Church of the Churchless

Maybe it's time to give up on hope

I'm conflicted about hope, the desire for something to happen. It certainly seems like a good thing, a shoulder to lean on in tough times, a positive compass heading when happenings in your life are going in the wrong direction.

I've relied on hope a lot, as have we all, most likely. I've dreamed of better times, of bouncing back from a disappointment, of finding a way to accomplish something difficult.

For most of us, it's difficult to imagine not living without hope. 

If we get sick, we hope we'll soon be well. If a romantic relationship falls apart, we hope that love will return to our life in a different guise. If we're fired from our job, we hope that our next employment opportunity will be better.

So hope appears to be a psychological drug with no negative side effects. It lifts us up when we're down, a mood elevator that doesn't require a doctor's prescription. 

However...

There's also something to be said for giving up on hope. It's unclear to me whether that saying, whatever it might consist of, outweighs the benefits of hope. I simply have a feeling, based on my own experience, that hope isn't always a good thing.

One drawback is that it contains the seed of disappointment. Whether that seed sprouts depends on the outcome of our hoping. If we fill our mind with a strong desire that X will occur, the appearance of Y with no sign of X is going to cause us to feel letdown. 

Now, would it be better if there was no hope for X? I don't know. Perhaps.

That way, if X comes to be, it would strike us as a wonderful surprise, not the fulfillment of an expectation. And if X never happens, the disappointment caused by a gap between hope and reality wouldn't exist. 

Another potential drawback is that hope can prevent us from living in the here-and-now. It's tempting to fill our mind with visions of what might be, rather than what is. Taken to extremes, this can prevent us from fully appreciating the life we actually have, because it is so different from the life we hope for.

Still, I find it difficult to recommend giving up on hope, which is why the title of this blog post starts with "Maybe." Hope can be the only thing that stands between us and despair. Yes, hope can be a crutch. But when we're limping along, a crutch can be what we most need.

Since I've become a fan of mindfulness, a middle ground strikes me as a good way to go. Keep on hoping, yet be aware of what you're doing.

Sometimes I say aloud, "Yes, I hope that..."

This helps me realize that I've got an expectation that might be fulfilled, or it might not. There's no guarantee, just a hope. It's when a hope becomes an obsession that problems arise. If we can't stop thinking, "It would be so wonderful if...", perhaps we've allowed hope to occupy too large of a place in our life.

Or, maybe not. There's certainly an argument for letting hope become as grand as possible, bigger than a mountain, more enduring than a diamond.

Like I said, I'm conflicted about hope.

Calm clear consciousness -- my new favorite "mantra"

OK, calm clear consciousness isn't really a mantra for me, notwithstanding the title of this blog post.

Those are just three words that I've been saying to myself a few times a day, because they do a good job of summing up my current approach to meditation and spirituality.

Here's some additional words that explain part of the meaning that I attribute to calm clear consciousness. 

Consciousness. Everything we have experienced, are experiencing, and will experience is dependent on consciousness. No consciousness, no experience. 

But there are degrees of consciousness.

There's a big difference between someone comatose, in a dreamless deep sleep, awake, and so on. We also can be conscious but not aware, such as when we do something yet don't know that we did it -- like locking a car and then wondering if the car is locked as we walk away from it. 

And consciousness is inherently subjective. Humans have a different form of consciousness from other primates, and even more different from bats, birds, bees, and the many other living creatures that appear to possess consciousness to one degree or another.

Thus consciousness is private. No one has direct access to anyone else's consciousness. At least, there is no demonstrable evidence of this.

Some people view consciousness as something separate from what we are conscious of. I'm skeptical about this, since I have no idea what consciousness without some conscious content would feel like or be like. 

That, though, is a peripheral issue for me. The brain produces consciousness. Whether consciousness is something that can stand alone, or is always associated with some conscious experience -- that's scientifically unanswerable at the moment, and may always be.

Clear. We don't see things as they are, but as they appear to us. That's the nature of conscious experience. Just as there are degrees of consciousness, so are there degrees of conscious clarity.

This is difficult to put into words, though I think almost everyone knows what I'm talking about. 

Sometimes life seems murky, shadowy, difficult to discern. In my experience, this occurs most often when too many things are competing for my attention at the same time, since the human brain isn't equipped to multi-task. 

Typically we can do one thing at a time well; two things with some difficulty, like driving while having a phone conversation; three things at a time is very difficult, like driving, talking on the phone, and changing the station on a car radio.

So to me, "clear" has a lot to do with being mindful.

Meaning, knowing what we're experiencing while we're experiencing it. If I lock my car, that's an experience. However, if i don't know that I've locked the car because I was thinking of what to have for dinner while performing this habitual action, i'm into murky conscious territory, not clear territory.

In other words, I aim to be as clear as possible about what I'm doing, feeling, thinking, and otherwise experiencing. Not in the sense of watching myself as an outside observer, but rather as a conscious undistracted subject.

Calm. Even if water isn't murky or clouded, it still can be difficult to see what's beneath the surface of it if the water is rocked by waves.

Likewise, even if my consciousness is quite clear, if I'm focused on one thing and am well aware of it, my emotions can make it difficult to really tell what is happening with my experience. Or, can make it difficult for me to respond appropriately to what I'm experiencing. 

For about 30 years I've practiced some form of martial arts. Karate at first, then a mixed form of martial arts, and Tai Chi for the past 16 years. 

So this has offered me a lot of direct experience of what happens when my mind isn't calm. Being anxious about getting hit in the face doesn't help with not getting hit in the face. All it does is make me tense up, which reduces my ability to dodge a punch and respond in an effective fashion.

Likewise with other situations where I'm not calm. Arguing with someone when I'm angry doesn't help me "win" the argument (assuming anyone ever wins an argument; I just can't think of a better word).

But I've also found that it doesn't help to pretend that my mind is calm when it actually isn't.

Which gets me back to mindfulness. Simply saying to myself, "I'm upset," has a way of making me less upset, because speaking those words to myself creates some distance between the emotion and my awareness of it.

Anyway, I'm enjoying playing around with using calm clear consciousness as words that represent a sort of goal for me.

I'm a believer in the power of our unconscious or non-conscious mind, which modern neuroscience and psychology tell us is by far the greatest part of our mind. Since most of us talk to ourselves a lot, it makes sense to me to speak some words, now and then, that point to how I'd like my mind to be.

Not all of the time, obviously, since I don't have that much control over my mind. But more of the time.

Calm clear consciousness. Something to aspire to.

 

I agree with Alan Watts. Except when I don't.

Below is a quotation from Alan Watts that someone emailed to me, asking what I thought of it. I've shared my response after the quotation, but I want to add on a few additional thoughts that came to mind after re-reading what Watts said.

I completely agree with Watts that there's a time and place for fully immersing ourselves in the lush sensuality of the world without putting on unnecessary coverings of thoughts, concepts, abstract ideas, and such.

Likewise, a warm bath or hot sauna feels best when completely naked.

But note my use of the word "unnecessary." Sometimes it makes sense to think while we're engaged in sensing the world. And sometimes it doesn't. Also, there are gradations of thinking, from mild to intense.

So it depends. There's no way to specify what "it" and "depends" refer to, because people are different; situations are different; so many other things can be different. 

In the first paragraph, Watts speaks of "giving up the attempt to make sense of the world in terms of any fixed idea or intellectual system."

YES! On this I heartily agree with Alan Watts.

Which means that what Watts says below can't be taken in any fixed way, nor can what I say in this blog post, nor can anyone else's ideas about anything. All we can do is do our best in any given situation. 

As one of my elementary school teachers, Eleanor Marshall, liked to say: Do your best. Angels can do no better.

Here's the quote from Watts:

Atheism in the name of God is an abandonment of all religious beliefs, including atheism, which in practice is the stubbornly held idea that the world is a mindless mechanism. Atheism in the name of God is giving up the attempt to make sense of the world in terms of any fixed idea or intellectual system.

It is becoming again as a child and laying oneself open to reality as it is actually and directly felt, experiencing it without trying to categorize, identify or name it. This can be most easily begun by listening to the world with closed eyes, in the same way that one can listen to music without asking what it says or means.

This is actually a turn-on, a state of consciousness in which the past and future vanish (because they cannot be heard) and in which there is no audible difference between yourself and what you are hearing. There is simply universe, an always present happening in which there is no perceptible difference between self and other, or, as in breathing, between what you do and what happens to you.

Without losing command of civilized behavior, you have temporarily "regressed" to what Freud called the oceanic feeling of the baby, the feeling that we all lost in learning to make distinctions, but that we should have retained as their necessary background, just as there must be empty white paper under this print if you are to read it.

When you listen to the world in this way, you have begun to practice what Hindus and Buddhists call meditation, a re-entry to the real world, as distinct from the abstract world of words and ideas.

If you find that you can't stop naming the various sounds and thinking in words, just listen to yourself doing that as another form of noise, a meaningless murmur like the sound of traffic. I won't argue for this experiment. Just try it and see what happens, because this is the basic act of faith of being unreservedly open and vulnerable to what is true and real. ~Alan Watts

And here's what I said in my email reply.

I sort of understand what Watts is saying here, but it doesn’t make much sense to me. 

We adults are not babies. We can’t regress ourselves back into a baby-like state where we lack words, concepts, and such. I can’t look at my coffee mug without thinking, “I just drank coffee out of it.” Viewing it simply as a blueish object with a semi-circular thingie on one side seems exceedingly backward and counter-productive.

It’s a coffee mug with a handle.

Sure, I enjoy going on dog walks and doing Tai Chi with minimal thinking. But minimal doesn’t mean non-existent. In the back of my mind there’s an awareness of where I am and what I’m doing that involves words and concepts. I see no problem with this.

I read a lot of books about neuroscience. There’s no such thing as “pure awareness.” The brain is actively engaged in making sense of the senses, so to speak. Our past experiences with something inform how we view that something now. This isn’t a problem. It’s a feature of how the human brain makes sense of reality.

In my view, we shouldn’t be trying to regress ourselves into an infantile state. Instead, we should use our current adult consciousness as a springboard to become wiser, more compassionate, kinder, more caring.

That said, I should have noted in my response that Watts spoke of listening to our verbal inner dialogue "as another form of noise, a meaningless murmur like the sound of traffic."

This is close to my understanding of what mindfulness practices teach, though Watts is more extreme in his disavowal of concepts and thoughts. There's nothing wrong with thoughts. There's nothing wrong with concepts. There's nothing wrong with the words we speak inside our head. 

(Most people do this. However, I've read that some people lack inner speech, substituting images, intuitions, and such for words spoken to ourself.)

My problem with what Watts said in the quotation above is that while he claims that his goal is to be "open to reality as it is actually and directly felt," seemingly he wants to ignore the reality of thoughts, concepts, and abstract ideas when they are directly felt within one's brain. 

Mindfulness means being open to everything we experience. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Thoughts and thoughtlessness. Emotions. Sensory impressions. And so much more. Our goal is to be as non-judgmentally aware as possible of what is within and without us.

This leads to living life more vividly. It doesn't mean that we welcome everything that happens, or give up our hopes for our life to change in certain ways. It simply means that, as Watts correctly said, we open ourself to reality as it is.

Belonging is what we long for

I'm not religious now. But I used to be. 

What turned me off about religions was how divisive they often are. Each religion has its own theology, its own rituals, its own moral codes. 

I got tired of feeling special. I got tired of feeling different. My spiritual quest now is to find common ground, to come to grips with whatever universal human yearning leads people to seek solace in religions.

Today I started reading a book about how psychedelic entheogens -- psilocybin, peyote, mescaline, LSD, and I'd add marijuana in a sense -- can produce a sense of divinity that is common to other varieties of mystical experiences.

The second chapter of Entheogens and the Future of Religion featured a transcript of an extemporaneous talk by Brother David Steindl-Rast that he gave at a 1984 gathering of scientists and religious thinkers at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California.

I liked how Steindl-Rast, a Benedictine monk, spoke of belonging as being what we all long for. Sure, as you can read in the passages below, he gives the term "God" to that to which we absolutely belong. 

Since I'm an atheist, I prefer "cosmos," "universe," or "world." But what's important isn't the word used to describe what we long to belong to, because there's no end to those words.

Family. Neighborhood. Friends. Nation. Lover. Humanity. Planet. Ecosystem. Life.

So many words, all pointing to a sense of belonging, of connectivity, of interrelationship. There aren't any bounds to belonging, because we can feel that we belong to all kinds of entities, with "God" being a traditional way of expressing the grandest sense of belonging (though again, cosmos or existence is equally grand).

Here's what Steindl-Rast says about belonging in his talk.

I thought I would briefly sketch how I see the relationship between spirituality and religion and theology -- all terms that have been tossed around here. In my understanding of it, and from the particular perspective from which I come to it, it all starts with our mystical experience.

This is one point where I would question how John Perry meant his statement. I wrote it down and tried to capture it verbatim: "It is impossible to convince the general public that there is such a reality as a mystical experience."

Now I question that.

I have had the opportunity to address all kinds of "general public." Some of them were most unlikely to be convinced offhand that there is such a thing as a mystical experience, let alone that they themselves had one. But I have never come across a group in which the majority could not be led to realize that they had had a mystical experience.

In fact, I am convinced that our typical awareness as humans, our human consciousness, is based on the mystical experience, i.e., the experience that we unconditionally belong. This is my way of expressing the essence of a mystical experience: an overwhelming sense of unconditional belonging. 

I would be very interested in hearing how some of you express the same thing from different perspectives.

I always try to speak about it in common human language, in terms that anybody can understand. First, I get people settled and willing to listen, willing to look at themselves. 

Then I ask them, "Does it make sense to you that before you are aware of anything else, you have a sense of belonging? Not necessarily before in time, but ontologically. Is that sense of belonging not the basis of your awareness that you are and who you are? 

Almost everyone says "Yes." That is enough for me.

...In some respects it is easier to speak about these things without using the term "God." It lends itself to too many misunderstandings. But if we want to use it as a kind of shortcut, it is in the context of our mystical awareness that "God" comes in.

For anyone who uses that term "God" will agree: God is the one to whom we absolutely belong. We are back at that sense of belonging. 

Before you fill this notion of God with anything else, you can say, those who use the term "God" correctly mean by it the reference point of our sense of belonging. But with this sense of belonging goes a sense of longing. Check that out against your own experience.

Here this whole thing comes in motion. This is something I cannot explain further. It is an experiential fact. We long for that to which we most deeply belong. Poets have expressed this very beautifully. T.S. Eliot says:

We shall not cease from exploration
and the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
and knew the place for the first time.

That is Home. Home is where one starts from. This tension of belonging and longing constitutes the dynamism of our inner quest.

Yes, I've changed my mind about spirituality. That's a good thing.

Today a commenter on one of my blog posts said something astoundingly obvious -- that what I write about now is different from what I wrote about five or ten years ago.

Well, duh...

I'm constantly changing, as are we all. I learn, grow, evolve, change my mind, look upon things differently. 

Since I've published a book that consists of Church of the Churchless posts from the early years of this blog, 2004 to 2006, I'm well aware of how my approach to spirituality has changed since then.

If you read Break Free of Dogma, and naturally everybody should, you'll see that I've added a short introduction to each post that talks about how I look now at what I wrote back then.

That's because my own journey of breaking free of religious dogma was a gradual affair.

I can liken it to dismantling a Belief House that was built up over my 35 years of being an active member of a India-based religious organization, Radha Soami Satsang Beas.

It took me quite a while to figure out what parts of that Belief House still appealed to me, and what parts needed to be demolished because they didn't fit with my current understanding of reality.

Earlier this year I wrote "Changing your mind is a superpower. Use it." Here's excerpts.

I have a superpower. But unlike those with superpowers who inhabit the pages of comic books and the screens of movie theaters, my astounding ability is available to everyone.

It's called changing your mind. 

I'm sure you've used it  -- many times. After all, we change our minds about countless things during the course of our lives. For example, I've changed my mind about my...

Politics (Used to be conservative, now I'm a liberal).
Cars (I've gone from a 57' VW bug to a 2017 VW GTI, with many other makes in between). 
Marriage (Got divorced, then remarried).
Profession (Earned a master's in social work, then went into health planning/research).
Eating (Loved meat until I became a vegetarian in 1970).
Residence (Grew up in the country, then lived in cities, now back in the country again).
Religion (Was Catholic for a while as a child, then a believer in an Eastern religion, and now an atheist).

So how is changing your mind a superpower? After all, everybody does this, all the time. True, but since we're so used to changing our minds, it's easy to overlook how marvelous this ability is.

First, to change your mind you need to have one.

Rocks don't have minds. Nor do stars. Living beings, though, have various sorts of minds. We humans have a powerful one. Other primates, ditto, though to a lesser degree. Plants have some sort of cognizance, but probably not a mind. Computers are very adept at certain tasks, yet so far lack what we would call a "mind."

Thus people are able to learn, adapt, modify our thinking, feeling, intuition, and such.

Because very little of human behavior is controlled by instinct, we have the capacity to transmit knowledge between people and across generations. We can read Plato and understand a great mind that lived thousands of years ago, thereby altering our own.

One of the best things about being able to change our mind is how good it feels, and how freeing it is. 

...I'm not saying that change is always welcome, or even tolerable.

That isn't what I mean by changing your mind being a superpower. Sure, it is possible to reduce anxiety, fear, suffering, and such by altering one's thoughts and feelings, but I'm not aware of anybody who can remain completely unmoved by severe pain, disappointment, or loss. 

What is possible, though, is altering our psyche to embrace a new reality, even though it may be unwelcome. That's a superpower in and of itself -- the ability to say "This is...," no matter what those three dots stand for.

Here's some examples of what I mean.

On this blog I've been writing quite a bit about the legal, financial, and ethical troubles involving the guru of Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB), Gurinder Singh Dhillon. I was a member of RSSB for 35 years, so I like to use this organization as an example of how religions can be wrong, and do wrong, since I'm so familiar with it. 

(If I'd remained a Catholic for 35 years, then became an atheist, likely I'd be using Catholicism as an example of bad religion.)

Fairly frequently commenters on my blog posts about the Dhillon family's alleged criminality will say something like, "Brian, when it turns out that the guru did nothing wrong, you're going to be unable to accept this." 

That really isn't true. 

Because I'm adept at changing my mind, if the Indian legal system ends up exonerating Gurinder Singh Dhillon, I'll accept that reality with very little trouble. In the same fashion, back in November 2016 it took a few days for me to fully accept that Donald Trump had been elected president of the United States.

But it didn't take long for my mind to adjust to a new reality.

Now I'm hoping Trump will be a one-term president. If that doesn't happen, and he is re-elected, I'll be disappointed. However, I won't deny that this happened. (I do worry, though, that Trump won't be able to accept the reality of a 2020 defeat.)

I'll end by noting that even though I'm used to many varieties of religious craziness after 15 years of regularly writing here on the Church of the Churchless, it still surprises me when a commenter expresses extreme surprise at how I could have changed my mind about the validity of the RSSB teachings after being a member of the organization for such a long time.

Often I'll ask them how many things they have changed their mind about during their lifetime. Have you stuck with the same job, same car, same residence, same friends, same political views? Almost certainly not.

There's something about religion that encourages a rigidity of mind that isn't nearly as evident in other areas of life. Members of some religions, like Mormonism or Scientology, will shun people who leave the religion. Yet if someone changes their mind in a way that leads them to join the religion, that's not only fine, it's marvelous. 

For many fundamentalists, mind-changing is a one-way street. It's great if you convert to their religion, yet horrible if you deconvert.

Strange? Yes.

But since just about every religion believes that it, and it alone, is privy to the eternal ultimate truth of the cosmos, this encourages true believers to denigrate anyone who embraces that religion, then chooses to leave it. I guess changing one's mind makes those fundamentalists fearful that their chosen faith really isn't true.

Which, almost certainly, it isn't.

I feel good about having changed my mind to realize this. It's much more pleasurable to accept reality as it is, or at least as it appears, than to cling to a rigid way of thinking that no longer makes sense to me.

Mindfulness is calculus made spiritual

OK, I'm wading into some deep philosophical waters here, given the title of this blog post, because I only took one semester of calculus in graduate school, and then only because I was forced to by the powers-that-be in control of the Portland State University Systems Science Ph.D program.

I found calculus to be difficult. By contrast, I've gotten back to reading an engaging book by Stephen Strogatz about calculus, Infinite Powers, which I blogged about back in August, noting that it had some spiritual aspects.

This morning, reading a chapter on "The Vocabulary of Change" before I meditated, I was struck by how mindfulness practice -- which basically involves focusing on what's going on here-and-now versus there-and-then -- resembles what Strogatz calls the Infinity Principle. 

Here's how Strogatz described this in the chapter I read today. 

Notice that we are using the Infinity Principle here -- we are trying to make a complicated curve simpler by chopping it into infinitesimal straight pieces. This is what we always do in calculus. Curved shapes are hard; straight shapes are easy, even if there are infinitely many of them and even if they are infinitesimally small. Calculating a derivative in this way is a quintessential calculus move and one of the most fundamental applications of the Infinity Principle.

In his book, Strogatz uses a graph of the length of days to talk about how an underlying mathematical function, in this case the complex motions of the Earth as it revolves around the sun, is used to produce a graph such as the one below that I found via some Googling.

What struck me is that while it's impossible to derive a mathematical function of life, we all have the feeling that our life consists of ups and downs. 

Our most significant "up," of course, is the moment of our birth. And our most significant "down" is the moment of our death. But in-between those moments we experience a wide variety of joys and sorrows, triumphs and disappointments, pleasures and pains.

It's natural to view the present moment in the context of both remembered previous ups and downs, and of imagined future ups and downs. However, this makes more sense when something is genuinely cyclical, as is the case with the amount of daylight (vertical axis in image above).

In our own life, it's often difficult to predict what is going to happen next. And our memory of what's happened in the past is prone to errors, since we tend to remember most clearly the Big Moments in life, not the Ordinary Moments -- even though the latter are much more common than the former.

So there's a lot to like about mindfulness, which I've noted is my current approach to meditation. 

Calculus can deal with curves such as those in the image above because it divides them into an infinity of straight lines. Similarly, mindfulness helps us to deal with the ever-changing circumstances of our life by guiding us to focus on the small things that are happening at this very moment, rather than the largeness of our actual past and potential future.

I'm not saying that mindfulness in any way takes away ups and downs, or pleasures and pains. But just as a portion of a curved line looks almost exactly straight if it is zoomed in enough, so are we able to look upon our life with more equanimity if we're able to be mindful of what is actually occurring to us -- versus what we hope will occur, or are worried will occur.

As a final observation, Strogatz uses Usain Bolt's record-breaking 100 meter dash performance in the 2009 World Championships as an example of how small ups and downs are largely meaningless when looking at a curve that is smooth at a larger scale. He shares a graph based on laser guns that tracked Bolt's speed hundreds of times a second.

The little wiggles on the overall trend represent the ups and downs in speed that inevitably occur during strides. Running, after all, is a series of leapings and landings. Bolt's speed changed a little whenever he landed a foot on the ground and momentarily braked, then propelled himself forward and launched himself airborne again.

...To me, these wiggles hold a larger lesson. i see them as a metaphor, a kind of instructional fable about the nature of modeling real phenomena with calculus. If we try to push the resolution of our measurements too far, if we look at any phenomenon in excruciatingly fine detail in time or space, we will start to see a breakdown of smoothness. 

...Yet if what we care about are the overall trends, smoothing out the jitters may be good enough. The enormous insight that calculus has given us into the nature of motion and change in this universe is a testament to the power of smoothness, approximate though it may be.

in the same way, mindfulness requires an appropriate level of resolution. Our life shouldn't be viewed in such excruciating detail as to miss the big picture, nor in such a broad scope as to miss the reality of what is actually happening at any given moment.

"Don't know" is a great thing to keep in mind

All of us are prone to making mistakes with our minds. That comes with being human. Nobody sees reality as it is, because there's no way to tell what as it is means, since every conscious being views the world through their own set of perception filters.

But there's ways to come closer to the truth about reality.

Basically, we need to accept true things as being true. Like global warming, gravity, and the honking of geese.

And we need to to accept false things as being false. Like Donald Trump's claim that he didn't want the Ukraine president to announce an investigation into a political rival in exchange for getting military aid and a White House visit.

In between the poles of true and false there's something else: don't know. 

I love those two words. I wish everybody on Earth adored them also. If they did, the world would be filled with much less dogmatism, holier-than-thou self-righteousness, and rigidity.

Don't know is ubiquitous, because few things (maybe zero things) can be known with 100% certainty. This is the way of science, and of wise everyday life. 

We can be highly confident that something is true or false, but there's always at least a tiny bit of don't know lurking in the shadows. Facts might pop up that would change our point of view, where "our" encompasses both an individual's ideas and an entire culture's way of looking at the world.

Today I listened to a guided meditation by Jeff Warren on my Calm iPhone app that focused on the benefits of embracing don't know.

It's a great thing to keep in mind during a meditation session, because those words lead us toward a sense of openness, or beginner's mind. 

Of course, most religious people hate don't know, because they wrongly believe that they know. About God. About heaven. About life after death. About divine messengers.

They do their best to cover up their truthful lack of knowing with false certainty in a holy book or holy person. Not surprisingly, this leaves them less likely to actually know, since a feeling of don't know is what impels us to learn, explore, try new things.

Don't know also is an aid to peace of mind.

After all, most of us find ourselves worrying about unwelcome possibilities that often don't come to pass, or if they do, aren't as bad as we thought they'd be. So telling ourselves, don't know, can be comforting. Rather than being sure a dental appointment, for example, will be dreadful, we can truthfully say, don't know. 

Which doesn't mean that things will turn out fine. Often, they don't. But it's better to be disturbed by a nasty present-moment reality, than by worries that precede that reality by hours, days, weeks, months, or even years. 

And usually we don't know how long a bad situation will last, even though our anxious mind may be thinking, it will never end. 

If you want to know more about how Jeff Warren looks upon don't know, there's a 41-minute talk on this subject on his web site. I just came across it, so haven't listened to the talk yet. I'm confident that the talk contains a lot of wisdom.

But I don't know for sure.

 

 

Stephen Batchelor on enlightenment and listening

Following up on my previous post about a charming little book by Stephen Batchelor and his wife Martine, which consists of talks they gave at a 2016 retreat in England based on the Korean Buddhist tradition (Son), here's some passages from What is this? that I resonated with in my pre-meditation reading this morning. 

I liked this take on enlightenment, which is very much in line with Zen teachings. Son, which means "meditation," is the Korean equivalent of the Japanese "Chan" and Japanese "Zen."

So once we let go of the idea that to be enlightened means to understand the nature of reality as it really is, or to gain some privileged mystical insight into truth with a capital "T" -- the way of thinking Deshan and other Son masters are trying to shake us free from -- then we shift into a practice that that is inextricably tied up with how we respond to life in each moment, which is the foundation for engaging with the world in an ethical way.

And I also liked this description of how listening can be a better way of describing what meditation, and life, is all about, than seeing is.

When you are asked to watch something carefully, what do you do?

You tend to narrow the focus of your attention onto the object, thereby letting it stand out in the wider field of vision, in order that you can look at it more precisely. What you're looking at is invariably something outside of yourself, 'over there' somewhere.

What often happens in meditation is that we fail to acknowledge the metaphoric nature of the visual language being used. Quite unconsciously, we adopt an inner stance or posture that mimics the act of seeing.

You might feel, for example, that when you're meditating there's a bit of you, in the back of your head somewhere, that's peering in on your body and breath and mental states. You've created a distance between an observer looking in and an object being observed.

But if you think about listening or hearing it's often completely the other way round. Rather than narrowing your attention on a particular sound 'out there', you open yourself up to allow the sound to enter you. 

When you listen to a piece of music in your living room, for example, what do you tend to do? Very often you dim the lights or close your eyes, then raise the sound so that it envelopes you. Then you relax and let yourself be completely receptive to the sounds that enter you from all around.

So the internal posture you assume is not that of a detached observer looking out onto something, but rather a completely vulnerable and open attention that allows sounds to stream into you from every direction.

Now that's a very different inner stance. Your physical posture might be the same, but your mental posture is the opposite to that of looking at something. 

...To think of listening in this way can help us better understand how to attend to what arises in response to the question 'What is this?'. In posing that question, allow yourself to be completely open to whatever you 'hear' in the pregnant silence that follows, without any hopes or expectations.

Metaphorically, you're waiting to hear a response rather than expecting to find an answer. The point of Son practice is not to look for an answer, or to see the nature of reality. Again, pay attention to the metaphors we use unthinkingly. 

You might find it helpful on our last full day together just to explore what it feels like in your body to be open to this question in the same way that you would open yourself to a piece of music or listen with total attention to the polyphony of the birds and wind outside, the occasional plane that flies overhead, the patter of rain on the windows.

Listen more carefully, and at the same time notice how that listening is not just an opening of the mind but an opening of the heart, a vital concern or care for the world, the source of what we call compassion or love, which brings us back into the world of relationships that we will be returning to tomorrow.

Don't look within for inner peace. Look without.

This Pearls Before Swine comic humorously sums up my evolving approach to meditation. Which, as you can read below, also is the approach favored by my new favorite mindfulness teacher, Amit Sood, M.D.


Now, actually I'm more of a blend of Rat and Pig. I still enjoy closed-eyed meditation, but I no longer am devoted to what the spiritual organization I belonged to for 35 years, Radha Soami Satsang Beas, referred to as "going within."

That notion was based on religious assumptions I've come to reject.

Namely, that supernatural realms of reality exist, and it is possible to experience them through meditation aimed at bringing every bit of conscious attention away from one's body and the outside world through concentration on what lies within one's head.

I have no problem with focusing attention on what lies within -- thoughts, emotions, imaginings, visions, inner speech, and such -- but this is a one-sided approach to meditation and mindfulness. 

At its worst, and I experienced this during my time as an active member of Radha Soami Satsang Beas, avid devotees of "going within" can become seriously damaged psychologically. They lose interest in work, family, and other normal human pursuits, having become fanatically committed to detaching from the world and entering imagined non-physical domains of existence.

Not good. Meditation should make us a better person, not a worse one. If we aren't becoming a more loving, caring, and compassionate friend, relative, spouse, employee, volunteer, or parent, meditation isn't working for us.

After all, what makes us feel better when we're listless, lacking energy, down in the dumps, sad? (1) Sitting by ourselves in a room with eyes closed, focused on the contents of our mind, or (2) Getting out and doing something like walking in nature, talking with friends, patting our dog or cat?

I don't know about you, but I find #2 much more appealing.

Here's some quotes from Amit Sood's book, Mindfulness Redesigned for the Twenty-First Century, along these lines. I shared Sood's seven tenets in my previous post. The third tenet is: Intentional attention, external or internal, engages the same brain network. Focus your meditation on the world if you struggle with the mind.

In the third tenet, we explored ways to develop meditative attention by cultivating curiosity and focusing on meaning in the outside world. This helps us with engagement and flow.

These externally oriented practices are not only easier but also more effective than trying to see the light in an inwardly focused meditative stance.

The pursuit also makes you a more engaged spouse, parent, employee, and citizen. Attention so strengthened loses its rigidity, It becomes supple and flexible. Flexibility gives you freedom. In most situations, flexibility is a sign of health.

...An important aspect of the brain is that thinking about an activity engages similar brain areas to those engaged in actually practicing the activity. Thus research shows that imagining playing piano or violin or imagining dancing can help you improve your piano, violin, or dance performance.

When I read all this research, I speculated that the same networks should be engaged whether you focus externally or internally (playing piano versus thinking about playing piano). Thus meditation with eyes closed (internally directed) or eyes open (externally directed) should engage the same or similar parts of the brain. I was excited to see that an interesting study supported precisely this speculation.

In this study, investigators evaluated which brain areas activate based on two variables: external versus internal focus, and intense versus low-grade attention. Researchers found that the intensity of focus had much greater effect on the activation than did the direction of focus.

Thus, very similar areas were activated when the participants were intensely focusing, whether looking out at an object externally or thinking about the details of the object internally. An additional research team has recently corroborated these findings.

Realizing this has freed me. I meet so many colleagues who find the internally focused meditation practice very difficult. I have similarly struggled with sitting meditation. I feel comfortable now in suggesting externally focused meditation, in which you experience your world with full attention.

Because from the brain's perspective it doesn't matter whether you are focusing externally or internally. Therefore, in addition to or in lieu of sitting with the eyes closed, you could meditate immersed in the world, with your eyes open. It will activate the same or similar areas of the brain.

Since we spend most of the day in the world and not sitting on a cushion, we could get ten thousand hours of training (which some but not all experts suggest is needed to become really good at anything) in just a few years.

The third tenet builds on intentionality and emerging research, offering you a different way to meditate: instead of meditating with eyes closes, you meditate with eyes open by intentionally projecting your attention externally. 

...A few thousand years ago, when our threats were mostly external, training attention would have meant pushing it toward the depths of the mind, the basis of most meditation practices. A lot has changed since then, such that the definition of escape isn't escaping into the mind but escaping from the mind.

Dalai Lama isn't big on single-pointed attention

Here's some good news for everybody who has difficulty concentrating during meditation. The Dalai Lama does too! And he doesn't think that single-pointed attention is the best way to meditate. Analytical meditation is. 

A few days ago, in a blog post I shared a lengthy passage from my new favorite book, Mindfulness Redesigned for the Twenty-First Century, by Amit Sood, M.D.

That passage ended with Sood mentioning that it was the Dalai Lama who provided the final push that got Sood to break away from the traditional meditation approach he learned growing up in India, and to embrace a modern version of mindfulness founded in a blend of modern science and ancient spirituality.

This is how Sood describes his conversation with the Dalai Lama at a Mayo Clinic event. The boldfacing is in Sood's book. I've added a section from the following chapter where Sood summarizes the seven tenets that have become the basis for his redesigned approach to mindfulness -- each of which makes a lot of sense to me.

It was a dramatic ninety minutes. I found the Dalai Lama to be kind, gentle, encouraging, fun, and wise. Spending time with him was like learning from my very sweet, very loving grandpa.

I asked the Dalai Lama lots of questions --- about human struggles, compassion, his childhood, and more. Then, in his presence, I asked these two questions to the audience of about five hundred people, the who's who of the meditation world.

(The answers would truly shock me and steer me forward in my path.) "How many of you have practiced meditation?" and "How many of you have found meditation a piece of cake, very easy?" 

As expected, the majority of the participants raised their hands in response to the first question. In response to the second question, barely one or two hands went up.

At that point, the Dalai Lama, in all his humility, shared his insights about meditation. I have watched this clip several times on YouTube. He described two types of meditation: analytical and single pointed.

Analytical meditation cultivates a sense of curiosity -- an alert mind that is busy exploring the nature of the body, world, humanity, and mind. Such a mind analyzes all it sees and connects different experiences to learn about the world.

Analytic meditation helps develop a holistic view. It decreases the gap between appearance and reality. This form of meditation he found easy, and he thought it was more important than the second form of meditation -- focused attention.

For the second form of meditation, which creates a single-pointed mind (in which you focus on a single object of attention), the word Dalai Lama used was impossible. It needed a lot of time -- four, five, or six hours a day.

...Talking to the Dalai Lama was a moment of great realization for me. I felt uplifted, absolved, freed. My cage had been opened. This hummingbird was ready to fly.

If the Dalai Lama struggles with single-pointed meditation and promotes a more wisdom-seeking analytical process, why was I seeking single-pointed meditation as a first step. Why were many other programs doing the same?

I realized my folly. I was copying and pasting practices I had learned without much thinking. I had picked cliches. I was talking about the "now" without knowing what it meant. I was evangelizing about being in the present moment without knowing how difficult it was.

I was sharing practices that didn't work for the majority of the people for the long term. They were just too polite to tell me. I was setting them up for failure, swapping one trap for the other. This wasn't right, and I needed to fix it.

If the basic concepts of diet and exercise are simple and can be learned in a very short time, why shouldn't mindfulness resilience, happiness, and stress management be equally simple and accessible? I thought.

...Here are the seven tenets presented as seven tweets. 

(1) Ancient wisdom relied on philosophy; modern wisdom increasingly consults twenty-first century science.
(2) Time is fleeting and untethered. Anchor presence by intentionality instead of time.
(3) Intentional attention, external or internal, engages the same brain network. Focus your meditation on the world if you struggle with the mind.
(4) If the short-term is challenged, think about the long term; if the long term is challenged, live for the next moment. Keep a flexible zoom.
(5) A non-judgmental stance can be comforting but is unachievable. Being grateful and compassionate is an easier and more accessible solution.
(6) Mindfulness isn't a practice; it is a way of life.
(7) Instead of emptying the mind, fill it with hope, inspiration, and courage.

You can see the Dalai Lama's response to the questions Sood asked the audience in this video of the event. I've set the You Tube video to start at the appropriate place, a bit after 1:05.

Mindfulness Redesigned for the Twenty-First Century -- my new favorite book

A quantum experience led me to a book that I'm loving a lot, Mindfulness Redesigned for the Twenty-First Century, by Amit Sood, M.D.

More precisely, it was an absurd mention of "quantum" in another book that led me to Sood's creative re-imagining of what mindfulness is all about.

There I was, semi-happily reading Loch Kelly's Effortless Mindfulness, which I wrote about in a recent blog post, when I came to a passage that caused me to give up on the book.

Self-essence is an invisible source, prior to energy. In turn, Self-energy is both wave -- flowing, boundless dynamism with relational qualities -- and particle -- active, compassionate, embodied, and full of vitality. The waves and particles are made of the invisible potential of the quantum field of Self-essence.

Those incomprehensible words violated one of my current Book Commandments: thou shalt not invoke quantum theory in an area where it has no application. Like, awareness and mindfulness. 

I then headed to Amazon to reinvigorate my brain by searching for a book that took a genuinely scientific approach to mindfulness. After a bit of browsing I came across Sood's book, and ordered it. 

I'm enjoying it a lot.

I intend to discuss Sood's approach to mindfulness in some detail in future posts. But for now I want to share a section where Sood describes how he came to an understanding that the ancient Asian Indian spiritual teachings he grew up with needed to be updated for the 21st century. 

Sood came to the United States in 1995 from India. Here's his "About the Author" bio on Amazon:

Dr. Amit Sood is a Professor of Medicine at Mayo Clinic. He directs the Mind-Body Medicine Initiative, and is the creator of the Mayo Clinic Healthy Living Resilient Mind Program. He is the author of the books, The Mayo Clinic Guide to Stress-Free Living, The Mayo Clinic Handbook for Happiness, and Immerse: A 52-Week Course in Resilient Living.

Dr. Sood received the 2010 Distinguished Service Award, the 2010 Innovator of the Year Award, the 2013 Outstanding Physician Scientist Award and the 2016 Faculty of the Year Award from Mayo Clinic. He was honored as Robert Wood Johnson Health Care Pioneer in 2015. The Ode magazine selected Dr. Sood as one among top 20 intelligent optimists helping the world to be a better place.

In 2016, he was selected as the top impact maker in healthcare in Rochester, MN - a community of over thirty-thousand dedicated health care professionals. Personally, he loves power naps and dark chocolate, detests flossing, likes love and logic, and cares a lot about children - all the children. Dr. Sood lives with his lovely wife of twenty-five years, Richa, and their two princesses, Gauri and Sia, in the occasionally frosty, but always caring and compassionate, Rochester, MN.

Impressive guy. Here's how he came to embrace a scientific approach to mindfulness, as described in his book's "Guilty and Back" chapter.

Feeling Guilty

Challenging an age-old practice was extremely difficult for me. If you understand my background, it will make sense to you.

Meditation practices and teachers are highly respected in Asian Indian families. Many teachers are revered as spiritual leaders of the society. 

Their images are placed in each room. In daily prayer, people bow to the images, decorate them with flowers, and light incense sticks in front of them. People see their teachers in dreams to solve personal problems.

In families with a faith-based practice, these teachers are considered a conduit to God. Annoying or disbelieving them or their instructions would be considered worse than heresy.

I have met several teachers who indeed deserve a high pedestal, but some do not. Nevertheless, if a teacher is caught committing nefarious practices, as has happened numerous times, instead of lowering the pedestal, the unsuspecting students often reframe by saying that the teacher is testing their spiritual resolve by creating the drama.

With this cultural perspective etched within me, my guilt, conflict, and anxiety grew along with the doubts I shared in the previous chapter. I felt vulnerable. 

Will these doubts bring bad luck, illness, or curse to my family? I thought. The scientist in me conflicted with myths and rituals I had learned as a child. A master at overthinking, I did what I do best with such conflicts. I stopped thinking about it and tabled the idea.

Overcoming guilt

I didn't stay put with the idea for very long. My return journey started when I heard about people with no meditation experience who were perceiving the deepest samadhi states as a result of acute stroke. I read about brain tumors and seizures causing sacred visions and spiritual experiences.

Could these states and visions just be a product of the brain's electrical activity? I asked myself. If that is the case, will it be worthwhile to spend my entire life seeking such experiences?

Then I read about swamis who had obtained these experiences but were doing very bad things. I heard stories about self-styled gurus who claimed to be adept at awakening people's kundalini (and many of their followers felt their "energy" and saw the "light" with their help) but were nothing but greedy, immoral charlatans.

They were illegally usurping money and property, abusing women and children, and committing other unspeakable crimes. 

I saw a few of them get caught, was amazed at how low they could go in trying to defend themselves, and could clearly see the selfish psychopath beneath the long hair and saffron color. My uninformed faith in some of these traditions began to crack.

That worked wonders on my guilt. (I should mention that not all swamis are fake. I have personally met several masters of meditation who I deeply respect, who are humble, selfless, and kind, and are truly living each day to help the world.)

Looking deeper

With my blind faith unblinded the more I studied, the deeper I looked and the more learners I worked with, the more convinced I became that most mindfulness programs in their current form need editing  before they can optimally help twenty-first-century brains.

In our effort to make mindfulness simpler, despite our good intentions we have misrepresented some of its constructs. 

Further, some of the language and philosophy is 2,500 years old. It simply needs to be refreshed. What is old and practiced for thousands of years doesn't always have to be perfect or even right.

After all they anointed cow dung on umbilical cords that caused tetanus, didn't believe in pasteurization, practiced child labor, and bad-mouthed any woman who stepped outside the house to join the workforce. (Unfortunately all of these are still happening in some parts of the world.)

The result of my deeper search was freedom. While I still revere the timeless wisdom of many scriptures, I have largely escaped my childhood blinders, partly because I feel confident in the new tool we now have to study the truth: science.

Using the scientific method polished with common sense I came up with a few key ideas for how to better align our understanding of mindfulness with twenty-first-century challenges so it can better serve resilience.

Few ideas

Here is what I thought was needed:

-- Integrate twenty-first-century neuroscience to help better understand the human condition. Philosophy alone isn't enough.
-- Offer skills that emphasize uplifting emotions and not just attention training.
-- Have more explicit focus on compassion, gratitude and forgiveness.
-- Abbreviate the training time.
-- Offer practices that are shorter and more relevant to people's lives.
-- Enhance focus on relationships to decrease perceived loneliness.
-- Integrate hope, inspiration, and courage in the program.

In addition to above, I felt adding humor to the program (and life) was vital. Fun and laughter are great sources of bonding and inspiration, and if we keep the training and the skills dry, they will remain inaccessible, particularly to the younger generation.

I debated and doubted these thoughts for months but couldn't negate any one of them. As a next step, I considered a three-part solution:

(1) Educate people about their brains, emphasizing how our neural traps generate negative emotions and hurt our attention.
(2) Offer different (briefer and deeper) attention practices that are easier to practice and adopt, that provide uplifting emotions, and that center on relationships.
(3) Return mindfulness to its ecosystem in the company of compassion, gratitude, forgiveness, relationships, hope, inspiration, and courage.

I strongly believed I was moving in the right direction, but received pushback from some old colleagues in the field. Pushbacks often demoralize me and they worked their magic this time also. But each time I saw someone struggling whom I couldn't optimally help, the thoughts creeped up again.

I needed one final push. Then His Holiness the Dalai Lama came to my rescue.

Effortless mindfulness versus deliberate mindfulness

Mindfulness has been my meditation for quite a few years. As I wrote about recently, being mindful of what actually exists here and now strikes me as way preferable to fantasizing about supernatural realms and mystical mumbo-jumbo.

Thought I'm not 100% sure about anything -- the way of science -- I consider it highly probably that these premises are true.

(1) The mind is the brain in action
(2) There is no enduring, unchanging self or soul
(3) Free will is an illusion
(4) We humans see reality through a species-specific lens
(5) Consciousness is created by the brain
(6) All living beings exist in a web of interconnections

So my favorite books about mindfulness and meditation recognize that those six statements most likely are how us Homo sapiens relate to reality. The six truths are grounded in modern science and neuroscience, though naturally there's room for quibbling about the exact nature of what I've summarized above in a half dozen pithy sentences. 

I'm not saying that every author who writes about mindfulness/meditation needs to explicitly agree with each of the principles above to get my stamp of approval. However, at least what they say shouldn't conflict with those principles, or my highlighter is quick to insert question marks in the margin of their book's pages.

A book by Loch Kelly, "The Way of Effortless Mindfulness," came to my attention via an interview Sam Harris conducted with Kelly and shared on Harris' Waking Up iPhone app that I'm a fan of. 

Any book about meditation that has effortless in the title is going to get my attention.

For thirty-five years I practiced a mystical meditative practice that involved considerable effort via repeating a mantra, sitting in a particular posture, and adhering to various other rules (such as ideally meditating for 2 1/2 hours a day, which I did for many years).

By comparison, mindfulness involves much less effort, since the focus is on attending to what is right before us, notably the breath.

In his interview with Harris, Loch Kelly talked about how his mindfulness approach derives from Tibetan Buddhism, which differs in some regards from other forms of Buddhism. Basically Kelly (along with Harris) considers that awareness itself is key to mindfulness, with the contents of awareness, though important, being secondary. 

Here's an excerpt from Kelly's book that describes how effortless mindfulness differs from deliberate (or effortful) mindfulness.

One simple way to distinguish the two types of mindfulness is to say that they are both being mindful but from different levels of mind. This is important because what you can be mindful of depends on what level of mind you're mindful from.

In effortless mindfulness, it is not as important to focus on what thoughts and emotions are arising but rather to ask, "Who or what level of mind are they arising to?" In effortless mindfulness, we shift from focusing on what we are aware of into focusing on awareness itself -- moving from a detached observer and into a view from interconnected awake awareness.

In deliberate mindfulness, we are aware, from our mindful witness, of things arising and passing. Effortless mindfulness invites us to be more intimately interconnected with our experience and all that is happening.

This begins when we shift out of both our conceptual mind and our mindful witness and into awake awareness. Deliberate mindfulness focuses on the contents of consciousness, while effortless mindfulness turns back to be aware of the context -- awareness itself. 

With deliberate mindfulness, we discover who we are not. With effortless mindfulness, we discover who we essentially are.

By and large, this makes sense to me.

I'm not convinced that it makes sense to speak of consciousness without content, since seemingly this would leave us completely unaware of everything, including consciousness itself. But I agree that awareness does appear to be the backdrop of all that we've experienced from the moment of our birth.

Each of us has been aware of countless different things during our lifetime, while awareness itself hasn't changed.

Kelly doesn't view awareness and consciousness as being the same, even though in everyday speech we often consider them to be equivalent. Kelly says, rather mysteriously, "Awake awareness is what makes consciousness conscious. Thoughts, feelings, and sensations are dancing patterns made of awake awareness."

Also: "Awake awareness is the same in all of us, yet our individuality arises from it." And: "Once we experience awake awareness as the foundation of our identity, we experience our conditioned thoughts, emotions, and sensations as waves within the ocean of our life."

Mindful Glimpses are the key teaching method in Kelly's book. They're designed to show us what awake awareness is all about. Here's two of his early Mindful Glimpses.

Background Awareness

(1) Take one slow, deep breath.
(2) Let out a sigh.
(3) Now, let your awareness open to discover the background awareness that is already effortlessly awake and aware without your help.
(4) Notice that you can effortlessly focus from this background awareness.

Eyes of Awareness

(1) With a soft gaze, simply see what is here in front of you.
(2) Notice the awareness that is looking through your eyes.
(3) Now close your eyes and notice the same awareness that was looking out is still here.
(4) Simply rest as this wordless awareness, which is now aware of itself.
(5) Without creating a thinker, be the awareness that welcomes and includes everything.

Mindfulness meditation is much better than mystical mumbo-jumbo

I've meditated every day for about fifty years, starting in 1970 when I was in college and began studying yoga with a crazed Greek guy whose Christananda Ashram blended Christian and Hindu philosophies in a decidedly weird fashion (for details, see here). 

After giving up on the Greek yoga teacher, for the first 35 years of so I followed the meditation practice enjoined by the Indian religious organization I belonged to at the time, Radha Soami Satsang Beas.

It had a strong mystical bent, being focused on concentrating one's attention totally within the mind/brain, with the aim of detaching consciousness from this physical world and entering higher regions of supernatural reality.

All that now strikes me as highly implausible and unappealingly dualistic. 

So I've embraced a Buddhist style of Vipassana/Mindfulness meditation. Mainly I follow my breath, sometimes counting breaths, and sometimes simply being aware of my breathing and other perceptions.

I also enjoy listening to guided meditations by Sam Harris via his Waking Up iPhone app (plus Tamara Levitt's Daily Calm).

From his books, I'm aware that Harris has had considerable training in Dzogchen, a Tibetan form of Buddhism. So I assume that his Waking Up meditations reflect that philosophy to a considerable degree.

I found today's guided meditation to be insightful. Nothing special or new, really. What Harris said just appealed to me.

As is common with Buddhist meditation teachers I've listened to via the Internet, Harris started off by suggesting meditating with eyes closed, then becoming aware of the breath. After a few minutes, he said something like, "If you've been captured by thought, bring your attention back to the breath."

There's nothing wrong with thinking, of course. Obviously it's an essential part of being human. However, i agree with Harris that it's the automaticity of thought which is the problem. Or, if "problem" is too strong a word, perhaps "issue" is a better term.

Thoughts do tend to repeat. (I almost added "like a broken record," but likely many people haven't experienced a scratched record playing the same part over and over, a fairly common occurrence in my record-playing youth.) 

And those repeated thoughts do have a certain automatic quality to them. It's as if the mind is stuck in a certain pattern, based on prior experiences, where habitual thoughts spring up unbidden. That wouldn't be a problem, or issue, if the thoughts were productive.

Often, though, and maybe even usually, unbidden thoughts aren't necessary or useful. They just seem to be the mind talking to itself. And since I obviously am myself (same is true of you), this inner dialogue is kind of weird.

Just imagine if our thoughts could be amplified and broadcast to people around us. Much of the time they'd view us as stangely as passers-by react to a homeless person with mental problems who is chattering away on a street corner, making very little sense.

So today Harris suggested that if we can markedly reduce the automaticity of thought, what's left are perceptions and emotions. Meaning, seeing, hearing, touching, smelling, tasting, along with the feelings that arise within us. 

This puts us into closer contact with the only reality that is known with certainty to exist: this world, this universe. We can perceive it directly, whereas there's no demonstrable evidence that supernatural realms exist anywhere but in the imagination, fantasies, and illusions of the minds of religious believers.

What about intentions, though? Aren't these necessary to perform the many actions we need to engage in each day? Brushing our teeth, going to work, cooking dinner, writing emails, and so much more. And aren't thoughts like "I've got to wash the dishes" essential for action?

Well, the way my mind works, and likely yours is similar to mine, a thoughtless intention almost always precedes an action-related thought. For example, when I write, like I am right now, an intuitive image of what I want to say comes before the words that I use to express that intention.

Thus it seems highly probable that each of us could go on a "thought diet" without losing any of the functionality of our mind/brain. While thoughts appear to be highly useful when, say, a difficult problem needs to be addressed, likely we could ditch many or most of our daily thoughts and still function just fine.

The reason being two-fold.

One, many thoughts fall into the automatic category, being repetitive habits of self-talk that serve little or no purpose. Two, often thoughts interfere with actions that we're already skilled at. This is reflected in the oft-heard sports commentary, "She's playing out of her mind."

Meaning, highly skillfully, without the distraction of unnecessary thoughts.

This is readily apparent in basketball games where the score is tied near the end of a game, and a player goes to the free throw line. When the player is loose, smiling, and joking with his teammates, it sure seems like a made free throw is more likely than when a player grits his teeth, stares fixedly at the basket, and looks like he's trying really hard. 

Life is too short to spend it unduly stressed, tense, and worried. I love to say to myself, Relax and Let go. Or, I simply relax and let go, which is even better.

Do less, be happier

I believe it was in a comment by Amar on one of my blog posts that I learned about a great book by Mark Williams and Danny Penman, "Mindfulness: An Eight-Week Plan for Finding Peace in a Frantic World."

I've been practicing mindfulness meditation for quite a while, as noted in Mindfulness has become my meditation and Mindfulness is meditation on reality, not supernatural illusion.

The book by Williams and Penman is the best I've ever read on this subject. Very clear, well-written, and creative.

A core theme is the difference between Doing and Being. Doing is fine, if what we're after can be obtained through specific actions. But as you'll read in the excerpt below, Doing leads us astray when we try to apply it in the wrong way.

Why do your best efforts to get rid of unpleasant feelings backfire so tragically? When you try to solve the "problem" of unhappinesss (or any other "negative" emotion) you deploy one of the mind's most powerful tools: rational critical thinking.

It works like this: you see yourself in a place (unhappy) and know where you want to be (happy). Your mind then analyzes the gap between the two and tries to work out the best way of bridging it. To do so, it uses its "Doing" mode (so called because it performs well in solving problems and getting things done).

The Doing mode works by progressively narrowing the gap between where you are and where you want to be... It's a tremendously powerful way of s0lving problems. It's how we find our way across cities, drive cars and arrange hectic work schedules.

...It's perfectly natural, then, to apply this approach to solving the "problem" of unhappiness. But it's often the worst thing you can do because it requires you to focus on the gap between how you are and how you'd like to be: in doing so, you ask such critical questions as, What's wrong with me? Where did I go wrong? Why do I always make these mistakes?

Such questions are not only harsh and self-destructive, but they also demand that the mind furnishes the evidence to explain its discontent. And the mind is truly brilliant at providing such evidence. 

Imagine walking through a beautiful park on a spring day. You're happy, but then for some unknown reason a flicker of sadness ripples across your mind. It may be the result of hunger because you skipped lunch or perhaps you unwittingly triggered a troubling memory.

After a few minutes you might start to feel a little down. As soon as you notice your lowered spirits you begin to probe yourself.: It's a lovely day. It's a beautiful park. I wish I were feeling happier than I am now.

Think about that: I wish I were feeling happier.

How do you feel now? You probably feel worse. This is because you focused on the gap between how you feel and how you want to feel. And focusing on the gap highlighted it. The mind sees the gap as a problem to be solved. This approach is disastrous when it comes to your emotions because of the intricate interconnection between your thoughts, emotions, and bodily sensations.

...The mind can do so much more than simply analyze problems with its Doing mode. The problem is that we use the Doing mode so much, we can't see that there is an alternative. Yet there is another way.

If you stop and reflect for a moment, the mind doesn't just think. It can also be aware that it is thinking. This form of pure awareness allows you to experience the world directly. It's bigger than thinking. It's unclouded by your thoughts, feelings, and emotions.

It's like a high mountain -- a vantage point -- from which you can see everything for many miles around.

Pure awareness transcends thinking. It allows you to step outside the chattering negative self-talk and your reactive impulses and emotions. It allows you to look at the world once again with open eyes. And when you do so, a sense of wonder and quiet contentment begins to reappear in your life.

Makes a lot of sense.

What's said above applies to spiritual goals as well, like believing that you need to do something to reach God, heaven, holy spirit, or whatever. That belief creates a gap between where you are now and where you want to be. Then that gap becomes a problem to be solved, which takes work and creates anxiety.

Yet where is the evidence for any gap at all? God, heaven, holy spirit, and such are just concepts, ideas, thoughts. Give them up, and you are much closer to where you want to be: reality, here and now.

Stuff happens

Here's what I'd call a guest post, if I wasn't the guest, since I wrote it for my HinesSight blog a few days ago. There I called it, Stuff happens. Things fall apart. Such is life. But "Stuff Happens" is a fine title all by itself.

Enjoy. Unless you don't. Which is fine, since stuff happens.

Sometimes the most obvious things about life need to be talked about.

It's easy to overlook them not in spite of their obviousness, but because the familiar tends to fade into the background, while new stuff grabs our attention.

So here's a few obvious truths about life:

-- Life is finite. It comes to an end for every living being. Including us humans.
-- Life is uncertain. We can hope for the best, but sometimes the worst happens.
-- Life is about caring. We care, because what we're concerned about is finite and uncertain.

I've been reminded about these truths by reading a fascinating book by Martin Hägglund, "This Life: Secular Faith and Spiritual Freedom." It's over 400 pages long. Yet Hägglund's core concepts are quite simple, three of which I shared above.

Now, I realize that many people believe in eternity, being religious. There's a lot of talk about eternity in this book. I'm going to ignore that subject, other than to say that Hägglund argues persuasively that even if eternity exists, it isn't something desirable.

At the very least, and I think this point is virtually inarguable, the life each of us is living now is in no way eternal, nor perfect (eternity presupposes a certain perfection, since nothing changes in eternity).

Thus whenever we care, whenever we exert ourselves to nourish and protect what we love -- whether this be a person, animal, cause, object, or whatever -- we do so because the object of our caring is finite, and it could fall apart if we don't act to help keep it together. Of course, it might fall apart anyway, even if we act.

Again, in no way is this news to anybody. It just bears repeating.

One reason this is necessary is that most of us have a strong desire to look on the bright side. Usually when I go grocery shopping, as I did today, a clerk will say something to me like, "So how's your day going? Got anything exciting planned later on?"

There's a social expectation that I'll answer in some positive fashion. It would be jarring to tell the clerk, though honest at times, "My day is going like crap. I've got nothing planned other than to hope tomorrow will be better." 

I'm not suggesting that we bare our souls at the checkout counter, since these brief chats while our credit card is being processed aren't the right time to share our most intimate secrets. Still, I've found that being as honest as possible often leads to a more interesting conversation.

Sometimes I'll respond to "How's your day going?" with "Fine, so long as I don't listen to the news. Then I get anxious and depressed." This is an exaggeration, though not hugely so. It usually elicits a reply like "I hear you. I feel the same way."

We're all in this finite life together. The boat of our body and mind is going to sink one day.

Keeping it afloat, and in decent working condition, for as long as possible, requires a lot of attention from ourselves and many others: friends, relatives, doctors, teachers, all of the people who interact in such complex and fascinating ways in the society that surrounds us.

To mix metaphors, no one is an island. We're all connected. We're all dependent. We're all caring. We're all in need of care.

A one-page article in the current issue of TIME magazine makes some of the same points that Martin Hägglund makes in his big thick book.

Here's some excerpts from "Tell kids the truth: hard work doesn't always pay off." It was written by Rachel Simmons, author of Enough as She Is: How to Help Girls Move Beyond Impossible Standards of Success to Live Healthy, Happy and Fulfilling Lives.

The humbling, brutal, messy reality is that you can do everything in your power and still fail.

... Instead of allowing our kids to beat themselves up when things don't go their way, we should all question a culture that has taught them that feeling anything less than overwhelmed means they're lazy, that how they perform for others is more important than what actually inspires them, and that where they go to college matters more than the kind of person they are.

The point is not to give our kids a pass on working hard. But fantasizing that they can control everything is not really resilience. We would be wise to remind our kids that life has a way of sucker-punching us when we least expect it. It's often the people who learn to say "stuff happens" who get up the fastest.

(I wrote a post on my Church of the Churchless blog about Hägglund's book, "What sustains us is caring in time, not detachment in eternity.")

A thirteen year old blog post that still rings true to me

About a month ago I started working on a book that will be a compilation of my favorite posts from the early years of this blog, 2004-2006. 

Most days I try to find some time to re-read the blog posts that I've chosen, correcting typos, deleting links, and adding a brief introduction that describes how I feel about the post now.

I just came across a post from January 2, 2006 that I still like a lot. Well, actually I still like all the posts I've written on this blog, but I like some more than others. 

Here it is:
---------------------------------

Tell yourself your spiritual secrets
January 2, 2006

It’s a new year. Time to tell yourself your secrets. Especially, your spiritual secrets. I’m sure you have them. Almost all of us do.

You’re sitting in church, temple, mosque, meeting hall, your own living room. Praying, meditating, singing, listening to a sermon, reading your holy book. And from your psyche’s secret chamber a barely audible whisper comes.

It’s your own voice. 

But you don’t want to listen to what it is saying. The voice is telling you a secret. Something that is true but rarely spoken to yourself. Not openly. Not directly. Only in whispers.

Which usually are met with a “shush.”

Quiet down, secret chamber. I don’t want to hear what you’ve got to tell me. Maybe later. Not now.

And yet, the memory of the whisper is more vivid than a recollection of the loudest shout. Once you’ve heard it speak even once, you can’t deny the secret that you don’t want to tell yourself.

I don’t believe in God. (Or Jehovah, Allah, Buddha-nature, the Guru, whoever). 

I no longer am inspired by the Bible. (Or the Talmud, Koran, Dhammapada, Adi Granth, whatever.)

I’m tired of these meaningless rules. (Or rituals, rites, vows, commandments, whatever).

Maybe you’ve never had such thoughts. Maybe you’ve never had any doubts about your faith. Maybe you’ve never wondered if your innermost spiritual beliefs were much different from the beliefs you present to the outside world.

Maybe. But I doubt it. 

We’re all atheists, deep down, for who among us has experienced God directly? The truth is that we don’t know. Our faith in the divine is a pebble resting on the edge of a dark abyss of doubt that we’re deathly afraid to approach.

That whisper coming from our psyche’s secret chamber is an invitation to kick the pebble over the edge and find out what, if anything, will keep it from rolling all the way down into nothingness. 

That whisper is the most honest voice we’ll ever hear, yet we do our best to shut it up.

It’s always struck me as strange that so many people, including myself, say that they want to fathom the secrets of the cosmos, yet are reluctant to lay bare their own secrets.

Seekers of secrets should start their search close to home: within themselves. When we don’t even want to know the truth about ourselves, how can we lay claim to knowing the truth about the ultimate reality of God?

My bet, or gamble, is that if God exists, He, She, or It resonates with truth (I’d say “rewards” but that sounds too anthropomorphic). Hypocrisy is out of tune with divinity, which to my mind reverberates to the rhythm of oneness.

Thus when I break down the barrier between what I really believe and what I tell myself I believe, this unitary truth-telling effort brings me closer to God, not farther away. Such is my hypothesis, anyway.

There’s a lot of energy locked up in secrets. 

Telling your spiritual secrets to yourself is empowering. You don’t need to also let the world know about them. However, I’d suggest that the more your outward life reflects your inward self, the less stress you’ll feel.

Acting out an artificial role is more difficult than playing the part of who you naturally are. In the latter case you have to keep remembering what your spiritual stage name is and what lines you’re scripted to speak.

“Praise Jesus.” “I believe!” “God is great.” “Blessed is the compassionate Buddha.” “Guru’s grace is always there.”

So often we speak untruths, albeit with good intentions. 

It’s what other people in our religious organization want us to say. Or what the organization itself demands be spoken to keep harmony in the ranks. We’re reluctant to rock the boat with the swaying that accompanies the speaking of a secret.

“What?! You don’t believe in _____ any more? What’s wrong? What’s happened to you? How did you come to lose your faith?”

My answer: You’ve got it backwards. I’ve found my faith. Faith in honesty. Faith in telling the truth to myself. Faith in letting secrets out. Faith that sincere doubt is better than hypocritical belief.

I could be wrong about all this. But at least my error will be mine, not borrowed from a holy book. I’m tired of keeping secrets. Especially from myself. 

Reading this blog post, know that you are reading this blog post

If you're not into mindfulness meditation, the title of this blog post may seem like nonsense to you. But like I wrote last year, "Mindfulness has become my meditation."

A frequently-heard saying in the guided meditations I listen to via iPhone apps is Breathing in, know that you are breathing in. In other words, bring mind and body into a state of harmonious relatedness.

Of course, you don't have to always be aware of your breathing. But if your goal in a particular meditation session is to be aware of your breathing, then obviously you need to know that you are breathing to bring about that awareness.

It's entirely possible, very common, in fact, to be doing something physically without being aware of what you're doing. I can read several paragraphs of a book before I suddenly realize, I have no idea what I just read. My eyes were scanning the words, while my mind was thinking about something else.

So I try to get into the habit of saying to myself, "While doing ____, know that I'm doing ____."

Not continuously, of course. That would distract from my awareness of what I'm doing, since if I kept repeating that phrase, I'd be aware of repeating that phrase, not what I was physically doing.

For example, at the beginning of the three Tai Chi classes I attend each week I typically say to myself, "While doing Tai Chi, know that I am doing Tai Chi."  Maybe that seems obvious. It isn't, though. After 15 years of learning Tai Chi, I know most of the forms so well I can do them while my mind is elsewhere.

Like, thinking about what I'm going to have for dinner. Thus my body can be practicing Tai Chi, while my mind is visualizing what's going to be taken out of the refrigerator when I get home.

There's nothing wrong with doing that.

It just means that I'm not fully into the present moment, since my body is in one place while my mind is in another place. That's often fine. How would we be able to envision the future if our minds were locked into only being cognizant of what's happening right now?

Ditto for remembering the past.

I'm simply saying that by and large, I've found that life is more pleasant, and seems to flow more smoothly, when my mind is as much in sync with my physical actions as possible. Sure, sometimes we need to be almost totally immersed in thoughts or feelings that take us away from what our body is doing.

Even then, though, we should be aware of our inner contemplation while we're engaged in that inner contemplation. Most of us have had the unsettling experience of talking to somebody, then having them say, "Oh, sorry. Could you repeat that? My mind was somewhere else."

Typically we aren't as unsettled when we aren't aware of what our own mind has been saying inside our head, because this happens so frequently, it is second nature (or even first nature) to us.  

Meaning, if our inner voice were to be broadcast to the world at large via a psychological loudspeaker, other people would look upon us as if we were crazy --  much as mentally ill homeless people are viewed when they stand on a street corner and blurt out whatever pops into their head.

A main difference between them and us is that we're able to keep our bizarre non-sensical stream-of-consciousness thoughts to ourselves while we walk down a sidewalk. Which shouldn't fill us with pride in our sanity. We're just better at keeping our craziness inside our head.

Mindfulness practice hasn't made me into a Buddha, for sure.

I still get anxious, sad, upset, angry, worried, fearful, and such just about as much as before. However, I'm working on simply experiencing those feelings as they arise, rather than, say, getting anxious about my anxiety, or sad about my sadness.

Being more mindful of how I'm feeling seems to help me avoid becoming overwhelmed by an emotion, where I make myself feel worse by over-reacting to a feeling I'm experiencing. Feeling worried, I know that I'm feeling worried -- that sort of thing.

It's been a while since I've locked my car, then walked back to my car to see if I've locked it. Like I said back in February, this is a positive sign of my (mini) enlightenment.

Any resemblance between me and this image that I shared in that post is purely coincidental. I do, though, live near a lake that has water lilies, so there's that.

 

 

Sam Harris shows my meditation is on the right spiritual track

There's many forms of meditation. They all have strengths and weaknesses, pluses and minuses. But only a few forms of meditation lead to an increased knowledge of reality, since most are based on unfounded religious dogma.

I'm confident that the meditation I've been practicing for about fifteen years -- after I wisely gave up a religiously-based form of meditation -- has me on the right spiritual track.

I explained why in "Real spirituality is realizing you aren't a soul, or self." Here's how that 2014 post starts out.

Just as predicted, I'm really enjoying reading Sam Harris' new book, "Waking Up: A Guide to Spirituality Without Religion."

I'm about a third of the way through. Which is far enough to have discovered the central theme. Harris writes:

My goal in this chapter and the next is to convince you that the conventional sense of self is an illusion -- and that spirituality largely consists in realizing this, moment to moment.

...Most of us feel that our experience of the world refers back to a self -- not to our bodies precisely but to a center of consciousness that exists somehow interior to the body behind the eyes, inside the head.

The feeling that we call "I" seems to define our point of view in every moment, and it also provides an anchor for popular beliefs about souls and freedom of will.

And yet this feeling, however imperturbable it may appear at present, can be altered, interrupted, or entirely abolished. 

...Subjectively speaking, the only thing that actually exists is consciousness and its contents.

Wow. 

Now, I realize that some people would say "Yeah, makes sense, no big surprise" to the above scientifically- and experientially-persuasive truths.

But I spent decades as a devotee of a mystical philosophy that, like many others, taught that we humans have, or are, an eternal soul. The soul supposedly could return to God through meditation at the "eye center" -- that place behind the eyes and inside the head Harris, a neuroscientist and Buddhist practitioner, says doesn't house a self or soul.

So it sure seems like those who claim that this world is an illusion, with soul-realms being true reality, are the ones who have gotten it wrong. 

There is no enduring soul or self to be liberated. As Harris says in his book, genuine spirituality is realizing this. Thus a belief in the existence of soul leads one farther away from the truth, not closer. This is basic Buddhism, yet even many Buddhists still harbor fantasies of living on after death as... something or other.

Other posts I wrote about my first reading of Harris' "Waking Up" are here, here, and here. I re-read the book in 2016 and wrote another post about it. I had some quibbles about how Harris views consciousness, but upon a closer reading of certain sections I was able to better grasp his viewpoint.

The past few days I've been reading "Waking Up" a third time. I switch highlighter colors with every reading. By now some pages are almost completely highlighted.

This book is my favorite in the spiritual but not religious genre. Harris is famously down on religion, yet decidedly up on understanding the nature of ourselves through Buddhist Vipassana (mindfulness) meditation that's aimed at dissolving the illusion that we are, or have, a self/soul.

Harris writes:

Unlike the doctrines of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, the teachings of Buddhism are not considered by their adherents to be the product of infallible revelation. They are, rather, empirical instructions: If you do X, you will experience Y.

Although many Buddhists have a superstitious and cultic attachment to the historical Buddha, the teachings of Buddhism present him as an ordinary  human being who succeeded in understanding the nature of his own mind.

Buddha means "swakened one" -- and Siddhartha Gautama was merely a man who woke up from the dream of being a separate self. 

Compare this with the Christian view of Jesus, who is imagined to be the son of the creator of the universe. This is a very different proposition, and it renders Christianity, no matter how fully divested of metaphysical baggage, all but irrelevant to a scientific discussion about the human condition.

...Although the experience of self-transcendence is, in principle, available to everyone, this possibility is only weakly attested to in the religious and philosophical literature of the West.

Only Buddhists and students of Advaita Vedanta (which appears to have been heavily influenced by Buddhism) have been absolutely clear in asserting that spiritual life consists in overcoming the illusion of the self by paying close attention to our experience in the present moment.

Beautiful. 

What I love about this approach to spirituality is that it's solidly founded in modern neuroscience, which also says that our sense of being a "self" is almost certainly an illusion, so meditation needs to be aimed at realizing what we are not by paying close attention to what we actually are.

Namely, thoughts without a thinker; perceptions without a perceiver; emotions without an emoter; and so on.

Sam Harris writes:

The claim that we can experience consciousness without a conventional sense of self -- that there is no rider on the horse -- seems to be on firm ground neurologically. Whatever causes the brain to produce the false notion that there is a thinker living somewhere inside the head, it makes sense that it could stop doing this. And once it does, our inner lives become more faithful to the facts.

How can we know that the conventional sense of self is an illusion? When we look closely, it vanishes. This is compelling in the same way that the disappearance of any illusion is: You thought something was there, but upon closer inspection, you see that it isn't. What doesn't survive scrutiny cannot be real.

Harris uses this visual illusion as an analogy.

There appears to be a white box in the center of the figure. But, Harris says, "when we study the image, it becomes clear that there are only four partial circles. The square has been imposed by our visual system, whose edge detectors have been fooled."

Try blanking out all but one of the black figures with your hand. That makes it easier to see that what appears to be a white square actually is an absence, not a presence. 

Just like the self, or soul. It appears to be there, but this is an illusion. Look for it, and it's nowhere to be found. If that feeling of nowhere'ness persists, congratulations. You're enlightened! Or, awake.

Vipassana vs. Surat Shabd Yoga meditation. I pick a winner.

Arguably it doesn't make sense to consider that meditation styles can be classed as winners or losers. But, hey, that's no fun! So in this post I'm going to choose a winner after considering a question I got in an email message recently:

Do you have any opinion as to whether vipassana is more or less equal to RSSB's simran?

Well, of course I have an opinion.

I'm a blogger. Opinionating is what I love to do. I've got opinions on just about everything. Heck, on one of my other two blogs I rated the grocery carts at the three stores in south Salem (Oregon) where I do the weekly shopping for my wife, dog, and myself.

First, let's get some terms defined. Vipassana is a Buddhist meditation practice that is basically what is now called "mindfulness." Sure, there's more to it than that, as discussed in a Tricycle article, "What Exactly is Vipassana Meditation?"

The distinction between Vipassana meditation and other styles of meditation is crucial and needs to be fully understood. Buddhism addresses two major types of meditation. They are different mental skills, modes of functioning or qualities of consciousness. In Pali, the original language of Theravada literature, they are called Vipassana and Samatha.

Vipassana can be translated as “Insight,” a clear awareness of exactly what is happening as it happens. Samatha can be translated as “concentration” or “tranquility.” It is a state in which the mind is brought to rest, focused only on one item and not allowed to wander. When this is done, a deep calm pervades body and mind, a state of tranquility which must be experienced to be understood.

Most systems of meditation emphasize the Samatha component. The meditator focuses his mind upon some items, such as prayer, a certain type of box, a chant, a candle flame, a religious image or whatever, and excludes all other thoughts and perceptions from his consciousness. The result is a state of rapture which lasts until the meditator ends the session of sitting. It is beautiful, delightful, meaningful and alluring, but only temporary. Vipassana meditation addresses the other component, insight.

Simran is one component of the Surat Shabd Yoga meditation practice taught by Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB), along with other sects that fall into the general category of Sant Mat. Simran is the repetition of a mantra, so it falls into the Samatha or concentration category, as noted in the passage quoted above. 

The other components of Surat Shabd Yoga are dhyan, visualization of an image (usually the face of the guru who initiated the practitioner), and bhajan, listening to a supposed celestial or supernatural sound.

The simran part of Surat Shabd Yoga is what I was asked about, but what follows really is a comparison of Vipassana and Surat Shabd Yoga in general.

I practiced Surat Shabd Yoga diligently for about 35 years, meditating every day from 1 1/2 hours to 2 1/2 hours. For the past 15 years or so my morning meditation has been Vipassana/mindfulness oriented. 

The key difference between Vipassana and Surat Shabd Yoga is the goal.

As noted in the passage above, Vipassana, or mindfulness, aims at being clearly aware of whatever is present within one's consciousness.

It isn't other-worldly, unless sensations of another world are present. Typically awareness of the breath is used to calm the mind, though thoughts and emotions aren't rejected in mindfulness meditation, since they can be another object of awareness.

Surat Shabd Yoga, on the other hand, is very much other-worldly. The goal is to withdraw one's consciousness from the outside world, including sensations of one's own body, and bring awareness completely "inside."

Once there, at the eye center or Third Eye, supposedly one's soul consciousness rises to higher realms of spiritual reality, considered to be five in number. 

Now, I've used supposed and supposedly to describe Surat Shabd Yoga meditation, but not to describe Vipassana or mindfulness meditation. 

This points to the central reason I consider Vipassana to be superior: it deals with what is actually present in consciousness, not with what might be there. Surat Shabd Yoga, on the other hand aims at leaving this world behind in order to gain a supposedly better one.

Even the simran or mantra repetition aspect of Surat Shabd Yoga has an other-worldly connotation, since the Five Holy Names repeated by the practitioner supposedly are associated with characteristics of the aforementioned five higher realms of reality.

So the benefit of Surat Shabd Yoga meditation is much reduced if, as I consider highly likely, the supernatural regions it posits actually don't exist.

Meaning, if there's no supernatural side to reality that human consciousness can become aware of, then Surat Shabd Yoga basically is Samatha or concentration. There's a benefit to being able to concentrate on a mantra or image to the exclusion of other sensations, thoughts, emotions, and such, but otherwise the Surat Shabd Yoga practitioner isn't doing anything special.

Ah, that word, special. 

This points to another reason why I now much prefer Vipassana/mindfulness meditation. There's nothing special about it, nor is there any claim that it's something special. It's simply an attempt to recognize whatever is happening with as clear an awareness as possible.

As I frequently hear on my Daily Calm guided meditation via my iPhone's Calm app, "breathing in, know that you are breathing in; breathing out, know that you are breathing out." (Also, as I've noted in a blog post, when locking my car, know that I am locking the car.)

So mindfulness is a universal approach to living.

In a very real sense, there's nothing higher or lower, better or worse, desirable or undesirable. If we're happy, we know we're happy. If sad, we know we're sad. Judgement is absent from Vipassana meditation, as I understand it.

If the mind wanders, we know our mind is wandering. When the mind is concentrated, we know our mind is concentrating.

By contrast, my experience is that Surat Shabd Yoga practitioners -- at least those in the RSSB organization -- consider themselves to be on a very special path that leads to God-realization. The RSSB teachings claim that those initiated by the guru, who is viewed as God in human form, are "marked souls." 

Marked, that is, by God as deserving of being put on a path that is guaranteed to lead to God-realization within a maximum of four lifetimes (which entails a belief in reincarnation, obviously).

The Surat Shabd Yoga goal of leaving this world behind to find a better one within the depths of one's consciousness also encourages an unhealthy disdain for everyday life among many devotees. The RSSB guru sometimes is adored more than an initiate's own family, in line with Jesus' supposed saying:

"Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves their son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me." (Matthew 10:37)

Bottom line: I'm enjoying my meditation much more now that I've switched to a Vipassana/mindfulness approach. I feel more in touch both with myself and with other people. I no longer consider that I'm on a special spiritual journey leading to the highest divine realm that people who practice other forms of meditation are unable to reach.

It feels good to simply view myself as an ordinary human being living an ordinary life.

But if God or a supernatural divinity actually does exist, seemingly Vipassana meditation will help me be mindfully aware of it, should that divinity deign to make an appearance in my consciousness.

UPDATE: I neglected to mention another reason I prefer Vipassana/mindfulness meditation now. In accord with Buddhist teachings, Vipassana leads to a realization that there's no "self" inside our head, no enduring essence, nothing separate from ever-changing experience.

Surat Shabd Yoga, on the other hand, assumes we have, or are, a soul that is unchanging and eternal, even though there's no convincing evidence of this. So in addition to assuming that supernatural realms of reality exist, Surat Shabd Yoga also assumes that the soul exists. 

I want to know reality as it is, as clearly and fully as possible. Fantasies about what could be, but isn't, can be fun to engage in (that's why movies and novels are so pleasing), but they shouldn't be taken seriously.

We humans are stuck in The Matrix of our own brains

Most religions, mystical practices, and spiritual paths assume there's a truer reality than our everyday existence. Few people, though, think deeply about how it is possible to tell whether Reality X is more true than Reality Y -- assuming that both actually exist.

Historian Yuval Noah Harari does think about this sort of stuff, though. Today I read the Science Fiction chapter in his newest book, 21 Lessons for the 21st Century. 

Harari notes that movies like The Truman Show and The Matrix show people trapped in an illusory reality that they have to struggle to get out of.

However, both movies -- despite their brilliance -- in the end recoil from the full implications of their scenarios. They assume that the humans trapped within the matrix have an authentic self that remains untouched by all the technological manipulations, and that beyond the matrix awaits an authentic reality that the heroes can access if they only try hard enough.

The matrix is just an artificial barrier separating your inner authentic self from the outer authentic world. After many trials and tribulations both heroes -- Neo in The Matrix and Truman in The Truman Show -- manage to transcend and escape the web of manipulations, discover their authentic selves, and reach the authentic promised land.

This is pretty much the basic plot line of the aforementioned religions, mystical practices, and spiritual paths. Something is preventing us from reaching "the authentic promised land." Original sin. Karmas. Maya. Worldly desires. Attachments. Etc. Etc.

What, though, if all of the ways to get out of the constricted box of illusion are just another form of the matrix? What if attempts to get out of the box we think we're trapped in just lead to a different sort of box? Harari goes on to say:

The current technological and scientific revolution implies not that authentic individuals and authentic realities can be manipulated by algorithms and TV cameras but rather than authenticity is a myth. People are afraid of being trapped inside a box, but they don't realize that they're already trapped inside a box -- their brain -- which is locked within the bigger box of human society with its myriad fictions.

When you escape the matrix the only thing you discover is a bigger matrix. 

When the peasants and workers revolted against the tsar in 1917, they ended up with Stalin; when you begin to explore the manifold ways the world manipulates you, in the end you realize that your core identity is a complex illusion created by neural networks.

Then Harari talks about the common assumption that Life Will Be Really Great only if we can get outside of the box that we feel we're trapped in that limits our capacity to be happy, contented, satisfied, at peace. Since I've been to Fiji, and don't remember being much, if any, happier while i was there, I can relate to this passage.

People fear that if they're trapped inside a box, they will miss out on all the wonders of the world. As long as Neo is stuck inside the matrix and Truman is stuck inside the TV studio, they will never visit Fiji, Paris, or Machu Picchu. 

But in truth, everything you will ever experience in life is within your own body and your own mind. Breaking out of the matrix or traveling to Fiji won't make any difference.

It's not that somewhere in your mind there is an iron chest with a big red warning sign that reads OPEN ONLY IN FIJI! and when you finally travel to the South Pacific you get to open the chest, and out come all kinds of special emotions and feelings that you can have only in Fiji.

And if you never visit Fiji in your life, then you missed these special feelings forever. No. Whatever you can feel in Fiji, you can feel anywhere in the world, even inside the matrix.

This is very much in line with what I said in a 2018 blog post, "Keep the feeling of religion, and discard the theology." 

I don't believe in God. But I believe in the feelings that accompany belief. 

So now that I've realized the falsity of religion, I've discarded the theological aspects of my former belief system and kept the positive feelings.

Here's some examples.

I used to enjoy the feeling that God was looking out for me, managing my life in such a way that even bad experiences were aimed at bettering my long-term salvation chances. This made me feel hopeful about the future, since I considered there was a trajectory to my life that would end with me becoming familiar with divinity, and maybe actually merging with it.

Now, I'm simply hopeful. The feeling is the same. I've just eliminated the crazy theological reasons I had for believing that the future would turn out fine.

Serving God (or a guru, for I was a member of an organization that believed the guru was God in human form) was another enjoyable feeling. Back in my true believing days I engaged in a lot of seva, as it was called, which is an Indian term for service, or volunteering.

Well, I still like to feel like what I'm doing is benefitting others.

But I've discarded the notion that there's some sort of special benefit to being of service to a supposedly Godly person or organization. This allows me to enjoy the sensation of "selfless service" without having that feeling rest on an imagined theological foundation.

People cling to religion because they like the good feelings that come with believing. 

What I'm suggesting is that those feelings are separable from the theological framework, rituals, holy books, forms of worship, and other trappings of a religion. 

In the same fashion, happiness is a feeling. But obviously there are many ways for someone to be happy. There isn't a single cause of happiness, just as there isn't a single cause of the good feelings that people enjoy from embracing religious beliefs. 

You can give up religion and keep the feelings. 

Even if those feelings are happening within a box, or matrix. Here's Harari's thoughts about that.

Perhaps we are all living inside a giant computer simulation, Matrix-style. That would contradict all our national, religious, and ideological stories. But our mental experiences would still be real. If it turns out that human history is an elaborate simulation run on a supercomputer by rat scientists from the planet Zircon, that would be rather embarrassing for Karl Marx and the Islamic State.

But those rat scientists would still have to answer for the Armenian genocide and for Auschwitz. How did they get that one past Zircon University's ethics committee? Even if the gas chambers were just electric signals in silicon chips, the experiences of pain, fear, and despair were not one iota less excruciating for that.

Pain is pain, fear is fear, and love is love -- even in the matrix.

It doesn't matter if the fear you feel is inspired by a collection of atoms in the outside world or by electrical signals manipulated by a computer. The fear is still real. So if you want to explore the reality of your mind, you can do that inside the matrix as well as outside it. 

Harari is an ardent practitioner of meditation, Buddhist variety. I wrote about this in "How meditation helped Yuval Harari write 'Sapiens,' a terrific book." 

Another RSSB defender attacks the messenger, me

This blog has been alive and well since 2004. That's 15 years of talking truth to religious power here at the Church of the Churchless.

After over 4 million page views, 2,526 posts, and 42,239 comments, I'm well aware of the games religious believers play when their cherished faith comes in for criticism. One of their favorite ploys is to attack the messenger when the message being shared is so convincing, they have no effective response to my truth-telling.

Recent case in point: commenter Chris.

He's been doing his best to defend the Radha Soami Satsang Beas guru, Gurinder Singh Dhillon, against a criminal complaint filed by his cousin, Malvinder Singh, alleging that Dhillon, his family, and close associates have fraudulently siphoned off hundreds of millions of dollars from companies once managed by Malvinder and his brother Shivinder, who reportedly aided and abetted in the financial theft in exchange for a promise that Shivinder would become the next RSSB guru.

In addition, the complaint says that the guru has made death threats against Malvinder. Not exactly how one would expect that a supposedly "spiritual" guru would behave, though there are plenty of examples of other Indian gurus behaving badly. 

Now, it seems to me that even if someone was a devotee of a guru who has been accused of such serious wrongdoing, especially since investigators in India have documented the money trail that leads to the guru's doorstep, they would say something like, "Wow, these are serious accusations. I sure hope they aren't true. But this purported wrongdoing needs to be closely examined."

Chris isn't that sort of person, though.

He's been doing his best to attack my credibility, even though I've simply been writing about what the Indian financial press has been reporting. Thus he's doing the attack the messenger thing, rather than responding to the details of the message regarding Gurinder Singh Dhillon's reported misdeeds.

After Chris wrongly claimed that I'm an "icon for dissatisfied meditators," I challenged him to explain why, if this was true, I've been meditating every day for 50 years. If I, and other spiritual but not religious types, are dissatisfied with our meditation, seemingly we wouldn't be so happy to meditate.

Here's the most recent comment from Chris, along with my responses in red. I enjoy puncturing religious pretense, so it was a pleasure to reply to Chris' comment. Since my name is Brian Hines, I'm the "BH" in the comment Chris shared.

As a gesture of good faith, I'll do you the courtesy of replying to your points and questions first. I have assumed you will permit me to be rigorously honest with you. . . . , . . .

Hey, I love honesty. Especially rigorous honesty. That's the best kind. I sprinkle rigorous honesty on my cereal each morning -- that's how much I adore it. 

BH: “you claim to be devoted to the truth." I have not made such a "claim" here. Can you quote me? FALSE ASSUMPTION 1

Oh, I'm sorry. When I said in a comment that you (Chris) claim to be devoted to the truth, I thought you'd take that as a compliment. I stand corrected. You don't claim to be devoted to the truth. But I am. I guess I assumed that you were as devoted to the truth as me. My bad.

BH: “you speak of things that you have no knowledge of." Brian you don't know me, nor what I know. FALSE ASSUMPTION 2

Well, what I was thinking of when I said that about you was the above-referenced statement you made about me being an icon for dissatisfied meditators. Since you don't have direct knowledge of how satisfied I or others are with our meditation, I stand by my assertion. But if you do know how satisfied we are with our meditation, I look forward to seeing evidence of your mystical powers. 

BH: "Such as, what I and other critics of the RSSB guru have experienced in meditation, and continue to experience." I have made no such claim to such knowledge. And I admit I don't have it. FALSE ASSUMPTION & ACCUSATION 3

Hmmmm. It sure seems like you made that claim. Below is an excerpt from one of your comments. You said that I and others have embraced "erroneous certainties." But I'm glad that you now admit that you don't know whether what we non-religious meditators experience in meditation is true. So I accept your apology. You wrote;

"Most people live their lives out of self-invented illusory certainties. In my view Brian Hines and many others here have merely swapped one set of erroneous sureties for a different set. As we ALL have the right to do. But if Mr. Hines wants to claim he is spreading 'truth' -- and doing it very publically -- then he also can be held accountable for what he spreads. Don't you think? Or has he now become an untouchable icon for dissatisfied meditators, thus someone who must be defended at all costs, even when he is clearly in error?"

BH: "As Sonya correctly said, we are not the 'dissatisfied meditators' that you say we are." I meant specifically surat-shabd-yoga meditation. And I wasn't referring to JUST you. I was colloquially referring to you and some of your defenders/supporters. In your case I was referencing how you have often expressed a dissatisfaction with the results of your decades of RS surat-shabd yoga. I admit I have made an assumption of my own, that someone who had satisfactory results in surat-shabd yoga would not be regularly engaged in the kind of comments that are commonplace here.

Ah, now we get to the crux of what is bothering Chris. He apparently believes that surat-shabd-yoga meditation is the only genuine kind. I heartily disagree. I spent 35 years diligently practicing that sort of meditation, which is that taught by Radha Soami Satsang Beas.

For about 15 years I've been meditating in a Buddhist fashion, using Vipassana (mindfulness) and Metta (loving kindness) practices. In my experience mindfulness and loving kindness are better ways of meditating. But everyone has to decide for themselves.

I'm just surprised that Chris is so judgmental about meditation practices that differ from the one he prefers.

I'm also surprised that Chris seems to be suggesting that he has achieved some sort of meditation heights that us mere mortals haven't. Do you really believe that surat shabd yoga meditation is better than other types, Chris? Regardless of the answer, I now understand why Chris is so defensive about criticisms of the RSSB guru.

If the guru really is guilty of the crimes he's been accused of, this would show that surat-shabd-yoga doesn't make one a better human being, given that Gurinder Singh Dhillon is the spiritual leader of a surat-shabd-yoga sect.

BH: "You seem to look upon meditation as some sort of a contest...” No, I have not written that, and I do not think that. FALSE ASSUMPTION 4

Again, I stand corrected. When you spoke of "dissatisfied meditators," I understandably assumed that you had a vision in mind of what a satisfied meditator would be like. It's good to know that notwithstanding your statements about surat-shabd-yoga meditation, actually you don't believe that sort of meditation is better than other kinds. On that we agree. Which is why I'm pleased to stick with mindfulness and loving kindness meditation.

BH: "If you're willing, please share what you consider should make someone dissatisfied with their meditation." I regard this as a devious attempt at entrapment used as a defensive avoidance tactic. But ...only you can know for sure. Whatever, I have no interest in pursuing such a line of enquiry and don't see how it adds to the discussion of you presenting one-sided allegations and speculations as if they are factually proven, when any honest person knows that, as yet, they aren't.

Gosh, Chris, I politely said "if you're willing..." No need to view my request as a "devious attempt at entrapment."

Didn't you just say that you don't view meditation as some sort of contest? I simply was wondering why you claimed that I and others were dissatisfied with our meditation. Seemingly that claim would be backed up by a criterion of what would make someone satisfied with their meditation.

Regarding the allegations made against Gurinder Singh Dhillon, you should complain to the Indian financial press and Malvinder Singh, since they're the ones reporting on and making those allegations. I sprinkle my blog posts on this subject with "allegedly" and similar terms. I've never said that they were factually proven. Maybe you've been reading some other blog and mixing it up with this one. Hey, we all make mistakes. 

BH: "Again, along with Buddhist teachings, I consider that coming closer to the reality of the present moment, whatever that reality consists of, is what meditation is all about. If you disagree, share your own view of meditation." Again, I see this as yet another irrelevant point to my specific observations and therefore a diversionary tactic. There.

There? That's your answer to my query about whether you believe coming closer to the reality of the present moment is what meditation is all about?

I simply was trying to understand how you view meditation. Sounds like I was correct in assuming above that truth isn't your primary goal in meditation. That's fine. Everybody is entitled to their own illusions. Whatever works for you, do it.

Will you now reply to the previous observations and the related questions put to you? Here are a few more: Can you see how you have again in this reply made many false assumptions and made unfounded claims?

No. 

Can you see that you have built a picture of what is occurring between us based on those false assumptions AS IF they were 'factual' and 'true'?

No.

Can you see how that appears to be a pattern of behaviour?

No.

UPDATE: I just came across a comment by Sonya that is too good not to share in this post. GSD refers to Gurinder Singh Dhillon, the guru of Radha Soami Satsang Beas. Enjoy:

@Chris Why do you keep saying “dissatisfied meditators”. I was very satisfied with my meditation when I followed RSSB and am still satisfied with meditation today. That had nothing to do with GSD. It’s GSD’s stomach churning behavior and the comments I personally witnessed spew out of his mouth as well as his inappropriate behavior that were intolerable.

Maybe you haven’t spent enough time in his close presence to understand this yet. As you’ll see in one of Brian’s recent posts he threw in “allegedly” and made reference to how Stephen Colbert often throws in “allegedly” when talking about Trump.

That made me laugh... All of the other late night TV show hosts repeat the news... (and they don’t even say allegedly) that’s exactly what Brian is doing (on a more serious note). Watch Colbert, Trevor Noah, Jimmy Kimmel, Jimmy Fallon, James Corden, John Oliver... they repeat the news and add their own Op Ed to it...

I wish India had an SNL [Saturday Night Live] type show... maybe they do. If so, I’d love to see it because this whole RSSB, Dhillon, Singh scandal has rocked the Indian Media. They like to refer to it as a potboiler... they say it has all the makings of a Bollywood movie with a guru even thrown in! It’s a blockbuster Bollywood film in the making.

You should spend some time watching the News channels in India cover this... get a translator. It’s sadly very entertaining. Or are you more of a Fox News and Info Wars kind of guy/girl? (respectfully, Chris could be either) What made GSD will break GSD.

Here's a positive sign of my (mini) enlightenment

I was really proud of myself tonight. So proud, I'm thinking that what I did could be a tangible sign of my enlightenment, mini, or even micro, variety.

After finding a parking spot a couple of blocks from my 6 pm Tai Chi class in downtown Salem, I walked away from my VW GTI without going back and checking if I'd locked the car via a button on the door handle.

Now, this may not seem like something that distinguishes an enlightened being. It pales in comparison to what supposedly happened with the Buddha under the Bodhi Tree. 

But given how often I do return to my car to peer into the driver's side window to see if the red "locked" light is flashing, I was decidedly pleased that even though doing this did pass through my mind, tonight I recalled hearing the clunk sound my GTI makes when a door is locked. 

Thus this time I'd managed to be mindful of a habitual action: locking my car. 

Many other times, way too many to count, I'd started thinking of something else I needed to do while my finger was pressing the lock button. Since the human brain has limited bandwidth, and really is able to do only one thing at a time skillfully, my lack of attention to what my body was doing at the locking-car moment often leaves me unsure if I'd done it.

Now that I've reached the age of 70 (which seems astoundingly old whenever I see it in writing), I'm paying more attention to the few pearls of wisdom I might be able to pass on to the young'uns. Here's one pearl, as prosaic as it may seem:

Try to keep your mind and body on the same page of reality.

This is Mindfulness 101, of course. Others have said the same thing, and better, in the many books I've read about meditation and mindfulness. For example, here's a passage from Thich Nhat Hanh's wonderful little book, "The Miracle of Mindfulness."

Our breath is such a fragile piece of thread. But once we know how to use it, it can become a wondrous tool to help us surmount situations which would otherwise seem hopeless. Our breath is the bridge from our body to our mind, the element which reconciles our body and mind and which makes possible one-ness of body and mind. 

Breath is aligned to both body and mind and it alone is the tool which can bring them both together, illuminating both and bringing both peace and calm.

Life is short. The older we get, the more this becomes obvious. Some people deal with this fact by making a Bucket List of things they want to accomplish before, as the saying goes, they kick the bucket. 

I used to embrace that sort of attitude.

But now I've come to feel something different, and seemingly more attainable. I simply want to be as fully aware as possible of whatever it is I'm doing until I take my last breath. What that whatever is doesn't matter a whole lot in the grand scheme of things.

By which I mean, there's an unbridgeable gulf between (1) existing as a living being, and (2) dying and not existing at all.

(I'm an atheist, so I don't believe in life after death. However, even religious people should admit there is no solid proof of this, so my point holds for everybody in my decidedly personal opinion.)

So let's say I write a best-selling book -- which previously was on my Bucket List. So what? How does that change my life? How does it affect my everyday existence? I still need to fix my breakfast, wash dishes, walk the dog, and, yes, lock my car. If I'm thinking of how great an author I am while doing those things, I've lost part of my living.

Again, Thich Nhat Hanh makes this point way better than I can.

If while washing dishes, we think only of the cup of tea that awaits us, thus hurrying to get the dishes out of the way as if they were a nuisance, then we are not "washing the dishes to wash the dishes." What's more, we are not alive during the time we are washing the dishes.

In fact, we are completely incapable of realizing the miracle of life while standing at the sink. If we can't wash the dishes, the chances are we won't be able to drink our tea either. While drinking the cup of tea, we will only be thinking of other things, barely aware of the cup in our hands.

Thus we are sucked away into the future -- and we are incapable of actually living one minute of life.

Meditation isn't mystical. It's about awareness of actual reality.

For about 35 years I had some deluded notions about meditation.

Back then I embraced a teaching that said meditation was about concentrating at the eye center (third eye, basically) so one's mind/soul could enter higher realms of mystical consciousness.

Now I realize that this wasn't what genuine meditation really is all about. A book that I've gotten back to reading, "Altered Traits:  Science Reveals How Meditation Changes Your Mind, Brain, and Body" has helped me understand this. 

I bought this book in September 2017, wrote a rather critical blog post about it in April 2018 ("Awareness is a process, not a thing") and recently read a couple of additional chapters that make me feel considerably more positive about the book.

Here's some highlights from those chapters, which describe what happened when the brains of some highly experienced meditators, both Buddhist monks and others, were examined through modern scientific devices: EEG and fMRI. The key theme here is Open Presence.

Researchers found that the brain waves of Mingyur Rinpoche, a Tibetan monk, were off the charts when it came to his ability to almost instantly enter a state of compassionate meditation. But those spikes diminished, yet didn't disappear, when he went into a rest period. Thus his brain had acquired a lasting trait, not just the ability to enter into temporary states of consciousness.

When another researcher tested whether Mingyur could generate an elaborate visual image or had extrasensory perception, he flunked both tests. Here's a passage from Altered Traits about this.

Mingyur, it turned out, had done no practice with visualization since the long-gone, early years of his practice. As time went on, his meditations evolved. His current method, ongoing open presence (which expressed itself as kindness in everyday life), encourages letting go of any and all thoughts rather than generating any specific visual images.

...As for "extrasensory perception," Mingyur had never claimed to have such supernormal powers. Indeed, the texts of his tradition made clear that any fascination with such abilities was a detour, a dead end on the path.

Which is exactly my experience, though I make no claim to being anywhere near as experienced with meditation as Mingyur is. What we're trying to do in meditation is experience reality as it is, not as religious fantasies make it out to be.

An eighteenth-century Tibetan text urges meditators to practice "on whatever harms come your way," adding, "When sick, practice on that sickness... When cold, practice on that coldness. By practicing in this way all situations will arise as meditation."

...Mingyur Rinpoche, likewise, encourages making all sensation, even pain, our "friend," using it as a basis for meditation. Since the essence of meditation is awareness, any sensation that anchors attention can be used as support -- and pain can be very effective in focusing.

...Each yogi (including Mingyur) was compared to a meditation-naive volunteer matched for age and gender. For a week before they came to be studied, the volunteers learned to generate an "open presence," an attentional stance of letting whatever life presents us come and go, without adding thoughts or emotional reactions. Our senses are fully aware, and we just stay aware of what happens without getting carried away by any downs or ups.

When the yogis and volunteers were tested to see how they reacted to a 10-second slight warming of a firey device, followed by a 10-second blast of hotness, the control groups' pain matrix in the brain reacted almost as strongly to the slight warming as it did when the high heat came on.

So their "anticipatory anxiety" caused them distress even before the real pain arrived. By contrast, the experienced meditators showed little change when the plate warmed just a little.

Interestingly, though:

But during the actual moments of intense heat the yogis had a surprising heightened response, mainly in the sensory areas that receive the genuine feel of a stimulus -- the tingling, pressure, high heat, and other raw sensations on the skin of the wrist where the hot plate rested. The emotional regions of the pain matrix activated a bit, but not as much as the sensory circuitry. 

This suggests a lessening of the psychological component -- like the worry we feel in anticipation of pain -- along with intensification of the pain sensations themselves. Right after the heat stopped, all the regions of the brain matrix rapidly returned down to their levels before the pain cue, far more quickly than was the case for the controls.

For the highly advanced meditators, the recovery from pain was almost as though nothing much had happened at all.

Pretty inspiring. This shows that the human brain/mind is capable of more than most people are able to express, or experience. Yet this capacity isn't supernatural, divine, or godly. Here's some final quotes from Altered Traits.

We can only make conjectures about what state of consciousness this reflects: yogis like Mingyur seem to experience an ongoing state of open, rich awareness during their daily lives, not just when they meditate. The yogis themselves have described it as a spaciousness and vastness in their experience, as if all their senses were wide open to the full rich panorama of experience. 

Or, as a fourteenth-century Tibetan text describes it,

...a state of bare, transparent awareness.

Effortless and brilliantly vivid, a state of relaxed, rootless wisdom;

Fixation free and crystal clear, a state without the slightest reference point;

Spacious empty clarity, a state-wide-open and unconfined; the senses unfettered...

Religions forget that we humans are animals

Calling someone animalistic isn't an insult. It is a fact.

We humans are animals. Just unusual ones, since members of no other animal species can write articles (or blog posts) about the fact that they're animals.

Thus our bodies do what other animal bodies do. 

Pee. Poop. Breathe. Have sex. Play. Feel. Sleep. Eat. Drink. And so on. 

Sure, we also think about all kinds of stuff. The structures we build are more impressive than a termite hill. Our social relationships are more complex than a wolf pack. 

Yet the fact remains, we are animals.

One reason I've come to reject religions is that almost all of them deny our animalistic nature. Religious moral codes are filled with ridiculous attempts to ignore the needs and urges of the human body.

Sex is supposed to only occur between a married man and woman. Not out of wedlock. Not between two people of the same gender. (And certainly not between more than two people, regardless of gender.) 

Alcohol is OK in certain religions, though not in others. Recreational drugs like marijuana or psychedelics rarely are. Why? Who knows. Probably because of bullshit like "the body is a temple that must be kept clean and holy."

Other animals enjoy being intoxicated. But only the human animal feels guilty about it, mostly thanks to ignorant religious dogmas. 

For 35 years I bought into some of that body-denying dogma, Eastern mysticism variety. 

I didn't drink alcohol. I didn't use marijuana or any other drugs. I kept my sexual urges within the confines of marriage. But after I got divorced in 1990 from my first wife, and then "divorced" from my religion in 2004, I loosened up.

I realized that life needs to be lived happily, not fearfully.

I stopped worrying about following commandments and rules that no longer made sense to me. I enjoyed sex with my eventual wife-to-be. I enjoyed a glass of wine. I enjoyed smoking (or vaping) marijuans.

Nothing bad happened to me. No thunderbolts rained down from the sky. The heavens didn't part to reveal a god proclaiming you are a sinner! I simply felt more relaxed, more human, more natural, and yes, more animalistic.

So if you're a religious believer who feels like you're being confined in a life-denying box, I highly recommend breaking out. Life is too short to live it anyway other than fully.

The oft-heard adage, among adherents of my previous religion, at least, is flat-out wrong. We aren't spiritual beings having a human experience. We are humans being deluded into pursuing dogmatic spiritual experiences.

Genuine spirituality gets contaminated by religiosity. There are no rules that can't be broken. Everyone who seeks the deeper meaning of life is an army of one. Once you allow yourself to follow in someone else's footsteps, you are unable to find your own way.

Spirituality isn't opposed to the body. It is part and parcel of it. Pleasure is holy. Denying our animalism is a sin against our true nature. 

Sam Harris on not finding a center of consciousness

Some time ago, can't remember exactly when, I added guided meditations via Sam Harris' Waking Up iPhone app to my morning meditation routine. (I also enjoy listening to the daily guided meditations by Tamara Levitt on the Calm app.)

Sam Harris

Here's a transcript I made of part of one of Harris' guided meditations. It followed an exercise where Harris asked the listener to breathe in a vision of the world on an inbreath, and to breathe out themselves into the world on the outbreath. 

Well, the point of that exercise is to notice, once again, how much the sense of self, the sense of being, is located, is anchored in vision. You might find it useful to play with this as you meditate with open eyes and you look for the seat of attention. 

You might notice there’s a transition between breathing the world in, and breathing yourself out into it. And it’s that implied center of consciousness, that place where you seem to be, that point toward which you could inhale everything, and from which you could exhale yourself out into the world — it’s that point you are looking for.

And the moment you look, it’s not seen. And it’s in that awareness of there being no thing to see, that you should rest your mind. And if that’s confusing, rest assured it won’t always be. 

This is a common theme of Harris, how it isn't possible to find the see'er of what is being seen, the hear'er of what is being heard, the think'er of what is being thought, and so on. 

Which is a thoroughly Buddhist notion, of course: the reality of no-self.

This is very different from other meditation practices that try to withdraw attention from the world into some sort of "eye center" or "third eye," with the aim of realizing oneself as immaterial consciousness or soul.

Here's some other notes I've taken after listening to Harris' guided meditations. These aren't exact quotes, like the passage above is. But they're very close to Harris' own words.

-- Follow the breath back to the one who is breathing. Toward what? Who is the one that is seeing?

-- Breathe with yourself into the world. Look for the place between breathing in the world and breathing yourself out. Look and find there is nothing to be seen.

-- Is there a center to consciousness, a place from which you're being conscious. Look for it briefly, then rest your mind.

-- Everything that appears is a wave on the surface of consciousness.

-- Is there a hearer in addition to the fact of hearing?

-- Where is the self, if every sign of it is appearing in consciousness?

-- Don't lean forward to breathe. Lean back. Receive like a mirror would.

-- Drop back into the space into which thoughts and sensations are appearing.

-- Don't feel like attention is coming from some point. Rather, that feeling also is coming from the open space of consciousness.

-- Cover the breath. Just receive each new sensation. The point is not the breath. It's the quality of awareness you are paying attention to it.

-- A feeling of "I" is also an appearance in consciousness. It feels a certain way to feel you are directing attention. Drop back and be the space in which that feeling too is arising. Is there a center of consciousness?

Attention isn't what meditation is all about

I'm in book bliss.

Someone emailed me with a book recommendation, "The Mind Illuminated: A Complete Meditation Guide Integrating Buddhist Wisdom and Brain Science for Greater Mindfulness," and I'm loving what I've read so far -- the first couple of chapters.

Here's a few early thoughts about the book.

First, it confirms my belief, which isn't shared by some religious fundamentalists (Eastern mysticism variety) who've been frequent commenters on this blog, that there are many forms of useful meditation. 

In fact, the inward looking, world-denying, mantra-focused type of meditation favored by Sant Mat/Radha Soami Satsang Beas, which I embraced for 35 years, is much different from what is likely the most common form of meditation in the world: mindfulness based on Buddhist principles.

This is clear from the opening pages of The Mind Illuminated. The primary author, John Yates, lays out in summary form the ten stages of meditation practice discussed in the book. The final stage, Stage Ten, is described in this fashion:

When you have mastered Stage Ten, the many positive mental qualities you experience during meditation are strongly present even between meditation sessions, so your daily life is imbued with effortlessly stable attention, mindfulness, joy, tranquility, and equanimity.

Since Yates bases the ten stages on his study of ancient Buddhist writings, which often are largely incomprehensible to the modern reader, Stage Ten is firmly in line with Buddhist teachings. Yates writes:

The modern road map offered in this book combines experience, tradition, and science. It is a synthesis based on firsthand experience, and expanded on through the shared experiences of many other dedicated practitioners. To make sense of my own meditations and find guidance about where my practice should go next, I turned to my teachers, the Pali suttas, and the commentaries of several Buddhist traditions. 

Over and over, these traditional sources gave me the information I needed and provided an appropriate context to fit the pieces together. By integrating this information and my own experiences with the insights of psychology and cognitive neuroscience, I've "reverse engineered" traditional meditation instructions to create a contemporary map of meditation.

So there is no mention of God; no mention of supernatural entities; no mention of heavenly realms separate from this world.

Instead, Yates writes clearly about how the human mind works, and how meditation can help it function better. It's great how the book is based, as noted in the quote above, both on Buddhist tradition and current neuroscience. 

Second, in my reading this morning I was struck by the wisdom of clearly distinguishing attention from awareness. A Glossary in the back of the book defines these terms.

Attention: The cognitive ability to select and analyze specific information and ignore other information arising from a vast field of internal and external stimuli. Attention is one of two forms of conscious awareness. Peripheral awareness is the second: we pay attention to some things, while simultaneously being aware of, but not attending to, others. 

Awareness: As used in this book, awareness always has the same meaning as peripheral awareness. It never means attention, nor does it refer to covert or non-conscious awareness. 

Any meditation approach that doesn't combine the benefits of attention and awareness is like a bird trying to fly with one wing. Both are needed. When we drive a car, we can't focus all of our attention on staying in our lane and keeping a safe distance from the car ahead of us. 

We've got to have peripheral awareness also. What if a car unexpectedly runs a stop light at an intersection? What if a child chasing a ball runs into the road? There are so many things we need to be aware of, other than what our primary focus is.

This is why mantra meditation, where a word or words is repeated (usually soundlessly) as a focus of attention, is very limited. Repeating a mantra was emphasized by the RSSB teachings that I followed for so many years. And not only during the time of meditation, but as much as possible throughout the rest of the day.

I eventually realized that this had some major drawbacks.

I found that when I put too much attention on the mantra, I distanced myself from the reality of what was around me. Like, the person I was talking with, or nature, if I was out on a walk. I also observed that many RSSB devotees acted a lot like robots, lacking spontaneity, naturalness, social awareness. 

They were so focused on keeping their attention from scattering out into the world, they were clueless about what was happening in the world -- the exact opposite of mindfulness, which requires a wise balancing of attention and awareness. There's a time to be focused on one thing, and there's a time to be aware of the entirety of what surrounds us.

I'm sure I'll have more to say about The Mind Illuminated as I read more of it. For now, I simply can say that I highly recommend it to anyone who is meditating, or wants to meditate. 

Here's my foolproof guide to wise spiritual "investing"

The past couple of days have been ugly for investors in stock markets around the world, including here in the United States. But I've been pretty much unmoved and unworried by the downturn. 

Why? Because quite a few years ago I decided to embrace index investing, where you don't try to be smarter than all the other guys/gals who invest, you just have a goal of doing as well as the general investment climate.

A few years ago I wrote about this on one of my other blogs in "Index investing lets me relax in a stock market crash." And I've come to take the same approach to spirituality.

Here's links to posts I've written on this subject, along with an excerpt from each. They're listed in the order I wrote them.

Spiritual diversification, a sound salvation strategy (May 2005).
Wise financial professionals advise that if you want to save money for retirement, it’s best to invest in index funds. Increasingly, people do. But when it comes to saving their souls for eternity, most of those same people will put all of their spiritual nest egg into one basket—a single religion that they expect will support them both here and hereafter.

We here at the Church of the Churchless say, “that’s foolish.” Spiritual diversification makes as much sense as financial diversification. No, even more sense. For sometimes savvy (or lucky) investors do beat the market by buying stock in a single company. And they can prove it by having their CPAs work up a statement of net worth.

But no such proof exists in the sphere of spirituality. No religious figure can show you how his or her investment in a particular spiritual practice has paid off in terms of salvation. The claims made in supposedly holy scriptures such as the Bible, Koran, Talmud, Dhammapada, Adi Granth, Vedas, and so on are just that, claims. Unsubstantiated, unproven, unbelievable.

...In short, I’ve become spiritually diversified. I try not to set rigid boundaries around what I believe and what I do. I try to look for inspiration in lots of different places, people, and writings. I try to become aware of all that is real about both physical existence and whatever metaphysical realities exist beyond the world I know now. I try to be content with what the cosmos brings me rather than considering that I’m entitled to unique dispensations.

Here’s the interesting thing: my faith is stronger now. As I’ve lost faith in particular religious approaches, my faith in a universal spirituality has become stronger. Again, this is akin to how my financial philosophy has changed: I’ve lost faith in the value of choosing individual stocks and bonds, but I’ve gained faith in the wisdom of investing in the entire universe of equity and debt investment possibilities.

Spiritual investing takes nothing (May 2005)
There’s a difference between worldly and other-worldly markets that I neglected to address sufficiently before. When you buy a monetary index fund such as the Total U.S. Stock Market, you end up owning a piece of every single company stock in the United States. Thus diversification is accomplished in a manner that is easy to understand: own a little bit of everything.

But to invest one’s soul in the Total Cosmic Spirit Market means taking an exactly opposite approach: owning nothing. You diversify widely into the One by not clinging to any part of the Many—anything that can be demarcated by name or form.

“God,” after all, isn’t part of this world. Whatever or whoever God is, the unknown ultimate reality that is given this utterly meaningless name (which is why I like to put it in quotation marks) obviously isn’t something that we can point to and say, “There it is! And this is what it is like!” If knowing God were that easy, there wouldn’t be any divine mystery to unravel.

...Most religious believers like to think that the mystery of God is elusive except for the special revelation to which they, and they alone, are privy. Not true. There are no exceptions to maya. If you can give it a name or a form, nama or rupa, it’s part of maya. A revelation, by definition, is something revealed. That means you can point to it, describe it, define it, delineate it.

Thus the Bible is maya, illusion. All of it, New and Old Testament alike. Ditto the Talmud, Koran, Dhammapada, Tao Te Ching, Upanishads, Adi Granth, Course of Miracles, Conversations with God, and, naturally, the Church of the Churchless. Everything I’ve written on this weblog is part and parcel of maya, including that last sentence.

There’s only one way out of maya: nothing. You get out of an enclosure by finding the empty space—a door. The door is useful because it is empty. It isn’t composed of the same substance as the walls, floor, and ceiling. If it were, then it too would be part of the enclosure.

Something empty and hidden connects everything that can be sensed or conceived of. That something we don’t know is what we really want, not all the things and ideas we do know. It alone will satisfy, because only it is permanent, real, substantial. It goes by lots of names: Spirit, Tao, Buddha Nature, countless others.

Profitable spiritual investing (October 2008)

Last night I was with a group of people who discussed the ins and outs (not to mention the ups and downs) of investing in tough times like these.

I didn't have a whole lot to say.

Briefly I held forth on the Buddha-like nature of index fund investing, where you don't try to beat the market through some clever scheme but rather rest content with rising and falling in concert with the overall financial tide.

I told my friends, "If the world and national economy go to hell, so will our investments. If things improve, so will our portfolio. It's a humble way to invest, since you're happy to be average."

This is pretty much the same way I feel about my spiritual investing strategy now.

For many years I thought I could beat the system. That is, find a way to salvation, God-realization, enlightenment, or whatever, that would lead to a better result than others would enjoy who weren't privy to the inside knowledge I possessed.

...Mystics and theologians often speak of God as unspeakable. They urge us to think of God as being beyond thought. Rather than seek a divine light, embracing darkness is recommended – the via negativa.

I'm no longer so big on embracing Nothing. I still love the notion of emptiness, of becoming a receptive vessel that can be filled with truth, happiness, knowledge, and other good stuff (including money).

However, the notion that there's a Nothing on the other side of Everything – Christians would call this "God," Taoists "Wu Chi" – maybe this is just a meaningless concept lacking any foundation in reality. People who want to make money don't ask, "What is the ineffable source of wealth?"

They just invest. Not in nothing, but in something. Hoping to get more of it: something.

...The ultimate questions of life basically are answered (or ignored) by "Things are what they are; the universe is what it is." That's real spiritual index investing.

Why atheists are more "spiritual" than religious believers (November 2014)
Maybe this statement seems paradoxical to you: I feel more genuinely spiritual now that I've stopped believing in God. But it makes good sense to me. Here's the main reason why.

I no longer feel special.

Virtually every religion and spiritual path considers that its adherents have a special relationship with God or whatever other supernatural entity they believe in. 

There are so many chosen people on Earth, they vastly outnumber the unchosen, the non-special group I'm pleased to be a part of.

I understand that feeling special has its own delights.

In my case, I was a member of an India-based spiritual organization which taught that those approved for initiation by the guru had been "marked" to return to God/heaven after a karma-cleansing meditation process.

Cool!

For about 35 years I embraced the enjoyable belief that, out of all the billions of people on this planet, I was one of a relative few who were the special beloveds of the supreme being. 

Of course, devout Christians, Jews, and Muslims feel the same way, along with countless believers in other theological belief systems. 

Eventually I started to realize that all the talk I was hearing about being "humble servants of the Lord and the guru" was, to put it bluntly, a crock of shit. Genuine humility wasn't much to be seen among devotees of my spiritual organization.

Not surprising.

Since members of this group were told over and over that they've been singled out by a higher power to learn cosmic truths and experience realms of reality not available to other human beings, naturally a pervading sense of "tribal" pride was evident throughout the organization.

We were the cool kids in the spiritual lunch room. Other faiths were inferior, since they didn't have the direct connection to God we did. 

I'm happy that this form of egotism has been discarded.

Sure, I've still got lots of other self-centered tendencies rattling around in my psyche, as we all do. But to get rid of The Big One, a belief that God had chosen me to be his best buddy for eternity, whereas my infidel wife wasn't going to get the same afterlife prize -- this increased my humility quotient by a lot.

Now I don't expect that I'm going to have any different sort of afterlife anyone else does. Namely, I strongly suspect, none at all. 

I also don't expect that there is any power guiding my life which isn't also directing the lives of every other entity on Earth. 

Thus I've embraced a sort of "index fund" approach to spirituality.

Meaning, I don't try to beat the market. I don't assume that I have any special knowledge, any special talent, any special relationship with reality. Whatever laws of nature apply to everybody else, I'm content with.

My "spiritual" Theory of Everything is coming along nicely

Once in a while I get a glimpse of how things really are, or ideally are, spiritually speaking.

Now, I put "spiritual" in quotation marks in the title of this post, because the way I use the word, it has nothing to do with God or the supernatural -- which in my view don't exist.

Rather, when I speak of spirituality, I mean a quest to understand how best to live life. The ancient Greeks called this philosophy, literally "love of wisdom." However, these days philosophy usually is considered to be not a way of life, but an academic discipline.

So for me spiritual points to an attempt to live life fully, happily, wisely, compassionately. And since I'm a lover of science, I enjoy thinking of my personal form of spirituality as a Theory of Everything that applies to me -- yet might have some appeal to others as well.

This post is just a first attempt at laying out an outline of how I'm seeing things. The pieces I'm trying to fit together include:

-- Reactivity
-- No-self
-- Responding to a totality of circumstances
-- Objectivism within subjectivity
-- Detachment
-- Nirvana

It probably is obvious (to some, at least) that my inspiration is a blend of Buddhism and Taoism, two philosophies that I have a lot of fondness for when they're stripped of supernatural mumbo-jumbo.

Rather than describe how those six notions listed above relate, which I'll try to do in another post, for now I'll simply describe an everyday event that's a broad-brush illustration of my personal Theory of Everything.

I'm driving along on the two-lane, curvy, hilly road that leads from our home in rural south Salem to the city limits about five miles away. The speed limit is 55 mph. I come up behind a car that's traveling much more slowly than I am, 35 mph.

There's no doubt about the objective reality here. My VW GTI is following another car. We're both going 35 mph, which is about 20 mph slower than what my car was traveling at before I caught up to the other car. However, my subjective reality could take several turns at this point.

One way it could go would be to get irritated at the person driving the car ahead of me. I'm late for my Tai Chi class, per usual, and I don't need a slow driver making me later. Irritation would be a form of reactivity that wouldn't change the objective situation, just my subjective feeling.

I could, though, simply observe, "That car is going quite slow."

I also could realize that the amount of time I'd save by driving a few miles at 55 mph rather than 35 mph is minimal. Coming to a bunch of red lights when I got to town, or not being able to find a parking space close to my Tai Chi class, would affect my arrival time much more.

Thus I could detach from a view that following a slow car is a bad thing.

Instead, it is just a thing, a happening, an event tossed up by a wide variety of circumstances that together, resulted in me ending up behind the car in front of me at this particular time, in this particular place. I wouldn't see this event as having any special significance.

This person driving the car ahead of me isn't trying to slow me down. They may not even be aware of me, if they fail to check their rear-view mirror. They're likely just driving as they typically do, slower than I like to drive. 

I could even try to imagine that I'm experiencing the vehicular version of a Taoist tale about a man rowing across a lake who becomes angry when he sees another boat coming right at him, as if he wasn't even there, forcing him to take evasive action to avoid a collision.

Then he sees that no one is in the other boat. It's drifting on its own. His anger subsides.

So I could envision that I and the driver of the other car are powerless to do anything than what we are actually doing. The universe has conjured up chains of causes and effects that have led each of us to be driving in a certain fashion on the stretch of road that leads to town.

Thus those six notions I listed above can lead me to a calm acceptance of the situation, rather than an irritated response. This may not seem like nirvana, but actually it is quite close to how Buddhists view this state of non-reactivity. 

Anyway, naturally there's more to say about my personal Theory of Everything. Being a wordy person, I'll probably be doing that saying before too long.

(By the way, even given what I said above, I could still calmly pass the slow-moving car when it was safe to do so. Which I do frequently, since my VW GTI is a joy to drive on hilly, twisty roads. And everywhere else, really.)

Wise observations about spiritual experiences and religious craziness

One of the pleasures of having this blog is being able to read comments from blog visitors that make me think, "Wow! That was beautifully and wisely said."

Sometimes when this happens I share a comment in a blog post so it will be more visible. Such is the case with two comments from "JB" that you can read below. Each was left on a recent post, "Meaning comes from us, not God."

This comment by JB relates to the supposed truthfulness of spiritual/mystical experiences. I agree with what JB says, though these experiences often have more to them than simply emotionality. JB does address this in an interesting way, saying that an impression of cosmic unity, for example, derives from the emotional state, rather than the other way around.

Spence wrote: "Whatever it is it is built into the human frame, the healthy and functioning human frame, at least for some of us. The fact that the details are found in spiritual writings of the Word and the Light down through the ages give confirmation to those of us who have experienced these things repeatedly since early childhood that they are truthful..."

I think you are right that these experiences are "built in". The capacity for "mystical" experiences are "built into the human frame" as much as the capacity for any psychological experience is built into the human frame.

I don't think anyone is disputing that these experiences occur. It is true that they occur, yet one must question whether they are truthful in terms of the interpretations typically ascribed to them.

All manner of human emotional experiences have repeatedly occurred throughout the ages and all have been documented since the birth of written language. That they have repeatedly occurred and have been written about cannot be construed as constituting evidence attesting to their truthfulness.

I think these experiences certainly can be healthy, yet they can also be unhealthy as evidenced by all of the mystic-gurus that become abusive and exploitative. The experience of seemingly becoming "one" with the universe apparently has different effects on different people. For some, the ego apparently expands to the size of the universe.

Speaking more about mystical experience: these consist of intensely positive emotions coupled with a sense of ultimate existential unity, the "rightness" of everything, and an underlying impression of love and benevolence embracing everything. I think that the impressions are secondary to and derive from the immediate emotional state.

Simply put, the world appears perfect because you feel so damn good.

This is analogous to the experience of falling in love with a person, where the world itself seems to become brighter and more beautiful. This is a well-known and documented experience of people falling in love. The positive emotion seems to generate an attendant change in perception. Of course the world hasn't changed from what it was before, it just feels different.

If you have ever read any case histories of people experiencing extreme negative emotions, there is often an attendant alteration of their perception. The world becomes disjointed, everything seems "wrong", and everything seems imbued with doom or malevolence. For some, these experiences repeatedly occur.

The point is, the emotional state seems to inform the perception. I think it would be as wrong to assert that mystical experience provides a true window into the essence of existence any more than the diametrically opposed emotional state. The positive experience is certainly healthier, as it is conducive to survival, but I think it would be wrong to call it truthful.

And this JB comment briefly discusses something I've also wondered about: how religious tales (I'd call them fables) would be viewed if they emanated from a single human mind, rather than being embraced by a collection of people that often numbers in the many millions, or even billions.

Brian wrote: "Wouldn't it be bizarre if, say, someone dressed in a Wonder Woman costume kept proclaiming, 'You've got to believe in Wonder Woman! She's real, not a fantasy!' Likely this person would be viewed as having some sort of mental illness."

I've often asked believers to take a particular religion and imagine what it would be like if these beliefs had not been institutionalized and spread like a contagion throughout civilization, but rather were proclaimed by one single person.

Take Christianity as an example. Imagine none of the teachings of Christianity existed and one person started uttering statements like:

"There is a male creator God who has a son, whom he sent down to be killed by being nailed to a piece of wood so that humanity could be forgiven for a disease passed down from a woman who listened to a talking snake with wings and ate a piece of fruit from the wrong magical tree."

This person would be considered to have a mental illness with psychotic features. Yet there are literally millions of people that believe this. Thus, beliefs that would clearly be categorized as mental illness when exhibited by one person, are categorized as religion when they are embraced by millions.

It's just a numbers game. Religion is culturally sanctioned mental illness. Fill in the blank with Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, Sikhism, or any of the sub-cults (Kabbalah, Sufism, Gnosticism, Vedanta, etc). The result is the same.

Absolutely. One of my favorite crazy stories from the Sikh/Sant Mat tradition is that of Kal, the ruler of the lower realms of creation, earning his exalted position from God after standing on one leg, and one foot, for many yugas -- which is a really long time. Who knew that lower gods have legs and feet just like us?

A pleasing message about me, and honesty about RSSB

Some people like this blog. Some people don't like it. After 14 years of regularly writing here on the Church of the Churchless, I've come to expect both praise and criticism. 

Not surprisingly, I prefer hearing good things about me and this blog. So when I got the following email message today from someone in India I've been corresponding with, it made me feel good. 

I'll explain why after the message.

I've corrected some typos and made the formatting easier to read. Otherwise the message is as written. "Sewa" means service, or volunteer work. The Dera is the Indian headquarters of Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB), a spiritual organization I was a member of for 35 years. 

Here's the message, minus an introductory part related to a subject this person and I have been discussing.

And I would like to mention and please mention the following in your blog too (of course only if you wish to ) :  

 

I have been reading your blog since last year Feb, after I was of course suggested by an important member of RSSB committee and I was still doing sewa in Dera. And I must admit after reading each of your blog I thought you must be a very arrogant man. Or you didn't make much efforts in meditation and are a coward to quit early.

 

But knowing that people living in Dera in fact people running that place as incharges are equally unsure of the path as the people who criticise it, my thinking changed and then of course seeing the condition there by my own eyes, a place lacking love, the very foundation it was supposed to be built on.

 

I don't know if the path is true or not. I haven't really made complete effort in meditation to comment. But talking to you personally on emails and listening to your reply it is my understanding that you are a very humble and an understanding man.

 

You have a blog, there are many things i told you personally and you know my real name, you could have written those things on your blog if you had to be aggressive towards your critics. You kept your word, a quality that is rarely found today. Your view point comes from experience and logic and deep thinking.

 

At the end of the day you might  be wrong or the people who criticise you might be, in reference to this path. But the truth is none of us are aware for sure. But at least you support logic and see what's written on the wall.

 

And for the people coming to your blog and trying to defend RSSB, if they were enlightened they wouldn't care for your blog or try to protect the image. They wouldn't waste energy on that. What I have learned from the limited conversation we have had is whether you are right or not but you are a man with right intentions. 

Like the person who wrote this message, I also can't be sure about what the ultimate truth regarding reality is. None of us can be. We all make educated guesses, or assumptions, that are founded in our experience, upbringing, culture, education, and so on. 

All we can do is keep facing toward the truth as we have come to understand it, while being open to fresh ideas, new facts, different ways of looking upon the world. 

It is difficult to admit, "I don't know." So I liked this person's willingness to say about the RSSB teachings, "I don't know if the path is true or not." 

But what this person does know is how they were treated while doing "sewa" (again, volunteering) at the Dera. Just as I've heard from other people, this person says that the Dera lacks love -- which is a sad commentary on a spiritual community. 

I liked how this person said that my viewpoint comes from "experience and logic and deep thinking." That's what I aspire to, though sometimes I fall short. Now, I realize that some spiritually-minded people believe that love and devotion is all that counts.

I disagree -- strongly. 

History is full of examples of individuals, or masses of people, who were fervently devoted to destructive causes and leaders. It makes no sense to be devoted to some unworthy person or entity. Going down that route leads to authoritarianism, being taken advantage of, dangerous blind obedience.

My wife was a psychotherapist in private practice for quite a few years. One of her specialities was domestic violence. Most of her clients were women being abused by men. Without giving their names, she'd explain to me how many women stay in an abusive relationship, even when they're being hit, yelled at, threatened. 

Why? Many reasons.

Some are that the women didn't know what to do if they left the relationship, or they were afraid of what the man would do if they stood up for themselves. So my wife would give them options, and help the women recognize that they had more strength than they thought they possessed.

Likewise, one of the reasons I started this blog in 2004 was to encourage people to realize that when it comes to religion, spirituality, mysticism, and philosophy, independence is a virtue, not a vice. I haven't changed this blog's slogan over all those years: Preaching the gospel of spiritual independence. 

Sometimes it makes sense to stay in a relationship with another person "til death do us part," as wedding vows in the United States often say. Yet sometimes it doesn't. 

And sometimes it makes sense to remain a member of a religion or spiritual path for the rest of your life. Yet sometimes it doesn't. Think for yourself. Nobody else can do that for you. Nor should they.

Advice for RSSB believers about how to deal with news about their guru

Yesterday this comment was left on a Church of the Churchless post, "Great BusinessToday video about RSSB guru and Singh brothers." The commenter wondered how to break the news about Gurinder Singh Dhillon's financial misdeeds to Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB) devotees who had put a lot of faith in their guru.

Dear Brian Thanks for your blog and exposing the truths!! It is really sad to learn all the truths of recent events. I had a feeling somethiing is corrupt but it still came as a shock when my intuition was confirmed with facts.

I am not part of Sant mat myself but do know people that I love that is. They don’t know yet and I just don’t have the heart to break this news. I can just imagine that if your whole belief system was based on the idea of a perfect living master and to found out he is not so perfect after all, will pull the rug underneath you.

Especially this path’s standards are so high in terms of diet and moral life. How do you break such news to somebody you love while you know their world will be shattered? How have other Satsangis took the news? Is it best to just keep quiet and wait till truth be revealed? Ruth

Ruth asked some good questions.

Since I was a member of RSSB for 35 years, and embraced the Sant Mat teachings for almost all of that time before I stopped believing in them, I've had to deal with the same difficult process of breaking away from a spiritual philosophy that used to mean so much to me.

All I can do is suggest the following advice, which I've shared in a "laundry list" form -- because everybody is different, and I want to give people a variety of ways to deal with disillusionment in a spiritual path or religious dogma. So I'm going to list these ideas as they come to me, without trying to arrange them in a particular fashion.

(1) Truth, Sat in an Indian language, has to be our primary concern. Without truth, we're lost in a maze of falsehoods. So whenever truths are revealed about a guru, master, religious leader, or whoever, those truths should be embraced, not pushed away.

(2) Truths can be painful. But the pain of living a lie, or living in illusion, is greater. Yes, fantasies can be fun. But eventually fantasies are revealed to be much less substantial than truth, since truth always wins out in the end. Why? Because reality is hugely more powerful than illusion.

(3) This is one of my all-time favorite sayings. When I used to give talks at RSSB meetings (satsangs), I'd often cite this quote from Philip K. Dick: "Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away." So if a spiritual or religious belief is given up, nothing is lost, because reality is beyond beliefs.

(4) When we expect someone to be perfect, we're bound to be disappointed. So don't expect perfection. Not of your spouse, friend, relative, co-worker, boss, political figure, or... a guru. Everybody makes mistakes. Some are innocent mistakes. Some are willful mistakes. Regardless, expect imperfection, not perfection.

(5) Taoism, which I'm drawn to as a philosophy, says that the world is made up of yin and yang, light and darkness, positive and negative, substantial and insubstantial, embracing and rejecting, and so on. Opposites are what make the world go 'round. If we welcome only one side of a pair of opposites, we're ignoring a big part of reality.

(6) Often people think, "If such-and-such happened, my life wouldn't be worth living." But usually, when that thing does happen, life is still very much worth living. We humans are resilient creatures. Don't underestimate your capacity to adapt to a difficult situation, and then move on from there.

(7) It's natural to want to feel special, which includes being part of a special group, one especially favored or beloved by God. However, what if God, or the cosmos, actually doesn't play favorites? What if it doesn't matter whether someone believes in this or that, but simply does their best to be a good human being? (As you can guess, this is how I consider reality operates.)

(8) Consider: out of all the religions, spiritual paths, and mystical teachings in the world, what is the chance that you have come across the Only One that is objectively true? Very small, right? Yet almost every believer feels that they have found that Only One. Isn't this more than a little egotistical or self-centered? 

(9) What people often find most satisfying about a religion or form of spirituality isn't so much the concepts that make up that teaching, but the good feeling they have from being part of a group that accepts them, welcomes them, supports them. Yet it is possible to have that same good feeling after someone leaves a certain group, because there are countless groups that accept, welcome, and support.

(10) Think about how many changes have occurred in your life. Most likely you've changed homes, friends, jobs, cars, lovers, pets, hairstyles, clothes, sports, and so much else. So it isn't strange that people also change their religion, spiritual path, or mystic teaching. This is normal.

(11) Doubts also are normal. Often people who belong to a certain religion or spiritual group wrongly believe that everybody else in the group but them has perfect faith, because usually expressing doubts isn't welcomed. Believe me, almost everyone has doubts, whether they admit this or not.

(12) Trust yourself. If you trusted yourself when you decided to join a religion or form of spirituality, also trust yourself if you decide to leave it. Don't be led astray by a group's teaching that leaving it will bring horrible consequences, such as a nasty afterlife. Almost every group has ways to keep members from leaving. Know that you are stronger than those ways.

(In case you're wondering, yes, this 1976 cartoon really was drawn by Charles Schulz. Read the comments on that post.)

Embrace beautiful imperfection. Push away judgement.

Today's Daily Calm guided meditation on my iPhone app was called "Beautiful Imperfection." Below is a transcript I made of how it ended. I really liked the call for less judgement and more connection.

This is tough enough to do in real life. It's considerably more difficult on the Internet, where we form judgements about people without having even seen them, much less understood them.

That's why I thought what follows is a good reminder that while informed judgement often makes some sense, uninformed judgement should be engaged in cautiously, if at all.

It's so often that our mind falls into judgements, of ourselves and of others. And if we pay attention, we'll quickly notice this tendency. 

We meet a new co-worker, or there's a new barista at our cafe. Or someone sits beside us on the subway. And instantly, subconsciously, the judging mind appears.

We take notice of a person's appearance, speech, and demeanor. And in a millisecond we draw conclusions about what type of person they must be. Some of these judgements might be sympathetic, some critical, based on a subconscious sliver of information.

How accurate can they be?

The truth is, we know next to nothing about the stranger passing through our day. Let's say we're sitting beside someone on a flight. And we overhear they have an addiction to reality television. They voraciously watch this show and that show, and can't go a week without their fix. 

And with this flux of information, we start to form a picture of who they are. But for all we know that same person has a Ph.D. in Astrophysics, beautiful children, or a cancer diagnosis. Or all of those things. 

Judgements separate us from other people. giving us a sense of division or of superiority. But on the flip side of judgement is an opportunity to feel connection. Because whatever it is we're judging, we probably suffer from some version of the same feature or flaw.

We all have our faults and guilty pleasures. That's a part of what makes each of us so compelling and interesting. Emilio Estevez put it, "We are all wonderful, beautiful wrecks. That's what connects us, that we're all broken, all beautifully imperfect."

So call on the mindfulness skill of awareness. Try to pay closer attention to your judgements. And as you get to know these tendencies, challenge them, soften them. Instead of giving in to the judging mind, deepen your connection to the beautifully imperfect people around you. 

Thoughts about enlightenment from a Church of the Churchless visitor

I like to hear from people who read my blog posts -- especially when what they say is supportive of my churchless un-preaching.

Here's an email message that I got today from John. After I asked if I could share his message, he said "sure." I like John's perspective on things. He and I carry on a fairly regular correspondence. 

Hey Brian.  Wow.  I really enjoyed reading your latest post on enlightenment!  To me, that is so freeing!  I’ve pretty much come to the same conclusion.

There is a lot of pressure involved in trying to become “enlightened”.  You know what I mean?  In my Christian days, it was either trying to walk in the spirit and not in the flesh, or trying to be more like Jesus, or not sinning, or whatever.  Then you get into, what is sin?  There are the biggies; don’t kill, steal, cheat, lie, etc. 

But some believe that wearing shorts is a sin.  Or having musical instruments in the church is a sin.  And so forth.  Depending on how strict the group was, we never would consistently live up to that and we just felt bad a lot of the time.  So you mix the stress of just living everyday life on this planet with chasing enlightenment or salvation or whatever… And it really can become unbearable.

I haven’t really consciously chased enlightenment that I can remember.  From what I’ve read, it’s hard to get two people to agree on what exactly enlightenment is or what it means. 

Some say it’s the cessation of suffering.  Others say it’s some kind of realization and living out of your “God self”.  Both of these are pretty vague.  LOL  Others say it’s just being present or mindful.  I guess in that case, you can have moments of enlightenment? 

Kind of like you said in your post;

…some Buddhists view enlightenment as being totally immersed and accepting of the present moment. I, and everyone else, am capable of doing this. Not always, but often. So this makes me "enlightened" at times, along with everybody else in the world."

Also from your current post, I read this and went, Yes!

Because there is no way to tell whether someone is enlightened. This is an intellectual concept made up by certain religions and spiritual paths to justify their specialness. They've made up a word, "enlightenment," then claimed that if devotees do such and such, they can become enlightened.

Whatever that is.

That’s so true!  It’s almost like marketing.  LOL  If you join us, and do our thing, you can become more enlightened than the other guys...  And I love the addition of, “Whatever that is”.  

I’ve gone through periods of reading a lot, so I can’t remember who said this or the exact wording. 

But it went something like, you can have various experiences for various reasons.  One experience may even seem like what you think is enlightenment.  But don’t try to hang on to any of them, including what you thought was enlightenment.  Experiences come and go.  Let them come and go.

Another one said that when you think a person is enlightened, ask their spouse if that is true.  LOL

I guess all these different opinions and points of view keep the world a more interesting place.  If we all believed the same thing, I guess it would be boring.  Right? 

But I am grateful for the, what I would consider, solid and more down to earth influences that I have had.  Whether meditation, or yoga, or tai chi, it seems that most of the books that I’ve read and people I’ve practiced with have all stressed being here and now.  Not chasing some undefinable enlightenment. 

I look at these things as simply tools that help me get through life a little more smoothly.  When I’m meditating on a regular basis and practicing tai chi as well, I do seem to handle stress better, respond to difficult situations better, etc.  But I don’t really see it as a spiritual thing, like many of my friends do. 

The general idea of many folks that I know is that when you do some kind of “spiritual” practice, then you live more out of your spirit man than you do this earthly man. 

Well, I no longer think that I’m divided like that.  I think what you see is what you get.  When I do my practice, I just think that my mind is less cluttered and distracted, and my body is more relaxed, so it’s just naturally easier to process life in a way that seems a little smoother.  If that makes sense?  

Thanks again for the great posts. 

I hope you and yours are doing well.

John

"Enlightenment" is a meaningless concept

Over on this post of mine there's been a comment conversation about enlightenment. "JB" left this cogent comment, which I agree with.

Tim Rimmer said: "Wasn't that the nature of the Buddha’s realisation? - All is Dukkha, yet ‘one’ is able to remove/get past it?"

That one is able to remove/get past suffering is unadulterated mythology. The hero, the savior, the enlightened person- these are all variations on a theme. This is the mythical theme that has encapsulated humankind's greatest hope. It is a dead giveaway that the "enlightened masters" are all from the ancient past. Those that claim to be enlightened today are invariably discovered to have the same neuroses and foibles as the average person, sometimes far worse. Instead of realizing that enlightenment is the stuff of legend, we radically redefine enlightenment to accomodate them.

There are no enlightened beings and never were.

"Manjit" left a reply, which I found unconvincing.

Basically it was that because lots of people claim to have "enlightenment" experiences, that means there is such a thing as enlightenment. Well, lots of people claim to have been abducted by aliens, which doesn't mean this actually happens. 

Here's an excerpt from Manjit's comment.

So, are you here REALLY stating that YOU have never had any experiences of "enlightenment" or, say a "kundalini awakening" or "absorption in the sound-current" or inner "communion" with "love" or "light", or "astral projection" etc etc?

So again, Manjit is arguing that because people say there is such a thing as enlightenment, this means there is such a thing as enlightenment. Which, of course, is untrue, since people often say things that are false. (Just watch President Trump talk.)

Here's the comment I left on this subject.

The best argument against there being such a thing as "enlightenment" is that it is entirely possible and valid to have arguments about whether there's such a thing as enlightenment.

There aren't arguments about whether there are rich people, artistic people, musical people, mathematically-gifted people, lazy people, productive people, or a myriad of other kinds of people.

But there are indeed arguments about whether there are enlightened people. Why?

Because there is no way to tell whether someone is enlightened. This is an intellectual concept made up by certain religions and spiritual paths to justify their specialness. They've made up a word, "enlightenment," then claimed that if devotees do such and such, they can become enlightened.

Whatever that is.

Here's a challenge to anyone who believes that enlightenment is real. Describe how it is possible to distinguish an enlightened person from an unenlightened person.

Imagine the spiritual equivalent of a police lineup. You're presented with a dozen, or a hundred, or a thousand, or seven billion, people. Your job is to point out the "enlightened" people.

How would you do this? What questions would you ask them? What answers would you find persuasive, and why? What behaviors or actions they perform would you want to observe? Which of these behaviors or actions would show they're enlightened, and why?

My strong suspicion is that believers in the reality of enlightenment would say that this is an ineffable personal experience, or state of being, that can't be described or observed.

OK. Fair enough.

This sounds like the dreams that I have every night. Or the feelings I have throughout the day. This would make "enlightenment" one of a myriad of personal experiences that only have reality within the mind of the experiencer.

But this means that enlightenment isn't anything special. In fact, it may not even exist as a genuine subjective reality, since it could refer only to a normal state of being that certain religions or spiritual path have elevated to a special experience.

For example, some Buddhists view enlightenment as being totally immersed and accepting of the present moment. I, and everyone else, am capable of doing this. Not always, but often. So this makes me "enlightened" at times, along with everybody else in the world.

The fact that there's no agreement about what enlightenment means is strong evidence that it doesn't really exist except as a religious/spiritual concept.

"Teaching is impossible." An excerpt from The Wooden Bowl book.

People often make spirituality into something complex, argumentative, esoteric. They consider there's a right and wrong way to meditate, to worship, to live life. 

I used to be one of those people. I'm a lot less dogmatic now. 

Recently, like today, which is pretty damn recent, I've been both entertained and bemused by a rash of comments on this blog where people have been arguing about this and that. 

I enjoy those sorts of interchanges. Except when I don't. 

In those latter times, I try to remind myself of how simple spirituality can be. And how it really isn't necessary to bring in that often-contentious word, spirituality. 

Why not just say, how simple life can be.

I've started reading The Wooden Bowl, a book recommended to me by a visitor to this blog who emails me interesting messages about what's going on in his life from time to time. 

It's out of print, but I found a used copy on Amazon that cost me just a few bucks. It took a while to arrive by media mail, but it was worth the wait. 

I really like the down-to-earth approach to meditation, and life, that the author, Clark Strand, describes. Here's the first chapter, "Teaching is Impossible."

"Meditation cannot be taught." So said my first teacher, Deh Chun, an elderly Chinese hermit who lived the last years of his life in Monteagle, Tennessee. "Only learning is possible," he said, "sometimes."

What he meant was that meditation can only be practiced. If it is taught, then, by definition, what is taught is not really meditation at all, but something else. Some method or philosophy, but not meditation itself.

When I consider the years of our association, the most remarkable thing is that I cannot recall any particular thing I learned from him. I can't point to a particular conversation we had and say, "Well, you know, then Deh Chun said such and such and everything was clear."

At the time, nothing was clear. When I think back on it now, I realize that his entire teaching consisted of being in the present moment, with nothing else whatsoever added on.

Being with Deh Chun was like dropping through a hole in everything that the world said was important -- education, progress, money, sex, prestige. It was like discovering that nothing else mattered and all I needed was now -- the moment -- to survive. 

Sitting there in the little house, listening to the water boil, to the twigs crackling in the wood stove, I was temporarily removed from the game. That was the genius of his teaching, that he could bring forth that transformation without even saying a word.

His was a state of complete simplicity. Like water, the direction of his life was downward, always seeking lower ground. When I met him he lived in a ramshackle two-room house heated by a wood stove the size of a typewriter. There was no furniture, only a few turned-over crates and several cardboard boxes in which he kept his clothes.

His bed consisted of two sawhorses on top of which he had placed a 3 x 5 sheet of plywood. and a piece of packing foam. I remember thinking once that this bed suited him perfectly, his body was so light and small.

A similar structure in the other room served as a desk for writing letters and for painting his ink-wash Chinese landscapes. Propped against the back door were spades, a shovel, and a rake, tools he used to tend a plot of land the size of two king-size beds laid end to end.

With the exception of tea, soybeans, peanut butter, molasses, and occasional wheat-flour, whatever he ate came from there.

We would sit in his little house without saying much of anything. Early on I learned that he was not disposed to give instruction in any formal way. He would serve me lunch, or sometimes breakfast if I'd managed to get there early enough, and then I'd wash up. 

Afterward we would talk about his garden, or more likely we would remain silent for a long while and then it would be time to leave.

Nowadays, in books on meditation, it has become standard practice to say that your teacher was a mirror that allowed you to see your true self. But that was not my experience with Deh Chun. It was more like floating weightless on the Dead Sea and looking up at an empty sky.

There was a feeling of tremendous peace and freedom, but that was all. I didn't know anything after I was done. Trying to pin him down on some aspect of meditation was as pointless as trying to drive a stake through the air. He taught one thing and one thing only, and that he taught to perfection: meditation happens now.

After the first few visits to his house, I realized nothing pivotal was going to happen, but I kept returning anyway without knowing what it was about him that held my attention.

I was a college student, and fairly typical of other nineteen-year-olds in that I was not particularly interested in spending time with someone four times my age. Especially someone who by ordinary standards was little better than a bum.

Deh Chun was completely simple. He lived on fifty dollars a month. He was a Buddhist monk who never spoke of Buddhism, an accomplished landscape painter who never sold his work. He wore only secondhand clothes and was without pretension of any kind. 

Long after his death, it is finally clear to me that he taught only by example. 

Recently, a friend of mind said of a certain Catholic priest, "He practices what he preaches, so he doesn't have to preach so loud." Deh Chun practiced so well he didn't have to preach at all. 

Nice quotes from "Confession of a Buddhist Atheist"

I'm a big fan of Stephen Bachelor, who writes about Buddhism from a pleasingly non-religious, non-supernatural perspective.

I didn't like "Confession of a Buddhist Atheist" as much as his other books, but some quotations from this book that someone emailed to me resonated with my psyche. 

Here they are. The boldfacing was added by the person who sent me the quotes.

To be conscious of what is happening in the present requires training in mindfulness, which Gotama described as “the one way” to achieve the kind of focused presence and responsiveness needed to function optimally on a groundless ground.

Indeed, he spoke of mindfulness (sati) as being grounded (pat hāna) in whatever occurs in one’s body, feelings, and mind as well as in the world about one. Mindfulness is to be aware of what is happening, as opposed to either letting things drift by in a semiconscious haze or being assailed by events with such intensity that one reacts before one has even had time to think.

Mindfulness focuses entirely on the specific conditions of one’s day-to-day experience. It is not concerned with anything transcendent or divine. It serves as an antidote to theism, a cure for sentimental piety, a scalpel for excising the tumor of metaphysical belief.

“When a monk breathes out long,” said Gotama, “he knows: ‘I am breathing out long.’ Breathing in short, he knows: ‘I am breathing in short.’”

Such a person acts in full awareness when looking ahead and looking away, when flexing and extending his limbs, when wearing his robes and carrying his bowl, when eating, drinking and tasting, when defecating and urinating, when walking, standing, sitting, falling asleep, waking up, talking and keeping silent.

...There is nothing so lowly or mundane that it is unworthy of being embraced by mindful attention. Mindfulness accepts as its focus of inquiry whatever arises in one’s field of awareness, no matter how disturbing or painful it might be. 

One neither seeks nor expects to find some greater truth lurking behind the veil of appearances. What appears and how you respond to it: that alone is what matters.

The person who sent me these quotes added some thoughts of his own.

A Buddhist friend of mine whom I used to meditate with talked this way about meditation. It makes a lot of sense to me and also takes the frustration out of it. 

Instead of going away from a time of meditation thinking that I didn’t get anything out of it because I didn’t have some “experience," now I see it as there is no wrong way to meditate or a “bad” session. 

Because I’m just paying attention to what is actually happening. If that makes sense?

Yes, it does make sense. This is the way I meditate now also. Or at least, how I try to meditate.

It's difficult to break past habits of believing that certain kinds of experiences are to be sought for in meditation, like a calm mind. 

But I'm getting better at this, in part through the guided meditations I listen to every morning via the Calm app on my iPhone. They're very much in line with the Buddhism Stephen Bachelor is talking about.

After listening to a guided meditation, I then engage in my own "free-form" meditation. 

Mindfulness has become my meditation

Back in my true-believing religious days, when I embraced an Eastern form of mysticism that espoused several hours of daily eyes-closed meditation, I thought that the ultimate aim of life was to experience higher realms of reality beyond the physical.

Of course, I had a job to go to, a wife and daughter, worldly activities I enjoyed. But I viewed these as mostly distinct from my spiritual goal of god-realization -- those things were part of my karma; important, yet not what my life's highest purpose was all about.

I'm grateful that my eyes have been opened to the flaws in this point of view. 

Since there is no demonstrable proof that God or other supernatural entities exist, and clearly this world does exist, it makes sense to focus first and foremost on what is right before us rather than on some imagined immaterial domain. 

This is why, even though I'm by no means a practicing Buddhist, I find a lot to like in Buddhist philosophy that's been stripped of supernaturalism. Mindfulness has become my current preferred form of meditation.

Of course, mindfulness doesn't have any inherent connection with Buddhism, a point Jon Kabat-Zinn makes in his engaging book, "Mindfulness for Beginners: Reclaiming the Present Moment -- And Your Life."

In essence, mindfulness is universal because it is all about attention and awareness, and attention and awareness are human capacities that are innate in all of us. Still, it is fair to say that, historically speaking, the most refined and developed articulations of mindfulness and how to cultivate it stem from the Buddhist tradition, and Buddhist texts and teachings constitute an invaluable resource for deepening our understanding and appreciation of mindfulness and the subtleties of its cultivation.

On page 1, Kabat-Zinn describes what mindfulness is.

Mindfulness is awareness, cultivated by paying attention in a sustained and particular way: on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgmentally. 

It is one of many forms of meditation, if you think of meditation as any way in which we engage in (1) systematically regulating our attention and energy (2) thereby influencing and possibly transforming the quality of our experience (3) in the service of realizing the full range of our humanity and of (4) our relationships to others and the world.

Today, in the late afternoon on a sunny June day here in rural south Salem, Oregon, I had just set out on a walk through some paths on our ten acre property that lead to a community lake not far away.

I was idly thinking about what I was going to write about in a blog post when I got home. Which, as you might suspect, meant my mind was filled with thoughts about mindfulness. 

I wasn't being mindful. I was planning what to say about mindfulness, a whole other thing. But a flash of white caught my attention off to my left. Suddenly I had jumped into being aware of the present moment, not a future blogging moment. 


Either I had missed the daisies on previous walks, or now simply was the time for the daisies to blossom forth. Regardless, I was pleased to be jolted out of my mental machinations into an appreciation of beauty in the world outside my cranium.

A bit further along, the setting sun illuminated the fronds of ferns that grow copiously here in Oregon.

I always enjoy this part of the path that leads to the lake, because it disappears around a bend. Like life itself, the path only shows what is close at hand, not what is around the corner. 

Ah, the shape of trees, backlit by the setting sun. I've seen this sight so many times in the 28 years we've lived where we are now. But that word, now, means that never before had I seen this sight, in this way, on this day.

Which made it magical. In a supremely ordinary fashion. Such is the power of mindfulness, which really is nothing more than what Kabat-Zinn speaks about in his first mini-essay, Beginner's Mind.

Suzuki Roshi, the Japanese Zen Master who founded the San Francisco Zen Center and touched the hearts of so many, is famous for having said, "In the beginner's mind, there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few."

Beginners come to new experiences not knowing so much and therefore open. This openness is very creative. It is an innate characteristic of the mind. The trick is never to lose it.

That would require that you stay in the ever-emerging wonder of the present moment, which is always fresh. Of course, you will lose beginner's mind in one way, when you cease to be a beginner.

But if you can remember from time to time that each moment is fresh and new, maybe, just maybe, what you know will not get in the way of being open to what you don't know, which is always a larger field. Then a beginner's mind will be available at any moment you are open to it.

How I'm content with an atheistic world view

Today I got an email message from someone who asked a great question about finding contentment with an atheistic world view. I dashed off a response right away, because I loved how this person described their quandary, and how clearly their youthful angst was expressed.

Speaking of love, which the person said was their "entire meaning in life," you'll see that I didn't mention love in my reply. I thought about this only after I'd sent my response.

It isn't that love isn't important to me, or that it isn't a big part of my life.

I guess it is more of a backdrop to my life, rather than something I consciously am aware of in the foreground. And as you can read below,  I mentioned Selflessness and Service as two themes that are central to my atheist world view -- both of which seem closely akin to love, since they involve a diminution of self-centeredness.

Anyway, here's the message I got, and my reply. 

The message I got

Hi Brian, I'm new to your blog, but I'm glad I found it. I grew up nonreligious but still found myself to be the only person I know to question the nature of the universe as I do. I don't know if our beliefs are exactly the same, but I expect they're similar enough that you could give me advice as to reconciling them.

I've tried to believe. No minister or priest I've given the third degree to would believe that, but I needed them to convince me. Even the ones that said they could prove their claims eventually told me my heart was hardened and prayed that Jesus would soften it. I'm not a Christian, that I've concluded, but I haven't given up on believing in God. Maybe just because I still need to believe in something.

The secular teachings in Buddhism intrigue me, and I'm still exploring. But I didn't email you to give you a boring biography of my philosophical quest. Maybe my irreparable nihilism is a result of my age (21), but I still need to address it.

Love, or the illusion of it, is my entire meaning in life. The realization that true altruism doesn't exist, that emotions are biologically wired into us for survival, and no relationship we form will survive death, is breaking me down. I don't need to believe humans are special or the last evolution (we're clearly not), but I'm afraid to believe in absolutely nothing.

My need to believe in these things is impeding my ability to come to true conclusions on the known and unknown. I'm wondering how you were able to come to grips with an atheistic world view and still find contentment. 

My reply

 
You ask a great question at the end of your message. When I was about your age, actually a bit younger, I was heavy into existentialism, Sartre, Camus, and such. But after a year or two I grew tired of the message that it is up to us humans to find meaning in existence. That just seemed so damn exhausting. Why couldn’t meaning be given to me, free of charge?

 

So I dived into yoga and meditation at the end of the 60’s, the decade, not my age (I happen to be 69 now, so in a way I’ve returned to the 60’s.) I studied with a crazed Greek Christian yogi, then got initiated by an Indian guru and stuck with that path for about 35 years. In the end it seemed too rigid, too dogmatic, too unscientific, too faith-based.

 

Thus I’d rejected two extremes: the freedom existentialism espoused (we must choose) and the confinement of an Eastern religion/spirituality (we must do this and that to know God and experience “heaven” after death).

 

Like you, I’m attracted to secular Buddhism, but even that is a bit rigid for my current tastes. I’ve been practicing Tai Chi for about 14 years and enjoy it a lot. It’s basically Taoism embedded in physicality, in the body, in movement. When I read the Taoist literature I find it lighter, more humorous, not so serious as Buddhism (even the Zen version, which can be pretty darn serious).

 

However, I still struggle with finding meaning in life. And since I’m the age I am, the realization that I don’t have all that much more life to live can disturb or depress me at times.

 

Philosophically, I guess my approach to dealing with life boils down to a couple of core ideas. I’ve talked about a lot of stuff on my Church of the Churchless blog since 2004, so you could use the Google search box in the right sidebar to find what I’ve written about these topics. Here’s a capsule version.

 

Selflessness. Both Buddhism and neuroscience say that our feeling that we have, or are, a Self is mistaken, an illusion. I really like this idea, because almost all of my problems seem to arise from the feeling that I am Me, separate and distinct from the world. I can recommend Alan Watts’ marvelous book, “The Wisdom of Insecurity,” which is one of my favorite books. His central message is that we’re trying to find solidity is an inherently fluid world. So flow with it, dude! (or dudette)

 

Free will. Akin to selflessness, neuroscience also tells us that, almost certainly, free will is an illusion also. This gives me a feeling of calm, of satisfaction, because my worries largely stem from a feeling, “I could have done otherwise,” or “What should I do in the future?” If there is no “I” (selflessness) and no real choice (lack of free will), then most of my troubles are over — aside from inescapable sensations of pain or whatever. They are much more tolerable without the mental idea, “This shouldn’t be happening to me.”

 

Existence. Lastly, I get a chill up up my spine when I ponder the reality that existence exists. It is a replacement for God, really. Something must always have existed. Religions say this is God, who created existence. Well, a simpler approach is to see existence as having always existed. This gives me a feeling of transcendence, of being part of mystery, of something so much bigger and awe-inspiring than myself, it boggles my mind.

 

I recall a quote from Stephen Hawking that was shared after he died. It went something like this: “Given how vast the cosmos is, my disability is meaningless.” Beautiful. Of course, our life is all that we have, so naturally we take ourselves seriously. Which reminds me of another theme…

 

Service. In India this is termed “seva.” I was big into that during the 35 years I was devoted to a guru, doing volunteer work by speaking to groups, writing books, and such. Now, I enjoy taking care of our ten rural acres in south Salem, Oregon, which benefits not only me but my wife and our dog.

I’m a political activist in Salem politics. Last night a City Council candidate I support seemingly won her race. Her campaign chair emailed me this morning that what I did was key to her being elected. I almost cried, because it felt so good to do something that wasn’t about me, but about someone else who could make a difference in our part of the world.  

 

Anyway, these are some ideas. Hope they give you a few notions to explore in your own mind. We’re all different, and have to find our own unique way (even without free will, or a self).

 

    — Brian

Heart and head need to find agreement

I'm a big fan of Jack Haas' book, "The Way of Wonder." Click on that link to a Facebook post by Haas and you'll be able to read it. For free.

Recently I came across an interesting comment by Chad Royer on a post on Haas' Facebook page. I don't claim to understand everything Royer says below, but maybe that's why I like what he said. Give it a read.

I wrote the following to a friend who posted on FB “Never let your head overthrow your heart.”  (This was shortly before reading your book.)  

I'd say the reverse is almost as true. We really cannot be whole with ourselves or anything else if we are not willing to do the work to sift through issues until our heart and head find agreement. The heart might need to slightly lead the way, but unless each treats the other as an indispensable and revered partner we are bound to be hiding or suppressing a big part of reality.

I personally go back and forth between believing my heart must take a slight lead or dominant role and thinking they ought to be equal revered partners of each other and then oddly I normally decide there is no actual difference between the two approaches. If both are treating the other as completely revered/trusted partners they will listen to the other until a consensus if found and that will be the nearest thing to truth for that situation and moment in time.

At this point another friend asked, "Perhaps the more significant question: Who is this “I” you speak of who goes back and forth between your head and your heart?"  To which I replied:

This probably will not make any sense to anyone else, but I view this “I” as my Experiencing and Integrating Mind (EIM) from which my thinking (head) and emotions/feelings (heart) originate. My thinking and emotions are the result of this deepest and oldest self (EIM) experiencing and trying to integrate itself into the world it experiences.

Oddly, in order to fit into its surroundings and world that it intuitively knows it is hopelessly an inseparable part of our EIM has to adopt the collective paradigms of our clan and culture, which are mostly unconsciously agreed upon illusions. It starts to do this from a very young age with emotions, well before we develop any reliable thinking or reasoning, as we figure out what leads to feeling secure or scared and otherwise good or bad in our family/preschool/etc environment.

Later we are taught how to reason and view things from our culture and clan’s perspective. Sometimes our emotions and/or reasoning do rebel against part or all of our culture’s perspective/paradigms but we are still stuck in them if we are fighting for or against them.

Ironically, as our original, oldest and deepest self (EIM) is experiencing and integrating ourselves into our world it is tragically writing itself mostly out of the script/picture because the emotions and reasoning required to fit into our cultures paradigms are actually blocks/barriers from experiencing true reality.

I’m not a big fan of true self and false self lingo because if we are operating out of what is meant by our false self then that is what we are and a real part of our reality at that moment. At the same time the traditional meaning of the concepts of true self and false self might be helpful, compared to my own mumbo jumbo, if anyone is actually trying to understand what I am saying.  Basically what I am saying is our true self (EIM) creates our false self/ego in order to fit into the world we find ourselves.

It does this because this EIM/true self/image of God within each of us is the part of us that knows we are unavoidably a part of our surroundings and everything else. Being a part of something inescapably means we are vulnerable to the fate of that which we are a part.

We intuitively, through our emotions bolstered by our reasoning, realize the last thing we want to be is vulnerable. As such, we hide and deny our true self in order to try to fit into our world safely. In the process, generally without realizing it, we try to make ourselves less vulnerable at the expense of others by shifting our inherent burden, which is the creation and living out of our false self. And since most of the world operates out of this paradigm any vulnerability/weakness exposed is generally a target to receive another’s burden, reinforcing the need to hide and deny our true self with its known vulnerability.

We generally do not try it unless we are out of options to hide and deny it, but everyone’s greatest yearning is to get to be with their own true self and experience the world through it. Since our true self has created our false self by developing emotions and thinking to try to fit into our world, the path back to our original/true self is to evaluate/contemplate these emotions and thoughts/concepts from their source within, our deepest/original/true self.

And this process of contemplation/evaluation always consists of a gentle interplay between the heart (emotions) and head (reasoning) until they align into an epiphany of sorts from their common source within for at least that moment when that source or true/deepest/oldest/original self is experiencing and present/whole with its surroundings. This is of course commonly described as letting go, because it is the head helping the heart or the heart helping the head to let go of block/barriers to our true self.

If we go yet deeper we actually find this “I” or true/deepest/original self vanishes into union with everything else (including the past and future) to the extent we are successful in letting go of our false self/ways of the flesh/ego/shell/emotional and mental blocks.

To whatever extent we are successful in this letting go process at any given moment we will discover we have removed what keeps us separate or lost or broken (off) from complete union/communion. This is what Jesus was alluding to when he would talk about he and the Father being one and only doing his Father’s will, and is how Jesus was in this sense fully human and fully divine, after relinquishing all of his false self/ways of the flesh/ego/shell/emotional and mental blocks. It is also what the Buddha was alluding to when he said “Actions do exist, and also their consequences, but the person that acts does not.”

To the extent we are not using our emotional and mental faculties to protect ourselves and seek advantages for ourselves and our group we will be united with God (The Entirety). And we will feel united, which is bliss. We will still have this creating part of us within, but we will know it is a small indistinguishable part of The Creator, and we will accurately recognize this as our Source.

Unfortunately, I am not implying I spend much of my time being very successful in this letting go process. Unconsciously adopting the opposite as the wise approach I started out as someone almost entirely and exclusively committed to emotional and mental blocks with their commonly resulting behaviors, including the frivolous pleasure seeking and worldly success since meaningful enjoyment only comes from some variety of union.

Through this approach becoming repeatedly untenable and an enormous amount of luck/good fortune/grace, including great people wanting to be helpful and viable paths to a better way, I have stumbled into some mystical adventures that at times bring great clarity, when I successfully surrender to the letting go process. When considering the tremendous amount of grace I have received and how guarded I still am most of the time though my life is still mostly only a shell of what it could and can be

Meditation practices only "work" in specific cultural settings

Some people claim that specific sorts of meditation practices are akin to a science that produces the same results, no matter who is doing the meditating or where the meditation is being done.

A thoughtful piece by David L. McMahan, "How Meditation Works: Theorizing the Role of Cultural Context in Buddhist Contemplative Practices," casts doubt on this claim.

I came across McMahan's essay in a re-tweet by David Chapman of someone else's tweet:

I had to jump through some online hoops to download the PDF file. Here it is:
Download How_Meditation_Works_Theorizing_the_Role

The general thesis seems totally believable to me.

People who meditate are influenced by the culture in which they live, which includes the context of the religion or spiritual approach that their meditation practice is embedded in. So there's no such thing as a "pure" form of meditation that stands apart from the mind of the meditating person.

Here's some quotes from the essay that will give you a feel for McMahan's approach. His "Two Meditators" introduction sets the stage for later arguments.

I would like to begin with a simple proposition: meditation works. Now to a qualification that makes things more complicated: what it means for meditation to work—the work meditation does—is different, sometimes radically different, in diverse contexts.

Let me illustrate this by imagining two practitioners of the basic Buddhist meditation practice of mindfulness of the breath. One is a contemporary American female professional who practices modern insight meditation (vipassanā) and modern secular mindfulness practices.

The other is an ancient monk—let’s say around the beginning of the common era—in the movement established by Gautama the Buddha. Both are serious practitioners, and both are drawing from the same text, the locus classicus of Buddhist meditation, the Sutta on the Four Foundations of Mindfulness.

They both sit down in the same posture—legs crossed, back straight, hands in the lap—and bring their attention to the movement of their breath. If we could secretly scan their brains, the same parts might be lit up with activity, while blood flow to other parts is slowed to a trickle.

The goals of these two meditators are very different. The modern woman is trying to relieve stress, get along better with other people, achieve more mindfulness in her daily life, and so on, all within her family life. The ancient monk is seeking to enter a transcendent state beyond rebirth and suffering while living in a monastery and being celibate.

But more to the point, similar meditation practices are apparently accomplishing aims—for example, “engag[ing] the world rather than withdraw[ing] from it”—nearly the opposite of the ideals of ancient meditation practices, which explicitly recommended withdrawal from the world. The work meditation does, therefore, is determined by the surrounding ideas, aims, attitudes, and cultural context of the practitioner.

Again, such practices do not simply produce particular, precisely reproducible mental “states” that are the same across time and space. They are part of larger complexes of ways of being in the world in particular social imaginaries.

We all make maps of the world. Not geographic maps, but a mapping of how reality is and how we fit into it. Meditation isn't separate from these maps; it is part and parcel of how we view the world. So the idea that meditation shows us reality "as it is" is false. 

As McMahan says, there's a strong inclination to have experiences that conform to our map of reality. How often do Buddhist meditators have a vision of Jesus and convert to Christianity? How often do Christians have a meditative insight that leads them to convert to Islam?

Very rarely, if ever.

Most meditators have likely considered their maps to correspond to a pre-existing architecture of the mind and reality; therefore, they have considerable incentive to interpret and produce experiences that conform to the map.

Buddhist meditators, therefore, have striven to identify the markers of transition between the first jhāna and the second, to look for signs that they have attained stream entry, or to discern whether they have truly had insight into the Buddha’s teachings on impermanence.

They have questioned basic intuitions, like that of a continuing, enduring self, and instead have tried to isolate and identify the five aggregates in their own experience. In later traditions that insist that all phenomena are illusory, practitioners must train their minds to see the world itself as a dream. In some traditions, they must try to imagine the world and themselves as having Buddha nature, perfect and already awakened, despite the ample evidence to the contrary.

They must, in other words, reimagine themselves and the world in ways suggested by these maps, not only interpreting but also cultivating their experiences accordingly.

Near the end of his essay, McMahan revisits the two meditators.

Are the modern professional and the ancient monk doing something utterly different? Certainly there is overlap: both follow their breath, calm their minds and bodies, try to cultivate compassion and avoid hatred, greed, and delusion. But the familial, institutional, social, cultural, civilizational, and cosmic contexts in which they enact these values could hardly be more divergent.

The modern professional has a family to which she is deeply committed, a job that sustains her, arts and entertainment, and broader commitments to gender equality, human rights, individual choice, and many other non-negotiable goods. She lives, in other words, in an entirely different social imaginary with different default intuitions and a different repertoire of possible ways of being.

Some of the things that mindfulness helps her with are expressly forbidden the monk: parenting, money-making, love-making, play-watching. So mindfulness and meditation help to cultivate a very different kind of person in this case than in the earliest contexts (as well as monastic contexts today).

Moderns have discovered new uses for ancient tools. Clearly these are flexible practices that have been adapted today to quite different ends within very different lifeworlds.

Of course, if you really want to understand the subtleties of McMahan's excellent essay, read the entire piece.
Download How_Meditation_Works_Theorizing_the_Role
I've just shared an overview of some key concepts. Here's a quote from the end of the essay that points to McMahan's emphasis on looking at both the "inside" of the meditator and the "outside" of cultural influences to grasp what works and doesn't work in meditation.

By all means we should measure what is measurable, but we should not think that such measurements—be they oscillating brain-waves, blood flow to various parts of the brain, respiration, and so on—get down to the real “facts” about meditation to which all other “data” (beliefs, social situation, cultural factors, relations of power) are extraneous.

We must understand all of these factors together systemically. The study of meditation should not succumb to the modern cult of calculability in which something is only real when it is measurable and measured. 

Pros and cons of faith, nicely expressed

To have faith, or not to have faith. This is a big question.

I was pleased to see a thoughtful comment interchange between Spence Tepper and Appreciative Reader on a recent post of mine, "The most amazing thing about religions is that everybody believes they're right."

Here's how Spence Tepper views faith: quite positively.

Hi Appreciative Reader!
Great comments. Thank you for posting a moment of rational thought here.
I suggest that everyone, Atheist, blind adherent, "Faithful", or Mystic, has a built in psychological tendency to believe they are generally right.

Who doesn't think they are right?
And if we are wrong, we want to get to the right, right away. Because error costs us personally, and others around us.

I work in organizational change, and the most difficult enemy to helping people see that there is indeed error or waste, is the status quo. The daily habits of people reinforce their entire system of belief, and disbelief, whatever that is.

A few very intelligent people can look at data showing a problem and respond constructively.

For most, the data has to be built and rebuilt. And if they can convince their collegues not to look at it, or if they do, to say "well, the timing isn't right."...any number of excuses, they won't make progress.

If this is how the world responds to hard data, obviously, the chances for "belief" are nearly non-existent.

People are often driven to a system of belief by great hardship, or by pure desire to do or be something other than what they are. They are pushed internally into it.

And that makes for an audience ripe for exploitation.

But if we are built for some system of belief, and if, in some cases, like Meditation, it is clinically good for so many, then perhaps system of belief, system of faith isn't wrong at all. It just depends on what you choose to believe, what you choose to hold faith in.

A town of Pentacostal Christians I knew for many years held that faith was more important than evidence. Faith was a sign of character. Faith in the midst of doubt.

When a child died in a tragic auto accident, the desire to question "why" or to claim the world was not worth living in, arbitrary and cruel, to stop functioning, stop living is strong. The capacity to have faith that somehow life was worth continuing, that we should all be kind to one another and move forward, that there was a greater power watching over even the child who died, their soul, were powerful psychological tools that kept these people moving forward in difficult, horrific circumstances.

That was when I stopped criticizing them for being ignorant.

Posted by: Spence Tepper

And here's how Appreciative Reader views faith: mostly negatively.

Hello, Spence. I too have come across that particular argument IRL [In Real Life].

That faith is an end in itself, and that faith in the face of situations where faith appears insupportable and fantastic, is an even greater virtue than when faith is ‘easy’. Which, when you stop a minute to think about it, is a fascinating piece of sophistry (or rationalization, depending on who is making the argument, the exploiter or the exploited, the priest or the “flock”).

I realize that you made that point in a specific context, one particular example of how one does one’s best to bear with situations and circumstances that appear to be unbearable. Specifically, the death of one’s child. And perhaps no one who has not actually experienced that is really qualified to speak of it! I myself haven’t, so perhaps I amn’t qualified either, but still, to complete what I was saying:

You know, it occurs to me that to use faith to tide over such difficult times is exactly akin to using drink or even stronger narcotics to get over some difficult situation. Using narcotics works in the short run, no doubt about it. And when nothing else seems to work, using narcotics may seem like a good idea. Especially when the use of narcotics is already accepted by society.

(Here’s what I meant to convey by that last sentence: When someone is faced with some tragedy, we would probably still not support their use of hard drugs in order to cope, because the use of such drugs is not sanctioned by our society ; however, since the use of one particular narcotic, alcohol, happens to be freely accepted by our society, therefore we would probably ‘understand’ if someone who’s received difficult news turned to hard drink in order to cope.)

Thus, perhaps, with faith?

(That is, perhaps we’re pre-programmed to look at conventional faith with a benign eye, much as we do with alcohol, simply because faith in established religions is so ubiquitous, so “accepted”? We may not have been as supportive if they had turned to, say, a faith healer who took their money to perform rituals under a full moon, while assuring them that their child would be benefited and even happy in some other world as a result, or pretended to speak with their dead child’s soul in exchange for money paid, yet the solace offered and received might have been just as real, given faith.)

Using faith (faith in things that don’t exist) in order to cope, which is what you’re referring to, appears to me exactly similar to using narcotics.

Sure, it works in the short run. But, just like narcotics, it soon becomes the proverbial monkey on one’s back. For one thing, it is addictive. For another, it eventually shows negative effects that cumulatively end up far exceeding the effects of the original ill that one believed it would help assuage. Of course, when something truly horrific, like losing one’s child, befalls someone, then if they decide to turn to hard drink or to hard drugs in order to cope, perhaps we have no right to judge them.

(Not that one is ever really justified in presuming to “judge” someone else, ever, but you know what I mean.)

And who knows, perhaps some strong-willed individual may indeed end up using narcotics wisely, using it to dull the edge of their anguish in the face of unspeakable tragedy, and then after a while weaning themselves off it. If used thus, one can hardly fault them. But how many are actually that ‘wise’, and how many are able to use their particular poison (drink, or narcotics, or faith) as judiciously?

(And also: if someone were indeed that strong-willed and wise and self-controlled, might they not perhaps be able to try to cope with their misfortune without the use of narcotics in the first place?)

I realize even as I type this, now, that I’m not saying anything at all new. Still, the fact that this equating of religious faith with opiates is a cliché fully a century old, does not take away from the aptness of the comparison. Faith and religion are exactly like opiates and narcotics. Like narcotics, they do soothe and offer comfort, and that comfort may seem welcome when times are trying. But they carry their own cost. Cost to the individual, as well as cost to society as a whole.

From your many comments on this site, I do know your own personal ideas about faith (as it applies to yourself). You use faith as an instrument to aid you to “go inside” and explore, yourself, what there is to explore. I am in full agreement with that approach. That isn’t blind faith, that is only conditional trust, in fact not even that, it is merely, well, using a crutch in order to see if the crutch does help one walk better, carefully and gingerly at first, and with greater confidence as you find, first-hand, that the crutch does help to hold you up.

(And I suppose that, if you found from your personal first-hand subjective experiments that the crutch did not in fact hold you up, you’d then be open to giving it up.)

I wouldn’t argue with that kind of a watered-down version of faith (as long as that faith did not lead you to do things that are, in themselves, objectionable). As you’ve often pointed out on this site, that kind of t hing is very similar to the methods of science. But I’d say that your kind of faith is very very rare : perhaps one in a thousand … no, one in ten thousand … not even that, probably an even smaller fraction of those who have faith, actually see faith in that light, the way you see it.

For most others (including, probably, the Pentecostal Christians in your particular example, so bravely battling their horrific situation), faith equals blind faith, and is no better than some deadly narcotic that momentarily dulls the pain but can -- and often does -- end up consuming their whole life.  

(Sorry, that turned out to be a very long-winded comment. Thing is, you’d made an excellent point, and my first reaction was to agree with what you’d said, about faith being ‘acceptable’ in the particular situation you spoke of. But then I thought I could see what appeared to me to be the flaw in your reasoning. Not that I’d ever presume to judge someone who tried to cope with the loss of their child in whatever way they saw fit, with drink or drugs or faith, but I’m afraid this does not really work as an argument in favor of faith per se. And I wanted to present my thoughts here, for what they’re worth, without sacrificing nuance for brevity.)

Posted by: Appreciative Reader

Non-religious people believe in weird stuff also

This isn't a big shocker, really. But it was still surprising to read that people who don't believe in God actually are more likely to hold other unfounded beliefs, like aliens visiting Earth.

So says psychologist Clay Routledge in a New York Times piece, "Don't Believe in God? Maybe You'll Try U.F.O.s."

People who do not frequently attend church are twice as likely to believe in ghosts as those who are regular churchgoers. The less religious people are, the more likely they are to endorse empirically unsupported ideas about U.F.O.s, intelligent aliens monitoring the lives of humans and related conspiracies about a government cover-up of these phenomena.

An emerging body of research supports the thesis that these interests in nontraditional supernatural and paranormal phenomena are driven by the same cognitive processes and motives that inspire religion. For instance, my colleagues and I recently published a series of studies in the journal Motivation and Emotion demonstrating that the link between low religiosity and belief in advanced alien visitors is at least partly explained by the pursuit of meaning. The less religious participants were, we found, the less they perceived their lives as meaningful. This lack of meaning was associated with a desire to find meaning, which in turn was associated with belief in U.F.O.s and alien visitors.

When people are searching for meaning, their minds seem to gravitate toward thoughts of things like aliens that do not fall within our current scientific inventory of the world. Why? I suspect part of the answer is that such ideas imply that humans are not alone in the universe, that we might be part of a larger cosmic drama. As with traditional religious beliefs, many of these paranormal beliefs involve powerful beings watching over humans and the hope that they will rescue us from death and extinction.

Well, I know quite a few atheists who don't believe in U.F.O.s or ghosts. This includes me and my wife. We get along just fine without either religion, or irrational fact-free substitutes for religion. 

I'm not saying that everything we believe is true. Far from it. We simply do our best to put our faith in what is known to exist within the natural world, rather than embrace supernatural entities or far-fetched physical phenomena such as alien visitations.

I agree that we humans have a strong drive to find meaning in our lives. However, there are plenty of ways to do this other than those mentioned in in Routledge's essay. 

Family. Friends. Volunteer work. Art. Civic activism. Politics. Nature. Gardening. One's profession. Writing. Meditation. To name just a few.

Routledge says we have a quest for significance. Agreed. I just disagree that believing in a religion or U.F.O's is a good way to feel that our lives have meaning. How about working to make this world a better place? Isn't that a significant thing to do?

We need to honor the brokenness in ourselves. And, in others.

This morning I listened to a wonderful guided meditation on my Calm app about the chips and cracks of our experience. Tamara Levitt ended the meditation with the words I've transcribed below. I couldn't help thinking about how this applies to supposedly "broken people" like the homeless in Salem.

Actually, as Levitt says, the Japanese art of Kintsugi shows that healing brokenness results in more beauty, not less. Human flaws produce a tapestry that can't be reproduced, being the product of our unique experience.

So rather than extolling those who seem to "have their act together," perhaps we should revere the broken, the cracked, the fallen, the bruised. And when we can, do our best to mend both ourselves and others without worrying if the repair job isn't perfect.

For beauty, in Kintsugi, lies in flaws, not perfection. Here's my transcript -- perhaps imperfect -- of what Tamara Levitt said today.

Today, I’d like to talk about the beauty in our flaws. When we experience something difficult, like heartbreak or a failed business endeavor, our reaction is often to see ourselves as cracked or flawed. 

And we’re conditioned to think that when something is broken, it has less value. So our instinct is to ignore or cover up our hurt. 

But what if we shifted our perception? What if we viewed our flaws with appreciation, even seeing them as beautiful?

There’s a wonderful Japanese art form where artists mend broken pottery with gold or silver lacquer. It’s called Kintsugi, which translates of golden joinery. 

When a teacup breaks, or a vase cracks, Kintsugi embraces the brokenness. The pieces are meticulously mended back together, highlighting the cracks instead of hiding them. 

Brilliant golden tendrils now hold the pottery together, resulting in a beautiful unique piece that can never be reproduced. 

So rather than trying to erase the hurts of past relationships, or cover up mistakes in a past venture, why not approach our brokenness with a sense of reverence. 

Mending pieces of ourselves with delicate filaments of gold. The next time you feel broken, remember the art of Kintsugi. 

Hold your grief with tenderness, your mistakes with forgiveness, and your frustrations with patience, 

Honor the scrapes and scruffs, the chips and cracks of your experience. As Leonard Cohen said, “There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

How an atheist can find "spiritual" inspiration

A few days ago I was talking with somebody about finding "spiritual" uplift without believing in God or any other supernatural entity.

I put that word, spiritual, in quotation marks because I no longer consider that there's some sort of other-worldly spirit or soul. Not in me. Not in anybody else. Not in the cosmos.

Yet I'm still attracted to the notion of spirituality. In a thoroughly secular sense.

Meaning, well... it's all about meaning.

Whatever inspires us to carry on through tough times; whatever propels us forward on our life journey when we're not sure if we can take another step; whatever makes us willing to sacrifice for a cause greater than our self; that is what I talking about when I speak of spirituality these days. 

It's the eff in ineffable. We recognize it in ourselves because it's at the core of our being. But it's damn tough to describe to someone else, being so intimately related to our wordless sense of purpose. 

When this thing I'm calling spirituality is missing, life seems pointless.

So it's important for everyone, atheists as well as religious believers, to cultivate the seeds of spirituality so we aren't left with barren psychological soil that leaves us feeling dry, despairing, desolate, deserted.

Having experienced both religiosity and atheism at different times in my 68 years, I think believers in God have a somewhat easier time of it when it comes to spiritual uplift. After all, they can simply imagine their chosen divinity smiling down upon them, urging them on to embrace their religious practices with more fervor.

This is what a revival is all about -- being spurred to pursue a divine goal with increased energy and effort. 

So how can an atheist feel the same sort of spiritual uplift? What inspires a secular mind to pursue a godless life with the passion akin to a religious zealot? 

Tough questions, for sure.

I can only speak for myself, since there are more varieties of atheism than religiosity, given that each and every atheist finds meaning in a unique way. All Christians find satisfaction in a belief in Jesus, whereas each atheist seemingly roots their life in something different.

Ah, but there's a common denominator underlying the wild diversity of atheist spirituality: reality. 

By which I mean, really real reality. The reality of this universe, this galaxy, this planet. The physical reality that not only surrounds us, but is us. The reality we live and breathe every moment from our first breath to our last expiration. 

It is here that I find spiritual inspiration. 

When I deeply commit to embracing reality as it is, or at least as best I can understand it, that is when I feel the same kind of spiritual uplift that used to enervate me when I was a religious believer.  In both cases -- secular and religious -- I felt a strong drive to expand my capacity to grasp reality.

However, I now realize that in my true believing days I was driven toward an imaginary supernatural reality, not anything demonstrably genuine. My feeling of inspiration was real; the godly goal I was pursuing was false. 

So, yes, it is indeed possible for atheists to find spiritual inspiration. The source of that inspiration isn't difficult to find. It isn't far away. In fact, there is no distance between the inspired person and what inspires. 

Reality.

It is both what we seek and what is seeking. Pretty damn simple. And wonderfully inspiring.  

 

Check out "The Way of Wonder" by Jack Haas. It's, well, wonderful!

So, what do you read if you're not religious, but you're still filled with a sense of wonder about the marvelous mystery of the cosmos?

How do you inspire yourself "spiritually" if you don't believe in God or any other theological fantasy, yet still want to feel an energetic boost that impels you more strongly to know the unknowable insofar as it can be known?

My top answer is Jack Haas' book, The Way of Wonder. 

I bought it nine years ago, in 2008. Somehow it took me until 2013 to leave an Amazon review. Which is still the only reader review. Which goes to show that some books are undiscovered gems well worth digging into. Here's my review:

It's been a steady substitution. The less I've filled myself with organized religion, the more I've felt a ever-increasing sense of wonder.

My favorite Wonder Book is "The Way of Wonder" by Jack Haas. When I feel the need for an increased dose of wonder, I'll pick up this (sorry...) wonderful book. I've read and re-read it numerous times since I bought the book six years ago.

What Haas has helped me realize is that I needed to empty myself of theological beliefs, faith-based concepts, and imaginary anticipations of a promised divinity around the corner in order to become much more aware of the Wow! that is right here, right now.

Existence. Life. Consciousness. The amazing fact that we are, that the cosmos is.

There's nothing more divine (in the sense of "tasty," as in "that chocolate cake was divine") than this sense of all-encompassing wonder. It isn't a wonder caused by this or that -- the Grand Canyon, a gorgeous woman, moonlight on a still lake -- but the simple stark realization that this, that, and everything exists.

I just realized that I'd never shared an Amazon reader review of "The Way of Wonder." Sorry, Jack, for not doing this before. I feel like I know you, though I've only met you through your books. I also heartily enjoyed your "The Dream of Being" -- a shorter, more aphoristic Hassian praise of wonder.

Here's a passage from "The Dream of Being" which reflects a core theme of "The Way of Wonder."
----------------------
"There is a Way, but it only leads to the Way.

There are no rewards, only delays; no oases, only mirage. There are only precarious stepping stones, there is no distant shore.

...Yea, there is a path but no destination; what we regard as a destination is simply ...fatigue along the path."

Being a Facebook follower of Jack Haas Creations, I noticed that recently he started putting links to complete chapters from The Way of Wonder in Facebook posts. 

Here's links to the first three chapters. I'll try to remember to update this post with additional links (Haas is sharing one chapter a week.)

(1) Rapture
(2) The Myth of Knowing
(3) The Art of Forgetting, or Epistemological Surrender

Now, I don't resonate with everything in The Way of Wonder. My own approach to the mystery of existence is somewhat more rational and less ecstatic (if that's the right word) that Haas'. 

Yet I suspect that if he and I were ever to have a conversation about The Meaning (or Lack Thereof) Of It All, we'd find that we had a lot in common. Haas talks a lot about forgetting everything that one knows, but pretty clearly this isn't meant to be taken literally.

After all, Haas is perfectly capable of operating a web site and composing Facebook posts. Thus he hasn't forgotten how one lives in everyday life.

The sort of forgetting I feel he is urging us to embrace is the illusory knowledge of what reality is all about; where we've cosmically come from and where we're going; the nature of existence itself, as distinct from understanding of existent bits and pieces.

What I like the most about Haas' writings is that there's nothing at all conventionally religious about them. Yes, he quotes provocative mystics like Rumi and sages such as Chuang Tzu. Yet this is done to point us toward the unknowability of what religious believers falsely consider to be knowable. 

Here's my previous posts about Jack Haas and The Way of Wonder. 

2008: Churchless have more faith than believers
2010: Wonder -- the sole essential of spirituality
2012: "We each belong to the energy of the moment" -- Jack Haas01
2012: You wanted old answers, not new questions
2013: Jack Haas' poetic wonder-filled aphorisms

You won't get answers to the Big Questions from Jack Haas. But you'll gain a better appreciation of how unending questioning is the best answer we'll ever get. As Haas says: 

And so the essential re-cognition is that there is nothing to solve, because ...there is no problem; the problem is the search for a solution. For if we use the mind as a way out, we shall be 'way out' but we shall have escaped nothing but ourselves. We must simply acknowledge that there is nowhere to go, there is nothing to do, and there is no knowledge to know. We need only just 'be', and revel intimately in the eternal now mystery of being.

And so the essential re-cognition is that there is nothing to solve, because ...there is no problem; the problem is the search for a solution. For if we use the mind as a way out, we shall be 'way out' but we shall have escaped nothing but ourselves. We must simply acknowledge that there is nowhere to go, there is nothing to do, and there is no knowledge to know. We need only just 'be', and revel intimately in the eternal now mystery of being.

How this atheist feels about prayers after another mass shooting

Another day in America, another mass shooting. A lone gunman shot Rep. Steve Scalise and four other people at a park where Scalise was practicing for a benefit Congressional baseball game. 

This is a tragedy. So are the tens of thousands of other gun deaths that happen every year in this country. 

But after dramatic shootings like this one, there's a familiar ritual: "thoughts and prayers" are directed to the victims and their families. 

I wrote about this in 2015 after the San Bernardino shootings. Here's an excerpt from "Another mass shooting. No more 'thoughts and prayers.' Gun control ACTION!"

Another week, another mass shooting in America. At least 14 dead, another 14 wounded. And what are we going to do it about it?

Mostly offer our "thoughts and prayers" to the victims. And their families And the first responders. 

Which, obviously, does precisely zero, nada, zilch to stop the next mass shooting. And it will come soon. Because the next one always does.

Only in America do we have this much gun violence. Why? Because we have way more guns per capita than any other nation. So we have way more gun deaths. 

Responsible gun control is the answer. 

Thoughts and prayers are useless. They accomplish nothing (if a person directly affected by a shooting is told you are personally thinking of them, then they might feel a little bit better, but this rarely happens).

So, please Americans, stop with the thoughts and prayers.

All these rote expressions of sympathy accomplish is relieve your guilt that you're not doing anything to stop the needless gun violence.

Instead, ACT!

Look, I understand the urge to pray after something horrible happens. I used to be a religious believer. I've done a lot of praying myself. 

Now, though, I realize that (1) almost certainly God doesn't exist, so there is nobody to pray to, and (2) even if God somehow does exist, this is the same God who oversees the cosmos where the bad thing that stimulated the praying happened, so the God being prayed to is the God who allowed the horrific act to occur.

So when I see photos like this one of Democratic House members (also part of a baseball team) praying for their Republican colleagues, I think: I don't blame them for praying to their imaginary God, because they don't know any better; but if they think their praying is accomplishing anything, they're dangerously deluded.  

Why do I say "dangerously deluded" rather than just "deluded"? 

Because these people, being part of Congress, have a special ability to actually do something to prevent future mass shootings. In my 2015 post I laid out part of what I think needs to happens -- stronger gun control laws.

However, I realize that opinions differ about how to deal with the fact that the United States has way more gun deaths than any other advanced country (we also have way more guns). So I'm fine with lawmakers doing something other than what I want them to do.

I just want them to do something. 

Unfortunately, it's a good bet that after a few days, or maybe a week, of "thoughts and prayers," this mass shooting will fade out of peoples' memory. Then another one will happen, and the thoughts and prayers will start up again, with no actual action having been taken in the interim. 

This is the danger of believing in thoughts and prayers. Religiously-minded people feel that they've done something by thinking and praying, while in reality they have done nothing. 

Sure, most Americans believe in prayer. This doesn't mean prayer accomplishes anything. No study has ever demonstrated the efficacy of prayer. Which isn't surprising, given that there is no demonstrable evidence for a God who responds to prayers.

So as an atheist, I look upon displays of prayer in this country much as someone would look upon a "primitive" hunter-gatherer tribe dancing around a fire, singing and chanting appeals to their nature spirits to bring rain. These are supernatural myths that are an integral part of most cultures. 

Problem is, insofar as "thought and prayers" draw energy and attention away from viable actions to deal with a problem, these delusions are harmful to a society -- even though they may bring some peace of mind to individuals. 

I wrote "Why I don't like 'Our thoughts and prayers are with you'" after the Boston Marathon bombing.

Obviously my blogging power doesn't extend very far, because thoughts and prayers are still as prevalent now as they were in 2013. But at least I don't believe that simply thinking or praying accomplishes anything. 

Writing a blog post is taking some concrete action. Here's part of what I said in that post:

After the bombing I came across a Twitter Tweet by someone I follow, "scriptdave" here in Salem. He's a screenwriter with a great sense of humor. Also, some wise observations. He tweeted:

I respect the need people have to pray. But that prayer is meaningless unless you get off your knees and do something.

To which I Twitter-replied, "Amen." Later someone else commented on scriptdave's tweet. He told them:

I hear you. People need to reflect, meditate, process tragedy. But prayer being the end all is ludicrous. Do something real.

A double Amen to that. 

The spiritual implications of drink when thirsty, eat when hungry

I'm a firm believer in living naturally. Not unnaturally naturally. Just naturally naturally. 

Meaning, do what is natural. But don't make a fetish out of this, don't strive to do it, because trying too hard to be natural leads to artificiality. 

When it comes to drinking and eating, here's some good advice:

Drink when thirsty. Eat when hungry. 

This sounds very Zen. And it is. But it also makes a lot of scientific sense. For example, check out "Just drink water when you're thirsty like a normal person, study finds."

After much deliberation, a 17-member expert panel representing four countries and nine specialties, including sports medicine, body fluid homeostasis and exercise physiology, have come to the research-based consensus that people should really just, well, drink water when they’re thirsty, you know?

...Yep, after countless blog posts and huge amount of research, the truth is you should really just use your “innate thirst mechanism to guide fluid consumption.” As in, you should just take a sip of water when you want to take a sip of water, rather than loading up on ridiculous amounts of H20 before you go through a limits-testing workout.

Likewise, "Eating when you're hungry versus eating on schedule" says:

Retrain yourself to recognize feelings of hunger and respect them. Eat when you feel them and stop when they stop. Don’t eat when you’re not hungry. This approach starts with eating breakfast, planning snacks, or eating only part of your lunch and saving the rest for a snack later on in the afternoon. Eat regular meals but don’t eat by the clock.

We should trust our natural inclinations. Us humans have been around in our Homo sapiens form for about 250,000 years. For almost all of that time people weren't telling other people how to drink fluids and how to eat food. They just did what came naturally.

Of course, in prehistoric times there were moments when the right thing to do was gorge oneself when scarce food became available, and drink excessively when rarely-found water was discovered.

In these modern times, most of us have a steady supply of food and water. So we can actually live more naturally than our ancestors, since it is easier for us to follow the adage: Drink when thirsty. Eat when hungry. 

This works for me.

Rather than carry a gigantic water bottle around when I work out at an athletic club (as I see many other people doing for no good reason), I take a couple of sips of water from a drinking fountain when I feel thirsty. And I've found that I'm able to keep my weight where I want it to be if I pay attention to whether I'm really hungry, or if I just have the idea of wanting to eat something (out of boredom, habit, or some other non-hunger reason).

Now, thirst and hunger arise from physiological needs. We need water and food to survive. Too little isn't good for us; too much isn't good for us. Following our natural desire to drink and eat usually works out well for us. 

What about the drive to "gorge" on God, though? Where does this come from? 

Obviously a desire to pursue divinity isn't natural in the way seeking food and water is. Lots of people live a deeply fulfilling life without paying any attention to God or some other supernatural entity. There are no discernible ill effects from failing to fill one's mind with thoughts and emotions concerning God.

Further, there are no evident outward signs of God or any other transcendent divinity, in contrast to the obviousness of water and food. How does someone assuage their thirst or hunger for God when there is no demonstrable observable evidence of the entity being sought for?

Short answer: this is impossible. God doesn't exist in any objective fashion. God is only as real as the mental beliefs people have about this hypothesized divinity. 

So I don't see how it is possible to have a natural desire for God.

I can drink when thirsty. I can eat when hungry. However, there is no corresponding natural impulse to embrace God, because God only exists as a concept in human minds. There is no way to assuage a desire for a concept as there is for fulfilling a desire to drink or eat. 

Water and food are real. God isn't.

Again, only the idea of God possesses a limited subjective reality. Thus religious believers are in much the same position as someone who drinks and eats not because they have a natural need to do this, but because they have an artificial idea that it's the right thing to do. 

Understand: there's nothing wrong with ideas. Ideas are wonderful things. So are beliefs, one form ideas come in. We just shouldn't mistake mental creations that exist nowhere outside of  the  human mind for an objectively real entity. 

Like water and food. 

This is why some people spend a lifetime seeking God, and never succeed in their quest. They are pursuing an impossible dream: to quench a thirst for divinity when the object of their desire doesn't exist. 

Having attempted this quest myself for about thirty-five years, I understand how enticing the goal of God-realization can seem. However, I'm grateful that I came to realize how false and unnatural that goal was. 

Drinking when thirsty and eating when hungry make a lot more sense to me now. I can actually do these things. Not just in my own mind, as is the case with every person's attempt to find God. But in really real reality.

Experience of conscious will is an illusion

I don't believe in free will. But like most people, I have a feeling that my intention to do something is what causes that thing to happen. 

So we have two things going on:

(1) A scientific world view doesn't support a belief in free will. As I've written about a lot on this blog (type "free will" into the Google search box in the right sidebar to find the many posts), there is no evidence of an immaterial self/soul that somehow floats free of the material/physical goings-on in the human mind. So there's no entity within us which can function freely of causes and effects or the laws of nature.

(2) Yet we humans have a strong sense that our intentions lead to thoughts, actions, and everything else we're capable of doing. After all, I think type an example of a thought and the next thing I do is type "I need to finish writing this paragraph." Who the heck is controlling what I'm doing right now if it isn't my conscious intention?

Well, study carefully this photo I took of a fascinating figure in Daniel Wegner's book, "The Illusion of Conscious Will," and you'll get a very interesting explanation of why the experience of conscious will is indeed an illusion.

Note that there is an "actual" and "apparent" causal path leading to an action. 

The actual causal path flows from an unconscious cause of the action. Meaning, the human brain is doing things below the surface of awareness that cause us to do something.

At the same time, there also is an unconscious cause of thought. This takes an actual causal path in the brain that leads to a thought. 

So the brain is unconsciously causing both an action and a thought.

These two things are actually happening. However, our experience of conscious will -- the feeling that our thought or intention is what causes an action to occur -- is an illusion. This is shown in the "Apparent Causal Path" arrow leading from thought to action. 

Here's a few passages from Wegner's book that explain what is going on here. (Wegner is a Professor of Psychology at Harvard University.)

The experience of will, then, is the way our minds portray their operations to us, not their actual operation. Because we have thoughts of what we will do, we can develop causal theories relating those thoughts to our actions on the basis of priority, consistency, and exclusivity.

We come to think of these prior thoughts as intentions, and we develop the sense that the intentions have causal force even though they are actually just previews of what we may do. 

Yet in an important sense, it must be the case that something in our minds plays a causal role in making our actions occur. That something is, in the theory of apparent mental causation, a set of unconscious mental processes that cause the action. At the same time, that something is very much like the thoughts we have prior to the action.

...We must remember that this analysis suggests that the real causal mechanisms underlying behavior are never present in consciousness. Rather, the engines of causation operate without revealing themselves to us and so may be unconscious mechanisms of mind.

...The unique human convenience of conscious thoughts that preview your actions gives us the privilege of feeling we willfully cause what we do. 

In fact, however, unconscious and inscrutable mechanisms create both conscious thought about action and the action, and also produce the sense of will we experience by perceiving the thought as cause of the action.

So while our thoughts may have deep, important, and unconscious causal connections to our actions, the experience of conscious will arises from a process that interprets these connections, not from the connections themselves.

This is brilliant. I'm only read about 1/4 of "The Illusion of Conscious Will," but I'm far enough into the book to have gotten a good feel for Wegner's thesis. He provides a lot of evidence to support it, both scientific and philosophical. 

Naturally spiritual (using that word broadly) implications of this illusion are easy to come by. For example, it can be argued that the so-called enlightenment of Zen, Taoism, and such simply is an intuitive seeing-through of the illusion of conscious will. 

Meaning, the illusion that "I" am determining what I do (and also by implication, what happens to me) is somehow experienced as the scientific falsity that it is. Of course, this is just a fact -- assuming Wegner's hypothesis is correct, as it seems to be -- not any sort of supernatural or mystical state of mind. 

It is just our actual state of mind, seen for what it is. It'll take another blog post to explain this more fully.

How meditation helped Yuval Harari write "Sapiens," a terrific book

I absolutely loved Sapiens, a book by a historian that was like no history book I'd ever read before. It was filled with wonderfully fresh insights -- Big Astounding Ideas rather than little boring facts.

My blog posts about the book will give you a feel for what the author, Yuhal Harari, wrought. 

"Religion is just one of many stories humans have imagined"
"Imagined orders -- like religions -- depend on shaky myths"

Given how much I admired Sapiens, when I saw the title of a post by Ezra Klein on the Vox site, I knew that I had to read "Yuval Harari, author of Sapiens, on how meditation made him a better historian."

Since I also have embraced a meditation practice that's centered on following my breath, I was pleased to see Harari does pretty much the same thing. Except, he engages in a 60-day silent meditation retreat once a year, and I just meditate for 20 minutes once a day.

Here's some excerpts from the Vox piece.

Ezra Klein

You told the Guardian that without meditation, you'd still be researching medieval military history — but not the Neanderthals or cyborgs. What changes has meditation brought to your work as a historian?

Yuval Hariri

Two things, mainly. First of all, it's the ability to focus. When you train the mind to focus on something like the breath, it also gives you the discipline to focus on much bigger things and to really tell the difference between what's important and everything else. This is a discipline that I have brought to my scientific career as well. It's so difficult, especially when you deal with long-term history, to get bogged down in the small details or to be distracted by a million different tiny stories and concerns. It's so difficult to keep reminding yourself what is really the most important thing that has happened in history or what is the most important thing that is happening now in the world. The discipline to have this focus I really got from the meditation.

The other major contribution, I think, is that the entire exercise of Vipassana meditation is to learn the difference between fiction and reality, what is real and what is just stories that we invent and construct in our own minds. Almost 99 percent you realize is just stories in our minds. This is also true of history. Most people, they just get overwhelmed by the religious stories, by the nationalist stories, by the economic stories of the day, and they take these stories to be the reality.

My main ambition as a historian is to be able to tell the difference between what's really happening in the world and what are the fictions that humans have been creating for thousands of years in order to explain or in order to control what's happening in the world.

----------------------

Ezra Klein

Before we leave the topic of meditation, I read that you do routinely 60-day retreats. That is an experience that I cannot imagine, so I would love to hear what those are like for you and what role they serve in your life.

Yuval Hariri

First of all, it's very difficult. You don't have any distractions, you don't have television, you don't have emails, no phones, no books. You don't write. You just have every moment to focus on what is really happening right now, on what is reality. You come across the things you don't like about yourself, things that you don't like about the world, that you spend so much time ignoring or suppressing.

You start with the most basic bodily sensations of the breath coming in and out, of sensations in your stomach, in your legs, and as you connect to that, you gain the ability to really observe what's happening. You get clarity with regard to what's happening in your mind. You cannot really observe anger or fear or boredom if you cannot observe your breath. Your breath is so much easier than observing your anger or your fear.

People want to understand their anger, to understand their fear. But they think that observing the breath, oh, this is not important at all. But if you can't observe something as obvious and as simple as the breath coming in and out, you have absolutely no chance of really observing your anger, which is far more stormy and far more difficult.

What happens along the 60 days is that as your mind becomes more focused and more clear, you go deeper and deeper, and you start seeing the sources of where all this anger is coming from, where all this fear is coming from, and you just observe. You don't try to do anything. You don't tell any stories about your anger. You don't try to fight it. Just observe. What is anger? What is boredom? You live sometimes for years and years and years experiencing anger and fear and boredom every day, and you never really observe, how does it actually feel to be angry? Because you're too caught up in the angry.

The 60 days of meditation, they give you the opportunity. You can have a wave of anger, and sometimes it can last for days and you just, for days, you do nothing. You just observe. What is anger? How does it actually feel in the body? What is actually happening in my mind when I am angry? This is the most amazing thing that I've ever observed, is really to observe these internal phenomena.

 

The joy of living in a meaningless world

The deeper I dive into atheism, the more blissful those warm waters of faithlessness seem. Which is a big change from my early non-believing years, when I often felt that something important was missing from my life.

That something was a built-in, ready-made, out-there-to-be-discovered meaning of existence.

A spiritual shoulder to lean on, a cosmic compass to guide my way, an uplifting understanding of dependable solid ground lying beneath the shifting sands of everyday experience.

Even after I'd given up a belief in God or any other obviously supernatural entity, I had a lingering feeling that is difficult to put into words, but was close to the universe has a message for me, and I'm not hearing it. 

So I'd fret about whether what I was doing, feeling, and planning was as Absolutely Meaningful as it should be. 

In other words, even though I'd grown out of belief in a traditional religiosity, an assumption that meaning lay out there somewhere remained largely unquestioned. 

Thumbing through a book by Matthew Hutson I've just started reading, "The 7 Laws of Magical Thinking," it looks like Huston has several chapters devoted to the sort of non-religious irrationality I was engaging in, and which everybody, really, is prone to. The book's subtitle is How Irrational Beliefs Keep Us Happy, Healthy, and Sane.

Thankfully, more and more I'm tuning into the joy of living in a meaningless world. 

For one thing, the pressure is off. Now I rarely worry about whether the satisfaction I'm getting from this or that is less than it should be, tainted by some lack of understanding, or otherwise undersized in comparison to some theoretical Grand Meaning.

What I enjoy, I enjoy. What I don't like, I don't like. I've pretty much completely stopped looking for a source of meaning outside of myself.

I'm the generator of my own meaningfulness energy. This then powers and directs what I pursue in life, which adds to the reservoir of meaning in my psyche. Not exactly a perpetual motion machine, because all this will come to an end when I do, but there's a pleasing self-enclosed circularity to it. 

Like I said, this is difficult stuff to put into words. So I'll end with how some other people have described what I'm getting at. This is a passage from the introduction to "The 7 Laws of Magical Thinking."

There is a common thread that holds together many of the things we call magic and excludes many of the things we don't. One recurring theme in the literature -- a theme I'm taking as the basis for my definition of magical thinking -- is what the anthropologist Richard Shweder called "a confusion of subjectivity and objectivity" and the anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss called "the anthropomorphism of nature... and the physiomorphism of man." 

There's the world of the mind, defined by intention and conscious experience, and the world of outside reality, defined by matter and deterministic forces. But we instinctively treat the mind as though it had physical properties, and we treat the physical world as though it had mental properties. That's magical thinking. We perceive mind and matter mingling together, working on the same wavelength.

Nicely put.

This fits with my longstanding (and erroneous) assumption that meaning, an interior mental quality, somehow could be found in the world out there. Of course, it can't, because the only mind or consciousness I can be directly aware of is my own.

Lastly, I enjoyed a BuzzFeed piece, "I Asked Atheists How They Find Meaning in a Purposeless Universe." All the responses are interesting. Here's the last one by Jan Doig, which resonated with me. 

“Three years and nine months ago I would have declared myself agnostic. Then my husband died without warning at the age of 47. My life fell to pieces. This is no exaggeration. As the terrible days passed in a fog the same question kept forming. Why? Why him? Why us? I was told by well-meaning friends that it was part of God’s plan and we would simply never know what that was. Or from friends with a looser definition of religion, that the Universe had something to teach me. I had lessons to learn.

“These thoughts caused me great fear, anger, and confusion. What sort of God, even if he had a plan for me, would separate a fine, kind, gentle man from his children? Why would God or the Universe look down and pick on our little family for special treatment? Why a good man with not a bad bone in his body who had never raised a hand to anyone? My best friend for 29 years. Any lesson the Universe had to teach me I would have learned willingly. He didn’t have to die!

“I thought about it a lot. I was raised Catholic so guilt ran through me like writing through a stick of rock. Had I been a bad wife? Was he waiting for me? There were days when, if I had been certain of a belief in an afterlife, I might have gone to join him. It was a desperate time. I needed evidence and there simply wasn’t any. I just had to have faith and believe.

“One day as I was sitting on his memorial bench in the local park I suddenly thought, What if no one is to blame? Not God. Not me. Not the Universe. What if he’s gone and that’s all there is to it? No plan. Just dreadful circumstances. A minor disturbance in his heart led to a more serious and ultimately deadly arrhythmia, and that killed him in a matter of moments. It is a purely scientific view of it. I may seem cold or callous but I found comfort in that. I cried and cried and cried, but that made logical sense to me and brought me great peace.

“My heart and head still miss my husband every day. I treasure everything he gave me and I love him as much today as the day he died. But I can remember him happily without wondering what we had done to deserve this dreadful separation.

“So I declare myself atheist (and humanist by extension) and my friends shake their heads. I stay on the straight and narrow without the guiding hand of a creator or any book of instructions.

“I’m not a religious or a spiritual person. (For some reason many of my female friends are shocked by this admission!) I don’t believe in God or the Universe. I don’t believe in angels, the power of prayer, spirits, ghosts, or an afterlife. The list goes on and on. I think there is a scientific meaning for everything, even if we don’t understand it yet. I find meaning in everyday things and I choose to carry on.

“The sun comes up and I have a chance to be kind to anyone who crosses my path because I can. I make that choice for myself and nobody has to tell me to do it. I am right with myself. I try my best to do my best, and if I fail, I try again tomorrow. I support myself in my own journey through life. I draw my own conclusions.

“I find joy in the people I love. I love and I am loved. I find peace in the places I visit. Cry when I listen to music I love and find almost childlike joy in many things. This world is brilliant and full of fascinating things. I have to think carefully for myself. I don’t have to believe what I’m told. I must ask questions and I try and use logic and reason to answer them. I believe that every human life carries equal worth. I struggle with how difficult the world can be, but when we have free will some people will make terrible decisions. No deity forces their hand and they must live with that.

“Life is a personal struggle. Grieving is never an easy road to travel. It’s painful and lonely at times but I use what I know to try to help when I can. I try to be loving and caring with my family and friends, and have fun. I will cry with friends in distress and hear other people’s stories and be kind because it does me good as well. I listen and I learn. It helps me to be better. Life without God is not a life without meaning. Everything, each and every interaction, is full of meaning. Everything matters.”