Intro to Emptiness - Entering the Void

Entering the Void

Before we continue our investigation of contemplative antidotes to community ills, we would like to take a brief foray into the void.



By entering the void, we don't mean absolute oblivion or total annihilation, but a complete transformation of all one previously knew that will nonetheless prove to be revolutionary.

As will become clear in future posts, this foray serves as essential foundation for discussions of inter-relationality (including interconnection, intersubjectivity, interdependence, etc.). Such themes are central to radical inner revolution via contemplative practice and its translation into on-the-ground solutions to social and environmental challenges.

Emptiness

The terms "empty" and "emptiness" find themselves used frequently in reference to the Buddha's teachings, especially by later schools (i.e., Madhyamaka, as expressed in the work of Nāgārjuna), but can be traced back to even the earliest discourses. We provide a preliminary probing of these early traces here.

The early sources demonstrate that emptiness, unlike what its name implies, has no affective tone. It is not to be conflated with nothingness, not a sad or depressing state of affairs as might be assumed upon initial reading of the term, with all its connotations in the English language. Emptiness is not an absolute negative, but a negation.

A negation of what? Of inherent existence or self-nature (svabhāva). While this precise meaning doesn't yet emerge until the Paṭisambhidāmagga (e.g., "sabhāvena suññā"), a congruent meaning is conveyed in even earlier sources. Generally speaking, inherent existence or self-nature signifies that which supposedly bestows individuality unto any given phenomenon while itself remaining an unconditioned essence.

Importantly, for something to be "empty," it must be "empty of" something else, like an empty cup, which while lacking water, still, by some interpretations, contains air.

The World Is Empty

In the early Buddhist context, the term "empty" (suñña) is first used in reference to "the world" (loka) that we phenomenally (and phenomenologically) experience. Importantly, the world is deemed empty (suñño loko), which understandably gives rise to perplexity given its seeming absurdity. What does that even mean? Such a statement is a challenge even for contemplatives to wrap their heads around. For instance, see Ananda's question in the Suñña Sutta:

Ven. Ananda went to the Blessed One and on arrival, having bowed down to him, sat to one side. As he was sitting there he said to the Blessed One, "It is said that the world is empty, the world is empty, lord. In what respect is it said that the world is empty?" (SN 35.85, trans. Thanissaro Bhikkhu)

As the Buddha's chief disciple, perhaps Ananda is asking on behalf of all of us. If the world is empty, wouldn't there be nothing? An empty world seems to imply non-existence. In that case, how would we explain the experiences we're all (presumably) having with regard to what appears to be an existing world? The reason these questions seem absurd is because we haven't yet understood what is meant by "the world."



Elsewhere, the Loka Sutta (SN 12.44) clarifies that "the world" arises dependent on the interaction between sense organs, sense objects, and sense consciousnesses (including mind, mental objects, and mind-consciousness), a form of contact that sets the dominoes in motion for the arising of feeling-tone, craving, clinging, becoming, birth, aging, sickness, death, and the entire mass of dissatisfaction.

In like manner, the Loka Sutta (SN 12.44) explains that "the world" subsides dependent on the remainderless cessation and fading away of craving. Sense experience remains, contact remains, feeling-tone remains. We are not cut off from "the world," but rather, we no longer give rise to subsequent links in the chain, which fundamentally changes the nature of the world we inhabit.



Given its relevance to revolutionary change, we will pick up on this subject in a forthcoming post. We turn now to the Buddha's response to Ananda's inquiry regarding the meaning of "the world is empty."

Empty of what?

Empty of Self

Despite what it sounds like, "emptiness" isn't some ominous, looming, metaphysical abstract. It isn't an other-worldly force hovering in space, waiting to consume us all in a wormhole-like vacuum. Neither the world nor our heads/brains/minds have to explode here.

However, both the world and our minds will be fundamentally transformed.

In the early Buddhist context, "emptiness" means to be empty of self or that which pertains to self (suññaṃ attena vā attaniyena vā). The Buddha's answer in the Suñña Sutta makes this exact point:

"Insofar as it is empty of a self or of anything pertaining to a self: Thus it is said, Ananda, that the world is empty." (SN 35.85, trans. Thanissaro Bhikkhu)

Now that we have a basic understanding of the terms "empty" and "world," we encounter two new terms, "self" and "anything pertaining to a self." Additional variables enter the scene. The equation branches.

These branches reveal the personal relevance of the question.

Even if we've established that the world is that which is generated by sensory experience, while emptiness is to be empty of self, we now have to define self. What is "self"?

Who Am I?

Simply stated, "self" refers to whatever one may identify as "me" - including but not limited to whatever tends to follow "I am" in any sentiment, reflection, or statement. Ask yourself: Who am I? Whatever comes up inevitably falls under one of five categorical "heaps," often referred to as "aggregates" (Sanskrit: skandha; Pāli: khandha). What are these five?

1. form (Sanskrit, Pāli: rūpa)

2. feeling/sensation (Sanskrit, Pāli: vedanā)

3. perception/discrimination (Sanskrit: saṃjñā; Pāli: saññā)

4. cognition/formations/fabrications (Sanskrit: saṃskāra; Pāli: saṅkhāra)

5. consciousness (Sanskrit: vijñāna; Pāli: viññāṇa)

Each of these requires its own post and unpacking, but we'll leave it at this for now: any time I ask "Who am I?" and proceed to identify something as "me," it is either one or some combination of the above.

Compounded Phenomena: Characteristics, Categories, Constructs

Generally speaking, we may think of ourselves as our bodies, our experiences, our minds. We may feel that who we are maps onto characteristics such as compassionate or cruel, bright or dull (etc.) and categories such as mother, father, sister, brother, daughter, son, teacher, student (etc.)...

Yet each of these compounded phenomena are, in actuality, empty of self or what pertains to self. Conventionally speaking, there are form, feeling, perception, cognition, consciousness, there are identities such as compassionate, bright, sister, daughter, student, but none of them are "me" in any final or lasting way.

Likewise, "pertaining to a self" extends to "my" and "mine." Briefly, this may include "my job," "my reputation," "my family," "my car," and so on. We often tend to identify with these constructs as well.

Yet each of these constructs are, in actuality, empty of self or what pertains to self. Conventionally speaking, there are jobs, reputations, families, cars, etc., but none of them are "mine" in any final or lasting way.

These subjects will be addressed in greater detail soon enough, particularly through the simile of the chariot, which we will invoke in a later discussion of a treatise purported to document the intersection between Greek and Buddhist thought, the Milinda Pañha. With that said, it may be wise to end this brief intro with some reasons for why emptiness is even relevant.

Pedagogical Ponderings

Importantly, emptiness is a teaching technique, a skillful means, a pedagogical strategy.

It is a statement of both non-eternality and non-annihilation. Things neither sustain themselves forever, nor are they ever utterly destroyed. This is considered the middle way.

Emptiness is a teaching that all things are without a substance of their own and instead exist only conventionally, impermanently, and conditionally on account of manifold interacting causes and conditions. Its intention is to shake us loose from the solidity we assume in "things," an assumed solidity to which we typically cling so tightly. Its purpose is to unbind and unshackle.

Phenomena arise and subside on the basis of factors outside of them, which arise and subside on the basis of factors outside of them, which arise and subside on the basis of factors outside of them, ad infinitum. Everything is in constant, churning flux, but this does not suggest meaninglessness. In fact, perhaps the inverse is implied. Everything is interrelated.

Interrelated how? Leave us a comment if you'd like to contribute to the discussion and stay tuned for further meanderings.

Yoga for Balance and Clarity - Spinning in Circles and Stilling the Turnings of Thought

Turnings of Thought

What does the phrase "turnings of thought" conjure in your mind?

Perhaps the very process of turning is activated by such an inquiry. The gears of the mind begin to turn as we seek an answer to the question. This is especially the case for the things that surprise us, stump us, and stress us.

The mind has a tendency to run in circles, spinning at a thousand thoughts a minute. The turnings of thought trace their origin deep into our evolutionary past, when the capacity to think up quick solutions to existential threats in the form of predators stood to save our very lives.

At one point, such turnings of thought yielded overall stability for us.



Now, however, the tables have turned.



These days, the turnings of thought tend to backfire, like wheels that have lost traction when a vehicle is stuck in a ditch. The wheels keep turning, tossing up dirt and dust, but the vehicle fails to move.

Such is the desperate state in which we've landed, wherein our thoughts run rampant around artificial stressors of our own creation. Our mental health suffers and we experience burn out.

Of course, thinking has its practical use, but getting spun around by our own thoughts does no good to oneself or others.

Spinning in Circles

Consider for a moment the act of spinning in circles and the feelings it evokes.



Spinning offsets vestibular balance, a function of the nervous system responsible for keeping us on our feet rather than falling flat on our face on the floor. When we spin in circles and then stop in place, the world around us continues to wobble and we usually find ourselves unable to stand our ground. We begin to stumble around and may even lose our footing. Scientists refer to this as a disruption in equilibrioception, the sense of balance. We call it discombobulation.

As children, we may recall the experience of spinning in circles or whirling in a chair, then feeling like our world keeps spinning as we struggle to keep our balance. We end up laughing uncontrollably or throwing up out of nausea. Either way, our system reacts. Clarity is distorted. We become disoriented.

The sort of discombobulation that comes from spinning in circles is comparable to severe turbulence on an airplane, the sudden ups and downs while riding a roller coaster, or twists and turns during a particularly bumpy ride along a rocky, winding road. We may feel as though the stomach lurches, jumping into the throat, then sinking deep into the bowels. Nausea ensues. Some laugh it off while others succumb to motion sickness. Needless to say, our steadiness is disrupted.



Each of these processes of physical disorientation can be likened to the relentless spinning of thoughts in our minds.

The Yoga Sutras

The Yoga Sutras were composed in roughly the year 400 of the common era by the Indian sage Patañjali. Not much is known about Patañjali's life and character other than he was likely a Sāṃkhya philosopher. What can be known from his writings, however, suggests a deep understanding of the human mind.

Patañjali's Yoga Sutras examine the turning of thoughts, which spin us around on a whim, giving rise to a disoriented state of mind. Our capacity for clear vision is obscured by such turnings. The Yoga Sutras offer a practical analysis of this process.



In section 1.2 of the Yoga Sutras, Patañjali defines yoga as the cessation (nirodha) of the turnings (vṛtti) of thought (citta). In this case, the turnings of thought refer specifically to mental disturbances that obscure the clarity of our true nature, which is termed puruṣa.

The cessation of the turnings of thought requires letting go of those attachments that bind and wind us up. Whether desires, worries, or stories in our heads, the wise one does not get spun by them. When we detach from these sources of spinning, we are able to observe the turnings of thought at a distance without identification. Eventually, they grow still.

Pointing at this very state, the Yoga Sutras confirm, “when citta ceases, the observer (draṣṭuḥ) stands (avasthānam) in its own form (svarūpe)” (YS 1.3). In other words, the observer no longer misapprehends reality through imaginative contortions but instead apprehends things as they are without distortions. She stands still amidst the turnings.



In this undisturbed state, the observer is able to see, without distortion, her authentic self (puruṣa). This original state is like a bright mirror reflecting everything that comes before it exactly as it is.

Balance and Clarity

How do we go about restoring clarity and regaining balance when our tendency is to spin and turn?

The turnings of thought disrupt the balance and clarity of our true nature. This true nature is originally luminous, without distortion. When the agitation of spinning ceases, then such balance and clarity are restored.

To calm the turnings, we must understand the causes for imbalance.

When misunderstanding arises, we see things in a dizzy blur, a lens through which we fail to apprehend them as they are. In section 2.4 of the Yoga Sutras, we find that ignorance (avidyā) gives rise to misunderstanding. That is, we misunderstand on account of our ignorance. We lose touch with our true nature and get thrown off kilter.



Ignorance (avidyā) in this context entails misapprehending the impermanent as permanent, the impure as pure, suffering as happiness, and non-self as self. This is what we learn from section 2.5 of the Yoga Sutras. Out of this sort of confusion emerge the forces that spin us out of control. In turn, our thoughts, speech, and actions are misaligned.

How do we respond to misalignment? Patañjali would probably agree that we need to stop spinning. Without stillness, we cannot steer in the right direction. Thus, Patañjali suggests cultivating forces that steer us on the right path. In section 1.12, he specifies that these steering forces are practice (abhyāsa) and dispassion (vairāgya), which enable and empower us to reclaim control over our system's coordination.

Restoring clarity and regaining balance require stillness. When mind and body are regulated, we remain firmly grounded without being swayed in every direction. We may then find stillness amidst the turnings.

What are some simple ways of finding stillness? Stay tuned for our next post to find out.

The Emperor’s Advice - Marcus Aurelius on Working Together as One Body

Who Was Marcus Aurelius?

With history looming over us during a period of unrest and decline across the globe, we’re constantly confronted with the question of how to best live our lives. Marcus Aurelius had an answer, but first, you might ask: Who was Marcus Aurelius? And how is he relevant to us?



As head of the Roman empire from the year 161 to 180 of the common era, Marcus Aurelius was a thoughtful and strategic emperor. Hailed as a benevolent ruler, he defended the empire with all his might. His success can arguably be attributed to the virtuous qualities he brought to his leadership and the ethically informed actions that he undertook to secure the empire.



Through careful examination of his innermost thoughts, the emperor was able to make wise choices in his political career. He further encouraged others to live an examined life. At a young age, Aurelius was influenced by Epictetus, a Greek Stoic who advocated making philosophy a way of life. Inspired by this, Aurelius later wrote his Meditations in the form of reflections on how to live his life meaningfully. In addition to drawing from the Discourses of Epictetus, he was inspired by Greek Stoicism as a whole. As such, his reflections in turn reflect principles pertaining to Stoic ethics.



So who was Marcus Aurelius? A philosopher-king whose insights and advice apply equally today as they did nearly 2,000 years ago. We’ll tell you why.

The Emperor's Advice

Originally left untitled, what became known as the Meditations started as a series of journal entries with the Greek heading Τὰ εἰς ἑαυτόν or Ta eis heauton, "things to one's self."

Addressing himself, Marcus Aurelius begins Book 2 of his Meditations with a reflection on challenging people. No doubt drawing from personal experience, he acknowledges that difficult encounters are avoidable and that one must come to accept their inevitability. Yet to grow hostile and hateful toward people who irk us does no good whatsoever. Such reactivity only obstructs our ability to cooperate, “for we have come into being to work together.”



Such is the emperor's advice, an emperor who had the privilege to say so. Surely his life conditions were far better than that of the average person at his time or even these days. To approach challenging people with such Stoic repose is not always possible for those of us who live under far more stressful circumstances than this king of kings.

Or is it?

The path of equanimity is accessible to all, although easier for some. Certainly, we have to acknowledge the emperor's fortune relative to his subjects. The life of Marcus Aurelius was no underdog success story. He was born into privilege, the son of a government father and heiress mother. He reigned during an era of relative peace and stability in the Roman Empire, which experienced far worse while he was not in charge. He was basically set for life.



Marcus Aurelius was no doubt better equipped, materially, to meet with challenges on account of his position as emperor. For comparison, imagine being a peasant under the Roman empire trying to cope with the inability to even feed oneself or one's family. This is no ancient myth. The same situation affects countless millions today. Yet regardless of class background and material resources, the emperor's advice on meeting with challenging people still applies.

The emperor's relatively luxurious life was not without its times of stress. Aurelius, however, developed a method to deal with the madness. His reflections may help us, too, realize that ultimately, each of us has the capacity to reorient our reactions to what happens to us. We may not be able to control the outer conditions, but we can control how we internally process them, enabling us to overcome hardship. It may be wise, after all, to heed the emperor's advice.

Working Together as One Body

Of course, as with nearly all statements of such magnitude and proportion, this is far easier said than done. If such advice were given to someone faced with crisis, the order would be rather tall. With the amount of distrust that circulates today, it remains seemingly impossible to look past someone who appears to insult or threaten us. To restrain oneself from reacting at all, in such a case, is quite the feat.

At the initial stages in the cultivation of non-reactivity, however, the emphasis is not on becoming a lifeless shell of a person. Indeed, Stoicism does not advocate this at all. Rather, one must become attuned to the interconnection that underlies it all.

“I, then, can neither be harmed by these people, nor become angry with one who is akin to me, nor can I hate him.” —Meditations 2.1 (translated by Christopher Gill)

Here we find the emperor reflecting on common humanity. When one is in a difficult situation, the first impulse is to react by fanning the flames of ill-will, or even acting out through hostility, largely as a means of defending oneself. Imagine someone attacking you verbally, insulting you to your face. Sadly, many of us don't need to imagine this, having instead experienced it directly. You start to feel the fire boiling inside the body. This negative feedback fuels a cycle of resentment towards the other. Such fire literally destroys us from the inside out.

Seeing the harm in this cycle, Marcus Aurelius reflected that others were like him, with similar habits of mind, similar fears and dreams. With this reflection guiding his actions, he refrained from the impulse to hate, instead cultivating equanimity. An equanimous mind is free from the burden of hatred. Such freedom relieves one of the fear of harm. In place of such fear, trust may grow.

“For we have come into being to work together, like feet, hands, eyelids, or the two rows of teeth in our upper and lower jaws.” —Meditations 2.1 (translated by Christopher Gill)

Like a single body comprised of various parts, as individuals we belong to a greater whole. Indeed, this passage highlights the principle of unity in plurality. Without cooperation between the intersecting parts, the whole cannot function. If, for instance, we cannot collectively mobilize in the face of the climate crisis, instead seeing ourselves as separate from the environment and separate from each other, then we are responsible for our own undoing. The next passage further highlights the difference between working together as one body, which accords with nature, and working against one another, which goes against collective interests.

“To work against one another is therefore contrary to nature; and to be angry with another person and turn away from him is surely to work against him.” —Meditations 2.1 (translated by Christopher Gill)

Here, Aurelius draws attention to the importance of working together as one body by emphasizing social harmony. In fact, those who compete against each other push against the natural course, like the left foot kicking the right, or right fist punching the left. How could parts of the same whole treat each other in this way? It would surely be for their ultimate demise. While others throughout history have obviously disagreed, advocating competition and individualism, the emperor here makes a bold claim, one very few politicians of his time or of late would dare to make.

Fruits of Cooperation

A relatively stable empire was one obvious example of the fruits of cooperation for Aurelius, who refused to act on impulse. Rather than enter into wars needlessly or insult his opponents in order to bandage a bruised ego, the emperor returned again and again to the power of cooperation. Only when we can see past the urges of competition may we unshackle ourselves from the prison of the ego.



Perhaps the fruits of cooperation are available to us all. Indeed, there may be some universal truth in what Marcus Aurelius advises in terms of cooperation. Perhaps the emperor's advice is not merely for the privileged elite who are already well-off and whose “challenges” are but tiny drops in the sea relative to those less fortunate. Aurelius himself encountered a small dose of misfortune first-hand in the form of competition from rivals that plagued his career. Perhaps his Meditations helped him reinvigorate his commitment to cooperation, and could similarly serve anyone else willing to try them on for size.

Stay tuned for more reflections from the contemplative traditions. We intend to provide complementary discussions on these issues from multiple angles, like the many parts that comprise one body of knowledge. May we all find unity in plurality.

Introducing Stoicism - Medicinal Meditations for Movements of the Mind

Introducing Stoicism

Having only scratched the surface so far in terms of contemplative practices, we now find ourselves entering new territory. As we continue to sketch out the vast array of contemplative practices at our hands in this era of increasing uncertainty, a time that demands learning from our past in order to shape a truly sustainable future, we turn now to one of the ancient "Western" traditions: Stoicism.

Most will have heard of the Stoics (or may have even known a Stoic of some sort) at some point or another, even if only through a remark about someone acting "stoic" in the face of adversity or remaining "stoic" despite bad news. So what does Stoicism conjure in the mind?

When we hear of so-called "Stoics" we might imagine a stone-faced, cold-hearted rock of a person, or perhaps someone completely indifferent or apathetic to the world's whims. While these qualities do indeed characterize the Stoics to an extent, they don't quite fully do them justice.



Tracing itself back millennia to the ancient Greeks, then adopted by the Roman empire and carried onward, there is significant territory to cover within Stoicism. Broadly speaking, Stoicism is a tradition that aims to foster a life of virtue. Indeed, the Stoics believed virtue is a skill or form of mastery that leads one to live a fulfilled life. As such, Stoicism typically revolves around four cardinal virtues: justice, truth, moderation, and courage. These qualities are considered wise, thus linking virtue with wisdom, the moral with the intellectual.

The Stoics maintain that our undeveloped moral and intellectual tendencies lead humanity astray, diverting us from true happiness. Emotions such as fear, anxiety, or envy are unruly and result from unwise judgments. Therefore, the goal of the Stoics is self-mastery and transformation so that one does not remain a slave to one's passions and emotions.

By way of introducing Stoicism, we may look to Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius. Meditations is by far the most well-known of works attributed to Aurelius, written for the emperor's personal contemplations and taking the form of a journal. This private notebook of philosophical reflections reveal a deeply contemplative outlook characterized by concern for humankind. By peering into it, we get a glimpse into the inner workings of its author's mind amidst the day to day stresses of the empire.

Medicinal Meditations

Contemplative traditions, as many will remind us, have a medicinal purpose. Their methods may be utilized as antidotes to treat and purge the poisons of affliction from our systems. The same applies to Stoicism. In fact, much of Greek and Roman philosophy was originally therapeutic in its aims. A great deal of their insights take shape as medicinal meditations. Indeed, the therapeutic and medicinal applications of such contemplative philosophies are clearly traceable to the texts themselves.

Consider Marcus Aurelius when he reflects:

"Through not observing what is in the mind of another, a man has seldom been seen to be unhappy; but those who do not observe the movements of their own minds must of necessity be unhappy."

—Meditations 2.8 (translated by George Long)

...their own minds…

Here we encounter what appears to be an invitation to turn within. So much of our time and energy is channeled outwardly, toward the other, whether through nit-picking their habits and behaviors without living up to the same standards ourselves, finding issue with their way of life, and so on. Quickly we lose sight of our own minds, which instead run riot in judgement and egotism.

In a therapeutic or medicinal context, what better way to treat an illness than to go to its source?

While it may often seem that happiness and unhappiness come from external circumstances (these no doubt play a role in the process, but they do not account for the full picture) the actual source is within the mind.



Rather than obsess over what others think and trying to change them as if we are their sculpters while they are our marble to be moulded, we may set down the chisel and attend to our own minds. Our very well-being is at stake. Thus we turn to one strategy for undertaking medicinal meditations.

Observe the Movements of the Mind

One who attends to one's own mind is able to observe misguided movements or missteps, which we all inevitably undertake in our trial-and-error process of moral development. We may even notice the subtle movements that ripple beneath the surface when we are disturbed by external events. In addition to otherwise unnoticed or unconscious habits of mind, we may discover underlying moods and behaviors that inform our actions, unbeknownst to us.

Without such examination, we are left with no clue as to how to identify the source of affliction and how to ameliorate its effects on us and those around us. After all, "those who do not observe the movements of their own minds must of necessity be unhappy."

When you observe the movements of the mind, what do you see? Is the mind still and at peace, or does it flail wildly from thought to thought, like a monkey grasping from branch to branch while swinging through the forest?

One who is able to observe the movements of the mind, whether the mind is in full throttle or at rest, has gleaned an essential piece of the puzzle. Having a clear understanding of what the mind is up to from moment to moment is the first step toward calming its waves. Indeed, this appears to be what Marcus Aurelius suggests in his Meditations and what the Stoics were aiming at all along.



While it certainly does not occur over night (except for perhaps the luckiest of individuals with remarkable conditions) the commitment to observe the movements of the mind eventually culminates in a mind that may remain unmoved amidst the churning conditions of life.

This is the epitome of Stoicism.

Of course, this serves as a most basic introduction to Stoicism with neither the specifics of technical detail nor any particularly thorough analysis, but it is intended to be rather spartan in the very spirit of Stoicism.

Hopefully this brief overview helps in the way of grounding the reader in practical soil so that whatever seeds of wisdom offered by the Stoics can take root and grow into sustainable solutions to suffering, coming to full fruition as we continue on this path. We will offer more on Stoicism and other contemplative systems in the posts to come.

As always, thanks for venturing alongside us. We welcome your comments. May all beings be at ease amidst the movements of mind.

Good-Will in the Metta Sutta - This is What Should be Done

Good-Will

Good-will cures ill-will. Simple. Most will agree with this, as it seems logical enough. So far so good.

Except what does that actually mean in lived experience, day to day, in ordinary life as we go about our business in a world ablaze with greed, anger, and delusion?

Sometimes such optimistic ideas sound fine and dandy in theory, but how do they actually stand to make a meaningful difference in the world?

Let’s try to break it down.

The Metta Sutta

First, how about we go to the source. Although but one of many means of implementing good-will, the Buddhist paradigm is the one most accessible to us as writers given first-hand experience in this area. We are by far most familiar with mettā or loving-kindness meditation but certainly invite your reflections in the comments section about complementary practices that invoke good-will.

Let’s take a look at the Buddha’s own words on good-will and loving-kindness from the “Metta Sutta” as featured in Sutta Nipāta 1.8 of the Pāli Canon.

We draw from the Amaravati Sangha’s English translation due to its prosody when chanted. As with any text, checking out multiple alternative translations can prove extremely helpful.

Recall that the backstory to the “Metta Sutta” entailed a simmering conflict in the woods between forest-dwelling monks and a group of tree spirits who called the wilderness home. Confronted with the wrath of these spirits, the monks were on edge and could not meditate. The Buddha instructs the monks to cultivate good-will in order to allay their fears. The spirits symbolically stand for these fears within the minds of the monks.

In instructing these meditators, the Buddha begins with an exhortation.

This is What Should be Done

Setting the stage for the entire discourse, the "Metta Sutta" begins with a call to action.

This is what should be done
By one who is skilled in goodness,
And who knows the path of peace:

This is what should be done. Got it. The Buddha is about to lay it all out. Yet the lines that follow may feel exclusive. While these instructions can initially seem restricted to those already good and peaceful, as if these were the only people in the intended audience, let’s extend the same invitation to anyone who aspires toward goodness and peace, even if these qualities are latent in the mind, even if such people may not even actively reflect on peace or goodness at all. Here we have practically the whole world being invited to bear witness. Everyone is capable of becoming skilled in goodness with practice and may know the path of peace if willing to venture along it. Why not give it a shot?

The next segment begins to flesh out good-will, bringing it to life.

Let them be able and upright,
Straightforward and gentle in speech,
Humble and not conceited,
Contented and easily satisfied,
Unburdened with duties and frugal in their ways.

Here we go. A list of qualities. We could even call them character traits. All of them paint a portrait of a renunciant of some form or another, one who renounces such fires, poisons, or unwholesome roots as greed, anger, and delusion. Rather than indulge these fiery, poisonous weeds, the contemplative cultivates virtues. In such a way, they are able and upright. Able and upright to do what? To walk the path.

Peaceful and calm and wise and skillful,
Not proud or demanding in nature.
Let them not do the slightest thing
That the wise would later reprove.

Who are the wise? Anyone who can clearly see cause and effect, knowing which actions lead to suffering and which actions lead to freedom.



This applies whether such wise people are religious or spiritual or not. So long as their conduct reflects an understanding of which courses of action cause suffering and which courses of action lead to freedom, they may be considered wise. Look to them as exemplars, but don’t feel obligated to mimic them in every way. This is a simple set of checks and balances. Exercise your own discernment, but don’t be arrogant in assuming you’re automatically right in every case, hands down, no exceptions. There’s a lot we may learn from others. Keep a discerning eye open to assess who may be taken as a role model, a mentor, or a source of inspiration.

May All Beings Be At Ease

So what next? The Buddha says:

Wishing: In gladness and in safety,
May all beings be at ease.

Here we are called to cultivate an attitude of good-will, wishing all beings wellness. Such an attitude can take shape as the aspiration to help others, something accessible to us all. Just as you wish not to suffer, so do others. This attitude may also take the forms of the wish to provide protection, to nurture, or a simple instance of respect. In supporting these qualities, good-will or loving-kindness can guide society towards well-being at both the individual and collective levels.



You may wonder... How does this work? The act of wishing others happiness may not seem like much. However, this seemingly small act can have a wide impact in our social interactions. Given that metta means universal friendliness, the next time a person does something else we perceive as an offense, we can perhaps exercise the restraint to not curse them nor try to take revenge. At minimum, try to let go and move on. Even if we can’t extend good-will to them in the heat of the moment, at least avoid spreading ill-will, especially given that it poisons our own minds from the inside out.

Whatever living beings there may be;
Whether they are weak or strong, omitting none,
The great or the mighty, medium, short or small,
The seen and the unseen,
Those living near and far away,
Those born and to-be-born —
May all beings be at ease!

Not to sound trite, but it may seem like the Buddha here is acknowledging that we come in all shapes and sizes. Yes, but there’s more to it than that. Good-will includes everyone, no matter the external distinctions that seem to set us apart. No one is excluded. Whether the drunk elephant Nāḷāgiri or invisible tree spirits, a baby or an ant, one’s best friend or one’s worst enemy, may all beings at ease. Naturally, we form preferences and might choose to prioritize people we know and love, but eventually, all are included within metta’s scope.



In response to such optimistic inclusivity, the skeptic might pose a “so what?” He might further retort, “Are you comparing a baby to an ant? Why should I care about an ant? That’s not going to solve anything.” Perhaps not, but breaking down the boundaries between beings stands a chance.



Good-will breaks down the boundaries between categories and allows for the transcending of personal preferences. We’re not suggesting that everyone should give it all up and enter the forest as wandering recluses chanting, “May all beings be at ease” day in and day out. What we're proposing is actually far more immediately accessible than that.

Friends and Enemies

Sure, categories like “friend,” “enemy,” etc. are useful, practical, convenient - but only to an extent. They’re means toward various ends, not ends in themselves. When we reify categories (“friend,” “enemy,” etc.) we bestow them with power they did not have until we gave it to them. Living in society, such tendencies toward reification are reinforced at every turn. Again, they have their utility. Yet these categories are not as fixed as they may seem to be. Likewise with the supposed boundaries between self and other. Gradually dissolving those boundaries and softening their blunt edges can, at the very least, lead to a more easeful existence.

Let none deceive another,
Or despise any being in any state.
Let none through anger or ill-will
Wish harm upon another.

As we dissolve the boundaries, there’s no sense in deceiving or despising anyone. How could we indulge anger or ill-will? The Golden Rule comes to mind. Treat others as you wish to be treated. How could we wish them harm? Doing so 1.) doesn't work - we see them continue to have a good time which makes us even more resentful, and 2.) poisons our own minds. Let the fire fizzle out rather than fan its flames.

Even as a mother protects with her life
Her child, her only child,
So with a boundless heart
Should one cherish all living beings;

Good-will is the natural warmth a mother feels for her child. Such good-will should be extended to all.



However, this natural warmth is often obscured by the poisons of greed, anger, and delusion. Even some mothers neglect to care for their children, for various reasons. Hence the need to actively cultivate such qualities of care until we can wholeheartedly share good-will without restriction.

Radiating kindness over the entire world:
Spreading upwards to the skies,
And downwards to the depths;
Outwards and unbounded,
Freed from hatred and ill-will.

Metta, good-will, or loving-kindness is without boundaries. This is conveyed by the image of a mother who loves her child unconditionally. So too an individual may cultivate good-will for the entire world. This limitless love towards all beings is something that we may train to extend universally.

You may wonder if this is realistic. There are some beings who resist love and might even view a person’s love with suspicion. In extreme cases, wishing good-will to others might even be perceived as weird or freakish and could provoke someone who is already upset. What would you do in this case?



Obviously, the Buddha did not advocate walking around with a giant grin on one’s face saying to each passerby, “May you be at ease.” That’s too coarse and might raise a few eyebrows. Rather, one may embody such a sentiment in subtler ways.

A skillful alternative is to wish all beings well inwardly without the need to create a show of it. Prodding them incessantly with metta is not going to help. A subtler approach would reduce discomfort for the other party. For instance, even refraining from adding fuel to the fire is an expression of good-will. When someone is upset, don't do further damage. If someone is yelling at you, don't yell back. If someone is insulting you, don't insult them back. Don't feed the cycle. This is among the simplest yet most underrated approaches.

Ultimately, the Buddha says that we will all have to resolve our own problems and cannot depend on others to do the work for us. We may offer assistance, but there’s no use in forcing it if it only makes matters worse. In extending good-will to others, there’s no need to get up in everyone’s face and make it so obvious. If it’s genuine, then it will make an impact, even from afar.

Sublime Abiding

As we near the conclusion of Metta Sutta's description of the practice, let's reflect on the mode in which such cultivation of good-will can be undertaken.

Whether standing or walking, seated or lying down
Free from drowsiness,
One should sustain this recollection.
This is said to be the sublime abiding.

Every mode, not merely sitting in meditation, is fair game.

When cultivating metta, the Buddha suggests that we should be present and attentive. Only when we are free from drowsiness are we then able to sustain the practice. This is crucial. With such presence and attentiveness, we will keep in mind our reasons for cultivating good-will or loving-kindness. The chances of losing track of our purpose or intention drop precipitously.



Our cultivation of good-will is not for personal gain or advantage but for the sake of genuinely extending it to all beings without any expectation of reward in return. Thus, this is said to be sublime abiding. Instead of remaining short-sighted in our practice, we broaden our scope to an all-inclusive awareness.

By not holding to fixed views,
The pure-hearted one, having clarity of vision,
Being freed from all sense desires,
Is not born again into this world.

Again, is this even realistic? Can any of us actually claim to know someone like this, much less embody this ourselves? And wait, what’s this about not being born again into this world?

Let’s try to broaden the scope. While this teaching was spoken in the presence of a specific audience with a particular understanding of the world we may not all share, the wider meaning can be drawn out as follows.



“By not holding to fixed views” refers to freedom from stubborn attachment to one’s own version of “the way things are.” Try to see from more than one angle, or at least be open to hearing out other perspectives. Perhaps there's unity to be found in plurality, common ground amidst diversity.

“The pure-hearted one, having clarity of vision” refers to virtue and wisdom. One whose heart is pure is a person of virtuous character, who does what they can to avoid causing harm to others, instead supporting their well-being. One whose vision is clear can see things as they are, without distortion. Such seeing is unobscured by greed, anger, and delusion. When we’re angry, for instance, this colors the way we see the world. Instead, we can choose to train in seeing the world unfiltered.

“Being freed from all sense desires” refers to the capacity to exercise restraint. We don’t have to gouge our eyes out or cut off our tongue to do so. Simply examine desires as they arise and try not to act on impulse. The spaciousness that comes out of this ability to pause and reflect naturally lends itself to ease in body and mind.

“Is not born again into this world,” broadly interpreted, can be taken to mean one is no longer subject to this cycle of ups and downs. Ordinarily, we are thrown about by this cycle, lacking a foothold. We are like a shipwreck at sea blown about by gusts, with no say where we'll wash ashore, battered and bruised. There's no need to remain stuck here. Instead, we may access an unblemished evenness of mind, equanimity amidst the raging storm. Perhaps our good-will may even provide shelter to other sea-farers stranded in the churning ocean.

This equanimity is the real meaning of ease.

Good-Will and Purging Poison - Metta for Taming the Wild Elephant Within

Good-Will and Purging Poison

Reflecting further on recent events across the globe, we are reminded again of the Buddha's teachings regarding the three poisons and the importance of treating them medicinally. We have chosen good-will (as antidote) and ill-will (as poison) as our first topic, but we promise to address the others as well. This post deals with how to go about taming the wild elephant within.

As a reminder, mettā (loving-kindness or good-will) is an antidote to the poisonous effects of anger, hatred, and aversion, summed up by the Pāli term dosa, one of the three poisons or unwholesome roots. All these descriptors characterize the burning fervor of ill-will, which courses through the veins of the poisoned.

Interestingly, the Pāli dosa comes from the Sanskrit dveṣa, which looks and sounds an awful lot like division. While that may be mere coincidence, it nonetheless captures the feeling of division caused by ill-will, the effects of which we can unfortunately witness all around us.



Countless cases document the effectiveness of good-will as a medicinal treatment, as water to douse the fires of ill-will and support the flourishing of the garden we cultivate inwardly as we transform our own consciousness from a battleground to a refuge. We may rest assured that good-will is a timeless antidote with no expiration date for purging poison from the mind. This particular poison is ill-will in all is divisiveness. Our task is to weed it out by its roots.

By purging poison, good-will serves a protective function. Protection against what? Protection against the spread of poison throughout the system, like medicine that fights off disease. Good-will also prevents the spread of fires in the wilderness of the mind by stopping the flames in their tracks. Fire is consumed by water. Ill-will is completely transformed into good-will, similar to how the raging fire of saṃsāra may be transformed into the cool peace of nirvāṇa. Relief at last.

The Wild Elephant

Similar to the story of the tree spirits serving as background for the “Metta Sutta,” the protection provided by loving-kindness or good-will is further supported by the story of Nāḷāgiri the wild elephant. In a plot to kill the Buddha out of jealous competition, the Buddha’s cousin and rival Devadatta set Nāḷāgiri loose on a rampage.

Note that Nāḷāgiri was no ordinary elephant. In addition to her formidable power and gargantuan stature, Nāḷāgiri had a proclivity toward intoxication. Perhaps she was drunk on ill-will. Poison, after all, can seriously distort the consumer’s perceptions and behavior. In this case, it made Nāḷāgiri the wild elephant especially uncontrollable. Not only that, but the Buddha’s cousin Devadatta repeatedly beat Nāḷāgiri in order to further provoke her, hoping she would then be enraged enough to do total damage. At that point, her potential to wreak havoc was at its peak.



How would you approach a drunk elephant intent on killing you? Is that even wise? Shouldn't you run for your life?

Painting a vivid picture of the Buddha’s confrontation with Nāḷāgiri the wild elephant, Ācariya Buddharakkhita recounts this case in detail, again illustrating the functioning of mettā, loving-kindness or good-will, as a form of protection.

As the intoxicated elephant rushed towards the Buddha trumpeting fearfully, the Buddha projected powerful thoughts of metta towards it. Venerable Ānanda, the Buddha's attendant, was so deeply concerned about the Buddha's safety that he ran in front of the Buddha to shield him, but the Buddha asked him to stand aside since the projection of love itself was quite sufficient. The impact of the Buddha’s metta-radiation was so immediate and overwhelming that by the time the animal neared the Buddha it was completely tamed as though a drunken wretch had suddenly become sober by the magical power of a spell. (Buddharakkhita, Mettā: The Philosophy and Practice of Universal Love, p.45)

Imagine a wild elephant full of rage chasing you down. This is definitely a nightmarish situation to be in. Even the Buddha’s loyal attendant Ānanda was ready to risk his life to save the Buddha, but nothing could stand in the elephant’s way.



Except something did stand in her way. The Buddha applied good-will as an antidote to ill-will. Miraculously, the Buddha’s good-will completely pacified and transformed Nāḷāgiri’s ill-will in a mere instant. The Buddha survived unharmed, relieving onlookers and leaving us with a happy ending, almost too good to be true.

Taming the Wild Elephant Within

Could all this about the wild elephant really have happened? It may seem rather far-fetched, but at least not completely outside the realm of possibility. How could one person’s good-will transform a wild beast’s ill-will? And what about Devadatta, the one responsible for the whole mess? We need not necessarily take this story literally in order to appreciate its symbolic value.

As illustrated by the story, one may cultivate good-will in order to avert the catastrophic effects of ill-will, in this case taming a wild elephant on a rampage and thus avoiding death. Whether taken literally or metaphorically, the message loses no strength of meaning.



Perhaps the story actually documents an event witnessed by others. Maybe the Buddha was literally chased down by a crazed elephant but he remained calm and did not provoke her any further. It could be the case that the elephant felt no sense of threat in the Buddha’s presence and lost her will to attack.

Perhaps the elephant is a symbol for the wild beast within each of us. Metaphorically, have you ever felt as if a wild elephant was running a rampage through your mind? Have there ever been times that ill-will has gotten the better of you? The next time you feel ill-will taking over, try to train the elephant-like mind with good-will instead. Good-will is a means of metaphorically taming the elephant within, quelling the fires within before they get out of hand and erupt volcanically. This simple strategy, while easier said than done, could save us from a lot of stress.



Good-will transforms us from the inside out. Again shedding valuable light on the situation, Ācariya Buddharakkhita references Buddhaghosa’s Path of Purification, reflecting, “According to the Visuddhimagga, metta is a ‘solvent’ that ‘melts’ not only one’s own psychic pollutants of anger, resentment and offensiveness, but also those of others. Since it takes the approach of friendship, even the hostile one turns into a friend.” Thus the elephant is tamed. The wild beast is pacified. One’s own mind is brought to peace.

Such images, whether the elephant or fire, characterize the worldly mind when it is plagued with unhealthy tendencies. When we cultivate good-will, we restore order to the wilderness within. The forest, where tame elephants dwell at ease, may then flourish.

To be continued.

Good-Will and Social Harmony - Metta for Taming Inner Tree Spirits

Taming the Mind

With so many fires raging in the world, there has to be some means for dousing the flames and taming the fuming mind that gave rise to them. Among other afflictive states, anger and hatred are major factors contributing to the eruption of chaos in the human psyche and across the globe. They certainly have a fiery reputation, sparking violence, war, and myriad other types of conflict.



Sages have long ventured to address the damaging effects of anger, often likening it to fire, embers, coal, flames, and anything else that simmers and burns. Seething and scathing, these sparks can ignite disaster. When indulging hatred and anger in our own minds, not only do we set fires in the world as a whole, but we burn ourselves from within. Who in their right mind would hurt themselves on purpose?

In response to such reflections, taming the mind seems to be in order.

Rather than merely talk about the effects of these burning afflictions, such sages have ventured to come up with practical solutions to douse the flames. Many propose taming the very mind from which fires erupt. The Buddha, for instance, proposed various antidotes as a means of overcoming the afflictions that burn in our minds. Rather than let those flames rage unattended, leading to the spread of fires in the form of interpersonal conflict and other societal challenges, Buddhism (and others) offer a way to put out the fire.

Metta as Antidote

In the Buddhist framework, mettā, or loving-kindness, is the go-to antidote for countering the poison of anger, hatred, and aversion. These poisons boil in the cauldron of the mind, producing a nasty concoction. Mettā is the water that douses the flames.

For the sake of parsimony, we’ll call mettā “good-will” and its opposites “ill-will,” which captures the contrast far better than the alternatives.

We definitely should note that mettā as antidote for poisonous mind states is not just for Buddhists or unique to Buddhism. Parallel practices exists across various religions, secular contexts, philosophies, and so forth, all of which aim to cultivate good-will. Anyone can benefit from this type of practice, which could even be considered a universal antidote. Here we focus on mettā as an antidote specifically in order to provide a glimpse into one way of dousing the flames.

Metta Means Good-Will

“Mettā means good-will,” according to the title of a piece by Thanissaro Bhikkhu, Western Thai Forest monk and abbot of the aptly named southern California temple “Wat Metta.” As a term from the Pāli language, a dialect native to India of bygone days, mettā has quite the history. It derives from the earlier Sanskrit forms maitra and maitrī, which similarly connote friendliness, benevolence, and kindness. In fact, the related Pāli form mitta and the Sanskrit form mitra are featured in the compounds kalyāṇa-mitta and kalyāṇa-mitra which mean “spiritual friend.” Indeed, “universal metta [is] friendliness for all,” writes Thanissaro Bhikkhu.



First we should note that mettā (good-will or loving-kindness) is counted among the four brahmavihārās or sublime abodes, which also include compassion, appreciative joy, and equanimity. Each of these will be covered in due time. Mettā is by far the biggest of the brahmavihārās in terms of the emphasis it receives.

While some steer away from commentaries, they nonetheless lend insight into how others have understood mettā and other practices, and thus they deserve at least some consideration. A fifth century commentator from the South Asian Buddhist tradition, Buddhaghosa shares wise reflections on mettā in a piece called the Atthasālinī, namely by reflecting that mettā has the mode of beneficence (the quality of benefiting others) and the function of bringing about goodness. According to Buddhaghosa, mettā manifests specifically to eliminate hatred. Its proximate cause is seeing the friendliness within all beings, its consummation is in subduing ill-will, and its failure is the production or generation of lust. Good-will douses the flames of ill-will. It is an antidote used to fight poison. No further flames emerge from good-will, which instead puts the conflagration out on the spot.

Metta as Protection

When we look at the context in which it was first taught by the Buddha, we often find mettā serving as a form of protection, supporting the well-being of both the individual and the community. Importantly, mettā dispels danger, misfortune, and disaster by sowing the seeds of harmony in the inner and outer worlds. According to Ācariya Buddharakkhita, mettā entails the giving of fearlessness (abhayadāna) and security (khemadāna) for the well-being of all beings. No one is excluded for any reason. All are equal recipients of and participants in good-will.

Note that mettā holds the potential to bestow beings with courage. How does that work when society seems to consider good-will such a feeble quality? Perhaps mettā is much stronger than meets the eye.

On this topic, it may be helpful to consider the commentarial backstory for the origins of the “Metta Sutta” (Sn 1.8), a discourse that we will cover in detail in the future. In this case, the Buddha prescribes mettā as a protective formula (paritta) for forest-dwelling monks who felt harassed and frightened by a group of tree-spirits.



A bit more context is necessary here. These spirits felt their homes had been invaded by the monks, who meditated beneath the trees, sitting on their roots for the day's abiding. The monks, in turn, felt threatened when the displaced spirits began to lash out at them. Thus we can see the first sparks of conflict begin to shimmer, like embers waiting to burst into full flame.

However, when the Buddha prescribed mettā as an antidote, the spirits did not cause any further trouble. In fact, the monks were able to continue their meditation in the forest. Water douses fire. Antidote overcomes poison. Here, mettā functioned precisely as a means to provide security and protection. The spirits and monks no longer quarreled with each other and everyone was able to go back to their lives as usual. All could finally coexist in harmony, the spirits guarding the trees and the monks meditating at ease.



How does mettā provide protection and what does mettā protect us from, exactly? According to Ācariya Buddharakkhita, the enemies of the mind (greed, hatred, lust, and jealousy) are the source of afflictive and destructive states of beings. The tree spirits in the story behind the “Mettā Sutta” can be likened to enemies of our mind that come to disturb our peace. Ācariya Buddharakkhita notes, “Transformed by metta, the mind is no longer haunted by greed, hatred, lust, jealousy and those other mind-polluting factors which are one’s real enemy and source of misfortune.” As such, our own pollutants of the mind are transformed into good-will and other wholesome mental factors that lead to happiness and liberation, a life devoid of suffering. Hence, we are protected by the practice of mettā, which transforms the mind and culminates in freedom.

Good-Will and Social Harmony

How is mettā relevant to the fires that burn within and without?

We propose that good-will is key to social harmony. When individuals cultivate harmony within themselves, that sense of harmony and ease naturally extends to the surrounding world, pervading it slowly but surely. Social harmony is the inevitable byproduct of good-will.

Fear of the other is a major source of disharmony. Recall the monks and tree spirits. Each side feared the other, causing disharmony and conflict. In the dark forest of the mind, sometimes fires break out. Under such conditions, we become fearsome of anything perceived as different from us. Constantly on guard, we tend to act on impulse. When we fan the flames of this fear, disharmony spreads and the forest burns.

When we perceive another being as threatening, we attribute our experience of fear to them, as coming from them as some object of fear. In actuality, such fear comes from us and our own perceptions. When we experience fear, even if such fear is triggered by an external cue, the actual experience is an internal response to that cue based on a projection that we layer on top of that other being. Such projections often take the form of stereotypes. They usually dehumanize the other, making them out to be less than human. If we can pacify those projections, then we will no longer experience that fear. While this is no easy task, the social harmony it guarantees is well-worth the effort, even transforming ill-will into good-will for others. In taming the mind in such a way, social harmony is sure to grow in place of fire.



More on this and other topics soon!