The claim is not that the Four Noble Truths are going to change the realities around us but rather that they will change the way that we experience those realities. The doctrine offers us a means whereby we might experience those calamities and disasters without being adversely affected psychologically. To weather unpleasant situations and conditions without experiencing them negatively. As many Buddhist teachers have put it, we can learn to separate pain from suffering—that is, to feel the nerve endings fire when we are hurt, but to meet them with acceptance and equanimity without adding our own mental reactions, anxiety, and woe on top of them.
If I had to choose a religion, I have always been interested in Buddhism, and some of it is because it made more sense to me than the Catholicism of my childhood, and I truly found vast benefits in meditation and mindfulness practices. I appreciate the practical nature of this book, and think it really captures the essence of the wisdom tradition.
Take a moment to think about it before moving forward: Are people incapable of changing who they fundamentally are? Are our personality traits and mental patterns essentially fixed once we reach adulthood? Is human nature essentially bad? Are we slaves to our animal nature, perhaps controllable with carrots and sticks but at the end of the day simply out for ourselves? Is it hubris to think that any human might know what the reality of the universe is? That any human might see and know the ultimate truth? If you answered yes to any of those questions, most forms of Buddhism disagree with you. The Eightfold Noble Path is, at its core, a doctrine based on the idea that human beings are malleable. That no matter what your age, no matter what your biographical history, no matter what your characteristics, you can always become a wiser, more enlightened person.
Truth be told, it’s actually a small minority of Buddhists who take up hardcore meditation practice in order to make a serious push forward on the Path to Awakening. For the vast majority of Buddhists, practice is much simpler, usually not even involving all of the eight aspects of the Eightfold Path. Most Buddhists, historically and today, have not seen Awakening as a terribly urgent matter because of their belief in karma.
Acts of generosity, kindness, and care for others can earn us good karma. In this simplified view, karma works sort of like a bank account: positive karmic merit can be stored up in order to offset negative karma that was accumulated earlier in this life or in previous lives. In most traditions of Buddhism, this karmic merit is also transferrable from one person to another. It is therefore quite common for people performing good deeds to dedicate the merit they earn to another person. You might, for example, dedicate merit to someone who is ill or who has very recently died and who is seen as needing a quick shot of good karma to ensure birth in a fortunate destination. (When someone dies, they are often thought to be stuck for a period of weeks in a limbo state—in English usually known by the Tibetan term bardo—during which gifts of karmic merit can make a difference for their future.)
This view of karma as something like a cosmic bank account with credits and debits is extremely widespread among Buddhists. In most times and places throughout history, becoming a monk or nun, seriously following the Path, practicing meditation, and following in the Buddha’s footsteps toward Awakening was undertaken only by a very small number of people. Most Buddhists have thought these ideals are far too difficult to actually put into practice in this lifetime. It’s not at all a stretch to say that the vast majority of Buddhists who have ever lived—including most Buddhists throughout the world today—have taken merit-making as their main practice over and above anything listed in the Eightfold Path.
In English, we use the word “meditation” to translate a variety of different words from various languages—including jhana, bhavana, dhyana, chan, zen, and gom—that have different shades of meaning within different Buddhist schools and cultural traditions.
Mindfulness, however, is a form of meditation that is directed toward understanding the mind, deconstructing the sense of self, and seeing “reality as it is.” When Buddhists talk about mindfulness, they are normally referring to the practice of focusing your attention on a particular object and trying to remember to pay attention to it. In fact, the word “mindfulness” is a translation of the Buddhist term sati or smriti, which literally means “to remember,” “to recollect,” or “to bear something in mind.” Always present, available, and free, the breath is in many ways an ideal meditation object. You breathe tens of thousands of time per day, and although you almost never pay any attention to it, you can learn to.
Buddhist trainings that emphasize concentration often focus on generating what in the Pali language is called jhana, advanced states of absorption in which you become so concentrated on the object of meditation that the rest of the world melts away. When everything else disappears, you’re left with states of deep bliss, rapture, or stillness. Trainings emphasizing insight, on the other hand, focus on perceiving your chosen object of meditation as a manifestation of suffering, impermanence, and non-self—which in Buddhism are called the “three marks of all existence.”
This kind of work is more deconstructive, breaking down your mental and physical experience into increasingly finer phenomena. Many training systems call for you to practice both concentration and insight sequentially or simultaneously. Normally, the goal of all of these kinds of advanced practice is to experience “cessations,” moments during which the whole self and the world drop away. In other words, Nirvana.
The notion that we all have a Buddha-nature does not mean that there is a tiny speck of the Buddha floating around inside our minds or bodies. Rather, it is that underneath, behind, or within all of the ordinary activity of our minds, Awakeness is always already present. Whereas most forms of Buddhism are designed to lead you to Awakening along an arduous Path of mental purification, according to Mahayana Buddhists who embrace the concept of Buddha-nature, we just need to turn our attention around and see what has been going on right under our noses all along.
Perhaps the most common advice for getting along in everyday life found in Buddhist texts is a set of ten virtues that they say all people—monastic and lay—should be working on cultivating. These ten “perfections” (paramita) include generosity, morality, renunciation, wisdom, diligence, patience, honesty, determination, loving kindness, and equanimity.
Buddhists differentiate between four different positive mental states that might all be part of the ordinary English notion of compassion. Collectively known as the “immeasurable states of mind” (si wuliang xin) in Chinese or the “heavenly dwellings” (brahma vihara) in Pali, they are as follows: ■ Loving kindness (metta in Pali): a feeling of universal friendliness, goodwill, and love toward all beings. ■ Empathetic compassion (karuna): a feeling of wanting to remove the suffering experienced by other beings. ■ Altruistic joy (mudita): a feeling of joy at the happiness and success of other beings, untinged by jealousy or pride. ■ Equanimity (upekkha): a feeling of tolerance, peace, and tranquility in the face of annoyances, including those caused by other beings.
These four immeasurables were understood to go together as a set in Indian culture long before the Buddha’s time, and they appear in other Indian religious traditions as well. However, they were absorbed into Buddhism and came to be among its central ideas. The main idea behind the Buddhist discourses on this subject is that we can and should cultivate these positive states of mind. As is true with mindfulness or concentration, the brain can be trained in the immeasurables.
Also influenced by Daoism is Zen’s deep appreciation of the natural world. In this regard, Zen seems to move in the opposite direction of many other types of Buddhism, which often can seem quite disconnected from nature. In my own experience learning meditation in the Theravada tradition, for example, I was taught that if my mind wandered away from the breath or body sensations for any reason, including even pleasant aspects of nature, it was a distraction. If the goal is to remain constantly, single-mindedly focused on a meditation object, then a chirping bird outside the meditation hall can never be anything more than a source of interference. Several Theravada meditation centers I frequented even had isolation cells, tiny pitch-black soundproofed rooms, where I would spend ten days in almost total sensory deprivation in order to avoid such disruptions and concentrate more deeply