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What Buddhist Meditation has to Tell Psychology

About the Mind1 1

Read Peter Cheevers short story:

'Not Even a Recall - Now Where is that  Revolver?'

published by Ether Books, download it on your Kindle 

 

Eleanor Rosch

Department of Psychology, University of California, Berkeley

Some of what we classify as religious experience can be directly relevant to science, particularly

to psychology. The discoveries of Buddhist meditation indicate that much of

present psychological methods and assumptions are based on one particular limited

form of knowing while other levels of knowing reveal a different portrait of the human

mind and its capabilities. The knowing revealed by such deeper awareness includes: an

nonjudgmental form of knowing that appears to pacify mental disturbances, an expansive

panoramic knowing that reveals the interdependence of phenomena, an open and

free knowing that releases, a timeless direct knowing, and an unconditional knowing not

separate from a sense of inherent value. Such forms of knowing are traditionally understood

to give rise to intelligent compassionate actions.

Surely one root of this recalcitrance is the way in

which the categories and imagery of our society envisage an otherworldly religion and a

naturalistic psychology which are on different planes of existence altogether and cannot

communicate with one another. I believe that the Eastern traditions now arriving on our

shore, particularly Buddhist thought and meditation, can bridge this divide and can reveal

a quite new understanding of what the human mind and its knowing capacity actually

are.

Psychology has so far treated meditation either as subsumed under our science (for example,

as a biological or psychological means of stress reduction) or as part of religion (a

portal to mystical states). The problem with taking a biological or psychological approach

to meditation is that it assumes that our present version of the body or mind is

the way things are, the bottom line. But by doing this we insulate ourselves against

learning anything fundamentally new. Interestingly, it’s the same story with

“mysticism.” (I can’t tell you how many meditation groups I’ve seen where mysticism is

considered the unspeakable “M word.”) The problem is that if we identify meditative or

religious experience with special states of mind, states of mind that are essentially different

from normal everyday consciousness, this marginalizes the experience. It does

not challenge our image of what normal everyday consciousness itself may be.  

We all know the image of a human that is common in present psychology and cognitive

science: the mind is seen as something isolated inside the body, peering tentatively out

at a piecemeal and initially incomprehensible world, trying so hard to find simple predictive

relationships between events so that it can survive. It stores the results of its experience

in memory to form a coherent but inherently indirect and abstract

representation of the world and of itself. Ideas, emotions, actions, and consciousness

have evolved to fulfill the only originating value which is to survive and reproduce in an

evolutionarily successful manner in a world of limited reward and much threat.

Such a portrait is not alien to the Eastern traditions. In Buddhism it is somewhat analogous

 

to samsara, the wheel of existence to which sentient beings are bound by their

habits; in Hinduism it might be depicted as lower states of consciousness; and in Taoism

it might be portrayed, with a smile, as the activities of the monkey in us. All three Eastern

traditions agree that in this habitual state of mind, we are mistaken about everything

important — about who and what we are, what is real, and how to act. But this is not the

only possible mode of knowing the world. And here we come to the central topic of this

talk. There is an alternative way of knowing. And that alternative is seen as our original,

 

natural, fundamental state, what we are right now, not any particular or special experience.

For simplicity in this talk let us call our more limited habitual mode of knowing consciousness

and the alternative more basic, comprehensive, and wiser form of knowing

 

awareness. There are many technical terms for such a distinction in various languages,

but don’t worry; we don’t have to assume that all the words refer to the same thing —who could know? —in order to discuss alternative modes of knowing.

Were awareness available only to a few skilled and practiced religious athletes, it would

be of little use either for daily life or for science. But it is said to be widely available, in

fact closer to us than our own eyes. The trick is that consciousness and awareness are

not actually two separate things —and this is where talking about such matters becomes

elusive —because all experience is actually made out of awareness. This is analogous to

Plotinus’ “what sees is not our reason, but something prior and superior to our reason.”

And Rumi reminds us: “We seldom hear the inner music / But we’re all dancing to it nevertheless.”

This point might be clarified, hopefully, by a computer analogy. The consciousness mode

of knowing the world can be likened to a particular computer program running on a

more basic operating system. In daily life and in cognitive science we mistake the limited

consciousness program for the whole system. We keep trying to study how the system

works, but all we can see is the functioning of the program in which we are confined.

Every attempt to see beyond or get out of the program, either in science or in religious

striving, is frustrated because to try to get out, we are only using the operations of the

program itself.  

Such a possibility ought to give scientists of the mind some pause because it implies that

the very techniques, rules, hypotheses, assumptions, tests, and suspicions designed to

make the study of the mind objective are themselves but products of operations of that

same program. So how do you ever get out; where’s the exit key? There are a number of

methods common, in varying degrees, to the world religions, but the specialty of

Buddhism is to find awareness in the everyday experiences of consciousness itself, including

all the senses, by means of cultivating intense mindfulness and intimacy with

ongoing experience. That is what makes Buddhist practice particularly valuable as a link

to psychology.

The aim of the rest of this talk is to point out some ways in which the wisdom of awareness

shows up in the functioning of our minds in everyday life. I’ll also try to show how

that is directly applicable to psychology, both academic and clinical. It is the understanding

that consciousness is really awareness in disguise that makes this endeavor possible.

Consciousness is constantly making gestures toward its more basic knowing capacities. I

like to think of the following categories, as the Six Great Gestures.  

1 Pacifying: Finding the Unbiased Mind

 

Have you ever paused in what you were doing for a moment and simply listened? Maybe

late at night just before finally getting up to go to bed. Crickets, a distant train. . . Maybe

on a visit to the seashore. Waves, gulls. . . Maybe a pause in the middle of the day caught

off guard for a moment just opening the ears and letting the sounds come in — traffic

noises, the chirping of birds, the hum of appliances, human voices. . . Does that kind of

moment feel different from the way one normally hears things?

The mind operating from consciousness does not ordinarily simply let in or allow experience.

Consciousness is attracted and repulsed by polarities: pleasure versus pain, gain

versus loss, praise versus blame. . . the whole catastrophe. Notice that these polarities

are centered around Me, the ego, and what I want, don’t want, and don’t care about.

Buddhist psychology gives a detailed account of how an egocentric world with its desires

and fears arises and is perpetuated in consciousness. It begins with the bare sense of separateness

from the world inherent in the senses. (Look at the wall in front of you right

now —you’re separate from it, right?) That external world is then seen as either desirable

or threatening or boring to the perceiver who then grasps for the desirable, rejects

the undesirable, and tries to ignore the irrelevant. Such cognitions and actions breed

further habits. Desires can never be fully satisfied because they trap consciousness into 

the self perpetuating logic of these three basic impulses; for example, the present escalation

of world conflict can be seen as a classic case of the way in which aggression feeds

back upon and perpetuates itself.

But Buddhism (and some other traditions) have something else to point out. Those very

senses that started off the cascade with their experience of duality and polarized desire,

at the same time have another more basic form of functioning, a simple receptivity. The

example of listening with which this section began might provide a glimpse of that mode

of knowing which simply allows and is not thrown off balance by experiences. (Likewise

the bumper sticker one sees around Berkeley: “Nonjudgment Day is Near.”) Beginning

Buddhist meditation techniques, such as focusing on the breath, typically have similar

goals but also involve an element of concentration that requires more time to develop.

Because there is a peacefulness available in this simple mode of knowing, it is sometimes

referred to as pacifying. Even a glimpse of such peaceful abiding allows the mind to begin

to open to experience, any experience, in an unbiased (some call it a centered, some call

it centerless) way. Note that this is not indifference; indifference is one of the motivations

of the more limited consciousness. Awareness is perhaps closest to the appreciative

mode with which we experience the arts. Have you ever noticed that, since you know

you’re not the character in a book or film, you can identify and participate sometimes

more fully than in real life in the vividness of that character’s delightful or more usually

horrific life and world?

Unbiased knowing has various levels of implication for psychology. In the first place,

there is the attentive observation which unbiased mindfulness allows of the ongoing

stream of all our biased, off base states of consciousness and emotionality. This can tell

us a great deal. Affect psychology is just starting to discover by experimental means

some of the features of emotions that meditators have known for centuries.

But there is more to it than that. Let’s take the example of the sense of hearing with

which we began. There is a sense of profundity in simply listening —and of being simply

listened to. Note that one of the primary complaints of divorcing couples is he/she doesn’t

listen to me. In some Chinese medical systems the ear and hearing is the water element

so that simple listening can have healing effects on the whole body. Notice how

Freud advised psychoanalysts to listen to the patient with “evenly suspended attention”

and to “simply listen, and not bother about whether [one] is keeping anything in mind.”

A technique called “deep listening” accomplishes remarkable effects in conflict resolution,

for example, in contexts such as truth and reconciliation. And remember that hearing

is just one of the senses, all of which have their wisdom qualities.

William James, that master of expression, sums up some deeper reaches of the unbiased

mind thus: “The more commonplace happinesses which we get are ‘reliefs,’ occasioned

by our momentary escapes from evils either experienced or threatened. But in its most

characteristic embodiments, religious happiness is not a mere feeling of escape. It cares

no longer to escape. It consents. . .”

Meditation is sometimes taken as simply this kind of pacifying function. But this is only

the beginning of awareness. Let’s continue.

2 Expansiveness, Enriching

A Panoramic Vision

Think of a time when you were driving along a winding mountain highway and stopped

at a vista point. Remember what it was like to look out, to feel the sense of mountains,

valleys, sky, and space around you, and, perhaps, the awareness of your own body and

senses as a small point within this vast surround. Or perhaps such an experience has

happened to you in a city with tall buildings. Or amongst people, as in playing a team

sport in which, for a moment, the movements of all the other players seem known as a

whole? (Martial artists and star basketball players frequently report experiences like

this.) You could even be expansive while listening to this talk. Try letting your eyes focus

on an object in front of you such as someone’s head. Then, keeping the central focus, become

aware of your peripheral vision, and, let peripheral vision expand. Now try a focus

inside your body such as the center of your chest. Then let awareness expand to surround

the body (front, back, sides, above, and below); let it expand further to the walls of

the room, and further into space.

In this exercise, we’ve used, not the ears, but the visionary quality inherent in the eye

and vision. The mind of awareness is vaster than we may ordinarily think, and this is potentially

relevant to our cognitive sciences. As the meditation practitioner tunes into a

more basic and more integrated sense of being and knowing, a realization quite revolutionary

to our psychology may begin to dawn: perceiving and knowing are not

something limited to a personified consciousness confined behind the eyes peering out

at a separated world, but are something happening from all of it together: environment,

mind, and organism. The supposed knower is just a part or aspect of this knowing field

Our present science of perception, both physiological and psychological, is based on investigating

how information from an external world can be picked up and interpreted by

the sensory systems and brain of a separated and self enclosed organism. What religious,

meditative, artistic, and just plain everyday enthusiastic or loving experience suggests is

a kind of knowing in which one is not separate. Buddhist thought and meditation tell science

to take this seriously because the non-dualistic mode of knowing the world is literally

true of the way the senses function in ordinary life (and, note well, is not dependent

on special states of either the spirit or the parietal lobes).

The kind of knowing in which mind and world are not separate has not gone entirely unnoticed

by perceptual psychology. One need only think of the ecological optics of J. J.

Gibson, the development of ecological psychology in which Ulric Neisser has been instrumental,

and the biological systems thinking of such recent figures as Walter Freeman,

Maturana and Varela, and Jarvilehto. This work indicates the kind of synergy that

can exist between meditation experience and concrete research strategies.

The expansiveness of awareness also has clinical importance. When people feel small,

limited, fenced in, and estranged they feel bad; when they feel at one with something

larger they feel better, sometimes remarkably so. In William James’ words “when we

have a wide field we rejoice.” Creative action too stems from a wide field; again James’

eloquence: “Your great organizing geniuses are men with habitually vast fields of mental

vision, in which a whole programme of future operations will appear dotted out at once,

the rays shooting far ahead into definite directions of advance.”

Note here how theoretical basics and clinical usefulness go together. It is a shift in one’s

basic mode of cognition, the functioning of the senses themselves, rather than any

change of mental contents, which can affect such a radical change. The theme that find

ing one’s more basic forms of cognition heals will be continued throughout our observations.

B Interdependence

Expansive enrichment is also available to the operations of the intellect that, as academics

and students know, has its own visionary capacities. Look at this piece of paper. On

what does the existence of this paper depend? . . . A cloud may seem remote from the paper,

but in the words of Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese peace activist, meditation

teacher, and poet: “Without a cloud there will be no water; without water trees cannot

grow; and without trees, you cannot make paper.” And sunshine? “. . . the forest cannot

grow without sunshine. . . And if you look more deeply. . . with the eyes of those who are

awake, you see. . . that everything is here, the wheat that became the bread for the logger

to eat, the logger's father —the paper is full of everything, the entire cosmos.” From

the perspective of panoramic awareness, what we call an object or event is seen as part

of an interdependent whole rather than as something with a separate identity. You

might try looking at a bite of food in this way at your next meal.

The limited and enclosed consciousness attempts to see the world in terms of separate

billiard balls striking each other with consequent results; expanded awareness tunes into

networks of relations beyond what reason can consciously analyze. There are many implications.

For one, this challenges completely materialistic or bottom up assumptions.

In an interdependent universe, causality can come from any direction. A field view also

challenges reliance on single causes. Modern physics notwithstanding, in psychology, experiments

are most easily performed and communicated, and are considered most elegant,

when manipulation of a single variable can be tied to a single outcome. But this may

have more to do with narrative vividness than with finding out how things work. That

psychologists have wisdom intuitions about interdependence is shown by everything

from the development of new multivariate statistical tools to the creation of various

forms of systems analysis.

An understanding of interdependence has clinical significance. It can provide people

who suffer from guilt, depression, or anxiety with a vision of themselves as part of an interdependent

network in which they need neither blame themselves nor feel powerless.

In fact it may be that it is only when people are able to see the way in which they are not

responsible for events that they can find the deeper level at which it is possible to take

responsibility beyond concept and (depending upon the terminology of one’s religious

affiliation) repent, forgive, relax, or have power over the phenomenal world.

Interdependence also has societal implications. The mandate for designing psychological

experiments virtually demands that the form of the argument be posed as an opposition

between single rival factors: nature versus nurture, form versus function. We think of this

as science, but anthropologist Deborah Tannen in her book The Argument Culture points

out that

this is just part of a general cultural pattern: our legal system, press reporting,

talk shows — single oppositions, all of them. By no means do all cultures see things this

way. It is through the meditative awareness of interdependence that one can see the

3 Bringing it All Together: Timeless, Direct Knowing

Can you recall an experience where time seemed to stand still or where life seemed to be

complete in a single moment? It might be a moment of great personal meaningfulness

such as a near death experience or a moment of love (Joan Baez sings, “Speaking strictly

for me, I could have died right then. . .”); or it could be in a completely ordinary moment,

such as walking down the street. The expansive and inclusive knowing of awareness

brings everything together in one point, one moment. The meditation traditions that

talk in this way also say that every moment is like this, born afresh with no past from a

timeless source.

We don’t generally believe such talk. How could it apply to the demands of daily life?

Here is one answer: “Of Saint Catharine of Genoa it is said that ‘she took cognizance of

things, only as they were presented to her in succession, moment by moment.’ To her holy

soul, ‘the divine moment was the present moment. . . and when the present moment was

estimated in itself and in its relations, and when the duty that was involved in it was accomplished,

it was permitted to pass away as if it had never been, and to give way to the

facts and duties of the moment which came after’.”

When awareness functions in this way, experience is direct,

atemporal, unmediated, and

one feels real. Such experience contains several messages. One is for science. As J. J. Gibson,

Kurt Lewin, and others have pointed out, everything happens in the present; how

could it be otherwise? To say that an organism has learned something means that the organism

has changed so that it is a specific way right now. If you think you have a

memory, that means that there is something going on in your mind right now that you’re

labeling as a memory. Only the present can be the anchor for genuinely functional explanations.

The other message is personal. The royal road to feeling alienated, fragmented, and less

than real is to live in the time-obsessed mind of consciousness. How many people today

try to “get real” by amping up sensory stimulation or by taking risks? From the Buddhist

point of view, the consciousness version of emotions and goals is like a printed menu

that the starving try to eat as a substitute for food. Direct awareness can satisfy and empower

in ways abstracted consciousness never can.

Of course the philosopher may object that the present moment is specious, nonexistent.

Just so, says the Buddhist meditator, and that is precisely what makes it the portal to our

next topic.

4 Releasing: Freedom, Openness, “Emptiness”

The denouement then releases us from the story. According to Mahayana and Vajrayana

Buddhism, each moment is inherently not only timeless but also open (“empty”), and

free (“self liberated”). Both meditation and certain “mind transmissions” from dharma

teachers are designed to point this out.

Ah, but ordinary life does too; humor is one of the most immediate ways. Laughter releases.

Remember a time when you heard a really good joke about something that was

bothering you (teenage children, parents, dieting, doctors. . .) — can you remember the

feeling that settled in for a moment thereafter? Hearing about people who have

everything but still feel miserable also seems to release (as in our fascination with tales

of tortured movie stars and the life of the Buddha alike). Actually, shock itself releases. In

real life, we may be too busy coping with the implications of the shocker for our survival

to notice the open instant, but think of the effect of the juxtaposition of images in a

haiku or those beloved scenes in classic horror movies where the audience screams. As a

matter of fact every moment releases; this is one of the open secrets of life.

5 Returning to the Center: Inherent value

So what’s so good about being released? It “returns” you. If we were to think of all the

aspects of awareness that we have discussed as having the form of a mandala, this one

would be the center. When we are deeply struck, for example, when the terrible climax

of a tragedy is known and felt as perfect, we seem to catch a glimpse of a mode of being

that has nothing to do with survival or achievement or any of our usual motivations.

In science and education, facts and values are considered indisputably two separate

things, but in Buddhist meditation, deeply looking into the nature of what it is to know

and to be a knower leads to a vision of the world as unconditional. The closest English

word to that sensibility seems to be value.

Humans abound with intuitions of the unconditional. The concept of unconditional love;

how many westerners blame their mothers for not having given it to them — or, now

with advances in sexual equality, their fathers too? (Grouchiness about imperfection

means that one has some intimation of perfection.) How many remarkably ill-written romances

become wildly popular if they can successfully trigger a glimmer of deathless

love? Look at all the trouble theologians have made for philosophy as they try to reconcile

the intuition of the unconditioned with anthropomorphic imagery.

In academia we are as allergic to taking value seriously as we are to religion. Might the

introduction of contemplative and meditative insights allow value to start to be explored

in a more meaningful manner in psychology?

6 Action; Spontaneous Action

Action is the fruition of realization. Buddhism distinguishes between actions that originate

in consciousness, and thus are controlled by habits and what is wanted or not wanted

by the small ego self, and actions that arise spontaneously from the expanded field of

awareness and the depths of openness. Spontaneous action is compassionate and it can

be shockingly effective. Western religions also teach of a way of living that comes from

beyond one’s limited self. Recall Mother Theresa’s famous, “I am only a pencil God uses

to write with.”

Even the habitual actions of daily life can gesture in the direction of this wider field.

Think of the spontaneity of conversing with friends (you’re not reading your replies off a

teleprompter, are you?) or the sudden clarity of writing a paper when the deadline

looms. Note how the concepts of flow and of being in the zone have resonated with the

popular imagination. And then there are those actions that just seem to pop up out of

nowhere, as in discovering that one has uttered an unusual but magically appropriate

statement to comfort a friend (most clinicians have at least one story in which this

happened with a client).

Psychology has long been in conflict over issues of volition and consciousness in action.

The tendency is to assume that if behavior occurs outside of consciousness, it must be

the product of low-level automatic mechanisms. What the experience gained by contemplative

and meditative awareness have to offer to the sciences in this regard is the distinction

between automatic behavior, which stems from habitual impulses, and another

kind of spontaneous action which can come from the wider field of awareness.

Action has still another face; it affects the mind. Mercy is twice blessed because it

touches the giver as well as the receiver. Everyone knows about the transformative

powers of action. Buddhism goes one step further. In Mahayana and Vajrayana

Buddhism, wisdom and compassionate action are seen as co-defining and inseparable.

That is how a path is possible. This is why it is so useful to find and follow the gestures

made by the everyday mind toward awareness. Imitating the mind-set of wisdom (as in

meditation) or the actions of compassion can bring about the real thing. Such an insight

supplies the final piece to the puzzle of how one can ever exit from the imprisoning consciousness

program; one does not need to exit but only to find the active compassionate

wisdom of awareness that lies at the heart of consciousness itself. In this way science and

the personal also come together. The limited self of consciousness should not be the

basis of daily life (another Berkeley bumper sticker: “Don’t Believe Everything You

Think”), and it cannot serve as the only basis for psychology as a science. But awareness

knowing may have a different kind of authority. In a troubled world, the possibility that

religion, meditation, and psychological science might combine to offer a path of compassionate

action is hardly to be dismissed.

7 Conclusions

I’d like to end with a case study. Peter Ralston ran a martial arts school in Berkeley for

many years unnoticed until he won the world martial arts championship, the first Westerner

to do so. A martial artist is a good subject for us because what he does involves action

in a very overt form, and action is a particular sticking point for people. We tend to

believe that the things in this talk may sound good, but we personally would never actually

do anything if we weren’t pushing ourselves in the ordinary conscious way. (At some

meditation centers, this is called the enlightened jellyfish question.) In the martial arts

you not only have to act, but there’s immediate feedback on your actions that is obvious

to everyone. (So you should listen to this man because he has a credential much honoured

in our society — he really can beat people up.) Here are some quotes from Ralston’s autobiography

that show his progression on his path (the explanatory headers are mine):

One: The starting point: ambition, focused intention.

“As a teenager I wanted to be the best fighter in the world. Period!”

Two: Recognition of the unsatisfactoriness of the ordinary conscious way of doing

things. (May come with success.)

“Around that time, I would go to classes and fight black belts and win, but still feel like I

lost. . . Something wasn’t right. . . I was winning from natural ability, but I wasn’t winning

because I really understood anything. . .”

Three: Finding the unbiased mind beyond fear and desire. Opening perceptions. Appreciation.

“It was in that situation that I first learned to drop fear of getting hit, or of winning or

losing. . . What that did was open up my perception to what was really happening. I just

saw a fist coming and I’d move. . . When I’d get worried about it, I’d get stuck somewhere

and get hit. . . It’s a beautiful secret, an exacting and tremendous feedback.”

Four: Expansion of the knowing field. Also some change in sense of time.

“. . . abilities like being able to read somebody’s disposition accurately started to come.

The moment they would think to hit me I would stop them. That’s it. Handled. I just kept

finishing everything before it got started.”

 

Five: Actions from awareness; simply knowing what to do and it’s always appropriate.

“New abilities started to arise. . . I didn’t have to be cognizant of any movement on their

part, psychic or otherwise, to know what to do. I just knew. That blew me away. I didn’t

have to perceive a thing. . . very simple, very simple.”

 

Six: Comes full circle; transformation of the original ambition and intention.

“I decided that if I were to continue to do this, I wanted to start contributing what I did

and what I knew in a much larger way. I wanted to transform the martial arts in the

world into a place for the development of the human being, and of honesty.”

 

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