Category Archives: Buddhism

The Role of Karma in Buddhist Morality

What is morality? How do we determine what actions are moral and which are not? These are questions philosophers and religious scholars have debated for centuries. What does Buddhism teach about the basis of morality?

Within the world’s religions, the basis of morality can be understood on many levels. At the most common — and I would say most superficial — level, morality often is judged by adherence to long-established external rules, such as the Ten Commandments.

And it can’t be denied that for centuries morality has been “sold” to laypeople by promises of a reward in heaven or a punishment in hell. It should be noted, however, that many of the great theologians have had other views on the matter.

More recently science has stepped in, suggesting that perhaps altruism is hardwired into human behavior, or that ultimately morality is about a kind of social self-interest. Psychologists have proposed a “moral foundations theory,” which says, for example,that some people frame moral questions in terms of fairness or caring, while others think in terms of loyalty and upholding traditional authorities.

Western philosophy has churned out many theories of morality. For example, Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) believed that moral law could be determined by reason, and the rightness or wrongness of an act was not determined by its consequences but whether it adhered to those imperatives determined by reason.

The basis of morality is important to understanding the Buddhist approach to morality.

I see people claim that Buddhist morality is no different from that of other religions, because the basic rules are about the same (don’t kill, don’t lie, don’t steal). But in Buddhism, the way the rules are understood and applied are considerably different.

Buddhist Morality

As in other traditions, Buddhist institutions often have resorted to promises or threats about a next life to market morality to the laity. But this is something like telling your four-year-old that the stork brought her baby brother. You figure you’ll give her the real story when she’s ready for it. So let’s assume we’re all ready for it and look at what the Buddha actually taught.

Although Buddhism has Precepts, the Precepts themselves are not the absolute basis of morality. You could say the real basis is deep insight into the causes of wrong-doing — the greed, anger, and ignorance that cause us to harm others and ourselves. Until we fully appreciate for ourselves the truth of the Four Noble Truths, until we tame our own restless, grasping impulses, we will continue to do harm. And this is true no matter how many rules we follow.

In spite of how we may rationalize our actions, or however much our actions may conform to external rules, ultimately the action is kusala (skillful; correct) when it is not conditioned by greed, hate, or ignorance. It is akusala (unskillful; evil) when the action is motivated by greed, hate, or ignorance. So one important distinction is that one’s personal motivations and intentions are an important part of the context of determining rightness or wrongness of an act. The same act might be kusala in one context and akusala in another.

Another important part of moral context is causality, which brings us to karma.

Karma

The Sanskrit word karma (or kamma in Pali) refers to volitional action. A doctrine of karma, then, is one that explains the effects of volitional action. Many religions of Asia have doctrines of karma. However, they are not the same doctrines.

This is an important point, because I hear people dismiss karma as superstitious nonsense when I can tell they don’t actually know what Buddhism teaches about karma. Especially if you are new to Buddhism, I suggest putting aside any concept of karma you might already have and approaching the subject with an open mind.

First, the Buddha taught that karma is a kind of natural law, not directed by any sort of supernatural intelligence. The is no Big Giant Karma Director in the sky handing out rewards and punishments.

Karma can be understood on many levels, both mundane and mystical. At its most basic level, karma teaches us that the volitional actions created by our thoughts, words, and deeds have effects. These effects can be both immediate and far-reaching, and they can be both subtle and significant. And once set in motion, the karma of our actions can continue, triggering more actions and effects we may never know about.

It’s important to understand that, in Buddhism, karma is not fate. According to some other doctrines of karma, if you have done X amount of harmful things in the past you are fated to experience X amount of harmful things yourself. But in Buddhism, the effects of past actions can be mitigated by present action. We always have the choice to change course.

In his book The Six Perfections: Buddhism and the Cultivation of Character, Dale Wright says that karma is “a way to understand the relationship between moral acts and the kinds of life that they help shape.” In other words, an appreciation of karma is an appreciation of consequences, of cause and effect. The circumstances of our life right now are the result of all the choices we’ve made, all the thoughts and words and actions we have generated.

This appreciation of causality is critical to the Buddhist approach to morality. The Buddha taught his disciples to think and reflect on moral issues and not simply adhere to external rules, and consideration of the karmic effects of an action is central to that reflection. Although the Precepts provide guidance, ultimately the Buddhist practitioner is charged with analyzing his own intentions and motivations and considering possible consequences — and not just to himself — when making moral judgments.

Read More: Buddhism and Karma

Wisdom and Compassion

This is where wisdom and compassion come in. Wisdom, in this case, is the perception that self-and-other are not two, and beings are not just autonomous units living inside their skin-pods. Our lives are interconnected with the lives of all beings. And it is this sense of interconnection,coupled with an appreciation of cause and effect, that is the true core of Buddhist morality.

Read More: The Perfection of Wisdom

Compassion, in this case, is not just an emotion but a state of mind. It is an active caring and a willingness to bear the pain of others. In practice, wisdom and compassion give rise to each other and support each other. As the self-other dichotomy blurs, then caring for others is as natural as caring for oneself. And when we consider our volitional actions, we become more sensitive to how our volitional actions affect others.

At this point, the practitioner has put aside selfish concerns about a good or bad rebirth. Indeed, belief in rebirth really isn’t necessary to live a moral life.

Read More: The Importance of Compassion

This is an ideal, and human beings often fall short of ideals. You can find news stories about Buddhist monks and teachers involved in sex scandals and even encouraging violence — both of which violate the Precepts, big time. No moral system ever enjoys perfect compliance.

But long-time practitioners often say that an appreciation of karma, and an appreciation of how our actions affect everyone in the great web of being, has genuinely changed their behavior.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Advice for Struggling Meditators: Avoiding the Potholes on the Road to Nirvana

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There are several forms of Buddhist meditation, and a great many books, videos and websites provide beginning instruction. My advice here is for people who already are meditating but are getting frustrated with it. Not all of this advice will apply to everyone, but if you are struggling, perhaps some of these suggestions will help you.

What Did You Expect?

Buddhist teachers usually warn beginner meditators to not have a goal.

But of course we have some kind of expectation or goal at the start, or we probably wouldn’t have begun meditating in the first place.

What happens for most of us is that as we practice our expectations fade away. This may take a few weeks or several years.

What’s wrong with expectations? Simply put, if you are sitting there expecting something, you are not concentrating on the present moment. The expectation is a barrier. If you are practicing Right Concentration, you become so absorbed in the present moment that you forget yourself. This mental state is called samadhi.

However, if you are sitting there expecting something to happen to you, you are separating yourself from the present moment. You are still perceiving yourself as an entity separate from whatever is “out there” that is going to happen.

Another problem is that whenever you have expectations that are not realized, eventually you will be discouraged and give up.

What’s Your Motivation?

Related to expectation is motivation. These days many psychologists and other mental health counselors are on the mindfulness bandwagon and touting meditation as a therapeutic technique.

And that’s fine; meditation and mindfulness really can be helpful to people with anxiety and mood disorders. But in Buddhism, meditation is not a psychiatric self-help program. (Also see below, “Pain, Physical and Emotional.”)

Many of us do begin meditation practice with self-help in mind. Even the Buddha himself was motivated to begin his spiritual journey when he realized he could not escape sickness, old age, and death. But as you practice, eventually the “self-help” goal turns into a desire to practice for the benefit of others, which is called bodhicitta. As this happens, practice deepens and becomes genuinely transformative.

The Problem With Judgments

The effects of practice reverberate in your life even when you are not meditating. These effects often are so subtle you won’t be consciously aware of them, at least for a long time.

When we find ourselves sitting with anxiety, sleepiness, or anything other than blissful serenity, we often judge our meditation to be “bad.” But long-time meditators learn that the more difficult sitting periods often have wonderfully beneficial effects. It’s a bit like lifting weights; the harder it is, the stronger you get. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with blissful serenity.

But if you decide your meditation is “bad,” you are cutting off the beneficial effects. Do you best, and when the sitting period is done, let it go. And if you reach the fourth dhyana or experience kensho, let that go, too. Let the practice do what it will do; don’t try to cling to it, “own” it, or control it.

On long meditation retreats, it’s common for one meditation period to be completely different from the last one. However, if you are internally beating yourself up for being bad at meditation, this will usually turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Burnout

Practice is lifelong. Don’t think you’ll meditate for a few weeks, “fix” yourself, and go on to something else. For this reason, it’s important to find a level of effort that is sustainable. The Buddha taught that practice should be like a well-tuned instrument. If the strings are too loose, they won’t play a sound. If they are too tight, they will break.

Sometimes people come into Buddhism with a great deal of enthusiasm and put themselves on an exhausting practice schedule. And then they burn out, and quit. Too tight!

Especially if you have a lay practice and the responsibilities of a job and a family, it may take some time before you find a workable routine. Someone else’s meditation schedule may be unworkable for you, but don’t let that discourage you.

Pain, Physical and Emotional

Physical discomfort — well, OK, pain — is common during meditation. There are steps to take to make yourself comfortable, from improving your physical conditioning to using firmer cushions or changing your position. You’ll work out for yourself what you need to do.

Many teachers encourage students to sit through pain, because it can make them stronger meditators. However, from my own experience I say sometimes enough is enough. If meditation is consistently excruciating you may start to associate meditation with pain, which becomes a whole new problem. There’s no shame in sitting in a chair.

Emotional pain is a different story. Many of us have turned to our meditation practice to help us through a rough patch of anger or grief. However, be careful to not turn your meditation practice into a tool for helping you feel better about yourself. Using your meditation for a particular end is not Right Effort or Right Concentration. Using meditation to improve your mood can become a hindrance if it becomes a habit.

People suffering from post-traumatic stress or chronic anxiety disorder might need to approach meditation with caution. Sometimes even experienced meditators — including monks and nuns — who experience extreme trauma find meditation difficult afterward and have to re-train themselves.

Many people with long-term, chronic anxiety have coped with it by shoving the anxiety out of their conscious awareness. When they begin a meditation practice, the anxiety comes roaring out of their psyches like a furious beast. It can seem impossible to calm themselves and sit still.

If you find yourself unable to sit still for long without teeth-chattering nervousness, consider seeking psychiatric counseling to help you understand where the anxiety is coming from. Also, try sitting for shorter periods and build up to longer sitting gradually.

Whatever you do, don’t judge yourself to be too crazy or neurotic to meditate. Don’t judge yourself against what others seem to be doing. Be fierce, and make the furious beast your friend. See also “Working With Worry.”

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Three Kinds of Mind: Understanding Citta, Vijnana and Manas

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For English speakers, one of the challenges of learning about Buddhism comes from the shortcomings of English translations of Asian texts. And this is not necessarily because the translators are doing a bad job.

Especially in the older commentaries and sutras, many words are used that have no simple English equivalent. Dukkha is a good example. Understanding dukkha is critical to understanding the Four Noble Truths. The word most often has been translated as “suffering,” but more recently scholars have decided that “stressful” or “unsatisfying” come closer to what it actually means. But those words aren’t precisely right, either.

Buddhism has a rich vocabulary of words that describe different aspects of our mental and psychological functions. Unfortunately, in English these words, with their distinctive meanings, are lumped together and translated as “mind.”

Read More: “Mind and Buddhism: Lost in Translation.”

This article looks at three words that are used frequently in the Sutta-pitaka. They are, in Sanskrit, citta (sometimes spelled “chitta”), vijnana and manas; or in Pali, citta, vinnana, and mano. They don’t mean precisely the same thing, but in English translations they are all variously rendered as “mind,” “thinking,” “heart,” “consciousness,” and many other things.

Joycecgf, Wikipedia Commons, Creative Commons License

Mind in Early Buddhism

In early Buddhist texts, the three words for “mind” were used nearly interchangeably, and their distinctiveness must be found in context. For example, in the Assuttava Sutta (Samyutta Nikaya 12.61), the Buddha said that that an ordinary, unlearned person sees them all alike

“But, indeed, that which, monks, is called ‘mind’, or ‘thought’, or ‘consciousness’, the ordinary person, in every way unlearned in spiritual knowledge, not enough to turn away, not enough to become detached, not enough to be released.” [K. Nizamis translation]

The translator notes that “mind,” “thought,” and “consciousness” are citta, manas, and vijnana, respectively. In this context, he said, citta is “subjective mind,” manas is “cognitive faculty,” and vijnana is “sensory consciousness.”

Let’s look at these words in more detail.

Citta

Of these three words, citta is probably the most commonly used. It also has the richest variety of definitions. Many Buddhist books tell us that citta is the heart-mind, because it includes emotions as well as thoughts. However, vijnana and manas, in different ways, also take in emotions and thoughts, so “heart-mind” doesn’t necessarily help us understand why citta is distinctive.

In Theravada Buddhism, citta is the mind of subjectivity. It is the mind of our “inner” experiences, as opposed to the mind that projects outwardly to external objects. Some modern scholars explain citta as the cognitive foundation of all our psychological functions.

Sometimes citta is used to mean something like “mood” or “state of mind.” Sometimes it is discussed in the plural, as if we are all packing many cittas. An enlightened insight is the result of a purified citta.

In Mahayana Buddhism, citta is most often associated with bodhicitta, or the desire to realize enlightenment for the sake of others. In some schools it is also associated with alaya vijnana, the “storehouse consciousness” that contains all the impressions of previous experiences.

Read More: Citta

Vijnana

We most often encounter vijnana as the fifth of the Five Skandhas. In that context, vijnana is the function of mind that connects a sensory stimulus, such as a sound, to the corresponding sense organ, such as the ear. “Awareness” is, arguably, a bit closer to the meaning of vijnana than “mind.”

Yogacara is a philosophical branch of Mahayana Buddhism that emerged in India in the 4th century CE. Yogacara is also known as Vijanavada, or the School of Vijnana. It focuses on the nature of vijnana and the nature of experience. Yogacara identifies eight modes or levels of vijnana.

Read More: Vijnana

Manas

Manas comes a bit closer to the western idea of “mind,” although it still isn’t exactly the same thing. Manas includes intellect, but it also includes heart and intention.

Log before the life of the Buddha, manas was understood in the Vedic traditions as the ground of emotions, thoughts, and personal identity. In the context of the Rig Veda, (ca. 1500-1000 BCE) it is sometimes translated as “soul.”

In Buddhism, manas came to be associated with volition and with the mental functions that create karma. When you hear that karma is created by “body, speech, and mind,” the mind in this case is manas.

In Yogacara, manas is the mind of delusion or the mental processes that create an illusion of a permanent self.

Read More: Manas

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Mind and Buddhism: Lost in Translation

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Buddhist scriptures and commentaries are richly stocked with references to “mind” and its affiliates — consciousness, thoughts, awareness, and so on. Indeed, cultivating the mind is the primary focus of some schools of Buddhism. Buddhists of other schools will tell you there is nothing but mind, and phenomena are merely projections of mind.

So, mind is pretty darn important to Buddhism. But what do we mean by mind?

Lost in Translation

To English speakers of the cultural West, the word “mind” usually is associated with intellect. To say that someone has a “fine mind” usually means he’s smart, educated, and understands poetry. Mind also connotes free will — we “make up our mind” when we make decisions. When we speak of “the mind,” we are usually referring to consciousness combined with higher brain functions, such as reasoning and calculation.

In Asian languages, the equivalents of “mind” can mean those things also, but they can mean other things as well. Further, Buddhist scriptures and the seminal commentaries were written a long time ago by people who understood “mind” very differently from the way we do in the 21st century West.

For example, when we speak of mind in English, we usually are leaving out emotions and body sensations. We think those aren’t part of “mind,” but something else. But very often, in Buddhist texts, “mind” includes sensations — vision, hearing, touching, tasting — and emotions.. The mind referenced in the sutras sometimes includes all of our sensory and psychological functions, including subconscious ones.

Intellect and free will are in there, somewhere, and they are not unimportant. But they are only a small part of the meanings of the words the translators render as “mind.” The cultures that produced the great sutras and other teachings did not separate intellect and emotions, mind and body, the way we do.

Before we yell at the translators, we must acknowledge that they don’t have an easy job. The old Sanskrit and Pali texts, not to mention early Chinese, are just about impossible to render into sensible English. Many words have no English equivalent, so translators take a stab at getting as close as they can. As a result, the same word can be rendered variously in different translations as “mind,” “consciousness,” “heart,” or “thoughts.” And the original word probably doesn’t precisely mean any of those things.

Examples of Mind

The Vedic sages of India had developed elaborate models of mind long before the life of the Buddha. The Buddha and the sages who came after him adopted parts of these models, changed other parts, and added to them.

Buddhist scholars developed a remarkably sophisticated understanding of the processes we might call neurological as well as mental, including the many ways sense organs respond to sensory objects and our several subtle layers of consciousness. A vocabulary developed to label these separate processes, which in English mostly are lumped together as “mind” or “consciousness.”

For example, three words found In the Sutta-pitaka all get translated as “mind” (or heart, or awareness, or intellect, etc.). These are (in Sanskrit) citta, vijnana, and manas. In the Sutta-pitaka, often citta is used to refer to the mind that experiences subjectivity, manas is the mind of cognitive functions, and vijnana is the mind of sensory consciousness. But to fully appreciate how that is understood requires considerable time and study. And, unfortunately, most English translations don’t distinguish one from another.

Missing the Mind Boat

The relentless focus on mind — whatever that means — in many seminal Buddhist texts has led to a lot of misunderstanding. For example, when western scholars began to take an interest in Buddhism in the 19th century, they seem to have interpreted “mind” in the western sense.

Some then assumed this guy Buddha must have been a purely rational philosopher, and all that mystical stuff about karma and rebirth and nirvana and whatever must have been introduced to his teaching by later, lesser followers. And there’s still a strong whiff of that attitude in parts of academia and among some popular western authors of books on Buddhism.

But if you go back to the oldest Sanskrit or Pali texts and try to understand the words in the context of the cultural assumptions in which they were spoken — as much as that’s possible — a different picture emerges. There is a strong streak of rational philosophy in the Buddha’s teaching, yes, and I suspect he could have held his own with any philosopher the West might have thrown at him. But to limit him to the purview of the western discipline of philosophy, as many try to do, puts him in much too small a box.

Sometimes people misunderstand Buddhism in the other direction. One of the most uninformed opinions about Buddhism ever expressed in human history came from the late Christopher Hitchens, in his book God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. Hitchens recalled a sign he had seen in the meditation room of a Hindu ashram — ‘Leave your shoes and minds at the door’ — and extrapolated from this that eastern religions are like institutionalized brain-sucking zombies. He specifically called out Buddhism as “A faith that despises the mind and the free individual.” And he told an interviewer,

“My objection was to the sign [at the entrance to one tent] saying, “Shoes and minds must be left at the gate.” It’s the idea that the whole effort of meditation is to try and dissolve your mind, which is the only thing you’ve got that’s unequivocally worth having.”

There is so much misunderstanding packed into that anecdote that it would take heavy machinery to sort it out, but the primary issue is that Hitchens lazily assumed that “mind” was used to mean intellect and free will, and that’s hardly ever the case in the eastern religions.

For the record, I do not know what the sign-writer meant by “mind.” My understanding is that the various phenomena that get labeled “mind” in Buddhism cannot be left, intentionally, anywhere, Some forms of “mind” cannot be separated from body, although other kinds may drop away sometimes. Or not.

Also for the record, Buddhism does not despise the mind and has no problem with reason and free will. In fact, the Buddha encouraged his followers to discern things for themselves and not accept doctrines on faith (see, for example, the Kalama Sutta).

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Perfection of Determination

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Adhitthana is a Pali word that usually is translated into English as “determination” or sometimes “persistence.” It is composed of Pali root words that mean “foundation,” “will,” or “resolve.” As the eighth of the Ten Perfections of Theravada Buddhism, it describes the determined resolve to walk the Buddha’s path.

Determination is sometimes called the backbone of the Ten Perfections. Without determination, the Path can seem too difficult and demanding, and the seeker will fail.

The historical Buddha spoke of adhitthana as things that are willed. Probably the earliest mention of adhitthana is in the Sangati Sutta of the Pali Sutta-pitaka (Digha Nikaya 33). Here the Buddha spoke of adhitthana as four qualities to be willed or resolved: to develop insight, to realize truth, to relinquish hindrances and to dwell in tranquility.

The Buddha’s Example

The story of the Buddha’s enlightenment illustrates determination. As Prince Siddhartha sat under the bodhi tree in deep meditation, it is said he was tempted by the demon Mara. Mara sent his most beautiful daughters to tempt Siddhartha, but Siddhartha did not move. He then sent a vast army of demons hurtling toward Siddhartha, and even then Siddhartha did not move.

Mara then claimed that seat of enlightenment rightfully belonged to him and not to a mortal. Mara’s demon soldiers cried out, “I am his witness!” Mara challenged Siddhartha — These soldiers speak for me. Who will speak for you?

We might reflect on this story when we feel discouraged, and when our determination wavers.Enlightenment is not something that belongs only to a few, special people. In a way, it’s a birthright of every being.

Determination as a Perfection

The Perfections are in a particular order because one perfection leads into the next one. However, it’s also the case that all Perfections support all the other Perfections. One doesn’t progress by completely mastering one before moving on to the next one, because all of them are required to master each of them.

In many Theravada commentaries it is said that Determination follows the Perfection of Truthfulness because truthfulness is perfected by determination, and because unshakable realization of truth leads to greater determination. After determination comes the Perfection of Loving Kindness, or metta. Loving kindness strengthens determination to practice for the benefit of others and to work to liberate them from suffering.

However, it cannot be stressed enough that all of the Perfections depend on determination, just as determination is strengthened by the other Perfections. Determination without the direction and context of the other Perfections could easily lead one the wrong way.

Determination and Right Effort

The Perfection of Determination is related to the Right Effort of the Eightfold Path. Although determination needs to be strong, the teachings of Right Effort show us that skillful practice is not about burning ourselves out.

The Buddha taught that practice should be like a well-tuned string instrument. If the strings are too loose, they won’t play a sound. If they are too tight, they will break. Practice should be nourishing, not draining. Striving and exertion are not always fruitful but must be guided by wisdom and compassion, including compassion for ourselves.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

The Perfection of Truthfulness

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The Perfection of Truthfulness goes beyond merely not telling lies. It is better described as a lifelong practice of being open to truth, including truth about ourselves. And it’s a lifelong practice of expressing truth for the benefit of all beings.

The Perfection of Truthfulness (Sacca Parami in Pali) is the seventh of the Ten Perfections of Theravada Buddhism. It follows the Perfection of Patience, or Khanti Parami. Khanti means “unaffected by” or “able to withstand,” and it could be translated as tolerance, endurance and composure as well as patience or forbearance. Developing Khanti is essential to building a foundation of truthfulness.

Deep Self-Honesty

Why does truthfulness require endurance or forbearance? For one thing, truthfulness is not generally our default reaction whenever life challenges us. We all go through life with a narrative in our heads about who we are and how our life is supposed to unfold. When events clash with our expectations, one of the first things we do is “edit” the narrative to protect our beliefs or our egos. We find ways to explain reality that exonerates us from blame, for example. This is not truthfulness.

Self-deception takes many forms. Psychologists use terms like “confirmation bias” and “subjective validation” to describe strategies for making reality seem more to our liking. But genuine truthfulness requires being honest with ourselves about ourselves.

Speaking truth comes from a practice of truthfulness, or deep honesty. Through practice, we see that whatever shtick has gotten us through life is a crutch and a hindrance, and the myriad little lies and rationalizations we tell ourselves about ourselves fall away.

Another aspect of deep honesty is remaining open to truth. So often we “make up our minds” about the way things are, and then we are closed. Certitude is a dead end.

Always leave room for new understanding, even if you like your current understanding. Especially if you like your current understanding. Be particularly mistrustful of “facts” that fit too neatly into your worldview. Stay open to the realization that your worldview is an illusion, even if it doesn’t seem to be an illusion.

Ultimately, speaking truth can only be built on a practice of truth. Deep honesty does not try to protect our ego, serve our self-interests or confirm our biases. And if we’re not being sincerely honest, how can we be truthful?

Without Deception

Another way to think about truthfulness is that it is without deception, either of ourselves or others. Not deceiving is not always exactly the same as not being factual. Any good propagandist can build an argument from facts and still be deceitful.

For example, we can deceive by taking words or facts out of context in a way that gives a false impression. This sort of lie seems particularly common in advertising and politics. A government program that proved to be ineffectual might be praised for “staying under budget” — because hardly anyone used it. A reviewer might write that a film was “only passably entertaining,” and the film poster might shorten this to “entertaining!” Many people defend these practices as “not really lying.” But it’s still deception, with self-serving ends.

Mindfulness, Right Speech and the Four Noble Truths

Sacca is the same word translated as “truth” in the Four Noble Truths. It’s important to understand that the truths are not doctrines to be believed. Rather, they propose that we may be liberated from dissatisfaction, fear, and suffering by deep realization of the truth about ourselves and our lives.

The Fourth Noble Truth is the Eightfold Path, or the path of practice that leads to truth. One part of the path is Right Speech. Right Speech includes truthfulness, and it also teaches us to use speech in a way to encourage harmony rather than disharmony. We must also not be selfish in our speech by denigrating others to enhance ourselves. Right Speech and the Perfection of Truthfulness are, obviously, closely intertwined. And without a foundation of truthfulness, the other parts of the Path can easily collapse.

How does one perfect honesty? Most teachers will say that the most essential practice is Right Mindfulness, another part of the Eightfold Path. Mindfulness is being fully aware of the present moment, without judging and without conceptual filters. It might be called a practice of honesty of the present moment.

The Perfection of Truthfulness begins with self-honesty and putting aside selfish concerns, and it continues to a practice of manifesting honesty for the benefit of others. This leads to the next Perfection, the Perfection of Determination.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

The Perfection of Discerning Wisdom: A Theravada Buddhist Teaching

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Both Theravada and Mahayana Buddhism have lists of “perfections” (paramitas or paramis) that are important guides for spiritual development and practice. The lists have many items in common, including the Perfection of Wisdom. However, in this case, what is meant is slightly different.

This article will be about the Theravada perfection, Panna Parami. For the Mahayana perfection, Prajna Paramita, see “Sunyata, or Emptiness: The Perfection of Wisdom.”

For more about the Theravada Perfections, see “The Ten Perfections of Theravada Buddhism.”

Theravada Wisdom

All Buddhism makes a distinction between wisdom and knowledge. In his book What the Buddha Taught, the Buddhist scholar Walpola Rahula wrote,

“According to Buddhism there are two sorts of understanding: What we generally call understanding is knowledge, an accumulated memory, an intellectual grasping of a subject according to certain given data. This is called ‘knowing accordingly’ (anubodhd). It is not very keep. Real deep understanding is called ‘penetration’ (pativedha), seeing a thing in its true nature, without name and label. This penetration is possible only when the mind is free from all impurities and is fully developed through meditation.”

“Wisdom” in Theravada Buddhism usually is understood to be discerning or penetrating insight into the Three Marks of Existence and the Four Noble Truths. As Walpola Rahula explained, this

penetrating insight is not about an intellectual or conceptual understanding of these doctrines. It is not about being able to write an essay about the Three Marks or Four Truths and explain them on a test. This penetrating insight is one’s own personal and intimate insight into the dharma. Dharma is a word used to mean many things, but in this case it refers to the true nature of reality.

Read More: “What Is Dharma in Buddhism?”

The 5th century scholar Buddhaghosa wrote (Visuddhimagga XIV, 7), “Wisdom penetrates into dharmas as they are in themselves. It disperses the darkness of delusion, which covers up the own-being of dharmas.”

Edward Conze explained, “Objects are not what they appear to be. Their true reality, in which they stand out as dharmas, is opposed to their appearance to commonsense, and much strength of wisdom is required to go beyond the deceptive appearance and to penetrate to the reality of dharmas themselves.” Penetrating or discerning wisdom, then, is this penetration of the true nature of dharmas, or phenomena, themselves. It’s “seeing” things for what they are, not for what they appear to be.

Cultivating Wisdom

Now that we have a basic definition of panna, or wisdom, the next question is, how is it developed? The historical Buddha taught for about forty years after his enlightenment, and in one way or another everything he taught was about developing wisdom.

For example, in the Eightfold Path, the “wisdom” path is Right View and Right Intention. Right View is the “first” item on the Path and is ultimately about viewing reality as-it-is. So the Path might be said to begin with wisdom. But Right View is built on an understanding of the Buddha’s teaching. Studying what the Buddha taught is essential. Right Intention is the second item on the Path, and it refers to a kind of purification as one commits oneself to the Path.

This leads to the Ethical Conduct part of the Path and then to the Mental Discipline Part. The last two items on the path are the mental disciplines of Right Mindfulness and Right Concentration. It is through mindfulness and concentration in particular that direct insight happens, concentration in particular. But all parts of the Path relate to and support all other parts.

And the wheel turns, and after Right Concentration one comes to Right View again.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Dhyana Paramita: Perfection of Meditation

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Even if you know nothing else about Buddhism you probably associate Buddhism with meditation. Dhyana Paramita, the fifth of the Mahayana Six Perfections, is the perfection of meditation.

The Sanskrit word dhyana, or jhana in Pali, means “concentration” and is nearly synonymous with samadhi. Another Sanskrit word for “meditation,” bhavana, is more literally translated “mental culture.” This underscores the understanding of meditation as a means of training the mind to realize enlightenment. Dhyana also is associated with the Right Concentration aspect of the Eightfold Path.

The Role of Meditation in Buddhism

In the West, Buddhist meditation is more popular than Buddhism itself. It has been adopted as a means to relieve stress and treat behavioral disorders. Scientific study of the effects of Buddhism on the brain are underway, and this may lead to other therapeutic uses of meditation in the future.

But meditation in the Buddhist sense is a discipline, not a treatment. The historical Buddha sat in meditation to realize enlightenment and liberate himself from suffering, or dukkha.

In the Six Paramitas, dhyana paramita comes before prajna paramita — the perfection of wisdom. And wisdom, the late Robert Aitken Roshi wrote, is “the raison d’être of the Buddha way.” The order of the paramitas is not random; in many schools of Buddhism, wisdom is thought to emerge from meditation.

Through dhyana, the practitioner quiets and clears the mind to enable the realization of enlightenment. For many this is a gradual process. Although one may experience bliss, one may experience many other things as well — frustration, sleepiness, boredom, pain, contentment. That doesn’t mean you are doing it wrong; that’s just the way it is.

With all the focus on meditation one sees in the West, however, it might surprise you to learn that lay Buddhist practice in many parts of Asia is mostly about keeping the Precepts and supporting the monastic sangha, but not meditation. And in some schools of Buddhism, notably Pure Land and Nichiren, silent meditation has largely been replaced by a focused chanting practice.

Forms of Meditation in Buddhism

The schools of Buddhism that teach meditation do not all teach it in precisely the same way. But broadly speaking, Buddhist meditation takes two forms — samatha and vipassana.

Samatha means “peaceful abiding” or “tranquility.” Samatha practices develop concentration to the point of samadhi — single pointedness of mind. In many schools of Buddhism, wisdom is said to be grounded in samadhi.

Samatha practice usually begins with a focus on the breath called anapana-smrti or anapanasati. As thoughts arise, they are observed and released. In time, the mind becomes quieter, no longer yanked around by desires and passions. (See also “Buddhism and Equanimity.”)

Vipassana means “insight.” There is more than one approach to insight meditation, but very generally the practitioner is directed to contemplate a particular teaching, thought or perspective to alter his basic mental orientation.

For example,the meditator might be directed to contemplate a saying such as “All equally experience suffering and happiness. I should look after them as I do myself.” In time, thinking of the welfare of others becomes second nature.

You can find many books, web sites, and videos that teach some kind of basic samatha meditation. But for advanced meditation it is best to work with a teacher who will direct your practice to best suit your particular spiritual barriers.

Meditation and Mindfulness

“Mindfulness mediation” is in vogue at the moment, so let’s look for a minute at the difference between mindfulness and dhyana. Mindfulness in Sanskrit is smrti (in Pali, sati), which can also mean “retention,” “recollection,” or “alertness.” Mindfulness is a whole-body-and-mind awareness of the present moment.

Dhyana, like samadhi, is more about concentration on one thing — a teaching, an image, a koan, breath. Beginner samatha meditation is mindfulness of the breath, but as samadhi develops the practitioner is able to enter a state of deep absorption in which awareness of self disappears.

Meditation and Life

A daily meditation practice can impact your life in countless ways. The experienced meditator responds more skillfully to life’s difficulties as well as its joys. It helps us break free of destructive habits and overcome obstacles. In time, many of our fears and confusion fall away.

Zen teachers sometimes say that meditation is a way to find our long-lost home. “It doesn’t take much time to find that home,” Robert Aitken Roshi wrote in The Practice of Perfection. “In fact, if you lower your eyes and breath quietly in and out, your distractions disappear and your long-lost home is right here.”

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Zen’s Northern and Southern Patriarchs

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Some very old Zen texts refer to the “northern and southern schools,” or sometimes to the “northern or southern patriarchs.” This refers to a doctrinal split that came to a head in 7th and 8th century China. The resolution of this disagreement determined Zen’s development from that time on, making this a genuinely critical moment in the history of Zen Buddhism.

Zen had emerged as a distinctive school of Mahayana Buddhism early in the 6th century. It was born in China, where it is called Chan. The name “Chan” is derived from the Sanskrit dhyana, which refers to stages of meditative absorption.

The earliest phase of Chan history was marked by the leadership of the Six Patriarchs. Before he died, Chan’s founder and First Patriarch, the legendary Bodhidharma, is said to have passed his robe and alms bowl, and leadership of Chan, to his student Huike (487–593), the Second Patriarch, establishing a tradition that would continue until the beginning of the 8th century.

Read More: Introduction to Zen

Sudden or Gradual?

Early in the 7th century a disagreement arose about Buddha Nature. Buddha Nature is the fundamental, enlightened nature of all beings. But does Buddha Nature abide in us as a potential to be cultivated, or is Buddha Nature complete and pure enlightenment, already present?

These two positions came to be called “gradual enlightenment” versus “sudden enlightenment.” “Gradual” and “sudden” do not necessarily refer to passages of time, nor did one school insist that enlightenment must be realized in stages while the other said realization must happen all at once.

The “sudden” school insisted that enlightenment is not something separate from us that must be obtained. Instead, we are all already enlightened; enlightenment is our fundamental nature. However, because of our greed, anger, ignorance and other defilements we do not experience ourselves as enlightened, so practice is required. And note that although we are all already enlightened, if we practice realization of enlightenment may not happen all at once.

The “gradual” school, on the other hand, saw enlightenment as something separate from most of us that must be acquired or ripened through practice.

The Poetry Challenge

Our story begins during the time of the Fifth Patriarch, Hongren (or Hung-jen; 601–674). Hongren was the abbot of a monastery in the mountains of what is now Hubei Province in eastern central China. According to a classic story, one day Hongren challenged his monks to compose a verse that expressed their understanding of the dharma. If any verse reflects the truth, Hongren said, the monk who composed it will receive the robe and bowl and become the Sixth Patriarch.

Still according to the traditional account — among Hongren’s monks were his senior disciple Shenxiu and a novice monk named Huineng. Shenxui wrote on a wall —

The body is the bodhi tree.
The heart-mind is like a mirror.
Moment by moment wipe and polish it,
Not allowing dust to collect.

This was an expression of gradual enlightenment. Huineng thought he could do better, but he was only a novice, and an illiterate one at that. During the night he asked another monk to write his verse for him —

Bodhi originally has no tree,
The mirror has no stand.
Buddha-nature is always clean and pure;
Where might dust collect?

Huingeng’s poem was an expression of sudden enlightenment. The lines were drawn.

Somehow Hongren recognized that Huineng had written the second verse, and in secret he transmitted the deepest teachings to Huineng and gave the novice the robe and bowl. And to make a very complex story a great deal shorter, Huineng became the patriarch of the so-called Southern School, and his gradualist challenger Shenxiu was the patriarch of the Northern School.

But the Southern School prevailed, and today all teachers of Chan or Zen trace their lineage back to Huineng, the Sixth Patriarch. All surviving Chan, or Zen, today is “sudden enlightenment” Zen.

The Historical Record

The story presented above is from the Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch, a classic Zen text that appears to be Huineng’s autobiography but which was probably written by a disciple, or disciples, after the patriarch’s death. Modern historians say this version of history is probably not accurate, however. For example, there is doubt Shenxiu and Huineng lived at Hongren’s monastery at the same time.

Further, Shenxiu didn’t exactly drop off the map. He was a widely admired scholar who had received dharma transmission from Hongren and later dedicated himself to teaching. Toward the end of his life he became a teacher to the Emperor. The Northern School received the patronage of high-ranked members of the Court and was respected and popular. Shenxiu and his successors were considered the Chan mainstream for a time.

The Southern School was more obscure and stuck out in the boonies, so to speak. A dharma heir of Huineng’s named Shenhui (670-762) became quite the polemicist, relentlessly attacking Shenxiu’s Northern School and it’s “backward” views on gradual enlightenment. Shenhui argued that Huineng was the legitimate Sixth Patriarch and Shenxiu a usurper. It’s thought one of Shenhui’s monks wrote the Platform Sutra as part of the campaign to establish Huineng as Bodhidharma’s true heir.

Shenhui’s campaign initially appeared to fail. Shenxiu’s heirs had influence in the Chinese Court, and in time Shenhui was forced into hiding. But then came the An Lushan Rebellion (755-763), which threatened to topple the Tang Dynasty. Monks were called to the capital to help raise money by sellling ordination certificates. Shenhui did such a brilliant job selling ordination certificates that for a time he was given a privileged position at Court. From this position Shenhui was able to more effectively challenge the Northern School and revise the lineage charts to leave out Shenxiu.

Both Shenxiu’s and Shenhui’s direct lineages appear to have been wiped out in 845, when the Emperor ordered the persecution of all foreign religions in China. After that time, there was no more Northern School or Southern School. But Chan survived, and since that time it has been entirely “sudden,” even when realization comes gradually. And in Zen history, Huineng is remembered as the Sixth (and last) Patriarch.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Mindfulness of Dharma

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Right Mindfulness is the part of the Eightfold Path of Buddhism, which means it is an essential part of Buddhist practice. Mindfulness is a whole-body-and-mind awareness of the present moment. To be mindful is to be fully present, not lost in daydreams, anticipation or worry.

The Buddhist practice of mindfulness has four foundations: Mindfulness of body (in Pali, kayasati), of feelings or sensations (vedanasati), of mental states (cittasati), and of mental objects or qualities (dhammasati). This article will look at the fourth foundation.

A literal translation of the Pali word dhammasati is “mindfulness (sati) of dhamma (or, in Sanskrit, dharma).” To understand this foundation, we need to begin with a look at dharma.

Dharma is a Sanskrit word that is used to mean a lot of different things. In its broadest sense it means something like “natural law.” In Buddhism, it is often used to mean “teaching of the Buddha.” It also can refer to the nature of existence or to phenomena as manifestations of reality, and these last two meanings are closest to the dhamma of dhammasati.

See “What Is Dharma in Buddhism?” for a more detailed explanation of dharma.

Expanding Our Awareness

The four foundations describe a process that begins, traditionally, with mindfulness of the breath. From there one practices mindfulness of the body, of sensations and emotions, and of mental states.

This practice is a whole-body-and-mind experience without conceptualization. In other words, mindfulness is being fully aware and present with the body or with feelings. It is not “thinking about” these frames of reference or concocting ideas about them. Further, there is not “my” body or feelings; there is just body or feelings.

The foundations are frames of reference for mindfulness — body, feelings, mind. But mindfulness of dharma suggests an awareness of everything. How do we do that?

Many teachers explain this foundation as a mindfulness of phenomena. Put another way, it is mindfulness of the experience of the phenomenal world.

The Tibetan Buddhist teacher Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche explained the fourth foundation as “basically the recognition of the interdependent relationship of our mind and the phenomenal world. It is working with the relationship of each individual phenomenon existing around us as the object of our experience.” What does that mean?

Me and Everything Else?

It’s important to understand that the “phenomenal world” is not something that is “out there,” separate from us. The Buddha taught that everything inter-exists. All phenomena, including us, are conditioned and defined by all other phenomena. This is because that is.

Individual things — from teapots and toasters to living beings — are experienced as mental objects. We “know” them as we know them because of how our brains and senses respond to stimuli and also because we’ve been taught from birth to recognize things in a particular way. This is the interdependent relationship of the mind and the phenomenal world.

Very basically, mindfulness of dharmas is a pure awareness of whatever there is. If there is birdsong, there is birdsong. It is not you listening to birdsong. Nor is the birdsong coming from “out there” somewhere. The experience of birdsong is right here.

The Wheel of Samsara

In the Satipatthana Sutta of the Pali Tipitika (Majjhima Nikaya 10), the Buddha begins his teaching on the fourth foundation by advising his disciples to be mindful of the Five Hindrances. Naming each of the five — sensual desire, ill will, sloth, resltnessness, and uncertainty — he counseled being aware of whether the hindrance is present, and if present how it arises, and how it ceases.

Then the Buddha spoke of the Five Skandhas, calling them the “aggregates of clinging.” He advised his disciples to be aware of the skandhas and the corresponding senses organs and objects. The monks and nuns also were taught to contemplate the factors of enlightenment and the Four Noble Truths.

Many Buddhist teachers advocate mindfulness of what binds us to samsara. In particular, be aware of the twelve links of dependent origination.

The Vietnamese Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh says that Right Mindfulness is at the heart of the Buddha’s teaching. “When Right Mindfulness is present, the Four Noble Truths and the other seven elements of the Eightfold Path are also present” (The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching, p. 59). This is particularly true of the mindfulness of dharma.

Wisdom

In Mahayana Buddhism, the fourth foundation of mindfulness is awareness of sunyata, or emptiness, which is also the basis of wisdom. This much-misunderstood doctrine teaches us that all phenomena are empty of self-essence as well as inter-existing. The distinction we see between this and that is something we are projecting; it is not intrinsic to the things and beings around us. So, in a sense, a particular phenomenon exists as a mental object, not as a thing-in-itself. See also the Two Truths.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]