruder, we shall on our part not
give it a reason to stay long; and in a good number of cases the disturbance
will soon depart like a visitor who does not receive a very warm welcome.
That curt dismissal may often enable us to return to our original meditation
without any serious disturbance to the composure of mind.
The non-violent device here is: to
apply bare attention to the disturbance, but with a minimum of response
to it, and with a mind bent on withdrawal. This is the very way in which
the Buddha himself dealt with inopportune visitors, as described in the
Mahasu??ata Sutta: "...with a mind bent on seclusion...and withdrawn, his
conversation aiming at dismissing (those visitors)." Similar was Shantideva's
advice on how to deal with fools: if one cannot avoid them, one should
treat them "with the indifferent politeness of a gentleman."
2. If, however, the disturbance persists,
one should repeat the application of bare attention again and again, patiently
and calmly; and it may be that the disturbance will vanish when it has
spent its force. Here the attitude is to meet the repeated occurrence of
a disturbance by a reiterated "No," a determined refusal to be deflected
from one's course. This is the attitude of patience and firmness. The capacity
for watchful observation has to be aided here by the capacity to wait and
to hold one's ground.
These two devices will generally
be successful with incidental stray thoughts and daydreams, which are feeble
by nature, but the other two types of disturbances, the external ones and
defilements, may also yield quite often.
3. But if, for some reason, the do
not yield, one should deliberately turn one's full attention to
the disturbance and make it an object of knowledge. Thus one transforms
it from a disturbance to meditation into a legitimate object
of meditation. One may continue with that new object until the external
or internal cause for attending to it has ceased; or, if it proves satisfactory,
one may even retain it for the rest of that session.
For instance, when disturbed by a
persistent noise, we should give the noise our undivided attention, but
we should take care to distinguish the object itself from our reaction
to it. For example, if resentment arises, it should be clearly recognized
in its own nature whenever it arises. In doing so we shall be practicing
the contemplation of mind-objects (dhammanupassana) according to
the following passage of the Satipatthana Sutta; "He knows the ear and
sounds, and the fetter (e.g. resentment) arising through both." If the
noise is intermittent or of varying intensity, one will easily be able
to discern the rise and fall (udayabbaya) in its occurrence. In
that way one will add to one's direct insight into impermanency (aniccata).
The attitude towards recurrent mental
defilements such as thoughts of lust and restlessness, should be similar.
One should face them squarely, but distinguish them from one's reaction
to them, e.g. connivance, fear, resentment, irritation. In doing so, one
is making use of the device of "naming," and one will reap the benefits
mentioned above. In the recurrent waves of passion or restlessness, one
will likewise learn to distinguish gradually phases of "high" and "low,"
their "ups and downs," and may also gain other helpful knowledge about
their behavior. By that procedure, one again remains entirely within the
range of Satipatthana by practicing the contemplation of the state of mind
(cittanupassana) and of mind-objects (dhammanupassana: attention
to the hindrances).
This method of transforming disturbances
to meditation into objects of meditation, as simple as it is ingenious,
may be regarded as the culmination of non-violent procedure. It is a device
very characteristic of the spirit of satipatthana, to make use of all experiences
as aids on the path. In that way enemies are turned into friends; for all
these disturbances and antagonistic forces have become our teachers, and
teachers, whoever they may be, should be regarded as friends.
We cannot forego to quote here a
passage from a noteworthy little book, The Little Locksmith by Katherine
Butler Hathaway, a moving human document of fortitude and practical wisdom
acquired by suffering:
I am shocked by the ignorance
and wastefulness with which persons who should know better throw away the
things they do not like. They throw away experiences, people, marriages,
situations, all sorts of things because they do not like them. If you throw
away a thing, it is gone. Where you had something you have nothing to work
on. Whereas, almost all those things which get thrown away are capable
of being worked over by a little magic into just the opposite of what they
were... But most human beings never remember at all that in almost every
bad situation there is the possibility of a transformation by which the
undesirable may be changed into the desirable.
We said before that the occurrence of
the three disturbing elements cannot always be prevented. They are parts
of our world, and their coming and going follows its own laws irrespective
of our approval or disapproval. But by applying bare attention we can avoid
being swept away or dislodged by them. By taking a firm and calm stand
on the secure ground of mindfulness, we shall repeat in a modest degree,
but in an essentially identical way, the historic situation under the Bodhi
Tree. When Mara, the Evil One, at the head of his army, claimed the soil
on which the future Buddha sat, the latter refused to budge. Trusting in
the power of mindfulness, we may confidently repeat the Bodhisatta's aspiration
on that occasion: Ma Mam thana acavi! "May he (Mara) not dislodge
me from this place" (Padhana Sutta).
Let the intruders come and go. Like
all the other members of that vast unceasing procession of mental and physical
events that passes before our observant eyes in the practice of bare attention,
they arise, and having arisen, they pass away.
Our advantage here is the obvious
fact that two thought moments cannot be present at the same time. Attention
refers, strictly speaking, not to the present but to the moment that has
just passed away. Thus, as long as mindfulness holds sway, there will be
no "disturbance" or "defiled thought." This gives us the chance to hold
on to that secure ground of an "observer's post," our own potential "throne
of enlightenment."
By the quietening and neutralizing
influence of detached observation as applied in our three devices, the
interruptions of meditation will increasingly lose the sting of irritation,
and thereby their disturbing effect. This will prove to be an act of true
viraga (dispassion), which literally means "decoloring." When these
experiences are stripped of the emotional tinge that excites towards lust,
aversion, irritation and other defilements of the mind, they will appear
in their true nature as bare phenomena (suddha-dhamma).
The non-violent procedure of bare
attention endows the meditator with the light but sure touch so essential
for handling the sensitive, evasive, and refractory nature of the mind.
It also enables him to deal smoothly with the various difficult situations
and obstacles met with in daily life. To illustrate the even quality of
energy required for attaining to the meditative absorptions, The Path
of Purification (Visuddhimagga) describes a test which students of
surgery in ancient days had to undergo as a proof of their skill. A lotus
leaf was placed in a bowl of water, and the pupil had to make an incision
through the length of the leaf, without cutting it entirely or submerging
it. He who applied an excess of force either cut the leaf into two or pressed
it into the water, while the timid one did not even dare to scratch it.
In fact, something like the gentle but firm hand of the surgeon is required
in mental training, and this skilful, well-balanced touch will be the natural
outcome of the non-violent procedure in the practice of bare attention.
Stopping and Slowing Down
Keeping Still
For a full and unobstructed unfoldment
of the mind's capacities, the influence of two complimentary forces is
needed: activating and restraining. That twofold need was
recognized by the Buddha, the great knower of mind. He advised that the
faculties of energy (viry'indriya) and of concentration (samadh'indriya)
should be kept equally strong and well balanced.[5]
Furthermore, he recommended three of the seven factors of enlightenment
(bojjhanga) as suitable for rousing the mind, and three for calming
it.[6] In both cases,
among the spiritual faculties and the enlightenment factors, it is mindfulness
that not only watches over their equilibrium, but also activates those
that are sluggish and restrains those that are too intense.
Mindfulness, though seemingly of
a passive nature, is in fact an activating force. It makes the mind alert,
and alertness is indispensable for all purposeful activity. In the present
inquiry, however, we shall examine how it makes for disentanglement and
detachment, and how it positively helps in the development of the mental
qualities required for the work of deliverance.
In practicing bare attention, we
keep still at the mental and spatial place of observation, amidst
the loud demands of the inner and outer world. Mindfulness possesses the
strength of tranquility, the capacity for deferring action and applying
the brake, for stopping rash interference and for suspending judgement
while pausing to observe facts and to reflect upon them wisely. It also
brings a wholesome slowing down in the impetuosity of thought, speech
and action. Keeping still and stopping, pausing and slowing down -- these
will be our key words when speaking now of the restraining effect of bare
attention.
An ancient Chinese book states:
"In making things end, and
in making things start,
there is nothing more glorious than
keeping still."
In the light of the Buddha's teaching,
the true "end of things" is Nibbana which is called the "stilling
of formations" (sankharanam vupasamo), that is, their final end
or cessation. It is also called "the stopping" (nirodha). The "things"
or "formations" meant here are the conditioned and impersonal phenomena
rooted in craving and ignorance. The end of formations comes to be by the
end of "forming," that is, by the end of world-creating kammic activities.
It is the "end of the world" and of suffering, which the Buddha proclaimed
cannot be reached by walking, migrating or transmigrating, but can be found
within ourselves. That end of the world is heralded by each deliberate
act of keeping still, stopping, or pausing. "Keeping still,"
in that highest sense, means stopping the accumulation of kamma, abstaining
from our unceasing concern with evanescent things, abstaining from perpetually
adding to our entanglements in samsara -- the round of repeated birth and
death. By following the way of mindfulness, by training ourselves to keep
still and pause in the attitude of bare attention, we refuse to take up
the world's persistent challenge to our dispositions for greed or hatred.
We protect ourselves against rash and delusive judgements; we refrain from
blindly plunging into the whirlpool of interfering action with all its
inherent dangers.
"He who abstains from interfering
is everywhere secure"
"He who keeps still and knows where
to stop will not meet danger"
(Tao-Te-Ching,
Chapter 44)
The Chinese saying quoted earlier states
in its second part that there is nothing more glorious in making things
start than in keeping still. Explained in the Buddhist sense, these
things effectively started by keeping still are "the things (or qualities)
making for decrease of kammic accumulation." In dealing with them, we may
follow the traditional division of mental training into morality (or conduct),
concentration (or tranquility) and wisdom (or insight). All three are decisively
helped by the attitude of keeping still cultivated by bare attention.
1. Conduct. How can we improve
our conduct, its moral quality and its skill in taking right decisions?
If we earnestly desire such an improvement, it will generally be wisest
to choose the line of least resistance. If we turn too quickly against
those shortcomings deeply rooted in old habits or in powerful impulses,
we might suffer discouraging defeat. We should pay attention first to our
blemishes of action and speech and our errors of judgement caused by thoughtlessness
and rashness. Of these there are many. In our lives there are numerous
instances where one short moment of reflection might have prevented a false
step, and thereby warded off a long chain of misery or moral guilt that
started with a single moment of thoughtlessness. But how can we curb our
rash reactions, and replace them by moments of mindfulness and reflection?
To do so will depend on our capacity to stop and pause, to apply
brakes at the right time, and this we can learn by practicing bare attention.
In that practice we shall train ourselves "to look and wait," to suspend
reactions or slow them down. We shall learn it first the easy way, in situations
of our own choice, within the limited field of experiences met with during
the periods of meditative practice. When facing again and again the incidental
sense impressions, feelings or stray thoughts which interrupt our concentration;
when curbing again and again our desire to respond to them in some way;
when succeeding again and again in keeping still in face of them -- we
shall be preparing ourselves to preserve that inner stillness in the wider
and unprotected field of everyday life. We shall have acquired a presence
of mind that will enable us to pause and stop, even if we are taken by
surprise or are suddenly provoked or tempted.
Our present remarks refer to those
blemishes of conduct liable to arise through thoughtlessness and rashness,
but which may be more or less easily checked through mindfulness. Dexterity
in dealing with these will also affect those more obstinate deviations
from moral conduct rooted in strong passionate impulses or in deeply ingrained
bad habits. The increased tranquility of mind achieved in keeping still
for bare attention will restrain the impetuosity of passions. The acquired
habit of pausing and stopping will act as a brake to the ingrained habits
of indulging in unwholesome deeds.
By being able to keep still for bare
attention, or to pause for wise reflection, very often the first temptation
to lust, the first wave of anger, the first mist of delusion, will disappear
without causing serious entanglement. At which point the current of unwholesome
thought process is stopped will depend on the quality of mindfulness. If
mindfulness is keen, it will succeed at a very early point in calling a
stop to a series of defiled thoughts or actions before we are carried along
by them too far. Then the respective defilements will not grow beyond their
initial strength, less effort will be required to check them, and fewer
kammic entanglements, or none, will follow.
Let us take the example of a pleasant
visual object which has aroused our liking. At first that liking might
not be very active and insistent. If at this point the mind is already
able to keep still for detached observation or reflection, the visual perception
can easily be divested of its still very slight admixture of lust. The
object becomes registered as "just something seen that has caused a pleasant
feeling," or the attraction felt is sublimated into a quiet aesthetic pleasure.
But if that earliest chance has been missed, the liking will grow into
attachment and into the desire to possess. If now a stop is called, the
thought of desire may gradually lose its strength; it will not easily turn
into an insistent craving, and no actual attempts to get possession of
the desired object will follow. But if the current of lust is still unchecked,
then the thought of desire may express itself by speech in asking for the
object or even demanding it with impetuous words. That is, unwholesome
mental kamma is followed by unwholesome verbal kamma. A refusal will cause
the original current of lust to branch out into additional streams of mental
defilements, either sadness or anger. But if even at that late stage one
can stop for quiet reflection or bare attention, accept the refusal, and
renounce wish-fulfilment, further complications will be avoided. However,
if clamoring words are followed by unwholesome bodily kamma, and if, driven
by craving, one tries to get possession of the desired object by stealth
or force, then the kammic entanglement is complete and its consequences
must be experienced in their full impact. But still, if even after the
completion of the evil act, one stops for reflection, it will not be in
vain. For the mindfulness that arises in the form of remorseful retrospection
will preclude a hardening of character and may prevent a repetition of
the same action.
The Exalted One once said to his
son, Rahula (Majjhima 61):
"Whatever action you intend
to perform, by body, speech or mind, you should consider that action...
If, in considering it, you realize: 'This action which I intend to perform
will be harmful to myself, or harmful to others or harmful to both; it
will be an unwholesome action, producing suffering, resulting in suffering'
-- then you should certainly not perform that action.
"Also while you are performing
an action, by body, speech or mind, you should consider that action...
If, in considering it, you realize: 'This action which I am performing
is harmful to myself, or harmful to others or harmful to both; it is an
unwholesome action, producing suffering, resulting in suffering' -- then
you should desist from such an action.
"Also after you have performed
an action, by body, speech or mind, you should consider that action...
If, in considering it, you realize: 'This action which I have performed
has been harmful to myself, or harmful to others, or harmful to both; it
was an unwholesome action, producing suffering, resulting in suffering
-- then you should in the future refrain from it."
2. Tranquility. We shall now
consider how stopping for bare attention also helps one to attain and strengthen
tranquility (samatha) in its double sense: general peace of mind
and meditative concentration.
By developing the habit of pausing
for bare attention, it becomes increasingly easier to withdraw into one's
own inner stillness when unable to escape bodily from the loud, insistent
noises of the outer world. It will be easier to forego useless reactions
to the foolish speech or deeds of others. When the blows of fate are particularly
hard and incessant, a mind trained in bare attention will find a refuge
in the haven of apparent passivity or watchful non-action, from which position
it will be able to wait patiently until the storms have passed. There are
situations in life when it is best to allow things to come to their natural
end. He who is able to keep still and wait will often succeed where aggressiveness
or busy activity would have been vanquished. Not only in critical situations,
but also in the normal course of life, the experience won by observant
keeping still will convince us that we need not actively respond to every
impression we receive, or regard every encounter with people or things
as a challenge to our interfering activity.
By refraining from busying ourselves
unnecessarily, external frictions will be reduced and the internal tensions
they bring will loosen up. Greater harmony and peace will pervade the life
of every day, bridging the gap between normal life and the tranquility
of meditation. Then there will be fewer of those disturbing inner reverberations
of everyday restlessness which, in a coarse or subtle form, invade the
hours of meditation, producing bodily and mental unrest. Consequently,
the hindrance of agitation, a chief obstacle to concentration, will appear
less often and will be easier to overcome when it arises.
By cultivating the attitude of bare
attention as often as opportunity offers, the centrifugal forces of mind,
making for mental distraction, will peter out; the centripetal tendency,
turning the mind inward and making for concentration, will gather strength.
Craving will no longer run out in pursuit of a variety of changing objects.
Regular practice of sustained attention
to a continuous series of events prepares the mind for sustained concentration
on a single object, or a limited number of objects, in the strict
practice of meditation. Firmness or steadiness of mind, another important
factor in concentration, will likewise be cultivated.
Thus, the practice of keeping still,
pausing and stopping for bare attention, fosters several salient components
of meditative tranquility: calmness, concentration, firmness, and reduction
of the multiplicity of objects. It raises the average level of normal consciousness
and brings it closer to the level of the meditative mind. This is an important
point because often too wide a gap between these two mental levels repeatedly
frustrates attempts at mental concentration and hinders the achievement
of smooth continuity in meditative practice.
In the sequence of the seven factors
of enlightenment, we find that the enlightenment factor of tranquility
(passaddhi sambojjhanga) precedes that of concentration (samadhi-sambojjhanga).
Expressing the same fact, the Buddha says: "If tranquilized within, the
mind will become concentrated." Now in the light of our previous remarks,
we shall better understand these statements.
3. Insight. It has been said
by the Exalted One: "He whose mind is concentrated sees things as they
really are." Therefore, all those ways by which bare attention strengthens
concentration also provide a supporting condition for the development of
insight. But there is also a more direct and specific help which insight
receives from keeping still in bare attention.
Generally, we are more concerned
with handling and using things than with knowing them in their true nature.
Thus we usually grasp in haste the very first few signals conveyed to us
by a perception. Then, through deeply ingrained habit, those signals evoke
a standard response by way of judgements such as good-bad, pleasant-unpleasant,
useful-harmful, right-wrong. These judgements, by which we define the objects
in relation to ourselves, lead to corresponding reactions by word or deed.
Only rarely does attention dwell upon a common or familiar object for any
longer time than is needed to receive the first few signals. So, for the
most part, we perceive things in a fragmentary manner and thence misconceive
them. Further, only the very first phase of the object's life-span, or
a little more, comes into the focus of our attention. One may not even
be consciously aware that the object is a process with an extension in
time -- a beginning and an end; that it has many aspects and relations
beyond those casually perceived in a limited situation; that, in brief,
it has a kind of evanescent individuality of its own. A world perceived
in this superficial way will consist of shapeless little lumps of experiences
marked by a few subjectively selected signs or symbols. The symbols chosen
are determined mainly by the individual's self-interest; sometimes they
are even misapplied. The shadow-like world that results includes not only
the outer environment and other persons, but also a good part of one's
own bodily and mental processes. These, too become subjected to the same
superficial manner of conceptualization. The Buddha points out four basic
misconceptions that result from distorted perceptions and unmethodical
attention: taking the impure for pure, the impermanent for lasting, the
painful and pain-bringing for pleasant, and the impersonal for a self or
something belonging to the self. When the seal of self-reference is thus
stamped again and again upon the world of everyday experience, the basic
misconception, "This belongs to me" (attaniya) will steadily put
forth roots into all the bodily and mental factors of our being. Like the
hair-roots of a plant, these will be fine, but firm and widespread -- to
such an extent, in fact, that the notions of "I" and "mine" will hardly
be shaken by mere intellectual convictions about the non-existence of self
(anatta).
These grave consequences issue from
that fundamental perceptual situation: our rush into hasty or habitual
reactions after receiving the first few signals from our perceptions. But
if we muster the restraining forces of mindfulness and pause for bare attention,
the material and mental processes that form the objects of mind at the
given moment will reveal themselves to us more fully and more truly. No
longer dragged at once into the whirlpool of self-reference, allowed to
unfold themselves before the watchful eye of mindfulness, they will disclose
the diversity of their aspects and the wide net of their correlations and
interconnections. The connection with self-interest, so narrow and often
falsifying, will recede into the background, dwarfed by the wider view
now gained. The processes observed display in their serial occurrence and
in their component parts a constant birth and death, a rise and a fall.
Thereby the facts of change and impermanence impress themselves on the
mind with growing intensity. The same discernment of rise and fall dissolves
the false conceptions of unity created under the influence of the egocentric
attitude. Self-reference uncritically overrides diversity; it lumps things
together under the preconceptions of being a self or belonging
to a self. But bare attention reveals these sham unities as impersonal
and conditioned phenomena. Facing thus again and again the evanescent,
dependent and impersonal nature of life-processes with and without, we
will discover their monotony and unsatisfactory nature: in other words,
the truth of suffering. Thus, by the simple device of slowing down, pausing
and keeping still for bare attention, all three of the characteristics
of existence -- impermanence, suffering, and non-self -- will open themselves
to penetrative insight (vipassana).
Spontaneity
An acquired or strengthened habit of
pausing mindfully before acting does not exclude a wholesome spontaneity
of response. On the contrary, through training, the practice of pausing,
stopping, and keeping still for bare attention will itself become quite
spontaneous. It will grow into a selective mechanism of the mind that,
with an increasing reliability and swiftness of response, can prevent the
upsurge of evil or unwise impulses. Without such a skill we may intellectually
realise those impulses to be unwholesome, but still succumb to them due
to their own powerful spontaneity. The practice of pausing mindfully serves,
therefore, to replace unwholesome spontaneity or habits by wholesome ones
grounded in our better knowledge and nobler intentions.
Just as certain reflex movements
automatically protect the body, similarly the mind needs spontaneous spiritual
and moral self-protection. The practice of bare attention will provide
this vital function. A person of average moral standards instinctively
shrinks from thoughts of theft or murder. With the help of the method of
bare attention, the range of such spontaneous moral brakes can be vastly
extended and ethical sensitivity greatly heightened.
In an untrained mind, noble tendencies
and right thoughts are often assailed by the sudden outbreak of passions
and prejudices. They either succumb or assert themselves only with difficulty
after an inner struggle. But if the spontaneity of the unwholesome is checked
or greatly reduced, as described above, our good impulses and wise reflections
will have greater scope to emerge and express themselves freely and spontaneously.
Their natural flow will give us greater confidence in the power of the
good within us; it will also carry more conviction for others. That spontaneity
of the good will not be erratic, for it will have deep and firm roots in
previous methodical training. Here appears a way by which a premeditated
good thought (sasankharika-kusala) may be transformed into a spontaneous
good thought (asankharika-kusala-citta). According to the psychology
of the Abhidhamma, such a thought, if combined with knowledge, takes the
first place in the scale of ethical values. In this way we shall achieve
a practical understanding of a saying in The Secret of the Golden Flower:[7]
"If one attains intentionally to an unintentional state one has comprehension."
This saying invites a paraphrase in Pali terms: Sasankharena asankharijam
pattabbam, "by premeditated intentional effort spontaneity can be won."
If the numerous aids to mental growth
and liberation found in the Buddha's teaching are wisely utilized, there
is actually nothing that can finally withstand the Satipatthana method;
and this method starts with the simple practice of learning to pause and
stop for bare attention.
Slowing-down
Against the impetuosity, rashness and
heedlessness of the untrained mind, the practice of pausing and stopping
sets up a deliberate slowing-down. The demands of modern life, however,
make it impracticable to introduce such a slow-down of function into the
routine of the average working day. But as an antidote against the harmful
consequences of the hectic speed of modern life, it is all the more important
to cultivate that practice in one's leisure hours, especially in periods
of strict Satipatthana practice. Such practice will also bestow the worldly
benefits of greater calm, efficiency and skill in one's daily round of
work.
For the purpose of meditative development,
slowing-down serves as an effective training in heedfulness, sense-control,
and concentration. But apart from that, it has a more specific significance
for meditative practice. In the commentary to the Satipatthana Sutta, it
is said that the slowing down of movements may help in regaining lost
concentration on a chosen object. A monk, so we read, had bent his
arm quickly without remembering his subject of meditation as his rule of
practice demanded. On becoming aware of that omission he took his arm back
to its previous position and repeated the movement mindfully. The subject
of meditation referred to was probably "clearly comprehending action,"
as mentioned in the Satipatthana Sutta: "In bending and stretching he acts
with clear comprehension."
The slowing-down of certain bodily
movements during strict meditative training is particularly helpful in
gaining insight-knowledge (vipassana-?ana), especially the
direct awareness of change and non-self. To a great extent, it is the rapidity
of movement that strengthens the illusions of unity, identity, and substantiality
in what is actually a complex evanescent process. Therefore, in the strict
practice of Satipatthana, the slowing down of such actions as walking,
bending and stretching, so as to discern the several phases of each movement,
provides a powerful aid for direct insight into the three characteristics
of all phenomena. The meditator's contemplation will gain increasing force
and significance if he notices clearly how each partial phase of the process
observed arises and ceases by itself, and nothing of it goes over or "transmigrates"
to the next phase.
Under the influence of pausing for
bare attention, the average rhythm of our everyday actions, speech and
thoughts will also become more quiet and peaceful. Slowing down the hurried
rhythm of life means that thoughts, feelings, and perceptions will be able
to complete the entire length of their natural lifetime. Full awareness
will extend up to their end phase: to their last vibrations and reverberations.
Too often that end phase is cut off by an impatient grasping at new impressions,
or by hurrying on to the next stage of a line of thought before the earlier
one has been clearly comprehended. This is one of the main reasons for
the disorderly state of the average mind, which is burdened by a vast amount
of indistinct or fragmentary perceptions, stunted emotions and undigested
ideas. Slowing-down will prove an effective device for recovering the fullness
and clarity of consciousness. A fitting simile, and at the same time an
actual example, is the procedure called for in the practice of mindfulness
of breathing (anapanasati): mindfulness has to cover the whole extent
of the breath, its beginning, middle and end. This is what is meant by
the passage in the sutta, "Experiencing the whole (breath-) body,
I shall breathe in and out." Similarly, the entire "breath" or rhythm of
our life will become deeper and fuller if, through slowing-down, we get
used to sustained attention.
The habit of prematurely cutting
off processes of thought, or slurring over them, has assumed serious proportions
in the man of modern urban civilization. Restlessly he clamors for ever
new stimuli in increasingly quicker succession just as he demands increasing
speed in his means of locomotion. This rapid bombardment of impressions
has gradually blunted his sensitivity, and thus he always needs new stimuli,
louder, coarser, and more variegated. Such a process, if not checked, can
end only in disaster. Already we see at large a decline of finer aesthetic
susceptibility and a growing incapacity for genuine natural joy. The place
of both is taken by a hectic, short-breathed excitement incapable of giving
any true aesthetic or emotional satisfaction. "Shallow mental breath" is
to a great extent responsible for the growing superficiality of "civilized
man" and for the frightening spread of nervous disorders in the West. It
may well become the start of a general deterioration of human consciousness
in its qualitative level, range and strength. This danger threatens all
those, in the East as well as in the West, who lack adequate spiritual
protection from the impact of technical civilization. Satipatthana can
make an important contribution to remedying this situation, in the way
we have briefly indicated here. Thus the method will prove beneficial from
the worldly point of view as well.
Here, however, we are chiefly concerned
with the psychological aspects of mindfulness and their significance for
meditative development. Sustained attention, helped by slowing-down, will
affect the quality of consciousness mainly in three ways: (a) in intensifying
consciousness; (b) in clarifying the object's characteristic features;
and (c) in revealing the object's relatedness.
(a) An object of sustained attention
will exert a particularly strong and long-lasting impact
on the mind. Its influence will be felt not only throughout the thought-series
immediately following the particular perception, but may also extend far
into the future. It is that causal efficacy which is the measure of the
intensity of consciousness.
(b) sustained attention leads to
a fuller picture of the object in all its aspects. Generally, the
first impression we gain of any new sense-object or idea will be its most
striking feature; it is this aspect of the object which captures our attention
up to the culminating point of the impact. But the object also displays
other aspects or characteristics, and is capable of exercising other functions,
than those we initially notice. These may be less obvious to us or subjectively
less interesting; but still, they may be even more important. There will
also be cases where our first impression is entirely deceptive. Only if
we sustain our attention beyond that first impact will the object reveal
itself more fully. In the downward course of the first perceptual wave
the prejudicing force of the first impact lessens; and it is only then,
in that end phase, that the object will yield a wider range of detail,
a more complete picture of itself. It is therefore only by sustained attention
that we can obtain a clearer understanding of an object's characteristic
features.
(c) Among the characteristic features
of any object, physical or mental, there is one class we often overlook
due to hasty or superficial attention, and therefore needs to be treated
separately. This is the relatedness of the object. The object's
relatedness extends back to its past -- to its origin, causes, reasons,
and logical precedents; it also extends outward to embrace the total context
-- its background, environment, and presently active influences. We can
never fully understand things if we view them in artificial isolation.
We have to see them as part of a wider pattern, in their conditioned and
conditioning nature; and this can be done only with the help of sustained
attention.
Subliminal Influences
The three ways of heightening consciousness
just discussed are evidently of prime importance for the development of
insight. When consciousness is intensified, and its objective field clarified
and discerned in its relational structure, the ground is prepared for "seeing
things according to reality." But besides its obvious direct influence,
this threefold process also has an indirect influence which is no less
powerful and important: it strengthens and sharpens the mind's subliminal
faculties of subconscious organization, memory and intuition. These again,
on their part, nourish and consolidate the progress of liberating insight.
The insight aided by them is like the mountain lake of the canonical simile:
it is fed not only by the outside rains, but also by springs welling up
from within its own depths. The insight nourished by these "underground
subliminal resources of the mind" will have deep roots. The meditative
results that it brings cannot be lost easily, even with unliberated worldlings
who are still subject to relapse.
1. Perceptions or thoughts which
have been objects of sustained attention make a stronger impact on the
mind and reveal their characteristic features more distinctly than when
attention is slack. Thus, when they sink into the subconscious, they occupy
there a special position. This holds true for all three ways of enhancing
the consciousness of an object. (a) In a process of consciousness, if attention
is as strong in the end phase as in the earlier phases, then when the process
is finished and the mind lapses back into subconsciousness, the latter
will be more amenable to conscious control. (b) If an impression or idea
has been marked by numerous distinct characteristics, then when it fades
from immediate awareness, it will not be so easily lost in the vague contents
of the subconscious or dragged by passionate biases into false subconscious
associations. (c) The correct comprehension of the object's relatedness
similarly will protect the experience from being merged with indistinct
subconscious material. Perceptions or thoughts of enhanced intensity and
clarity, absorbed into the subconscious, remain more articulate and more
accessible than contents originating from hazy or "stunned" impressions.
It will be easier to convert them into full consciousness and they will
be less accountable in their hidden effects upon the mind. If, through
an improvement in the quality and range of mindfulness, the number of such
matured impressions increases, the results might be a subtle change in
the very structure of subconsciousness itself.
2. It will be evident from our earlier
remarks that those impressions which we have called "matured" or "more
accessible and convertible," lend themselves more easily and more correctly
to recollection -- more easily because of their greater intensity, more
correctly because their clearly marked features protect them from being
distorted by false associative images or ideas. Remembering them in their
context and relatedness works both ways -- it promotes both easier and
more correct recollection. Thus sati in its meaning and function
of mindfulness helps to strengthen sati in its meaning and function
of memory.
3. The influence of sustained attention
on the subconscious and on memory brings a deepening and strengthening
of the faculty of intuition, particularly the intuitive insight which chiefly
concerns us here. Intuition is not a gift from the unknown. Like any other
mental faculty, it arises out of specific conditions. In this case the
primary conditions are latent memories of perceptions and thoughts stored
in the subconscious. Obviously, the memories providing the most fertile
soil for the growth of intuition will be those marked by greater intensity,
clarity, and wealth of distinctive marks; for it is these that are most
accessible. Here, too, the preserved relatedness of the impressions will
contribute much. Recollections of that type will have a more organic character
than memories of bare or vague isolated facts, and they will fall more
easily into new patterns of meaning and significance. These more articulate
memory images will be a strong stimulation and aid for the intuitive faculty.
Silently, in the hidden depths of the subliminal mind, the work of collecting
and organizing the subconscious material of experience and knowledge goes
on until it is ripe to emerge as an intuition. The break-through
of that intuition is sometimes occasioned by quite ordinary happenings.
However, though seemingly ordinary, these events may have a strong evocative
power if previously they had been made objects of sustained attention.
Slowing-down and pausing for bare attention will uncover the depth dimension
of the simple things of everyday life, and thus provide stimuli for the
intuitive faculty. This applies also to the intuitive penetration of the
Four Noble Truths that culminates in liberation (arahatta). The
scriptures record many instances of monks who could not arrive at intuitive
penetration when engaged in the actual practice of insight meditation.
The flash of intuition struck them on quite different occasions: when stumbling
against a rock or catching sight of a forest fire, a mirage, or a lump
of froth in a river. We meet here another confirmation of that seemingly
paradoxical saying that "intentionally an unintentional state may be won."
By deliberately turning the full light of mindfulness on the smallest events
and actions of everyday life, eventually the liberating wisdom may arise.
Sustained attention not only provides
the nourishing soil for the growth of intuition, it also makes possible
the fuller utilization and even repetition of the intuitive moment. Men
of inspiration in various fields of creative activity have often deplored
their common experience; the flash of intuition strikes so suddenly and
vanishes so quickly that frequently the slow response of the mind hardly
catches the last glimpse of it. But if the mind has been trained in observant
pausing, in slowing-down and sustained attention, and if -- as indicated
above -- the subconscious has been influenced, then the intuitive moment
too might gain that fuller, slower, and stronger rhythm. This being the
case, its impact will be strong and clear enough to allow for full use
of that flash of intuitive insight. It might even be possible to lead its
fading vibrations upward again to a new culmination, similar to the rhythmic
repetition of a melody rising again in harmonious development out of the
last notes of its first appearance.
The full utilization of a single
moment of intuitive insight could be of decisive importance for one's progress
toward full realization. If one's mental grip is too weak and one lets
those elusive moments of intuitive insight slip away without having utilized
them fully for the work of liberation, then they might not recur until
many years have passed, or perhaps not at all during the present life.
Skill in sustained attention, however, will allow one to make full use
of such opportunities, and slowing-down and pausing during meditative practice
is an important aid in acquiring that skill.
Through our treatment of pausing,
stopping and slowing-down, one of the traditional definitions of mindfulness
found in the Pali scriptures will have become more intelligible in its
far-reaching implications: that is, its function of anapilapanata,
meaning literally, "not floating (or slipping) away." "Like pumpkin-pots
on the surface of water," add the commentators, and they continue: "Mindfulness
enters deeply into its object, instead of hurrying only over its surface."
Therefore, "non-superficiality" will be an appropriate rendering of the
above Pali term, and a fitting characterization of mindfulness.
Directness of Vision
I wish I could disaccustom
myself from everything,
so that I might see anew, hear
anew, feel anew,
Habit spoils our philosophy.
G.C. Lichtenberg (1742-1799)
In an earlier section we spoke about
the impulsive spontaneity of the unwholesome. We have seen how stopping
for bare and sustained attention is able to counter, or reduce, our rash
impulsive reactions, thus allowing us to face any situation with a fresh
mind, with a directness of vision unprejudiced by those first spontaneous
responses.
By directness of vision we
understand a direct view of reality, without any coloring or distorting
lenses, without the intrusion of emotional or habitual prejudices and intellectual
biases. It means: coming face to face with the bare facts of actuality,
seeing them as vividly and freshly as if we were seeing them for the first
time.
The Force of Habit
Those spontaneous reactions which so
often stand in the way of direct vision do not derive only from our passionate
impulses. Very frequently they are the product of habit. In that
form, they generally have an even stronger and more tenacious hold on us
-- a hold which may work out either for our good or for our harm. The influence
habit exercises for the good is seen in the "power of repeated practice."
This power protects our achievements and skills -- whether manual or mental,
worldly or spiritual -- against loss or forgetfulness, and converts them
from casual, short-lived, imperfect acquisitions into the more secure possession
of a quality thoroughly mastered. The detrimental effect of habitual
spontaneous reactions is manifest in what is called in a derogative sense
the "force of habit": its deadening, stultifying and narrowing influence
productive of compulsive behavior of various kinds. In our present context
we shall be concerned only with that negative aspect of habit as impeding
and obscuring the directness of vision.
As remarked earlier, habitual reactions
generally have a stronger influence upon our behavior than impulsive ones.
Our passionate impulses may disappear as suddenly as they have arisen.
Though their consequences may be very grave and extend far into the future,
their influence is in no way as long lasting and deep reaching as that
of habit. Habit spreads its vast and closely meshed net over wide areas
of our life and thought, trying to drag in more and more. Our passionate
impulses, too, might be caught in that net and thus be transformed from
passing outbursts into lasting traits of character. A momentary impulse,
an occasional indulgence, a passing whim may by repetition become a habit
we find difficult to uproot, a desire hard to control, and finally an automatic
function we no longer question. Repeated gratification turns a desire into
a habit, and habit left unchecked grows into compulsion.
It sometimes happens that, at an
early time, we regard a particular activity or mental attitude as without
any special personal importance. The activity or attitude may be morally
indifferent and inconsequential. At the start we might find it easy to
abandon it or even to exchange it for its opposite, since neither our emotions
nor reason bias us towards either alternative. But by repetition, we come
to regard the chosen course of action or thought as "pleasant, desirable,
and correct," even as "righteous"; and thus we finally identify it with
our character or personality. Consequently, we feel any break in this routine
to be unpleasant or wrong. Any outside interference with it we greatly
resent, even regarding such interference as a threat to our "vital interests
and principles." In fact at all times primitive minds, whether "civilized"
or not, have looked at a stranger with his "strange customs" as an enemy,
and have felt his mere unagressive presence as a challenge or threat.
At the beginning, when no great importance
was ascribed to the specific habit, the attachment that gradually formed
was directed not so much to the action proper as to the pleasure we derive
from the undisturbed routine. The strength of that attachment to routine
derives partly from the force of physical and mental inertia, so powerful
a motive in man. We shall presently refer to another cause for attachment
to routine. By force of habit, the particular concern -- whether a material
object, an activity, or a way of thinking -- comes to be invested with
such an increase of emotional emphasis, that the attachment to quite unimportant
or banal things may become as tenacious as that to our more fundamental
needs. Thus the lack of conscious control can turn even the smallest habits
into the uncontested masters of our lives. It bestows upon them the dangerous
power to limit and rigidify our character and to narrow our freedom of
movement -- environmental, intellectual and spiritual. Through our subservience
to habit, we forge new fetters for ourselves and make ourselves vulnerable
to new attachments, aversions, prejudices and predilections; that is, to
new suffering. The danger for spiritual development posed by the dominating
influence of habit is perhaps more serious today than ever before; for
the expansion of habit is particularly noticeable in our present age when
specialization and standardization reach into so many varied spheres of
life and thought.
Therefore, when considering the Satipatthana
Sutta's words on the formation of fetters, we should also think of the
important part played by habit:
"...and what fetter arises
dependent on both (i.e. the sense organs and sense objects), that he knows
well. In what manner the arising of the unarisen fetter comes to be, that
he knows well."
In Buddhist terms, it is preeminently
the hindrance of sloth and torpor (thina-middha nivarana) which
is strengthened by the force of habit, and it is the mental faculties such
as agility and pliancy of mind (kaya and citta-lahuta, etc.)[8]
that are weakened.
This tendency of habits to extend
their range is anchored in the very nature of consciousness. It stems not
only from the aforementioned passive force of inertia, but in many cases
from an active will to dominate and conquer. Certain active types of consciousness,
possessing a fair degree of intensity, tend to repeat themselves. Each
one struggles to gain ascendancy, to become a centre around which other
weaker mental and physical states revolve, adapting themselves to and serving
that central disposition. This tendency is never quite undisputed, but
still it prevails, and even peripheral or subordinate types of consciousness
exhibit the same urge for ascendancy. This is a striking parallel to the
self-assertion and domineering tendency of an egocentric individual in
his contact with society. Among biological analogies, we may mention the
tendency toward expansion shown by cancer and other pathological growths;
the tendency toward repetition we meet in the freak mutations which loom
as a grave danger at the horizon of our atomic age.
Due to that will to dominate inherent
in many types of consciousness, a passing whim may grow into a relatively
constant trait of character. If still not satisfied with its position,
it may break away entirely from the present combination of life forces
until finally, in the process of rebirths, it becomes the very centre of
a new personality. There are within us countless seeds for new lives, for
innumerable potential "beings," all of whom we should vow to liberate from
the wheel of samsara, as the Sixth Zen Patriarch expressed it.[9]
Detrimental physical or mental habits
may grow strong, not only if fostered deliberately, but also if left unnoticed
or unopposed. Much of what has now strong roots in our nature has grown
from minute seeds planted in a long-forgotten past (see the Simile of the
Creeper, Majjhima 45). This growth of morally bad or otherwise detrimental
habits can be effectively checked by gradually developing another habit:
that of attending to them mindfully. If we now do deliberately what had
become a mechanical performance, and if prior to doing it we pause a while
for bare attention and reflection -- this will give us a chance to scrutinize
the habit and clearly comprehend its purpose and suitability (satthaka
and sappaya-sampaja??a). It will allow us to make a fresh assessment
of the situation, to see it directly, unobscured by the mental haze that
surrounds a habitual activity with the false assurance: "It is right because
it was done before." Even if a detrimental habit cannot be broken quickly,
the reflective pause will counter its unquestioned spontaneity of occurrence.
It will stamp it with the seal of repeated scrutiny and resistance, so
that on its recurrence it will be weaker and will prove more amenable to
our attempts to change or abolish it.
It need hardly be mentioned that
habit, which has been rightly called "the wet-nurse of man," cannot and
should not disappear from our life. Let us only remember what a relief
it is, particularly in the crowded day and complex life of a city-dweller,
to be able to do a great number of things fairly mechanically with, as
it were, only "half-powered attention." Habit brings considerable simplification
to our life. It would be an unbearable strain if all our little humdrum
activities had to be done with deliberate effort and close attention. In
fact, many operations of manual labor, much of the technique in
art, and even standard procedure in complex intellectual work, generally
bring better and more even results through skilled routine performance.
Yet that evenness of habitual performance will also reach its end point.
Unless enlivened by the creation of new interest, it will show symptoms
of fatigue and start to decline.
Of course it would be absurd to advocate
that all our little habits be abolished, for many are innocuous and even
useful. But we should regularly ask ourselves whether we still have control
over them, whether we can give them up or alter them at will. We can answer
this question for ourselves in two ways: by attending to our habitual actions
mindfully for a certain period of time, and second, by actually giving
them up temporarily in cases where this will not have any harmful or disturbing
effects upon ourselves or others. If we turn on them the light of direct
vision, looking at them or performing them as if for the first time,
these little routine activities, and the habitual sights around us, will
assume a new glow of interest and stimulation. This also holds good for
our professional occupation and its environment, and for our close human
relationships if they should have become stale by habit. The relationship
to one's marriage partner, to friends, to colleagues, may thus receive
a great rejuvenation. A fresh and direct vision will also reveal that one
can relate to people or do things in a different and more beneficial way
than one did before by force of habit.
An acquired capacity to give up minor
habits will prove its worth in the fight against more dangerous proclivities.
It will also come to our aid at times when we are faced with serious changes
in our life which forcefully deprive us of fundamental habits. Loosening
the hardened soil of our routine behavior and thoughts will have an enlivening
effect on our vital energy, our mental vigor, and our power of imagination.
But what is most important, into that loosened soil we shall be able to
plant the seeds of vigorous spiritual progress.
Associative Thought
Mental Habituation to standard reactions,
to sequences of activity, to judgements of people or things proceeds by
way of associative thinking. From the objects, ideas, situations and people
that we encounter, we select certain distinctive marks, and associate these
marks with our own response to them. If these encounters recur, they are
associated first with those marks selected earlier, and then with our original
or strongest response. Thus these marks become a signal for releasing a
standard reaction, which may consist of a long sequence of connected acts
or thoughts familiar through repeated practice or experience. This way
of functioning makes it unnecessary for us to apply new effort and painstaking
scrutiny to each single step in such a sequence. The result is a great
simplification of life, permitting us to release energy for other tasks.
In fact, in the evolution of the human mind, associative thinking was a
progressive step of decisive importance. It enabled us to learn from experience,
and thus led up to the discovery and application of causal laws.
Yet along with these benefits, associative
thinking can also bring many grave dangers if it is applied faultily or
thoughtlessly and not carefully controlled. Let us draw up a partial list
of these danger points:
1. Associative thinking,
recurring again and again in similar situations, may easily perpetuate
and strengthen faulty or incomplete initial observations, errors of judgement,
and emotional prejudices such as love, hate and pride.
2. Incomplete observations and restricted
viewpoints in judgement, sufficient to deal with one particular situation,
may prove quite inadequate and entail grave consequences if mechanically
applied to changed circumstances.
3. Due to misdirected associative
thinking, a strong instinctive dislike may be felt for things, places or
persons which in some way are merely reminiscent of unpleasant experiences,
but actually have no connection with them.
These briefly-stated instances show
how vital it is for us to scrutinize from time to time the mental grooves
of our associative thoughts, and to review the various habits and stereotype
reactions deriving from them. In other words, we must step out of our ruts,
regain a direct vision of things, and make a fresh appraisal of our habits
in the light of that vision.
If we look once again over the list
of potential dangers deriving from uncontrolled associative thinking, we
shall better understand the Buddha's insistence upon getting to the bedrock
of experience. In the profound and terse stanzas called "The Cave," included
in the Sutta Nipata, the Buddha says that the "full penetration
of sense impression (phassa) will make one free from greed" and
that "by understanding perception (sa??a), one will be able to cross
the flood of samsara" (stanza 778 f.).[10]
By placing mindfulness as a guard at the very first gate through which
thoughts enter the mind, we shall be able to control the incomers much
more easily, and shut out unwanted intruders. Thus the purity of "luminous
consciousness" can be maintained against "adventitious defilements" (Anguttara,
1:51).
The Satipatthana Sutta provides a
systematic training for inducing direct, fresh, and undistorted vision.
The training covers the entire personality in its physical and mental aspects,
and includes the whole world of experience. The methodical application
of the several exercises to oneself (ajjhatta), to others (bahiddha),
and alternatingly to both, will help uncover erroneous conceptions due
to misdirected associative thinking and misapplied analogies.
The principal types of false associative
thinking are covered, in the terminology of the Dhamma, by the four kinds
of misapprehension or perverted views (vipallasa), which
wrongly take (1) what is impermanent for permanent, (2) what is painful,
or conducive to pain, for happiness, (3) what has no self and is unsubstantial
for a self or an abiding substance, and (4) what is impure for beautiful.
These perverted views arise through a false apprehension of the characteristic
marks of things. Under the influence of our passions and false theories,
we perceive things selectively in a one-sided or erroneous way, and then
associate them wrongly with other ideas. By applying bare attention to
our perceptions and impressions, gradually we can free them from these
misapprehensions, progressing steadily towards the direct vision
of things as they really are.
The Sense of Urgency
One who has clear and direct vision,
stirred to a sense of urgency (samvega) by things which are deeply
moving, will experience a release of energy and courage enabling him to
break through his timid hesitations and his rigid routine of life and thought.
If that sense of urgency is kept alive, it will bestow the earnestness
and persistence required for the work of liberation.
Thus said the teachers of old:
"This very world here is
our field of action.
It harbors the unfoldment of the
holy path,
And many things to break complacency,
Be stirred by things which may well
move the heart,
And being stirred, strive wisely
and fight on!"
Our closest surroundings are full of
stirring things. If we generally do not perceive them as such, that is
because habit has made our vision dull and our heart insensitive. The same
thing happens to us even with the Buddha's teaching. When we first encounter
the teaching, we receive a powerful intellectual and emotional stimulation;
but gradually the impetus tends to lose its original freshness and impelling
force. The remedy is to constantly renew it by turning to the fullness
of life around us, which illustrates the Four Noble Truths in ever new
variations. A direct vision will impart new lifeblood even to the most
common experiences of every day, so that their true nature appears through
the dim haze of habit and speaks to us with a fresh voice. It may well
be just the long accustomed sight of the beggar at the street corner, or
a weeping child, or the illness of a friend, which startles us afresh,
makes us think, and stirs our sense of urgency in treading resolutely the
path that leads to the cessation of suffering.
We know the beautiful account of
how Prince Siddhatta first came face to face with old age, illness and
death while driving his chariot through the royal city after a long period
of isolation in a make-believe world. This ancient story may well be historical
fact, for we know that in the lives of many great men common events often
gain a symbolic significance and lead to major consequences far beyond
their ordinary appearance. Great minds find significance in the seemingly
commonplace and invest the fleeting moment with far-reaching efficacy.
But, without contesting the inner truth of that old story, we may reasonably
believe that the young prince had actually seen before, with his fleshly
eyes, old people, sick people, and those who had succumbed to death. However,
on all these earlier occasions, he would not have been touched very deeply
by these sights -- as is the case with most of us most of the time. That
earlier lack of sensitivity may have been due to the carefully protected,
artificial seclusion of his petty, though princely, happiness, the hereditary
routine of his life into which his father had placed him. Only when he
broke through the golden cage of easy-going habits could the facts of suffering
strike him as forcibly as if he had seen them for the first time. Then
only was he stirred by them to a sense of urgency that led him out of the
home life and set his feet firmly on the road to enlightenment.
The more clearly and deeply
our minds and hearts respond to the truth of suffering manifest in the
very common facts of our existence, the less often shall we need a repetition
of the lesson and the shorter will be our migration through samsara. The
clarity of perception evoking our response will come from an undeflected
directness of vision, bestowed by bare attention (sati); and the
depth of experience will come from wise reflection or clear comprehension
(sampaja??a).
The Road to Insight
Directness of vision is also a chief
characteristic of the methodical practice of insight meditation. There
it is identified with the direct or experiential knowledge bestowed by
meditation, as distinguished from the inferential knowledge obtained by
study and reflection. In the meditative development of insight, one's own
physical and mental processes are directly viewed, without the interference
of abstract concepts or the filtering screens of emotional evaluation.
For in this context these only obscure or camouflage the naked facts, detracting
from the strong immediate impact of reality. Conceptual generalizations
from experience are very useful in their place; but if they interrupt the
meditative practice of bare attention, they tend to "shove aside" or dispose
of the particular fact, by saying, as it were: "It is nothing else but
this." Generalizing thought inclines to become impatient with a recurrent
type, and after having it classified, soon finds it boring.
Bare attention, however, being the
key instrument of methodological insight, keeps to the particular. It follows
keenly the rise and fall of successive physical and mental processes. Though
all phenomena of a given series may be true to type (e.g., inhalations
and exhalations), bare attention regards each of them as distinct, and
conscientiously registers its separate birth and death. If mindfulness
remains alert, these repetitions of type will, by their multiplication,
exert not a reduced but an intensified impact on the mind. The three characteristics
-- impermanence, suffering, and voidness of self-inherent in the process
observed, will stand out more and more clearly. They will appear in the
light shed by the phenomena themselves, not in a borrowed light,
not even a light borrowed from the Buddha, the peerless and indispensable
guide to these experiences.
These physical and mental phenomena,
in their "self-luminosity," will then convey a growing sense of urgency
to the meditator: revulsion, dissatisfaction, awareness of danger, followed
by detachment -- though certainly joy, happiness, and calm, too, will not
be absent throughout the practice. Then, if all other conditions of inner
maturity are fulfilled, the first direct vision of final liberation will
dawn with the stream-winner's (sotapanna) indubitable knowledge:
"Whatever has the nature of arising, has the nature of vanishing."
Thus, in the unfoldment of the power
of mindfulness, Satipatthana will prove itself as the true embodiment of
the Dhamma, of which it was said:
"Well-proclaimed is the
Dhamma by the Blessed One, visible here and now, not delayed, inviting
inspection, onward-leading, to be directly experienced by the wise."
Notes
1.
See Nyanaponika Thera, The Heart of Buddhist Meditation (London;
Rider & Co., 1962). [Go back]
2.
Comy. to Sutta Nipata v. 334. [Go back]
3.
Anagarika B. Govinda, The Psychological Attitude of Early Buddhist Philosophy
(London: Rider & Co., 1961). [Go back]
4.
The Way of Mindfulness, Bhikku Soma (Kandy: Buddhist Publication
Society, 1975), p. 83. [Go back]
5.
See Path of Purification, p. 135 f. [Go back]
6.
Ibid, pp. 136 ff. The three rousing factors are investigation, energy
and rapture; the three calming ones, tranquility, concentration and equanimity.
[Go back]
7.
A treatise of Chines Taoism, strongly influenced by Mahayana. [Go
back]
8.
About these important qualitative constituents of good, wholesome (kusala)
consciousness, see the author's Abhidhamma Studies (Kandy, Sri Lanka:
Buddhist Publication Society, 1965), pp. 51 f. [Go back]
9.
This may be a somewhat ironical reference by that great sage to the fact
that the well-known Mayayanic Bodhisattva vow of liberating all beings
of the universe is often taken much too light-heartedly by many of his
fellow Mahayanists. [Go back]
10.
Compare also the passage on the significance of sense impression (or contact)
in the concluding section of the Brahmajala Sutta (Digha 1). [Go
back]
For further reading on
Satipatthana meditation
The Way of Mindfulness.
The Satipatthana Sutta and Commentary. tr. with introduction by Soma Thera.
5th edition (Kandy: Buddhist Publication Society)
The Foundations of Mindfulness.
(Satipatthana Sutta) tr. with introduction and notes by Nyanasatta Thera.
WHEEL No. 19
The Satipatthana Sutta and its
Application to Modern Life. V.F. Gunaratna. WHEEL No. 60
"Protection through Satipatthana."
Nyanaponika Thera. Bodhi Leaves No. B 34
The Progress of Insight through
the Stages of Purification. Mahasi Sayadaw. (Kandy: Buddhist Publication
Society)
Practical Insight Meditation,
Basic and Progressive Stages. Mahasi Sayadaw. (Kandy: Buddhist Publication
Society)
The Heart of Buddhist Meditation.
A Handbook of Mental Training based on the Buddha's Way of Mindfulness.
Nyanaponika Thera. (London: Rider & Co.) (Also available in France,
Germany, Italy and Spain in their respective languages.)
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publications will be sent free of charge upon request. Write to:
The Hony. Secretary
BUDDHIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY
P.O. Box 61
54, Sangharaja Mawatha
Kandy
Sri Lanka
or
Barre Center for Buddhist
Studies
149 Lockwood Road
Barre, MA 01005 USA
Revised: 9 November 1998
http://world.std.com/~metta/lib/bps/wheels/wheel121.html
Update: 01-05-2001