Jonathan McHaffieThe answer in Christianity is pretty easy, I think. For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. That's the heart, the essence of the faith, the thing that everything else springs from. So is there an equivalent in the dharma, in Buddhism?
I think there are several possible starting points, and in the end they're all connected, but let's start with one this time.
Life is suffering.
It's the one that's banded about the most, I think. Along with the comment that it's so...negative. Life is suffering? But there's so much good in life, isn't there, alongside the suffering we see every day in the media. So why focus on the negative, there's enough of that already.
This is where we have to go back a few thousand years. Just as the Bible we think we know is probably a translation in our own language, so is that 'Life is suffering'. And sometimes translations lose something of the essence of the underlying point. The original Buddhist texts were often written in a language we call Pali, just as the Old Testament was written in Hebrew and the New Testament in Greek. And the word we hear as "suffering" is dukkha in the Pali. So what's dukkha?
Dukkha is your iPhone. Remember when you first heard your current model was coming out, or saw the first advert for it? That moment of anticipation, maybe even excitement? Then opening the box for the first time, taking it out, all shiny and new, noticing the subtle changes from the previous version you had. Powering it up, the immaculate screen, brighter, sharper. Perfect. A week later and it's...your phone. It does what you need it to. It works. It's easy to use, it's faster than the last one, and there are a few new features you like. Six months on and you've had to reboot it a few times because something seemed to have gone wrong with the wifi, or an app, or reception. And that screen's either got a few scratches on it or the protector you put on it in the beginning is beginning to peel a little at the edges. Roll forward another year and, really, it's about time you got a new phone. This one's just not quite right any more. That feeling, that's dukkha. The way your feelings about the phone change over time, that's dukkha. Or at least an example of it. The Rolling Stones had it right - "I can't get no satisfaction." Not ultimately. The best meal, the best drink, the best sunset, none of that lasts.
Dukkha is also the general discomfort of the body. Try standing completely still and see how long you can do it for. Come on, use some more willpower! It's no good, is it? There's a point where we have to move. Sitting down is no different. We have to shift. Lying down is the same. Even when we're asleep, our bodies turn over without us being aware of it. We don't think about it most of the time, it's just happening in the background.
Then there's the stuff that happens in life. Things just happen, some good, some not so good. That's dukkha as well. How it manifests for each of us individually will vary, but we're used to disappointments, events not working out as we had hoped, plans coming to nothing, and that's before we even get to the more serious elements; personal tragedies, catastrophes, loss. And not to forget the things we do to ourselves, the suffering we cause ourselves and others. It's all dukkha.
So are we back at that starting point, that this is a really negative outlook on life? I don't think so. Because the point of looking at dukkha is first to do just that. Look at it. See it for what it is, in all the ways it shows up in our lives. After all, what we can't - or won't - see, we can't do anything about. And the point of this path isn't to stop at this point and say, look at all that suffering, all that dissatisfaction I feel, all that discomfort I'm suddenly aware of. Nor is the point to create some form of fear of that suffering.
Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese Zen master, knows something of suffering, exiled from his home country for almost four decades. This is what he has to say:
We should not be afraid of suffering. We should be afraid of only one thing, and that is not knowing how to deal with our suffering.
The first step is what we saw above - don't run from it. Suppressing painful feelings doesn't help, not really. If you remember back to that first short meditation exercise, one of the things we probably noticed was the thoughts that arose unbidden. The ones we'd rather stayed buried in some part of our brain. But wishing for that doesn't make it happen. Far better to learn to accept those difficult thoughts when they arise. Thich Nhat Hanh talks of "accepting the mud in ourselves". Maybe we'd like to think that everything's beautiful, but there's mud there in all of us. Might as well accept that. Mainly because it's true.
And this is where meditation comes in. The simplest form is that one of breathe in, breathe out. And Thich Nhat Hanh suggests something to add to that mix:
As you breathe in, you say silently, Hello, my pain. As you breathe out, you say, I am here for you. Our breathing contains within it the energy of our pain, so as we breathe with gentleness and compassion, we are also embracing our pain with gentleness and compassion.
The problem, of course, is that it's far too simple. We'd like some complicated formula that 'feels' more substantial. But all we're doing here is looking at whatever suffering comes to us when we stop and allow it. We can add more later. There's no point in jumping ahead of ourselves.
It's as simple as this:
When suffering comes up, we have to be present for it. We shouldn’t run away from it or cover it up with consumption, distraction, or diversion.
I don't know about you, but that's a good summary of my default responses. Fingers in ears, I can't hear you. Shiny new toy, anyone? (after all, all that's missing is that one more thing.)
If, instead, we just sit there and see whatever has come up, without judging it, without wishing it away, without wishing the situation to be different (because it isn't, and wishing for that doesn't change that fact)? There's some relief. It doesn't alter the situation, but it might alter how we relate to it.
We just need to embrace it, and that already brings some relief. As our suffering begins to calmdown, we know we will get through it.
I think this brings us to another question. These thoughts that come up - what are they? I don't know, not at a really fundamental level. They're a jumble of memories, images, words, plans, flights of fantasy, fears, regrets, but they all have one thing in common. They're happening right now. What we call a memory isn't something taking place in the past. It's a thought of the past, but it's happening right now. Likewise our hopes for - or fear of - something in the future, we aren't in the future, we're in the present. This present moment is where the thought is taking place. Sure, it's of the future, but that future hasn't happened and almost certainly won't happen the way we imagine it, for good or for ill. And the past certainly won't be any different for us thinking about it now (although how we remember that past the next time might be different, but that's a whole other topic). What else is in the present? Our breathing. Every breath is happening right now. How could it be otherwise? Meditation practice brings together these two things, both happening in the present moment, and by paying attention to our breathing, which is normally just one of those many background activities we're aware of only when something's very different about it, there's space for us to allow our thoughts simply to arise and be. They'll take care of themselves. No thought has lasted forever. Most of the thoughts we've ever had - gone, can't remember them. At the time, in the moment in which they arose, they were perhaps all-consuming. But at some point they too vanished and are probably long since forgotten. It's in the nature of thoughts to arise, hang around a while, and disappear again. Sometimes, how long they stay for depends on how much we indulge them. Suffering isn't reduced by chasing after every negative thought that arises, it's reduced by allowing the thought to come up and then to pass in front of us before it disappears again.
The point of taking suffering (dukkha) as a starting point is to step onto a road that promises an eventual end to dukkha. Does it "work"? Well, that's the point of this entire exercise, to see from experience if it does. Because others say yes, it's possible, but other people also say a lot of things that turn out not to be correct, so in the end, the question becomes perhaps, do I want to find out for myself? Well, I'm not wild about the presence of dukkha now I've started to recognise it properly, and some of the meditation exercises I have experienced definitely point me in the direction of saying, there's something in this, but beyond that, I'm not going to make any claims. Do I have a degree of confidence that it's possible? Yes, I'd go that far. And that's because my experience so far marries up with the general principles of the dharma. So far, it's passed that test. Do I sound like a skeptic? I don't mean to. But nor am I going to rush headlong into something I'm still a beginner at. There are plenty of organisations and people promising all sorts of things out there, and some of them stand up to scrutiny a lot less than their adherents would have us believe. When leaders of an organisation feel the need to stand up and say "we didn't come here to deceive you or lie to you", you know something's badly wrong. But that doesn't mean those same individuals don't sincerely believe that what they're selling or offering or preaching isn't really good. It's just that we all sincerely believe things which, in the future, we might come to realise just weren't correct. And that's OK. It's part of growing and learning and making mistakes and gaining a different perspective. It also means that I try not to take important claims on trust alone. If you tell me washing power A is better than B, I can try them out, or I can say they probably both do the job so what does it matter? But if you tell me that a particular way is the way to something much greater, I'm going to reserve judgement. Reserve judgement but be open to it. Perhaps that's the balance I'm trying to find.