Posts Tagged ‘suffering’

But What Is Real?

Tuesday, March 4th, 2008

Originally posted on 05-19-07:

 

I ended yesterday’s post mentioning the importance of distinguishing fantasy from reality, which brings up a really big question: What is reality? 

 

Which reminds me of the current installment of Visual Dharma on Tricycle’s web site, a video of a talk by Nyogen Yeo Roshi called “Seeing Through the Illusion.” He talks specifically about the kinds of illusion that are unavoidably built into language. A favorite subject of mine, so I’ll quote myself from an essay on free will:

 

 Another benefit of language is that it allows us to unite groups of things with one term rather than having to refer to them by naming all their constituent parts. This benefit has a shortcoming in that it simulates a kind of unity that may not do justice to the true complexity of that to which it refers. It leads to our thinking that words refer to objects when no true object exists. The classic example of this objectification, this blurring of complexity, is the case of the visitor being given a tour of a “university” who complained that he had only seen a bunch of buildings. In fact, you cannot see a university, which might properly be considered to include not only the campus, but the instructors and staff, the students, the curriculum, and the history.”

 

So one kind of illusion that arises, almost constantly, is in seeing “things” when what we are looking at or thinking about is a process or a summary of phenomena that is much more complex than language can describe. Language necessarily simplifies, and a more rigorous view of reality requires keeping that in mind.

 

The Roshi also makes a sweeping gesture to encompass his field of view and says that “all this” is illusory. Although it may not be what he intended, what that suggests to me is the limits of our perceptual apparatus.

 

Which brings to mind a book I read for the first time a few months ago by Robert Anton Wilson, called “Quantum Psychology: How Brain Software Programs You & Your World.” (In getting that link I saw that he died in January, and strangely, I felt a sense of loss I didn’t feel when my own father died.) He says, “…we see that most animals perceive as accurate a reality-tunnel of their local habitat as will statistically allow most members of that species to survive long enough to reproduce. No animal, including the domesticated primate, can smugly assume the world revealed/created by its senses and brain equals in all respects the real world or the ‘only real world.’”(p. 92) 

 

So part of “seeing through the illusion” is to recognize that our perceptual apparatus is limited in its abilities. Even though our perceptual realm has been vastly expanded by technology, our initial capabilities limit the kinds of things we can even imagine looking for. 

 

Not only are we limited in this way, but the limits of our sensory systems limit the kind of reality we can conceive of. For example, our technology allows us to measure certain behaviors of light that are particle-like, and others that are wave-like, but our brains have no way of conceiving a “thing” that would have both those kinds of behaviors. If this is true of light, a phenomenon we are capable of seeing, it suggests that there may be other phenomena whose very existence we can’t conceive.

 

Given all these considerations, it becomes clear that the totality of reality is likely to be much more than the limited realm we can perceive and think about, and to think otherwise is illusory.

 

This doesn’t mean that our reality is, in fact, unreal, or altogether illusory. Our perceptual reality is close enough to “the real thing” to give us what we need to know to survive on this planet for a few billion years–in one form or another. If you put your hand in the fire it will probably hurt.

 

But our perceptual/conceptual reality has its limits–visual illusions being one of the most fun examples–and appreciating those limits can improve our sense of humor. It can also help us to deal with our suffering more effectively, and eliminate much of it.

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 How Real Is This 


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Love, Love, Love

Tuesday, March 4th, 2008

Originally posted on 05-16-07:

At some point I’ll talk about the importance of daily routines, but for now I’ll just note that I read something every morning to remind me of the nature of reality as I understand it. These days I’m slowly making my way through the Fall, 2006 issue of Tricycle, as some may have guessed, and the subject of today is an article by Dara Mayers called, “Love Divine.” It’s about an Indian Hindu guru affectionately known as Amma, the hugging guru. The author’s main point is that Amma makes anyone she hugs, or who is even in her presence, feel loved. That is her gift, the source of her attraction.

Anytime the subject of love comes up, I think of oxytocin, Oxytocin a hormone and neurotransmitter. The linked article covers it pretty well, and I’ve already talked about it at length in the podcast, Bare Brains Episode One. I’m sure oxytocin is involved in peoples’ experiences with Amma, but what I want to talk about now is the great attraction of being loved.

I think that the evolutionary value of the experience of love is as social cement: it binds parents to children and vice versa, spouses to each other, and members to groups. Emotional connection is much more powerful than rational connection, and predates the ability of organisms—namely us—to be rational, to reason with language. So I think there is a strong biological base for the emotion of love, and when we are experiencing it, we are in the grips of our physiology—hormones, neurotransmitters.

Integral with the role of love as social cement is a corresponding need to feel “cemented.” In the article, Dara Mayers poignantly communicates her personal yearning for the feeling of connectedness that love brings, and I certainly felt the lack of connectedness in my younger days—it is not pleasant. In fact, the Buddha would lump it in with the many other forms of suffering.

Two things, at least, have helped to free me from that yearning and from many other forms of suffering. One is that the feeling of love is pretty much content free, meaning it has little or nothing to do with any personal features of either of the parties involved. Knowledge of personal features only comes with lengthy, intimate exposure to another person, and often—in the case of spouses particularly—the feeling of love often gets overridden by familiarity with another persons habits, hygiene, preferences, and values.

What happens between lovers would probably happen with Amma and any of her followers in the unlikely event of prolonged intimate contact. Many who have become intimate with gurus have found them quite human in everyday life, with a goodly measure of human foibles.

The point, then, is that the emotion of love produces a feeling of valuing the other person and being valued by them that doesn’t often stand the test of time. Our value, our worth as a human being, is on shaky ground if depends on the opinion of another person. There’s an old Chinese saying: “If you can’t do it for yourself, who can do it for you?” How to do it for yourself is a big subject, which hopefully will be covered as we move along.

The other realization that has helped me tremendously is that the feeling of loving and being loved exists as a particular state of chemical/neuronal activity in the brain. It doesn’t matter what external stimulus provokes it—Amma or your high school sweetheart—it’s the same brain state in either case. If you can get your finger on the button, you can produce the emotion of love on call, which I’m fairly sure Amma has mastered: You can’t project that feeling to another human being unless you have it yourself—we’re too good at reading subtle social cues, at least most of the time.

How to find the button? Understanding the science helps, but ultimately you have to practice intimacy with your brain–meditation–for which I recommend David Harp’s “The New Three-Minute Meditator,” although there are other, equally non-religious guides.

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This Bug Loves This Flower

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