Our reactions are a "second dart" that can cause a lot of distress

I'm certainly no Buddha, nor even much of a Buddhist, since while I enjoy non-religious Buddhist teachings, in no way do I consider myself a Buddhist.

But occasionally i have some moments that are in line with Buddhist wisdom, such as what's espoused in an excellent book, "Buddha's Brain: The practical neuroscience of happiness, love, and wisdom."

Last night my wife, Laurel, and I started watching the fourth season of Yellowstone, a streaming series that I like more than Laurel. (Often we alternate in our nightly TV watching between a series she likes more than me, like Bridgerton, and a series I like more than her, like Yellowstone.)

Laurel places much more of an emphasis on realism in movies and television than I do. So yesterday she spoke up several times in the first few minutes of Episode 1 of Season 4, pointing out how this or that couldn't really have happened the way it did in Yellowstone.

I was tempted to argue with her. But after 32 years of marriage, I've learned that some things are worth arguing about with Laurel, and some aren't. Like this one. So I basically kept saying things like, "OK, I see what you mean," which acknowledged her claim of unreality without endorsing it.

(Me, I figure that if I want reality, I just need to look at everyday life. What I want from television or movies is entertainment, getting away from everyday reality into an alternative view of the world.)

What I did, in terminology used by the Buddha's Brain authors, was keep the First Dart of Laurel's criticisms of Yellowstone from becoming a Second Dart caused by my reaction to her comments. Here's how Hanson and Mendius describe the two darts.

Some physical discomfort is unavoidable; it's a crucial signal to take action to protect life and limb, like the pain that makes you pull your hand back from a hot stove. Some mental discomfort is inevitable, too.

For example, as we evolved, growing emotional investments in children and other members of the band motivated our ancestors to keep those carriers of their genes alive; understandably, then, we feel distress when dear ones are threatened and sorrow when they are harmed.

We also evolved to care deeply about our place in the band and in the hearts of others, so it's normal to feel hurt if you're rejected or scorned.

To borrow an expression from the Buddha, inescapable physical or mental discomfort is the "first dart" of existence. As long as you live and love, some of those darts will come your way.

First darts are unpleasant to be sure. But then we add our reactions to them. These reactions are "second darts" -- the ones we throw ourselves. Most of our suffering comes from second darts. 

Suppose you're walking through a dark room at night and stub your toe on a chair; right after the first dart of pain comes a second dart of anger: "Who moved that darn chair?!" Or maybe a loved one is cold to you when you're hoping for some caring; in addition to the natural drop in the pit of your stomach (first dart), you might feel unwanted (second dart) as a result of having been ignored as a child.

Second darts often trigger more second darts through associative neural networks: you might feel guilt about your anger that someone moved the chair, or sadness that you feel hurt yet again by someone you love. 

In relationships, second darts create vicious cycles: your second-dart reactions trigger reactions from the other person, which set off more second darts from you, and so on.

Remarkably, most of our second-dart reactions occur when there is in fact no first dart anywhere to be found -- when there's no pain inherent in the conditions we're reacting to. We add suffering to them. For example, sometimes I'll come home from work and the house will be a mess, with the kid's stuff all over.

That's the condition. Is there a first dart in the coats and shoes on the sofa or the clutter covering the counter? No, there isn't; no one dropped a brick on me or hurt my children. Do I have to get upset? Not really. I could ignore the stuff, pick it up calmly, or talk with them about it.

Sometimes I manage to handle it that way. But if I don't, then the second darts start landing, tipped with the Three Poisons: greed makes me rigid about how I want things to be, hatred gets me all bothered and angry, and delusion tricks me into taking the situation personally.

Saddest of all, some second-dart reactions are to conditions that are actually positive. If someone pays you a compliment, that's a positive situation. But then you might start thinking, with some nervousness and even a little shame: Oh, I'm not really that good a person. Maybe they'll find out I'm a fraud.

Right there, needless second-dart suffering begins.

Comments

[Sonya]

“Laurel places much more of an emphasis on realism in movies and television than I do.“

And she likes Bridgerton? 😂

[Appreciative Reader]

Very wise words, indeed. And this sums up much of the Buddha's teachings.

My only issue with this kind of teaching --- that I myself try to inculcate and live by, by the way, as best I can --- is ...well, perhaps I can best explain what I mean by comparing it to volatility and risk. Risk is generally defined in terms of volatility. So that limiting risk is an exercising in limiting volatility (or the effects of volatility). No matter what means you employ, be it vanilla diversification or else more complex hedging strategies, limiting risk (or trying to) ends up basically tamping volatility (or the effects of volatility). What that limits is not just the downside, which is what you were basically trying to do, but in the process it limits the upside as well.

Likewise here. In as much your temperament, and/or your reflections, and/or your meditation practice, ends up tamping down your "secondary darts", you end up limiting not just the "suffering" that these secondary darts bring in their wake, but the 'happy aftertaste', if I may call it that, that these secondary darts sometimes/often bring in, as well. So that one is less susceptible not just to suffering, but to happiness as well. (Unless one defines happiness as merely unruffled contentment --- that is, indeed, facilitated and enhanced, and that's a great thing too.)

In theory I guess you could choose to let in some darts, while not letting through others; but I don't think it works that way. At least that hasn't been my experience. Effectively what this sort of practice and understanding does is to guide you towards becoming a more balanced person, someone that is less volatile, and someone that is less susceptible to volatility in external stimuli. Which on the one hand leads to lesser "suffering"; but on the other hand it also leads to less of unbridled joy. But sedate-ish somewhat-contemplative contentment, which is what you arrive at (or strive to), well it isn't that bad I guess. At least it's better than the more volatile alternative.

[Spence Tepper]

It is surprising the authors have missed, apparently, a good deal of actual neuroscience.

The brain attenuates what you actually see, and after re-creating a version of it, then reports that version to you. Even the first dart, or your perception of it, is already filtered, classified and re-drawn before you see it, and that is affected by your conditioning, current disposition and locus of attention.

To imply some objective first dart actually exists, is a misunderstanding.

We are always reacting to our reaction, and consciouly aware of only a portion of that.

Our wiggle space is to remain calm and observe our own minds at work.

That is a process of separating our consciousness from our own train of thinking. Hence the utility of meditation, which is that very practice.

When we do this, when we think less we experience more.

And seeing more, from a larger view, we are less reactive.