[3] To the latter belong films, pictures and literature, which are chiefly intended to provoke sexual titillation. 
 
 

By Susan Elbaum Jootla

The question of correct livelihood is of great importance for any practicing lay Buddhist. So also to the many meditators once they have done enough meditation courses and work on their own to realize that they must live a Dhamma life. Just what is Right Livelihood -- how broad is the category of trades a disciple of the Buddha cannot ply? And how can one best work so than he is developing the other seven Path factors while earning a living? Is work a total waste -- just a means to the end of supporting oneself in order to meditate? Or can one's job be used in a more constructive way so that it brings some direct benefit to those around us as well? These and many other related issues come to the mind of anyone who finds himself in the position of the Buddha's teachings, and to a large extent each of us has to determine for himself the details of how to work out the livelihood aspect of his life. In this essay an attempt is made simply to outline how we can try to use the Noble Eightfold Path in relation to our work -- whether it is in an office or a factory, in the city or country, whether it is indoors or outdoors, white collar or blue collar or neither. If the meditator succeeds in applying síla (morality), samádhi (concentration), and paññá (wisdom), the three aspects of the Path, at work as well as in all other life situations, he will be growing in Dhamma even during the part of the day that is apparently devoted to non-Dhamma work, and at the same time he will be doing his job well and sharing his peace of mind, mettá (loving-kindness) with those his livelihood brings him into contact with. 

Monks, these five trades ought not to be plied by a lay-disciple ... Trade in weapons, trade in human beings, trade in flesh, trade in spirits [intoxicants] and trade in poison. 

            Gradual Sayings (Angutt. N.) III, p.153. 

And what, monks, is wrong mode of livelihood? Trickery, cajolery, insinuating, dissembling, rapacity for gain upon gain...And what, monks, is the right mode of livelihood that has cankers, that is on the side of merit that ripens unto cleaving to a new birth? Herein monks, an Aryan disciple, by getting rid of wrong livelihood, earns his living by a right mode of livelihood... 

            Middle-length Sayings (Majjh.Nik.), III,pp. 118-19.

The fields of livelihood which the Buddha prohibited to his lay followers, as listed in the initial quotation above, are limited to those in which the disciple would be directly, on his own responsibility, involved in breaking one or more of the Five Precepts, which are the very basic moral rules for the Buddhist layman. Anyone who is attempting to develop morality, concentration and wisdom, to grow in compassion and insight, cannot deal in weapons of any sort, at any level of the business because by doing so he would be involving himself in causing harm or injury to others for his own monetary gain. These days the probability of trading in human beings as slaves or for prostitution is limited, but certainly any job with such overtones is to be avoided. Breeding animals for slaughter as meat or for other uses that may be made of the carcasses is not allowed because this obviously implies breaking the First Precept: I shall abstain from killing. Working on someone else's beef ranch or selling packaged meat is acceptable as there is no responsibility for killing involved. Similarly, anyone trying to follow the teachings of the Buddha should avoid hunting and fishing, nor can he be an exterminator of animals. Dealing in alcohol or intoxicating drugs would be making oneself directly responsible for encouraging others to break the Fifth Precept: I shall abstain from all intoxicants. While by no means everyone we meet is trying to keep these precepts, still, to help others directly in breaking any of them is certainly wrong livelihood. If we manufacture, deal in, or use insecticides or other kinds of poisons in our work, we are engaging to some degree in wrong livelihood because here, too, we are breaking the First Precept and directly encouraging others to do so as well. However, the motivation behind the use of such material has a great deal to do with the depth of the kamma being created. A doctor rightly gives drugs, which are harmful to bacteria and viruses, not because he hates the 'bugs', but in order to help cure the human being. Here the good more than balances the bad. But if we go about applying poison to rat holes and cockroaches' hideouts with anger or aversion towards the pests, we would be generating considerably strong bad kamma. 

But these five are the only ways of earning a living, which are to be strictly avoided by one who is walking on the Path. Other fields of endeavor may seem trivial to the meditator investigating the job market, or they may appear to be just helping others to create more tanhã (craving), or they may involve some indirect responsibility in wrong speech or action -- but we must find our work within the context of the society from which we come and within the framework of available job opportunities. It is not possible first to go about setting up the ideal Dhamma community and then find work within it; so we must live in the society and serve its members to the best of our ability. Someone who finds Dhamma in middle age and is settled into a career with little reasonable possibility of shifting to one more strictly in accord with Right Livelihood can, and must practice Dhamma as it is possible within his context. For example, only rarely does an army officer serve in combat -- the rest of the time there is ample scope for him to work wisely, according to paññá, in a detached way, giving the necessary commands without being overly harsh. There are a substantial number of police officers in Rajasthan doing vipassanã meditation who already are feeling the benefits of meditation in preserving law and order and dealing with criminals and the general public with little anger. Even people whose livelihood is solely dependent on hunting or fishing can at least develop Dana, (liberality) and other virtues as Burmese fishermen do even if it is impossible for them to give up an incorrect mode of earning a living. After all, an important reason for which serious Buddhists become monks is that "the householder's life is full of dust", and few positions for lay livelihood can allow one to be completely pure. Due to the interdependence of all phases of society and today's complex economic structures, it is very difficult to live as a layman and keep the perfect síla the meditator strives for --_ a farmer has to use insecticides, public health workers kill mosquitoes and their larvae, a truck driver may sometimes have to transport arms or poison. Often one is in a position of having to exaggerate one's statements or omit disadvantageous facts, even if one does not like it. So we must earn our livelihood as we have been trained, and as we find a position for ourselves in the society while constantly making an effort to grow in Dhamma. 

However, if we let the Dhamma slide and allow our daily routine work to take over and become the thing of paramount importance, then we have lost track of the goal we set for ourselves in being dedicated followers of the Buddha, and especially serious vipassanã meditators. One cannot use Dhamma for one's increased mundane profit and continue to grow in paññá (wisdom) at the same time because then desire for gain which is tanhã will be the root of one's very Dhamma practice - a complete distortion of the real purpose of Dhamma -- the elimination of craving (tanhã) and so of suffering (dukkha). Occupational work is a means to keep alive and to support one's dependents so that one can grow in Dhamma. Trying to use the Dhamma to help one achieve more at work and ignoring the Noble Eightfold Path or getting so involved in business that one cannot even sit for meditation an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening is making a farce of Dhamma -- perhaps keeping the form but surely losing the essence of the Buddha's teaching. This is the way of dukkha, productive of suffering. To alleviate dukkha one must live by the Eightfold Path, earning one's livelihood within its context, trying to practice síla, samádhi and paññá, morality, concentration and wisdom at the workplace as well as while formally sitting in meditation. 

Once we have found a suitable job, the more long-range task begins -- applying the Buddha's teachings at work. If we can keep síla only during meditation courses what serious benefit have we gained from such training periods? If we lose all our mindfulness, concentration and wisdom when we are confronted with the vibrations of a big city or the workplace, where is our wisdom? To grow in Dhamma we have to try constantly to apply the whole of the Noble Eightfold Path in all life's circumstances, and some of the more challenging situations we will come across are very likely to be those we meet during working hours. Jobs are particularly important occasions to keep carefully to the Path for a number of reasons: (1) usually we do not have the support of the Sangha while at work and so are completely on our own; (2) work tends to arouse all previous thought associations and our deep-seated conditionings of greed, competition and aversion; (3) so many of our waking hours are inevitably involved in simply earning a living. Yet if we rightly apply the Path factors on the job, we are still assured of moving towards success in the supra-mundane field, and we are quite apt to find that these factors enable us to do well in our chosen mundane work as well. 

Let us first examine the relationship at work between the three-síla factors of Right Speech, Right Action and Right Livelihood. Right Livelihood was outlined in the first quotation from the Buddha. But Right Livelihood will not be really pure unless it includes Right Speech and Right Action as well. We have to strive with determination to keep all the Five Precepts while we work at a job, as well as for the rest of the time. The forms of wrong speech and wrong action to be avoided are all those in which lying, backbiting or harming of others would be involved. If we are honest in our speech and actions, our employers will certainly be pleased with our work and we will be growing in Dhamma by confronting our mind's opposing tendencies; we will note when the mind tries to find the easy way out or to blame others for our own errors. If we are running our own business, we must be scrupulously honest in our dealings with our customers and avoid all "trickery, cajolery... dissembling." We can make a reasonable profit for service we perform of bringing our commodity to the consumer, but we must not let ourselves get caught up in the businessman's perpetual tendency towards "rapacity for gain upon gain." The merchant plays an important role and function in the community, but the meditator-businessman must always keep in mind that his job is to serve the society and provide for the needs of his family -- not to make the maximum amount of money with the least effort as he might previously have perceived it. 

Whatever our work situation is -- in an office, factory or shop -- we will always feel the benefits of keeping síla. If we do not indulge in gossip or slander -- 'office or academic politics' -- but keep clearly to the side of right and honesty in every situation that arises with other workers or our employers, we will find that we are less often at the receiving end of other people's anger. In fact, if we are really able to keep on the Path at work, we may well find ourselves in the position of peacemaker or mediator between the opposing sides in many a workplace dispute -- and in such a role we will certainly be serving others. 

To practice Right Action at work we must scrupulously avoid anything even remotely related to stealing for our own personal gain. The less we are involved in anyone else's taking what was not intended for him, the better off we are as well. So it is beneficial to all to dissuade other workers from stealing from the establishment, "liberating " materials or otherwise misappropriating the employer's property. On the other hand, the kammic implications for us in occasionally having to exaggerate a bit at the boss's behest, or to do the firm's accounts in the legally dubious way they have always been done, once in a while, are not so severe because the full responsibility for such occasional acts is not with us. However, we do bear some responsibility in these situations and if the job seems to require chronic dishonesty in speech or action, and this situation cannot be altered by discussion with the employer, then it may be necessary to change jobs. But we have to keep a balanced perspective and not keep running after the perfect work -- part of the dukhha of the householder's life is the necessity to function in an immoral society while keeping one's own mind clear. 

So if we have chosen work, which does not involve us in killing, or trading in living beings, or poisons, or in dealing in intoxicants, we are earning a Right Livelihood. And if, while on the job we carefully avoid lying, stealing and the associated forms of wrong speech and action, we are doing our work and simultaneously practicing síla on the Path. 

The samádhi section of the Path during meditation has effects in the mundane world for Right Effort, Mindfulness and Concentration will contribute greatly to our success in our career. 

Right Effort at work, as elsewhere, must be neither over exertion nor laziness, but a Middle Path. For a businessman to spend all his waking hours involved in the concerns of his firm means that he is consumed with some strong tanhã either for making money or for some particular set of circumstances to come about, and this is in direct contradiction with living the Dhamma life. On the other hand, the employee who sees how inane his work is, or how absurd it is to put two pieces into a car on an assembly line for eight hours a day, or that his job just helps people keep revolving in dukkha, and so sits back and does only the barest minimum required of him, means to be overcome by the defilement of sloth and torpor, and probably ill-will as well. Right Effort at work means doing our best to accomplish the tasks before us -- without becoming mindlessly absorbed or involved in them to the point of forgetting equanimity, and without the inertia that comes of a belligerent mind which thinks itself to be superior to the position it is in. Unrelenting effort in the mundane sphere is summarized by the Buddha in a discourse on the householder's life to the lay disciple Dighjanu [See "The Dighjanu Sutta"--BIONA Ed.] (quoted in "Meditation and the Householder" by Ven. Acharya Buddharakkhita, in Maha Bodhi, January 1976): 

By whatsoever activity a householder earns his living, whether by farming, by trading, by rearing cattle, by archery, by service under the king, or by any other kind of craft, at that he becomes skilful and tireless. He is endowed with the power of discernment as to the proper ways and means; he is able to arrange and carry out duties. This is called the accomplishment of unrelenting effort.

Sammã sati, Right Mindfulness or Awareness, is the next factor of the samádhi section of the Path, and there are several ways in which the mindfulness we gain from vipassanã will help us on the job. 

Herein, Dighajanu, whatsoever wealth a householder is in possession of, obtained by work and zeal, collected by the strength of his arm, by the sweat of his brow, justly acquired by right means, such he husbands well by guarding and watching so that kings may not seize it, thieves may not steal it, nor fire burn it, nor water carry it off, nor ill-disposed heirs remove. This is the accomplishment of watchfulness.

The quality of mindfulness mentioned by the Buddha here is not the same as the sammã-sati of the Noble Eightfold Path, but this watchfulness is a by-product of mindfulness important to the lay-follower. The more the meditator has developed awareness in the supra-mundane field, the more careful he will be in all situations of life -- meditative, household, or work. If one's mindfulness is not 'Right', however, then one will be apt to take this injunction of the Buddha's as license to indulge in great upãdãna, -- that is, in clinging, by all possible means, to what one regards as one's own. This kind of ignorance-based watchfulness will only lead to dukkha. What we have to learn to do is care for the possessions we have acquired so that we and our dependents can make best use of them, but without making the error of expecting them to last indefinitely, nor of considering them as a personal possession fully in one's own control. To wantonly give away one's hard-earned or inherited goods to anyone who expresses a desire for them is folly. Dana or charity can earn us great merit, but only when done in wisdom and when the quality of the recipient also helps to determine how much merit is earned. Material possessions in themselves are not the fetters that keep us in dukkha, so having fewer things or more, for that matter, will not necessarily bring more happiness; it is our attachment to them that is the bondage that must be eliminated. So if we apply Right Mindfulness to the proper taking care of our things, we are only intelligently providing for our own welfare and for that of those who are dependent on us, not necessarily generating more tanha (craving). 

Increased awareness or mindfulness is intertwined with improved concentration in enhancing our performance at work. Greater awareness of all the parameters of a situation will enable a businessman to make more accurate decisions, a workman to avoid accidents, and a teacher to really communicate information to his students. 

In addition to this mindfulness of external situations, we also have to try to be mindful of our own minds and bodies while we work, as well as the rest of the time, of course. Once we become fairly established in the tradition of vedanãnupassanã (mindfulness of feelings, as taught in the tradition of Sayaji U Ba Khin), we have acquired a ready technique for keeping mindfulness always with us. Continual change is always going on in our bodies, so at no time can it be said that there are no sensations since it is the impermanent (anicca) nature of the body, which causes the sensations. Once we have acquired the skill of feeling these sensations while we are engaged in daily activities, we would do well to keep some degree of awareness of the anicca feelings, or of ãnãpãna (mindfulness of breathing) awake all the time. Then no matter how difficult, or how boring, or how exhausting the tasks be we are faced with, we will find that we have a relatively equanimous and balanced mind with which to face them because we will be alternating mind-moments of mindfulness and wisdom relating to the ultimate nature of our mind-and-body (nãma-rûpa) with the mind-moments that are of necessity fully engaged in the mundane work at hand. Meditators engaged in contemplating the feelings (vedanãnupassanã) who have practiced the technique for some time, find that this mindfulness of the sensations which are caused by the continual flux that is the nature of the body keeps them in a balanced and detached frame of mind in all kinds of trying situations -- and certainly work experiences can sometimes be difficult enough to make it well worth our while to develop the skill of keeping this mindfulness of anicca (impermanence) always with us. 

Concentration, the last of the samádhi section of the Path, obviously is vital to anyone in any task he attempts. The meditator will find that vipasssanã has enhanced his one-pointed-ness and this skill will be applied in all the spheres of life, including work. But he must be sure that even at work this is Right concentration, that it is not rooted in strong craving or ill-will, otherwise the meditator may fall into the trap of squandering pure Dhamma for material gain, by using the enhanced concentration without the other aspects of the Path, síla and paññá, to balance it. Naturally, it is always useful to keep one's mind clearly focused on the job at hand -- if the mind is constantly running off in various directions towards irrelevant objects, our work will be slowed down and perhaps inadequately completed. As the mind is trained in vipassanã meditation to be detached from, not distracted by, the pleasure and pains of the senses, we will find that when we are working we will have less and less difficulty concentrating on what has to be done at this time and tend to worry less about the past or future. This does not mean that we do not plan our purchases or work schedule or ignore the future implications of decisions taken now. We do all these kinds of activities; we make all needed choices and decisions, but once such action has been taken, the mind settles back down into the job of the present without being hampered and held back by worries about the past or fears for the future. 

An artist or mechanic or craftsman is much better at his creating if his concentration is clear and his mind stays firmly with the materials at hand. A doctor's or lawyer's understanding of his client's situation will be correspondingly increased as his concentration on what the client describes is improved -- he cannot practice his profession at all without a fair amount of concentration. Certainly all kinds of teaching and learning depend on one-pointed-ness of mind. A merchant or farmer or businessman will be much better equipped to solve the difficulties of his work if he can carefully concentrate on all aspects of the problems at hand, distinguish relevant from tangential issues, and sort out appropriate solutions. Concentration is one of the mental factors that is present in any mind-moment, but the degree to which it is developed varies considerably between individuals. A vipassanã meditator generally has a well-developed faculty of concentration due to his mental training and if he puts this ability to appropriate use in the workplace, he will in this way gain mundane benefits from his meditation. 

The remaining sections of the Noble Eightfold Path fall into the category of wisdom. Sammã-ditthi, Right Understanding or Right View, means the ability to see things as they are in their true nature by penetrating through the apparent truth. This means understanding the anicca, dukkha and anattá nature of all phenomena, mental and physical, that is their impermanency, un-satisfactoriness and ego-less-ness. This understanding should be applied also to evey day life - including our work. 

Right Understanding (sammã ditt hi) also requires a basic understanding of the Four Noble Truths -- of Suffering, its Cause, its Cessation, and the Way to the Cessation; further of the Law of Kamma or moral cause and effect, and the Doctrine of Dependent Origination. By means of Right Thought, sammã-sankappa, the remaining Path-and-Wisdom-factor, one considers all that happens in life with a mind that is free of greed and of hatred. For this discussion of the Noble Eightfold Path in the work situation it is not necessary to separate Right Thought from Right Understanding as without the one the other could not exist in such situations. 

To apply wisdom (paññá) at work means always trying to keep the mind equanimous and detached while it is engaged in the necessary mundane activities and interaction with other people. So if the boss gets annoyed and shouts at us, we remind ourselves that he is at that moment suffering and generating more suffering for himself. We try to do the right thing if he is pointing out a reasonable fault, and in any case we attempt to send him mettá and not let anger arise in reaction to his sparks. 

Whenever a businessman or professor or other professional gets so involved in his work that it occupies his mind all the time, keeping it scheming up more plans or 'solving problems' without rest or even time for meditation, he is acting on the basis of ignorance, not of wisdom. He has forgotten that all the phenomena he is dealing with are primarily operating according to laws of cause and effect, and that his own will and decisions can only do one part of any job; the remainder is beyond his control. 

One is not seeing anattá, the ego-less nature of external phenomena if he develops tremendous craving (tanhã) for the results of his work. Anicca, change and decay, is inherent in all phenomena, but we often slip into ignorance of this factor and unreasonably try to prolong favorable business conditions or consider our resources infinite or get attached to any particular situation. If we forget the Four Noble Truths at work, especially the First and Second, -- dukkha and tanhã as the cause of dukkha -- we will be continuing to generate more and more unhappiness for ourselves as our craving grows in intensity. Job situations, especially since they involve money, are very likely to bring up the strong conditioning for craving we all have from the past, and if this desire is not observed with wisdom, we will be continually digging deeper mental ruts that will inevitably lead to future misery. To avoid this we have to train our minds to see how no situation, however apparently 'pleasant' it may seem to be, is actually desirable because: (1) no situation can last, all are anicca; (2) the state of craving is itself one of unhappiness; and (3) all craving must lead in the direction of future dukkha. And, of course, the opposite situation in which the mind reacts with aversion to the circumstances be they work-related or otherwise, is precisely the same -- both clinging and aversion are tanhã. 

If the market for our product is favorable at present, if our superiors are pleased with our work, if we are getting good grades at the university, or if any other pleasant situation arises in the course of our work, we would do well to recall that this situation, too, is unsatisfactory. Pleasant experiences bring dukkha because they cannot last forever, and any mind which still has conditioning of tanhã and avijjã (ignorance), will try to cling to what it likes, striving to perpetuate the pleasant feelings. If we keep the First and Second Noble Truths in mind when we encounter both happy and unhappy states on the job, our minds will be able to remain detached and calm and perfectly equanimous -- the only kind of happiness that can endure -- no matter what vicissitudes we have to face. At any moment we may run into material gain or loss, be famous or infamous, receive praise or blame, experience happiness or pain. But if the mind remains free from clinging, if it has seen dukkha in all craving, then none of this can really touch us and we are sure of inner peace, no matter what the outer circumstances may be. 

Recalling the law of cause and effect, cultivating this aspect of paññá at work, is quite important and useful. To create good kamma the mind has to try to remain free of clinging and aversion so we have to keep a close watch on our reactions if we are not to prolong the misery of samsára. We should not, however, expect that just because we have thought of this and are trying to keep ourselves away from tanhã that this freedom will easily come about -- this would be forgetting the anattá – ego-less-ness nature of the mind. Only gradually can we recondition the mind to operate in channels based on wisdom, by reminding ourselves whenever we notice an unwholesome reaction that such actions lead only to dukkha, and that nothing at all is worth getting attached to or developing aversion towards. In this way, over a long period of time we will notice how the force of our reactions does diminish. So when our superior yells at us and we in turn get angry, we just note the reaction and the sensations that arise, see their foolishness and as soon as we can, just let go of them. If a business deal is pending, and we are getting more and more tense about it as the days go by, we may not be able to just give up the tension, but if we observe how this particular conditioning of the mind is happening with some part of the mind detached and with the sensations (which will be reflecting the mind-reactions), we are no longer reinforcing the tension sankhárás and so the next time they arise, they will be weaker. Becoming impatient with the unwholesome tendencies of the mind cannot change them and, in fact, this would be generating more unwholesome tendencies of a slightly different sort. If the aversion to work keeps coming up, never mind, just observe that, too, with the anicca sensations and slowly it will decrease in frequency and intensity. 

Paññá can and must be applied in all situations. It may not be as powerfully clear as when we are meditating, but if we neglect it during the part of the day while at work, we are not living by the totality of the Path; and without trying to understand all the situations of life in their ultimate nature, we cannot expect to progress towards the goal of liberation from all suffering. 

When we have undertaken the task of removing all the causes of suffering -- which is what it means to be a serious vipassanã meditator -- we have committed ourselves to a full-time job. To grow in the wisdom that can remove dukkha one must at all times try to practice all the aspects of the Noble Eightfold Path. This is the Way taught by the Buddha that enables us to find for ourselves real and lasting peace and happiness. When we are engaged in our mundane work of earning a livelihood, we must be sure to keep our síla (morality) as pure as possible. Vipassanã meditation will have increased our samádhi (concentration) and we must be sure that it is Right Concentration we apply on the job, along with balanced Effort. Mindfulness of the true nature of the external experiences and internal phenomena we come into contact with when working must be kept alive. And finally, paññá, Right Understanding and Right Thought must be developed with respect to our relationships with our co-workers, the various conditions at the workplace, and the functioning of our minds while engaged in earning a livelihood. 

As we practice the Noble Eightfold Path and live the life of a lay-disciple of the Buddha, meditating while working and living in society, we will find ourselves growing in Dhamma while simultaneously serving all those we come into contact with in some fashion or the other. And just this is the essence of the Dhamma life -- to eradicate the causes of one's own suffering by purifying the mind, and with the mind thus freed of greed, hatred and ignorance, full of mettá and compassion, help others in their own quest for real happiness. 
 

May All Beings Be Peaceful! 

By M.O'C. Walshe

What does it feel like when one has fairly recently embarked on a course of Buddhism? The answers will vary a great deal, no doubt, but there ought to be some general characteristics and some problems common to the majority of 'newborn' Buddhists in the West. Let us assume that you are a person who has quite recently, or within the last year or so, begun to take Buddhism seriously as a personal way of life. You may by now be just looking round a bit in your new mental surroundings and trying to take stock of what has happened, now that the first novelty of the situation has worn off. You have, I sincerely hope, tried to do a bit of meditation, though it would not surprise me in the least to hear that you have found this difficult and disappointing. If so, I would like to tell you straight away that you should not be discouraged. This is quite the normal thing. Meditation may seem disappointing and even almost useless for quite a long time, but if you persevere in it, results are bound to come. But these results may not be at all the sort of thing you expect. And you may not even be the person who first becomes aware of them. So press on regardless, and don't look for results. If you can see the point of this piece of advice you have already in fact made useful progress. Insights often come very subtly. 

People's motives for taking up Buddhism may vary a great deal on the surface. But fundamentally you have probably come to it because, in one way or another, it seems to promise you security. If you haven't realized before that this was a good part of your motive, you might usefully use your next meditation period trying to find out whether I was right or not. If you have realized this, then you may agree that you find the formula 'I go to the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Sangha for refuge' strangely comforting. And so it should be in one way, even although fundamentally you have to learn to be 'a refuge unto yourself'. This is perhaps the first of the many paradoxes you will encounter attempting to tread the Buddhist path. 

Now if we consider this problem of security a little further, we soon find that we do indeed crave for it. The obvious reason is that we find life frankly unnerving, in fact, because insecure. Here, then, we find straight away two of the three 'Marks of Existence': all things are marked by impermanence and suffering. Because they - and we - are impermanent, they are frustrating and cause us all kinds of anguish. Buddhism offers a way out of this situation by treading the Noble Eightfold Path. I am assuming that, having 'taken the first step;’ you are now familiar with the Four Noble Truths and the steps of this Path. So I just want to mention a few points, which may arise at this stage. The first step of the path is known as Right Understanding or Right View. This is seeing things as they are. Usually we don't really want to see things as they are. There are large areas of experience, which we would much, rather know nothing about. This is the origin of repression, to use a Freudian term, which is misleadingly translated. The German for 'repression' in the psychoanalytical sense is Verdrãngung, 'thrusting away.' It is really successful self-deception. Getting rid of our repressions is therefore not doing what we like, as seems to be popularly imagined, but ceasing to deceive ourselves. 

Fundamentally, Buddhism is just a technique of self-un-deception. This is not easy, though sometimes it may be fun. It needs some study of theory as well as practice. It is perfectly true that you never gain enlightenment by intellectual knowledge alone, but if you haven't studied the theory to some extent you will almost certainly never be able to start properly on the practice. Before you can develop your intuition you must know what it is -- or at least what it isn't -- and self-deception in this respect seems to come terribly easy to many people. Intuition, or as I much prefer to call it, insight, is not an emotion, but the best way to develop it is by getting to know one's emotions as thoroughly as possible. When these emotions have been really seen for what are, they no longer stand in the light. Now the biggest emotional blockage we have is that which surrounds the ego-idea. Since it is to the ultimate elimination of this idea that the whole Buddhist training is directed, it may be as well to have a good look at it. In so doing we may get a shock. 

By the ego (or self) in Buddhism we mean of course the concept 'I am', though this is much more a feeling than a purely intellectual concept -- which is the very reason why it is so much more difficult to uproot. From the psychological point of view we must take it to include not only what in Freudian terms is called the ego, but also the id and even the super-ego. Though not wholly adequate, the Freudian conception goes a good way towards giving us the basic idea. This ego of ours is a complex and dynamic set of functions, which are not by any means all conscious or under any form of normal conscious control. Its nature is in fact blind ignorance and it fights desperately to maintain that ignorance. It is most important for us to realize from the outset that this is the case, because this is the root-cause of all our troubles. The three unhealthy roots of human nature are greed, hatred and ignorance, and all our suffering is due to these three. Ignorance is the most fundamental, and greed and hate spring from it. 

Now the power of ignorance is broken by knowledge, which is seeing correctly. So all we have to do is to learn to see. A-VID-YA 'unwitting' or not seeing is no mere passive principle - it is an active force, which opposes discovery of the truth at every turn. No need to look for an external devil: the Father of Lies is within every one of us. We all know the story of the Emperor's new clothes, In Buddhism the precise opposite of this situation occurs: the clothes go walking in the procession, but there's no emperor inside them. The whole show is laid on for the honor and glory of a character who doesn't really exist. Here, then, is our second paradox, and it is certainly no less startling than the first one: the ego is the most ruthlessly gluttonous all-devouring monster there is, and yet really all the time there's no such thing! All its activities without exception are simply 'a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing'. How can we solve this riddle? How can we ever come to grasp the nature of this peculiar monster that 'has no mouth and no belly, yet gobbles up the entire world' (as some old Chinese monk might have said, but probably didn't)? 

Clearly there must be a sense in which the self exists, and another sense in which it doesn't. Let us first of all have a frank look at it in the sense of something existing. It is not a pretty sight. Underneath all our lofty ideals, our pious thoughts and holy aspirations, we are all alike. Our little personal petty self is the really important thing to us. It is out to grab all it can get, whether in the way of affection and admiration and sympathy or of more apparently tangible satisfactions in the way of sex, money, power, nice things to eat and drink and smell and touch and hear -- all sorts of things and it doesn't care in the very least how it gets them. We don't all want -- at least consciously -- all of these things perhaps, but we usually want a lot of credit for not wanting some of them or at least doing without them, even if by necessity rather than choice. All these are aspects of greed including the last, which is of course conceit. They are the things the ego fattens on. Equally impressive and perhaps even more horrifying is the list of items under the heading of hate; we are all capable in our minds of murderous rage, sadism, treachery and disloyalty of every conceivable kind. Until we have found and identified the seeds of all these things in our own hearts, we cannot claim to have made much progress in self-knowledge. 

Of course most of us will never yield to such impulses, which may only be very faint; but until a higher stage of development has been reached they will not be totally eliminated as tendencies. The most likely way in which they may find some outward expression will be, perhaps, in the form of over-emotive indignation at the acts of hate committed by somebody else. 

What can we do about this situation? First, face it. Second, penetrate to its roots. Buddhism is not something airy-fairy or romantic, it is practical. It is first and last something to do. To penetrate to the roots of greed, hatred and delusion is not very easy and it requires certain methods or techniques. But the great thing is to keep going at it and not be diverted by irrelevancies, interesting by-paths, plausible excuses or pseudo-mystical fantasies born of conceit and ignorance. A certain discipline is required, in fact. This can be summed up in one word - restraint. Restraint is not repression. In its simplest form it can be something as apparently 'easy' as sitting still. It is just not automatically yielding to every impulse that arises while not, on the other hand, pretending that that impulse does not exist. A good part of Buddhism, in modern terms, is 'sales-resistance': cultivating at least a degree of immunity to the appeals of the outside world, which are today constantly attempting, quite deliberately and purposefully, to arouse new desires within us. It is being deaf to the blandishments of the hidden persuaders whether from within or without, or better perhaps, hearing them without reacting. Who is the rich man who, like the camel, cannot pass through the eye of the needle? He is not only the millionaire, the expense account Johnnie, the take-over Charlie: he is anybody who has too many mental encumbrances too many wants. 

Here then is an exercise: sit down with a straight back for ten minutes resolved not to make a single voluntary bodily movement during that time, and just observe what happens. You may get some surprises, but whatever happens you are bound to learn something. If you find, as will probably be the case, that a lot of thoughts and mental images arise, try to discover where they come from, to catch them at the very moment of arising. You won't succeed easily, but you will begin to see something of the mechanism of desires and emotions, and this is immensely valuable. Perhaps the most widespread meditational practice in all schools of Buddhism is ãnãpãnasati or mindfulness on breathing. Just watch the ebb and flow of your breath without interfering and, as far as you can manage, with undivided attention. This is the surest way to achieve calm, concentration, self-knowledge and insight. 

There is no Buddhism worthy of the name without practice, but study is also required. This is especially so in the West, where we have not the background of Buddhist thought which exists in Eastern countries. We have to learn as adults what Eastern people have absorbed from childhood. The study of Buddhist theory should therefore not be neglected. Those who deny its necessity do so usually out of conceit, laziness or ignorance -- or a combination of all three. 

The obvious problem, which arises here, is: 'Where shall I start?' There are many schools of Buddhism and their scriptures, even those readily available in English, are voluminous. There is Theravada and Mahayana, in the form of Zen, Tibetan Buddhism and several other varieties. There are numerous books about most of them. Unguided and indiscriminate reading will only lead to mental indigestion. The obvious thing is to get down to basics. If we ask where these basic principles are set out, the answer is in the Pali Canon of the Theravada school. In fact, the seeds of all later, so-called Mahayana developments are there in this basic Buddhism. 

The only reason why some people find Theravada Buddhism apparently unsatisfying is its seemingly negative approach. In the Mahayana schools there is greater explicit stress on two things: compassion and the higher wisdom. But we need not worry. Compassion grows inevitable as one trains oneself in Buddhism, and the higher wisdom cannot be gained until the lower wisdom has been developed. It is to this task that the basic training is directed. Before we can begin to grasp the nature of Reality, which is transcendental, we must first grasp the nature of the mundane, the phenomenal world as our senses present it to us. This basically means knowing ourselves. Knowing ourselves means facing our own insecurity. Recognizing the equal insecurity of others is compassion. 

Why do we feel so insecure? If we can answer this question, we are on the right track. It is due to our recognition that all things are transient. We seek to achieve a stability in the world which, by the very nature of things, cannot be. But Buddhism teaches us more than this: all things are not only transient they are 'empty'. This applies to our precious selves as much as to anything else. Man, said the Buddha, is a mere compound of five things, the five khandhas or aggregates. He has a physical body, feelings, perceptions, emotional reactions and consciousness. None of these constitutes any sort of a 'self' which is permanent and unchanging, nor is there any such thing outside of them. His consciousness is just a series of states of awareness, conditioned by the other factors, reaching back into a limitless past. All we are actually aware of is the present moment, or rather consciousness is just that awareness. There is no separate entity behind it, which is aware. In the jargon of some modern philosophers, everything about man is contingent or adjectival, not substantial. The further implications of this must be left for study and meditation, but this is a fundamental principle of all Buddhism. The search for a 'self' behind all this is futile. If you don't believe this you can try to take up the Buddha's challenge and find it. 

There may well be a strong feeling of resistance to the acceptance of this point. If so, this feeling itself should he very carefully examined. It is the basis of our habitual ego-reactions. We want so badly to have a 'self' and we expend a vast amount of energy in trying to build one up and support it every way we can think of. That, fundamentally, is why we feel insecure in the world. One could usefully devote a good deal of time meditating on this point alone. 

The most notable contribution made to psychology by Alfred Adler was his analysis of the inferiority complex. People who, for one reason or another, feel inferior, says Adler, tend to over-compensate and present an appearance of conceit and aggressiveness. Since Adler's psychology is very much one of social adaptation at not, perhaps, a very profound level, he did not pursue this idea as far as he might have done. But as far as it goes it is quite good Buddhism, though we might prefer to rename his complex the 'insecurity complex'. We might even go so far as to say that for the Buddhist everybody's ego practically consists of an inferiority or insecurity complex, for such an assumption certainly explains a great deal. Every form of ostentation we may indulge in is a way of bolstering up the ego, whether in cruder or subtle form. The large car which seems designed to look as wide as possible is as much an example of ego-boosting as the padded shoulders worn by the tough: indeed the resemblance is sometimes striking. Of course the compensation for insecurity may take a reverse form of exaggerated modesty and simpering sweetness, or of unnecessary and slightly ostentatious self-sacrifice. This latter is a form of compensation we may choose when all else fails, and it has the advantage of making us feel very holy. Martyrdom is in fact the last consolation of a disappointed ego. And the hallmark of a person who has really gone far in the conquest of self is genuine unobtrusiveness. 

The formula of Dependent Origination shows by selecting twelve prominent factors how it is that we go round and round the weary circle of rebirths, and how karma operates. It is not a simple formula of 'causation', but rather of conditioning. Ignorance (avijjã) is a necessary condition for our being here - hence if we were not ignorant we would not have been reborn. And birth is a necessary condition for death - if we had never been born we could not die. Thus, too, feeling based on sense-impressions is a necessary condition for the arising of craving: if there were no such feeling there would be no craving. But we can stop the craving from arising or at least prevent its developing into grasping. This is the point at which karma comes into play. Karma is volitional activity born of desire, and as such produces pleasant or unpleasant results in the future. Whatever condition of body and mind we may happen to be in now is due to our past karma; it is vipãka or karma-resultant. In accordance with this vipãka we are liable to act in future, but if we have understanding we can control our future actions, and thus their future effects. 

The aim of the Buddhist training, of whatever school, is to break away from the cycle of becoming. This means somehow attaining that Transcendental Reality which is not karma-bound and therefore permanent, secure and free from suffering. We do not, as unenlightened individuals, know what this is: at best we have a vague intuition of something wholly other. Its true nature is hidden from us by the veils of our ignorance. The state of enlightenment is called Nirvana (Nibbãna in Pali), which is, be it noted, selfless (anattá). This means that we cannot grasp it as long as the self-concept (or feeling) is operative. It is beyond the realm of duality, which is that of subject and object, or self and other-than-self. 

Probably most people have at times had a feeling while in the normal sense 'wide awake' as if really they were dreaming and would soon wake up. This is actually quite true as far as the first part is concerned. Life as we know it is in one sense a dream. The Buddha was the Awakened One, and our normal state is perhaps somewhere about half-way between ordinary sleep and true enlightenment, or wakefulness. We can therefore usefully regard the Buddhist training, if we like, as a way of making ourselves wake up. Sometimes in sleep we become aware of being asleep and want to wake up. Eventually we succeed, but it is often a struggle. The struggle to wake up to enlightenment is far greater than this, because the resistance is stronger. The resistance is stronger for a very simple reason: to the ego it seems like death. This is fair enough, since in fact it is the death of ego. And since we have no real experience of the ego-less state, it is unimaginable and therefore frightening to us. It also seems unreal and therefore we are skeptical about it, but this skepticism too really springs from fear. We should have to give up all our attachments to attain it, and that is too high a price to pay. We are like the rich young man to whom Christ said 'Sell all that thou hast and give it to the poor'. He went sorrowfully away. 

What then must we do, now that we have taken the first step and embarked on the course of Buddhism? We need to have a chart and compass to help us on our way. But first we have to know where we are supposed to be going. The goal of Buddhism is Enlightenment or Awakening or Nirvana, the Deathless State, which is the end of all suffering and frustration, the one permanent and supremely desirable thing. Buddhism claims to he a way of attaining this. There are five factors to be developed which, if they are predominant in our minds, will tend increasingly to bring us to the goal. They are Faith, Energy, Mindfulness, Concentration and Wisdom. The first of these may come as a surprise to some people. 'I thought,' they may say, 'you didn't have to have faith in Buddhism.' In fact faith is an important factor to develop. We can call it confidence or trust if we prefer it. But unless we have some confidence that there is such a goal as Nirvana, we shall not even start taking Buddhism seriously at all, and we need also to trust the Buddha as the teacher who has shown the way to reach that goal. At the very least we need to be free from that sort of nihilistic skepticism which is so common today and which prevents us from believing wholeheartedly in anything worthwhile. When we say 'I take refuge in the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Sangha' we are expressing faith in the Teaching and the Order of monks who have preserved it and handed it on. 

If we have faith we next need to put forth effort, so we need energy. Right Effort is a step of the Eightfold Path. It means getting rid of wrong states of mind and developing right ones. Clearly a certain amount of vigor is required to do this, and faith will strengthen our will to persevere. Clearing up our mental muddle calls for increased self-knowledge, and this is gained by Mindfulness. Mindfulness is being aware of one's own nature and observing one's own reactions, being fully cognizant of what one is about all the time. It is developed by training, such exercises as mindfulness on breathing and on walking being especially beneficial. With full mindfulness, self-deception becomes impossible. It is the way of uncovering the subterfuges of the ego. The Buddha described it as 'the one and only way' to the liberation of beings. It is an absolutely indispensable factor in all Buddhist training. Being mindful one is, too, in some degree automatically concentrated, but the practice of mental concentration can be carried further, to samádhi, which is mental one-pointed-ness By a combination of these two factors, the mind can be sharpened to an instrument capable of cutting through the veils of ego-created illusion. The last of the five factors is Wisdom. Wisdom in this connection means discernment. It includes investigation and study of the Dhamma. It also includes the investigation of all mental phenomena to their essence, which is void-ness. When this lower, still mundane wisdom has been sufficiently developed, a basis has been created for the arising of the higher Insight-Wisdom, the perfection of which is Enlightenment. When this has been attained, the job is done. 

But these factors must be developed in such a manner that they are properly balanced. Faith must be balanced with Wisdom, and Energy with Concentration. Faith without Wisdom can overreach itself and turn into that kind of blind faith, which Buddhism does not encourage. On the other hand, Wisdom without Faith is sterile. Energy unaccompanied by Concentration can easily lead to restlessness, while Concentration without sufficient Energy leads to sloth. It is the function of Mindfulness, by watching over the other factors, to see that the proper balance between them is maintained. These five factors are called indriyas or 'ruling factors'. This means that they can and should dominate the mind and give it direction. They are the five guides to keep us on the way. Having taken the first step, and with these as guides, but especially under the leadership of Mindfulness, let us walk on. 
 
 

Detachment

By M. 0' C. Walshe 

One way of regarding the Buddhist training is to consider it under the aspect of detachment. Detachment is one of those simple things which we discover to be very profound and in its higher stages intensely difficult. By becoming progressively more detached, one gradually penetrates to the heart of Buddhism. Its importance is repeatedly stressed under various aspects throughout the whole range of the Buddhist scriptures. For instance, in the formula describing how one enters the first jhana: 'Detached from sensual objects, o monks, detached from unwholesome states of mind, the monk enters into first jhana, which is accompanied by initial and sustained application (vitakka-vicãra), is born of detachment (viveka) and filled with rapture and joy.' The second jhana is then said to be 'born of concentration'. We thus see that detachment is a prerequisite for all concentration. The calm and concentrated mind is the detached mind. While this is obvious enough when we stop to think about it, it may help us to realize why it is that, even in purely mundane matters, we so often fail to concentrate our minds. We all know the picture of the man with furiously knitted brows and a wet towel round his head, who is desperately trying to 'concentrate' on some problem. Of course he usually fails. The reason, surely, is not far to seek: he is going about it precisely the wrong way. He is not detached. He is in fact very much attached. He may be detached from sense-objects for the moment, but not from unwholesome states of mind. His state of mind is probably dominated by uddhacca-kukkucca 'restlessness and worry', and so long as this remains the case he will probably get nowhere with his problem. His body too, reflecting this mental tension, is probably tense and strained. He should first try to relax, physically as well as mentally, and then he might make some progress. 

At this point perhaps we might pause to consider an objection, which is not infrequently made to the cultivation of detachment. There are people who positively regard it as morally wrong to be detached. One should not, they say, become detached and aloof from life, but should be actively involved in it -- engage as the French say. For them, detachment is the equivalent of that opprobrious term we used to hear so much about -- 'escapism'. Their argument is of course a very simple one: there is so much evil in the world of one kind or another that it is our job to go out and fight it. Now I am not going to argue that such people -- let us call them as a generic term crusaders as opposed to the introspective -- do not on occasion do a lot of good. A society, which has a few dedicated crusaders, is certainly, in its mundane way, healthier than one that discourages or represses their activities. They often succeed in abolishing, or at least reducing, much genuine evil. Let us take off our hats to them, and perhaps even on occasion join or support them. But let us also consider their position a little more closely. Why does the average 'crusader' function as he does -- irrespective of the particular cause he elects to take up? What really makes him tick? The answer to this question may put the whole matter in a rather different light. 

Most of our crusader friends, whether they go in for party politics or for other similar, perhaps semi-political causes they believe in, are convinced that they do so out of love for their fellow-beings, whether human or animal. In part, this is certainly true. They do, passionately want to help the poor, the sick, the oppressed, the suffering. Yet in fact their motives are usually not quite as pure as they themselves honestly believe them to be. The key to the situation lies, I think, in the word 'passionately.' They are under the sway of emotions, not all of which are, in the Buddhist view, entirely healthy. Conceit often plays a large if probably quite unconscious part. And surprisingly often too they are really moved far more by hate than by loving-kindness. Hatred, even of the oppressor or the criminal, is not really the right motive because it is not grounded in the right view. 

I am not seeking to disparage these people or belittle their efforts, but merely to elucidate something of their attitude in the context of my theme, which is detachment. So let us take a concrete example: one where the crusaders have won their case, and where I was and remain wholeheartedly in agreement with their aims. In Britain we have abolished capital punishment, rightly, I believe, though the increase in crime in recent years has led to demands for its reintroduction. Those who campaign for this even claim to be in the majority, though I doubt if this is true, and I certainly do not share their viewpoint. They too are 'crusaders', and their reaction is certainly an emotional one. They really seek, without knowing it, a 'safe' or 'legitimate' outlet for their own aggression. These emotions are in turn rooted in their own basic feeling of insecurity. The trouble is, of course, that such emotions as these (and this is a comparatively mild example, in the world today!), when held collectively are always much worse than when merely held by an individual, not only on account of being multiplied, but because of being at a more primitive level. 

It is possible, though I hope and believe unlikely, that pressures for the reintroduction of capital punishment in Britain will build up again to a serious point. Should this be the case, those who wish to oppose such a trend will need to be very careful indeed of their own state of mind. They must not let themselves be trapped in an opposite emotional reaction. They will need to find a way of reducing the build-up of emotional tension so that in a calmer atmosphere wiser counsels may have a chance to prevail. Emotional appeals would anyway, in such a situation, probably be useless, since the stronger emotions would be ranged on the other side. If you want, in fact, to abolish capital punishment you must not want to hang the executioner. Supporters of capital punishment often claim that its opponents show too much sympathy for the murderer and not enough for his victim. It does not seem too much to ask that a Buddhist -- or a Christian -- should be able to feel compassion for both, and even for the hangman as well, for he is certainly not creating much good karma for himself. 

I am not at all arguing that a Buddhist should necessarily and always stand aloof from such campaigns as the -- now -- rather theoretical one mentioned. I am arguing that whatever he does he should know his own true motives, his real emotional reasons for either acting or not acting. I would also suggest that it is truly necessary for society as a whole, as for the individual concerned, that there should be those who in fact keep aloof from the current problems that happen to agitate the world at any moment. It is not for our crusading friends to disparage those who are genuinely detached. If the crusader for, say, capital punishment is a victim of his own unresolved aggression and insecurity, how often is not his opponent in virtually the same case! A slight shift in viewpoint or circumstances, and sometimes the roles are even reversed ... 

The reformer looks around him and sees something wrong in society. This is usually not difficult, as there are plenty of things wrong with most societies, and it may be almost a matter of chance what particular evil or abuse he happens to pick on. What does he do then? He becomes what is significantly called an agitator. Now you can only agitate others if you yourself are agitated. What has really happened to our would-be reformer is that, his own emotions having been suitably stirred up, he feels it his duty to go out and stir up the emotions of other people. I know. I have gone through this phase myself. If you suggest to him that he should first calm his own emotions he is aggrieved, thereby developing some more agitation. He will probably tell you that this is the easy way out, and he may even admit that in any case he doesn't know how to do it - thereby, incidentally, contradicting the notion that it is 'easy'. Of course, if you can get him that far it may be possible to indicate to him the contradiction involved. If he cannot help himself to that extent, how can he expect to be able to help others? Even in the field of Buddhism there are those who seem to think they can become Bodhisattvas and 'liberate all beings' without first liberating themselves. They should take to heart the words of the great Zen patriarch Hui-neng, who told his pupils 'to deliver an infinite number of sentient beings of our own mind'. 

Let us leave world-problems now and turn to the problem of our own minds. What is it that we have to get detached from? In a sense, of course, it is from the outside world. That at least is how it seems to us. Let us not get involved in a metaphysical discussion about whether there really is an outside world or not. In point of fact, from the standpoint of the Buddhist training it scarcely matters whether there is or not! Perhaps we just project the whole thing from some mysterious inner center. In any case, what we have to get rid of is our excessive preoccupation with it -- that is to say, with the things of the senses. What actually happens is this: we have an unsatisfactory feeling in the only place where we can have it -- within ourselves (whatever, philosophically, that means). This feeling may take many forms, but whatever its precise nature or mode of manifesting it is something unpleasant, i.e. what in Buddhism is known as dukkha. It may be quite vague in character, but we feel it somehow nevertheless. We therefore look out into the world, either to see what it is, out there, that is supposedly causing this dukkha, or to help us to forget it, by grasping at something, which we assume to be pleasant. The result in either case is not really very satisfying, because we are not even looking in the right direction. Both the origin of dukkha and its cure are to be found within, so it is not the slightest bit of use looking outside for them. By looking outside, we are actually increasing the dukkha and ensuring its continuance. But creatures of habit as we are, we are strongly conditioned to looking outside, and indeed nature has equipped us with some remarkably efficient sense organs for doing so. 

With our outward-turned senses we can do various things about the world we see and hear, smell, taste and touch. We can try to grasp something outside and extract enjoyment from it. We can try to alter what we see in some way to make it conform more to our idea of what it ought to be like. Or we can vent our ill-temper on it in a fit of destructiveness. There is a lot of this sort of senseless destructiveness about nowadays. There always has been, really, but we have now made it a special problem, the 'problem of modern youth'. The truth is simply that modern youth has in some ways rather more opportunities for being destructive than is it used to have. This is due in large measure to the nature and values of the society we live in, a society, which has developed more efficient means of destruction than, were ever dreamed of before. The fact that it has also developed more wealth and therefore more means of apparent enjoyment, available to more people than ever before, does not seem to have done very much to reduce the general feeling of dissatisfaction each one of us has deep down inside. All this, of course, goes a long way towards confirming the Buddhist analysis of the situation that the origin of this suffering, this dukkha, lies in craving. Our society is built up fundamentally on a system of artificially stimulated craving all along the line. We accordingly have the simultaneous picture of more and more people craving for more and more things, and quite often getting them, and of both society and individuals 'showing more and more taste for bigger and bigger forms of 'motiveless' destruction. Greed and hate, in fact, are perhaps more nakedly at work in our society than ever before. That means that they are at work in every one of us, and they can only be dealt with in and by each one of us individually. 

Greed and hate arise from ignorance: from not understanding, not seeing the true situation as it really is. The individual is a microcosm of society, and each one of us reflects this situation, in some form, individually. Now it may be very dreadful, but so far nobody has found a way whereby society can collectively overcome its ignorance and set itself fundamentally to rights. Even the Buddha did not show a method of bringing this about - and if he couldn't find a way, it is unlikely that anybody else will... But for each individual there is a way: 

Sabbapãpassa akaranam, kusalassa upasampadã 
sacittapariyodapanam _ etam Buddãna sãsanam.

'Cease to do evil, learn to do good. Purify your own mind: that is the teaching of all the Buddhas.' And one of the prerequisites of purifying one's own mind is the cultivation of detachment. If we ask 'Detachment from what?' - the answer is 'from the five hindrances: sensual craving and ill-will, sloth, restless worry and indecision. These are things we all know only too well, and though their final conquest is difficult, they are things we can detach our minds from temporarily with a little effort. The first two of these are obviously aspects of greed and hate. Probably we can see that there is a need to cut these down as much as possible. But if we fail to do so it may be at least in part because one of the other three hindrances is preventing us: we may be too indolent or too excited, or we may dither in a state of indecision and doubt. 

Now the trouble is that we may see quite clearly, in a way, that our emotions of, say, greed or hate or fear are overmastering us and yet feel quite unable to do anything about them. Then we probably dismiss the whole problem with the words 'Oh yes, that's all very well, but I just haven't got the will-power.' In fact it is just here that the value of detachment comes in. What we think of as failure of will-power may really be much more a failure of technique. Let us take the case of a man who, as he thinks and as others probably also think, cannot control his temper. The deeper reasons for this may be various, but they will probably include some strong form of frustration or repression. It is not very difficult to see that the chances of gaining control of any situation are likely to be increased the more one understands that situation. Now what is called repression in psychology is really a 'thrusting away' -- in other words it is basically a refusal to see something, a form of deliberate (even though 'unconscious') self-deception. In order to gain insight into the situation, we must have some willingness to understand it. So we need to realize here, right at the outset, that there is a form of clinging to ignorance. In order to cope with this there must be a degree of detachment -- we must be able to regard the situation coolly and simply learn not to mind too much whatever it is we may be about to discover. We must be prepared to stop working on the old and foolish principle 'Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise'. 

It is possible that even this much of the chain of events may be fairly clear to us, and yet we may still not feel able to go any further. Intellectual awareness of an emotional situation is not in itself enough, though this does not mean it is of no use. It is just a preliminary stage, and it should be strongly emphasized that progress is in stages. The desire for perfection at a single jump is just another obstacle born of impatience and conceit. It is not an 'all-or-nothing' situation, but a case of 'one step at a time'. Perhaps we have already laid a certain foundation on which progress can be made, even without realizing it. For the man who has said to himself 'I haven't the will power to correct this fault' has at least made one vital admission. He has in some measure accepted his own inadequacy -- in fact he is too much aware of this. He has to learn that what he really lacks is not necessarily will-power so much as insight. The next step, then, is merely and simply to recognize this fact. It will prove more helpful than may at first appear. For in fact seeing ourselves as we are is the cure. 

The next step, then, is to find out why we do not already 'see ourselves as we are'. The answer is, of course, as already indicated, that we don't want to, that there is a clinging to ignorance. Why this should be so is perhaps after all not hard to see. To the person with normal eyesight, physical blindness is a terrible thing. We can only too well imagine the feeling of helplessness and insecurity the blind person must suffer from. It is therefore not at all nice to think that though our physical eyes may be all right, we suffer from mental blindness. So we prefer to be blind to the blindness. This is attachment to ignorance with a vengeance. No wonder it is frustrating, for it is a terrible strain to keep up. Most of our unhealthy emotions are nothing but by-products of this tension, caused by deliberately keeping our mental eyes tight shut while all the time pretending they are wide open. Only the practice of mindfulness can help us here. 

What is mindfulness? There are professing Buddhists who are extremely vague about what mindfulness really is, and there are even some who are so afraid of it that they go about telling themselves and others that it is not really necessary. In principle, mindfulness is quite simple. It is just detached watching. Watching one's breathing is a method that suits practically everybody. First of all it brings calm, which enables one to watch one's thoughts and emotions more easily, and reduces the fear of what may come up - an important point sometimes. If mindfulness is pursued for a while, some such experience as the following may occur: a kind of 'unreal' feeling may arise in which one seems to be aware of various emotional states (perhaps self-pity, anger, or the like) without being fully involved in them. One may start thinking 'Am I really having this emotion or not? Am I somehow putting on an act?' What is really happening is that feelings are simply being experienced with detachment. And in such a state one can allow many things to come up to the surface, which were previously repressed. But being detached, one is not trapped by these emotional states and sees them as mere effects of past conditioning. And in this way they can be harmlessly dissolved. 

The interesting thing is that, when such a situation is operative, everything really seems to go on just as before, with only one slight difference: 'I' am not fully in the situation. There may even be a distinct feeling of puzzlement as to where precisely 'I' am anyway. Am I, for instance, the emotion or the watcher? Or neither, or both? By following up this particular clue we may find that the practice leads us on further to a greater degree of understanding of the impersonality of all things - of our own fundamental ego-less-ness, in fact. The point is here simply that by becoming calm and detached we have, so to speak, 'accepted the unacceptable'. As a result of this practice we shall find a reduction in our own feeling of tension, greater calm and, most probably, some increased insight into our own nature and the way things really work. 

We can now see the practical answer to our ill-tempered friend's problem. He cannot restrain his temper by will-power, but by detached mindfulness he can gradually dissolve it. And the same applies, of course, to all our failings and weaknesses. But there is one form of attachment we must guard especially against, because it makes the cure much more difficult. This is conceit. We all have conceit, of course, but if it is strong it is a particularly dangerous obstacle to progress. Conceit is really attachment to a false picture of the ego. Put negatively, it is a refusal to accept oneself as one is. It may manifest in the feeling 'I cannot possibly have these weaknesses or 'I have overcome these weaknesses'. Combined with, for instance, sexual repression it may take the form of a sort of 'purity complex': 'I am above all these horrid feelings of sex, they no longer exist for me', and the like. Perhaps this particular complex has become less common since greater openness on sexual matters has become usual. In any case, it is clear that for a person who does have this kind of attitude the development of true detachment, and hence mindfulness, will be exceptionally difficult. We must not be ashamed to admit to ourselves (if not perhaps necessarily to others) that we possess our full share of all the normal human weaknesses. 

At this point there comes an interesting and subtle twist. You may say 'Yes, I suppose that's true. But somehow there are a few things down there inside me which I just can't bring myself to face.' Now this is of course quite different from denying that they are there at all. It means in fact that repression, i.e. self-deception, has not been completely successful. Now it may indeed be true that to face up fully to some of the contents of one's unconscious may be too hard to bear. It might be impossible to maintain detachment. Emotional involvement and perhaps even quite serious trouble might result. But there is still a way. What we can do is to accept honestly that precise situation: 'There is a dark corner where I still dare not look.' It is the mental equivalent of saying 'I have a sore place which I dare not touch.' 

The technique from then on is basically the same as before, only at one remove. There is just a secondary emotion of fear to be dissolved before the primary situation, which is the cause of that fear, can be investigated. If that secondary fear is treated with the detachment we have used on other and less frightening emotions, it too can be dissolved. Later we may even look back and wonder why it was that we ever feared to look in that particular dark corner. 

To sum up: detachment is not a kind of selfish flight from the world, but the necessary precondition for coping with the world. It is absolutely essential as a means of dealing with our own emotions. Nor is it in any way incompatible with charity or compassion - as indeed any doctor or nurse can tell you. It is not 'escapism' as is sometimes alleged, but its very opposite. The degree of physical detachment and withdrawal, which the individual undertakes may vary considerably - obviously it will be much greater for the monk than for the average lay person. There can be no successful higher meditation without detachment from the things of the senses, and it is an essential ingredient of Right Mindfulness. Incidentally it can even be quite fun. By being detached we can observe ourselves with ironic amusement. By so doing we may suddenly discover that some of the things about ourselves that we once took with deadly seriousness are in fact extremely funny. In that way we may find that detachment actually enables us to enjoy our own dukkha! 
 

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