Heraclitus’ Journey Into the Soul

In a previous post I argued that Western philosophy is related to contemplative practices and traditions. I now want to look at traces of this relationship in the early history of Western philosophy, starting with Heraclitus. We have only fragments of his philosophy. And yet we have enough to trace a number of his trains of thought. There is much in the fragments – not just his most famous view that all is flux – that would be in line with the insights of many a contemplative tradition and practice:

Everything is one:

“Not having listened to me but to the principle (the logos) it is wise to agree that all is one.”

Flux: 

“On those who step into the same rivers ever different waters are flowing.”

“It is impossible to step into the same river. It scatters and regathers, comes together and dissolves, approaches and departs.”

Distrust of the senses and a desire to find the truth behind sense perception:

“Eyes and ears are bad witnesses for men if they have barbaric souls.”

“The true nature of things tends to hide itself.”

Non-duality / Unity in opposites:

“The divine is day night, winter summer, war peace, satiety hunger. But it takes different appearances like fire which, when mixed with incense, is named according to the savour of each.”

“The way up is also the way down.”

“Sea: water most pure and most tainted, drinkable and wholesome for fish, but undrinkable and poisonous for people.”

Awakening:

“But the general run of people are as unaware of their action while awake as they are of what they do while asleep.”

“The universe for those who are awake is single and common, while in sleep each person turns aside into a private universe.”

There are also hints in Heraclitus’ fragments regarding his method for achieving insights. One fragment simply says:

I searched for myself.

In itself it may not amount to much. But the work described here is an intentional effort. The verb that Heraclitus uses for “searching”, is one he also uses in a different fragment where he says that those digging or mining for gold find a  lot of earth and not much else. So the journey inside oneself is not casual introspection but it is about digging deep to find valuable nuggets. And there are other hints that Heraclitus believed that a systematic inward focus is central to the philosophical enterprise. Elsewhere he says:

It is possible for all human beings to know themselves and to think reasonably.

And then there this further exploration of this theme in a fragment that says:

The limits of the soul you will not find walking, even if you wander down every road. Such a deep principle (logos) it contains.

This explains the point of Heraclitus’ inward journey. The soul itself contains the logos, the principle, or correct account which according to Heraclitus explains the truth about everything.

Elsewhere in Heraclitus’ fragments we see examples of why the inward search is necessary and how the soul contains the principle that also explains everything. By looking inward we can see how we reflect the way things are in the wider universe:

And the one and same: living and dead, awake and sleeping, young and old. For this is changing into that, and that changing back into this again.

That is to say within ourselves we can experience the non-dualism and the one-ness that Heraclitus also sees in the external world.

And there is a further physical reason, why the journey into the soul can teach us truths about the universe. Heraclitus believes that fire is an important element in the universe. He says that the universe is an eternal fire. Elsewhere he says that thunderbolt rules the universe. (An ancient commentator took thunderbolt to be the same as the universal fire though ancient Greeks would also have associated the thunderbolt with Zeus.)

Heraclitus also thought the soul had attributes of fire. But only if it was maintained in such a way to be dry and hot. Moisture and water, he thought, were the death of the soul. There are also fragments that suggest that the soul maintained its fieriness through righteous conduct. In other words the ability to find the fire that reflects the matter of the universe and to find the logos of the soul which is the same as the wider principle, the right account of everything, depends on the righteous conduct of the searcher. That also explains the fragment that says eyes and ears are bad witnesses for the people with barbaric souls. (The word barbaric doesn’t necessarily imply badly behaved, it may merely be a reference to speaking in an unintelligible language.) The corrupted soul simply doesn’t reflect things right, giving a scrambled account of what people see.

So one of the earliest philosophers in Western philosophy has a method of journeying into the soul to explore wider truths. There he finds one-ness in seeming dualism. In the soul he also finds the guiding principle of everything, the logos. This leads to an ethical argument about maintaining the soul in a fit state so that it properly reflects the truth about things.

And from there all flows.

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The Birth of Philosophy from the Spirit of Contemplative Practice

There’s a lot of interest in contemplative practices and traditions at the moment. Their steady but circuitous route to their current position in public consciousness went something like this: a number of contemplative practices were reduced to the non-religious and non-metaphysical core practice of mindfulness meditation. Its positive impacts on things like general health and wellbeing, chronic pain reduction and stress management, job performance and effectiveness has been shown in study after study. Neuroscience proved that mindfulness meditation could lastingly alter the structure and activities of human brains. Then interest grew again in the spiritual hinterland of mindfulness meditation. Buddhism provided much of that background. And from there, interest grew again in the contemplative practices of other traditions. As it turns out there is a “contemplative core”  present in a variety of cultures and traditions which is highly meaningful for humanity.

So, for example, the meditation teacher Shinzen Young writes about his own research into the contemplative traditions of various cultures and religions:

It was quite astonishing for me to discover that all over the world and in every historical period there had been people who lived their lives in the state of high concentration that I was just beginning to explore. I began to feel a link to them all. It was fascinating to feel that I shared something deep and important with people living centuries ago and having customs and beliefs completely different from mine. I realised that when we practice meditation, we are engaging in a quintessentially human endeavour. The science of enlightenment doesn’t belong to any particular religion or culture or period, rather it belongs to humanity as a whole and helps us to connect to our basic humanness.

But What is a Contemplative Tradition?

There are a number of interrelated elements that belong to a working definition of a contemplative tradition:

  1. We could say it requires a system of insights or teachings (most likely about the place of human beings in the universe).
  2.  Specific techniques or practices to experience, deepen and reap the benefits of those insights.
  3. More specifically, the techniques and practices of contemplative traditions involve the temporary narrowing of mental focus onto single items or concepts.
  4. A key aspect of contemplative traditions is that they promise that the practice of their techniques are a route to a better, more fulfilled, in some senses, happier life and a liberation from the struggle, dissatisfaction and drudgery of non-contemplative day-to-day life.
  5. There is something important about how the practice and techniques of the contemplative practice lead to a better life. The practices themselves may generate feelings of fulfilment and happiness while they are being practiced and in the immediate aftermath. But the important thing is that a brief but regularly repeated period of practice carries over into the rest of life. So, for example, mindfulness meditation is practiced at best for a small proportion of a day, but imbues daily life with greater awareness.

These are basic central formal elements of contemplative traditions, even if the nature of the insights and practices differ. As Shinzen Young writes:

One way to trace the theme of meditation in world spirituality is through vocabulary. Most of the world’s contemplative traditions have a generic technical term that designates any concentrated state. In addition, there are often specific technical terms used to describe different depths or levels of concentration. When we take the systems and put them side by side, we notice some broad parallels between the Christian, Jewish, Islamic, Taoist, Buddhist, and Hindu systems of contemplation.

Similarly, the Sri Lankan Buddhist monk Bhante Henepola Gunaratana writes about the “overlapping practices called prayer and contemplation” that are present in many different religions and cultures:

Prayer is a direct address to a spiritual entity. Contemplation is a prolonged period of conscious thought about a specific topic, usually a religious ideal or scriptural passage. From the standpoint of mental cultivation, both of these activities are exercises in concentration. The normal deluge of conscious thought is restricted, and the mind is brought to one conscious area of operation. The results are those you find in any concentrative practice: deep calm, a physiological slowing of the metabolism, and a sense of peace and well-being.

While the practice of restricting the breadth and increasing the depth of concentration and focus is something that takes place as a conscious practice for designated periods of time in a day, the results of such practices are changes in the overall life of the practitioner. There are a many mechanisms by which this might happen, such as a) that the insights gained during the practice allow for a better understanding of the practitioner’s place in this universe and therefore better navigation in life, b) that the overall better control of the own mind and the ability to concentrate leads to greater effectiveness in addressing any opportunities or challenges that life might offer, c) that greater feelings of connectedness to the world and other human beings (e. g. through a practised focus on compassion, loving-kindness or charity) evoke and strengthen such feelings outside of the contemplative practice, d) that brain activity during contemplative practice changes the structure of the brain long term in a way that increases contentment and decreases feelings of craving and dissatisfaction.

This last point is a more recent focus of neuroscience and again one that is true for contemplative practices with differing forms and content. Shinzen Young, for example, writes:

First, the research seemed to show that while the conceptual systems of the various religions (and specifically those of Buddhism versus Christianity) are very different, the underlying neurological correlates of contemplative adepts in those traditions are often rather similar. This lent credibility to the notion that the world’s contemplative traditions can be viewed as a unity.

So Where Does Philosophy Come Into It?

Is philosophy a contemplative practice? Is Western philosophy one kind of contemplative tradition? We can certainly trace aspects of contemplative traditions through the history of western philosophy. I would argue that philosophy is at its best when it connects to its status as a contemplative practice and weakened when it moves away from it.

Let’s run through the five aspects of contemplative traditions set out above:

A System of Insights or Teachings and Specific Techniques or Practices

It could be argued that Western philosophy can’t possibly be a system of insights or teachings, as there are too many differing strands that are in conflict with each other. But if we gain enough distance from it, we may be able to detect a system of key insights that are in some form or other relevant to the whole tradition. That would be equivalent, for example, to seeing fundamental philosophical tenets of Buddhism as the theoretical backdrop for the practice of mindfulness meditation without worrying too much about the difference between Theravada and Mahayana Buddhism and the many arguments and differing theories between or within those schools.

It might be possible to extract certain insights as key to the contemplative tradition of Western philosophy. Just a few of these might be:

  1. We cannot rely on appearances. There is a truth that is somehow behind or beyond the things of our world. This is a key point from the attempts of pre-socratic philosophers to identify the original substance from which everything is made, be it water, fire or an ever-changing mix of source elements. This is behind the Platonic idea that the objects we perceive through our senses and handle in every day life are instances of more abstract ideas and forms. This is behind the idea that there is a nature of things beyond their appearance as phenomena. This idea is alive and well in the pop-philosophical question about whether our lives could be taking place in a simulated virtual reality. A special case of this insight is the Heraclitean idea (also flowing through Stoicism) that everything is in flux, or the insight that the things we regard as hard and fast are in fact ephemeral. Corresponding contemplative practices are: radical doubt, whereby we apply discipline in order to second guess everything that seems reliable until we get to a core of certainty (perhaps most obviously associated with Descartes). Aiming to see the abstract and eternal beyond the practical and fleeting. The practice of really de-valuing things that are part of the unreliable and fleeting world of appearance and looking for things that are eternal (including the devaluation of the body in favour of the soul).
  2. It is important to understand the real reasons for things and events. Philosophy (and from it science) started when people stopped seeing certain events as acts of gods and started looking for other (better) reasons. From that the practice of looking for and providing reasons became important in being able to say what is true and what is good. This capacity for perceiving, critiquing, providing and acting on reasons – rationality – became seen as a distinctly human capacity, or more lately as a capacity available to a distinctly larger extent in human beings. Rationality here is not meant as a contrast to being emotional but as an ability to deal with reasons. Corresponding contemplative practices are: looking for reasons, critiquing reasons, refining our ability to perceive and act on (right) reasons.
  3. There are ideals that we can somehow aim to get at. The True, The Good and The Beautiful to name but a few. Freedom, Right Action, the Good Life. These things are out there and it is our job to somehow get closer to them, unveil them, get them to reveal themselves, define them. Philosophy is a journey towards such ideals (out of the cave). Corresponding contemplative practices are: the contemplation of ideals.

The temporary narrowing of mental focus onto single items or concepts

  • Contemplation and Deep Thought: The practice of Western philosophy may not have the same specificity of practices as other contemplative traditions – it doesn’t have particular cushions, mats or stools for sitting on during practice, it doesn’t have the sounds of gongs or chimes – but it has its own forms of temporary narrowing focus. What does a philosopher do? In the first instance he or she narrows his or her thinking onto a single concept or proposition in order to develop and illuminate it.
  • Dialogue: Not too long ago, a newspaper published a letter-to-the-editor from Professor Simon Blackburn, that described the following course of events:

Sir, I was a member of the then sub-faculty of philosophy in Oxford some 30 years ago when the chairman received a letter from the administration asking us to detail innovations in teaching methods we had recently made. His reply was that the right method of teaching philosophy was discovered by Socrates some 2,500 years ago, and we had no intention of changing it. We heard no more about it.

That method which has run through Western philosophy for more than two millennia is the practice whereby two or more people are engaged in the practice of talking to each other, more specifically asking and answering questions, in order to establish the truth about certain concepts. Whether this takes place in the agora, the Ancient Greek market-place, where one might have found Socrates, the particular stoa, or portico, where the (therefore) Stoic philosopher Zeno taught, the seminar rooms of universities, or elsewhere doesn’t particularly matter.

  • Reading and writing: These are key practices of the contemplative tradition that is Western philosophy. Of course we are not talking about any kind of reading or writing. It is much more a case of extending the practice of dialogue to a situation where people aren’t necessarily in each other’s presence. So the writer in this practice writes in a way that allows the reader to understand his or her insights. The writer also anticipates objections the reader might advance and answers them. The reader not only aims to take them in, but reads critically, i. e. thinks about what his or her objections would be, what he or she agrees with, and what could be said in response. The reader aims for a charitable reading whereby he or she reads the arguments of the writer in a way that gives them as much sense as possible, before opening the text up to critique. The practice of teaching or learning philosophy by working with classic texts comes close to the idea of contemplating certain bits of scripture as a way of narrowing the focus of concentration.

A better, happier life through brief but repeated periods of practice

Does the practice of philosophy make life better? And do occasional periods of practising philosophy have a positive effect on life as a whole?

Philosophers have long argued that the answer to both questions is yes. In Plato’s famous allegory of the cave, he talks about people who are constrained to life in a cave where they can only observe shadow images on the walls and guess at what objects they represent. Some lucky cave dwellers manage to escape. On leaving the cave these people start seeing real objects, reflections of the sun in water and finally the sun whose light makes everything visible. These people are the philosophers who move from merely dealing with the objects and concepts of the practical world to being able to contemplate the forms, the essences of things, and eventually the form of the good – the ultimate source of truth.

In the ideal society, Plato argues, these people who have seen the light, must not be allowed to stay out there basking in the sunlight – even though they will “think that they’ve been transported to the Isles of the Blessed.” The philosophers will have to go back down to the cave to use their advanced understanding gained from contemplation of the sun to lead the community in the cave and share their understanding with them.

In other words: although philosophical contemplation is a pleasant and liberating experience in itself, those practicing it, must return to “real life,” better able to act there because of the insights gained in contemplation and with a responsibility to enlighten their non-contemplative fellow citizens insofar as they can.

There is also a famous paradox in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics which may benefit from applying to it the idea that philosophy is meant to be a contemplative practice. The paradox is in the fact that in book 10 of the Ethics, Aristotle says that happiness consists in contemplation, that contemplation is the highest form of virtue and that it is divine. Whereas elsewhere he gives the impression that all the virtues are equally valuable and that human life is at its bests when it contains activity and social interactions. This is a bit of a paradox that comes about from the fact that engaging in contemplative practice provides a different mindset and perspective in which contemplation is a superior activity. But its value consists in when it carries over to the activities of “normal life.”

Then we have the Stoic philosopher Seneca who, in his essay on the Shortness of Life, proposes that practising philosophy is really the only worthwhile, happy-making and life-prolonging activity. He recommends an ongoing dialogue with the philosophers, as:

“No one of these will force you to die, but all will teach you how to die; no one of these will wear out your years, but each will add his own years to yours; conversations with no one of these will bring you peril, the friendship of none will endanger your life, the courting of none will tax your purse. From them you will take whatever you wish; it will be no fault of theirs if you do not draw the utmost that you can desire. What happiness, what a fair old age awaits him who has offered himself as a client to these! He will have friends from whom he may seek counsel on matters great and small, whom he may consult every day about himself, from whom he may hear truth without insult, praise without flattery, and after whose likeness he may fashion himself.”

So What?

So what if philosophy once was, or in some places still is a contemplative practice? It certainly has moved on now. It is now taught as an academic discipline, rather than a contemplative practice. Isn’t that better? It depends. There are those who regret that philosophy is becoming increasingly invisible in the public space. (I have written about that in this post.) Philosophy could re-connect with its roots as a contemplative practice. It could be a discipline that aims to benefit its practitioners and through them the wider world. Or it could become ever narrower, thinner, specialised and removed from the circumstances of the lives human beings lead. Then it shouldn’t be surprised if people turn either to the ancient philosophers who took their task seriously (has anyone noticed the resurgence of Stoicism) or the teachers of other contemplative practices when they need some insight into what is going on in their lives and the world.

Why Addiction Makes You Unhappy and Meditation Makes You Happy

Book Review: The Craving Mind: From Cigarettes to Smartphones to Love – Why We Get Hooked and How We Can Break Bad Habits – by Judson Brewer

I’ll admit it right at the start: There were times when I didn’t want to like this book. As I was reading it, I composed a snide and angry review in my mind. Some of that is below. But there’s something in there which makes the book great. It’s just hidden away in lots of other stuff.

So the things that annoyed me…

First, the foreword by Jon Kabat-Zinn: He is a great man. The great man of mindfulness meditation in the West. When he writes something new, people buy books and read them. But there is really very little that is new or exciting in this foreword other than an endorsement of the book’s author. At first I thought this was purely “clickbait,” a phenomenon Brewer helpfully describes later in the book as headlines or bits of text designed to “get us fired up, and our dopamine neurons firing, so that we will click the link to read the article.”

But on a second reading, I think I worked out what the point of Kabat-Zinn’s foreword is. It’s a bit complicated. Bear with me:

My theory is that the history of mindfulness meditation in the West has various waves. The first wave was the Tibetan Tulkus, Indian Yogis, Japanese Zen masters and other weird and wonderful creatures that literally went from the East to the United States to teach their philosophies and practices. The second were people like Kabat-Zinn who soaked up all those teachings, cleared out any religious content and made mindfulness clinical, not least so that they could get medical research grants to study and teach mindfulness. The third wave consists of people like Judson Brewer who make apps out of mindfulness. (They do literally make smartphone apps, but metaphorically they also package mindfulness as an application that can make you more effective professionally, healthier, free from your addictions, and so on.) Now, there is a slight embarrassment in selling (literally and metaphorically) mindfulness as an app: How do you square the attitude of non-doing, non-striving, non-purposive awareness of the present moment that constitutes mindfulness, with the idea of “doing this in order to get that”?

It appears that Kabat-Zinn is here not to explain this conundrum but to say he’s ok with it:

“Mindfulness as both a formal meditation practice and as a way of living has two interacting aspects, an instrumental dimension and a non-instrumental dimension. (…)

The non-instrumental dimension, a true complement to the instrumental dimension of mindfulness practice and absolutely essential to its cultivation and to freeing ourselves from craving-associated mind states, thoughts, and emotions, is that there is, at the very same time—and this is very hard to take in or talk about, which is why the phenomenon of flow plays such a large role in this book—no place to go, nothing to do, no special state to attain, and, ultimately, no one (in the conventional sense of a “you” or a “me”) to attain it.

Both of these dimensions of mindfulness are simultaneously true. Yes, you do need to practice, but if you try too hard or strive for some desired end point and its attendant reward, then you are simply shifting the craving to a new object or a new goal or a new attachment and a new or merely upgraded or revised “story of me.” Inside this tension between the instrumental and the non-instrumental lies the true extinguishing of craving, and of the “mis-taken” perceptions of yourself that the craving habit is grounded in.”

I’m not sure this is entirely successful as an explanation. The tension isn’t some kind of Zen riddle or paradox. It’s not the sound of one hand clapping. It stems from a further evolution of thinking about mindfulness that needs to be made explicit, brought out into the open and argued for. Otherwise it will remain a hard sell, even if Kabat-Zinn provides his blessing for the project.

The second thing that annoyed me about the book is Brewer’s attempt to adhere to all the hallmarks of a certain genre: The kind of popular science book – or “smart thinking” as some bookshops have come to call it – that is ubiquitous and has become so lame that it’s crying out for renewal. One of the most obvious genre markers is that, before a new discovery or concept is explained, the people working on the subject are introduced at length. Not necessarily just their academic career, or their intellectual journey, but how they dress in the morning before they go to their labs, what they eat for breakfast, their individual quirks and characteristics, as well as how happy they are to be friends of the author’s.  Tempting as it must be to copy ingredients of a recipe that sells so well I think this book and many others could do with less of that.

One egregious example of that feature is when Brewer talks about how the brain’s (the mind’s?) tendency to imagine various possible scenarios or outcomes. He imprecisely compares this process to Monte Carlo simulations, a statistical method to arrive at the relative likelihood of certain outcomes by running simulations thousands of times. Not only is the link between what the mind does and Monte Carlo simulations tenuous, but it is introduced with this entirely unnecessary backstory:

“I first came across Prasanta Pal in the neuroimaging analysis computer cluster at Yale. A compact and soft-spoken gentleman with a ready smile, he had just received his PhD in applied physics. When we met, he was using fMRI to measure turbulence in blood flow through the heart’s chambers. He had seen a paper of mine on brain activity during meditation, and over a cup of tea, he told me how he had grown up with meditation as part of his culture in India. Prasanta was excited to see that it was being researched seriously. In fact, he was interested in joining my lab and putting his particular skills to use.”

A third thing that was slightly irritating is that Brewer tries maybe too hard to show that his thinking about neurological and behaviouristic models of craving and addiction are not only presaged, but precisely present in the teachings of the Buddha himself. (“According to the Pali Canon, the Buddha was said to have been contemplating this idea on the night that he became enlightened. Maybe it was worth looking into further.”) At one point Brewer asks “Could [what the Pali canon refers to as] birth be what we now call memory?” Unlikely, right?

Ultimately though I found the book fascinating. It does a number of things really well:

  • It describes how addictions can come about based on very basic brain functions that allow animals to survive, e. g. by remembering where they can find food. Performing certain actions give us a short-term reward (mediated by dopamine in the brain) which makes us happy, but can also give us a craving for more.
  • It properly analyses certain kinds of social media and smartphone use as addictions. It describes the research that shows how people are getting addicted to presenting a certain image of themselves (their selfies) and being “liked” on social media. One fascinating study which Brewer describes links an increase in children’s accidents to parents being distracted by their phones.
  • It argues that other activities fit an addictive pattern, such as (obsessively) being in love, daydreaming or thinking. This is particularly so when they are really about the person in love, the daydreamer or the thinker themselves, rather than directed at someone or something else.
  • It also provides evidence that daydreaming, being lost in fantasies of pleasant scenarios actually makes us unhappy, rather than happy. (“A human mind is a wandering mind, and a wandering mind is an unhappy mind,” as the researchers of this phenomenon are quoted.)
  • It then describes the research by Brewer and others that implicates a certain pattern of activity in a specific area of the brain (the Default Mode Network) in addiction-style thinking about ourselves.
  • And of course the killer is that Brewer can then show that when we practice mindfulness meditation, this pattern of brain activity is absent. In other words meditation is the absence of an addictive activity to do with shoring up the self.
  • So every time we give in to a craving, we become more addicted. Every time we interject some mindfulness between craving and our next decision, we become less addicted. Giving in to addiction makes us unhappier, being mindful happier.

In Brewer’s words:

“In any type of addictive behavior, reactivity builds its strength through repetition—resistance training. Each time we look for our ‘likes’ on Facebook, we lift the barbell of ‘I am.’ Each time we smoke a cigarette in reaction to a trigger, we do a push-up of ‘I smoke.’ Each time we excitedly run off to a colleague to tell her about our latest and greatest idea, we do a sit-up of ‘I’m smart.’ That is a lot of work.”

And with this, Brewer has done something that is actually even more amazing than he explicitly says in his book. He has brought some issues that were far more present in the teachings of the first wave of meditation masters than they were for the later ones back to life. Those issues concern the role of the ego and the idea that less of it might be good for us. Through his scientific research, Brewer shows that shoring up the self is an activity that makes us unhappy and is linked to addictive behaviours. He also shows that meditation helps with that, not by a process of killing off or diminishing the ego, but simply by stopping the activity in the brain associated with self-referential thinking and doing something else for a while.

Useful Concepts – #9 – Experience Machines

Quite possibly the first use of the adjective “superduper” in philosophical literature occurred in the mid-1970s in this paragraph by Robert Nozick:

“Suppose there was an experience machine that would give you any experience you desired. Superduper neuropsychologists could stimulate your brain so that you would think and feel you were writing a great novel, or making a friend, or reading an interesting book. All the time you would be floating in a tank, with electrodes attached to your brain. Should you plug into this machine for life, preprogramming your life experiences? If you are worried about missing out on desirable experiences we can suppose that business enterprises have researched thoroughly the lives of many others. You can pick and choose from their large library or smorgasbord of such experiences, selecting your life’s experiences of, say, the next two years. After two years have passed, you will have ten minutes or ten hours out of the tank to select the experiences of your next two years. Of course, while in the tank you won’t know that you’re there; you’ll think that it’s all actually happening. Others can also plug in to have the experiences they want, so there’s no need to stay unplugged to serve them. (Ignore problems such as who will service the machines if everyone plugs in.) Would you plug in? What else can matter to us, other than how our lives feel from the inside?”

Nozick gives three answers:

  1. We want to do certain things, rather than just have the experience of doing them. (But even Nozick asks, but why?)
  2. We want to be a certain way, to be a certain person. If we plug in, we’re just an “indeterminate blob.” Nozick asks, is the person in the tank courageous, kind, intelligent, witty, loving? How could we know? How could they be?
  3. Plugging in “limits us to a man-made reality, to a world no deeper or more important than that which people can construct. There is no actual contact with any deeper reality, though the experience of it can be simulated.”

The experience machine has created a whole literature, not to mention any number of sci-fi films. People have worked out variants, for example where you never emerge from the machine until your biological death, in order to get rid of the idea that you could ever become conscious of spending a lot of time just being a body in a tank, and so on.

People argue over whether Nozick got the right reasons to reject the machine. Some people may also take pleasure in the intellectual bravado of saying that they would plug in, that they see no reasons not to. That would be a typically annoying undergraduate posture to take up. (I’d know, I did for a whole afternoon. It was many years ago.)

The ongoing discussion just shows how great a concept the experience machine is. But the rejection of it, for most people who aren’t undergraduates in philosophy, is immediate and from the gut. (Not every belief or conviction that is instinctive and intuitive is necessarily right, though this one is.)

Experience machines exist, of course, and many of us plug ourselves in quite willingly. Some of those superduper people, for example, can help us flood our brains with a  bitter, white crystalline purine, a methylxanthine alkaloid that is chemically related to the adenine and guanine bases of deoxyribonucleic acid and ribonucleic acid. This blocks the action of adenosine on its receptor in the brain and stimulates the autonomic nervous system. It makes us less drowsy, more alert, physically faster and better co-ordinated. It can increase our heart rate and pulse. You’ll be aware of course, that we don’t have to plug into electrodes and float in a tank for this. And the superduper people aren’t neuropsychologists, but more likely baristas. This experience machine is just a regular cup of coffee.

But physical symptoms and mental states are a two-way street. Research has shown, for example, that, even when you feel you have no reasons to, you can smile for a while and your mood will improve, or you can clench your fist for a while and that can make you more aggressive. And so this experience machine can give us the impression that we’re well rested and refreshed (not in any way drowsy or tired) or that we’re facing an amazing, interesting experience (alertness, fast pulse) or a fight-or-flight type situation (heart beating faster, sudden alertness) even when it’s just a routine Monday morning and we’re on our way to the day-job.

There is, of course, also the type of organic compound in which the hydroxyl functional group is bound to a saturated carbon atom. This is an experience machine that can give us the desirable experience of being socially less inhibited, much more certain that other people find us entertaining and generally convinced that we’re all round great people. It can be ingested in pleasant-tasting drinks like wine and beer.

And anyone who has ever seen a small child on a sugar rush may also find it easy to believe that sugar provides a desirable experience of enjoyment and mental energy, not least by activating dopamine in the brain in a way that is similar to stronger drugs.

I’ll call things like coffee or alcohol  “mini experience machines.” After all, the effect lasts a much shorter time than a session in the superduper neuropsychologists’ floatation tank experience would. And it gives us not so much a whole set of new experiences that are wholly separate to what we’re doing and who we are, but it puts a little layer of, say, additional (alternative) reality, over and above that reality.

I’m not saying that coffee, alcohol and sugar are therefore bad things or that we need to reject them with the instinctive vehemence with which we would reject the idea of plugging into an experience machine. But it probably helps to be aware of the “experience machine light” effect of such things.

I also find some of the tools some of us work with are a bit like experience machines in that they give us an interface to interact with the world in a way that, as much as possible, reduces reality to things that pop up on a screen. So I know that people want to give me some information or want me to do something in something like the following way (that’s not my real inbox, by the way):

I  can have conversations and exchanges with lots of people and all the while I’m just “plugged in” to a screen.

So, in fact, there may be lots of mini experience machines that interact in various ways to put layers of differing experiences across “real” life on a day-by-day basis. And although we may not have the same reasons to reject these mini experience machines – after all, they are more time-limited, localised in terms of their effect and less intrusive in the way we can link up to them – maybe we should aim to be suspicious of them, particularly if we’re veering to more extended use (both in terms of timing or in terms of range of experience), so if one or more of the following are true:

  1. We use them in high doses, frequently or on a daily basis.
  2. They give us experiences that we worry we wouldn’t otherwise have enough of in our lives – excitement, connection, attention, confidence, mental energy.
  3. We would be forced to live our lives differently, if we didn’t have them.
  4. We couldn’t function properly in our daily lives without them.

But since I’ve declared so many things mini experience machines, would we even know whether we’re using them too much?

First of all, it is possible to take stock of the mini experience machines we use. We can then try not using them. Or, if that is too difficult, we could ask, what would the consequence be for the way I live my life, if I didn’t plug into this experience machine? How would I have to deal with the tiredness or the lack of challenges in my reality if I didn’t have coffee to simulate alertness? Why am I so inhibited when meeting people that I need alcohol to have its effect? What energy rush or feelings of enjoyment would I like that I currently take from sugar rushes?

And presumably, finding out about these things is what lots of people do these days when they sit down and pay attention to their breathing, to their mind and their thoughts with minimal stimulation from mini experience machines or communication technologies (particularly first thing in the morning when the body has processed all the ingested experience machines from the previous day). Maybe then they can listen to the real experience and find out if the like it, or not.

Or it may be away from screens in green spaces and in nature surrounded by other life forms who are less prone to plug into experience machines. Or it may be something we do while deeply involved in community, voluntary or religious activities. (These practices, by the way, have all been demonstrated to increase wellbeing.) They may also all help us to access the things in Nozick’s three reasons for rejecting experience machines:

  1. We may gain a better understanding of what we are doing in our lives, rather than just having the experience of doing them.
  2. We can ask ourselves and learn about what kind of person we are or want to be (rather than being an indeterminate blob).
  3. And we may even access a world that is deeper or more important “than that which people can construct.”

 

 

Useful Concepts – #7 – Chardi Kala – Sikh Reasons to Be Cheerful

“They alone are called husband and wife, who have one soul in two bodies” says Sikh scripture. And when I got to know the beautiful person who later became my wife and her Punjabi Sikh background, which is different from mine, my mind and my soul were certainly drawn to learn new things from her cultural, spiritual and intellectual background.

Reading Sikh scripture, or reading about Sikhism, occasionally sitting in a Gurdwara, a Sikh temple, and being able to read translations of the teachings of the Gurus that were being read, I gained insights into new concepts and new ways of thinking that enriched mine.

In many ways, I am not the ideal person to write about the things I am going to write about. I haven’t managed (yet) to learn modern Punjabi, let alone the older language in which the teachings of the Sikh Gurus were written. I haven’t been able to read or study much of the history of Indian religion and philosophy which forms the intellectual background to the teachings of the Sikh Gurus. So I write this tentatively, in the hope that if I get things wrong no one will take offence and (at least) someone will correct me.

The useful concept here is called “chardi kala.” These words actually don’t feature, so far as I could see, in the teachings of the Gurus, but they feature in a key prayer, the ardās. They also feature in everyday talk of Sikhs, as in:

“How are you?”

“Oh, I’m in chardi kala!”

Chardi kala can be translated as “relentless cheerfulness, optimism and hope (even in the face of challenges or disaster).” It explains major dramatic historical events, like the willingness of Sikh Gurus to face martyrdom cheerfully rather than be forced to change their faith, to positivity in the face of things that get thrown at ordinary people in the course of a normal life.

Chardi kala is founded in some key philosophical and religious beliefs of the Sikh faith. But my strong belief is that it is a useful concept even for people who aren’t of the Sikh or of any faith. I’ll try to discuss some of the principles that are at the foundation of chardi kala. I’ll also discuss what pointers to a more cheerful life those who don’t have a religious background can derive from these principles.

Everything that happens to us and everything we do is predestined.

Guru Nanak, the founder of the Sikh faith, says things like:

“By his written command, pain and pleasure are obtained.”

“We come to receive what is written in our destiny.”

“The mortal does that work, which has been pre-destined from the beginning.”

These are all ways of saying that whatever happens to us is pre-ordained or decided in advance. A key image that is used again and again is that what happens to us is written on our foreheads. That is to say, our fates are so clearly pre-determined that they might as well be written on our face.

The link to chardi kala is that we don’t need to be too judgemental to ourselves about the eventual outcome of our actions and activities. We can neither attribute our success to ourselves, nor blame ourselves for failure. Another quote from Sikh scripture is:

“the sharp tool cuts down the tree but it does not feel anger in its mind. It serves the purpose of the cutter and does not blame him at all.”

To presuppose that everything is predestined, is a controversial point. In the argument between those who believe that we live in a fully predetermined universe as fully predetermined creatures and those who believe that we exercise free will, consensus has not yet been achieved. Neither is there an agreed view on what the consequences for our ethics and state of mind should be, if one or the other were true.

A claim that might be easier for most people to agree on though is this: There are always factors at play that influence what actions we are able or inclined to take, as well as our thoughts and feelings and that we are not aware of. And there are factors outside of our control that control what we are able or unable to do. In the big debate, for example, over whether nature or nurture determine more what becomes of us, the point is often forgotten that both are given to us before we can make conscious decisions for ourselves. The family we grow up in, our earliest care and upbringing, the kind of parenting and early years education we receive is pretty much as far outside of our conscious choice as our genes. And all of these factors shape our actions for life.

In addition, there is increasing evidence and understanding about things going on in our brains or minds that influence our actions without us being aware of them. For example, the large number of thoughts that run through our minds that we aren’t necessarily paying attention to, or the things, we purely do out of habit without ever exercising choice.

Then there are also the many weird and wonderful factors that research has identified, such as the fact that we tend to be kinder (warmer) towards people if we’re holding a warm cup of tea or coffee, or that we negotiate harder if we are in contact with a hard surface, or that people are statistically more likely to live on roads that start with the same letter as their name.

The question then is, what proportion of our actions would we have to think of as in some way influenced by factors outside of our choice to ease up a bit on ourselves? The majority? Or is it enough just to believe that there’s a chance that any of our successes or failures were co-created by a single factor outside of our control? In any case, I believe it’s likely that enough of what we do, think and feel is outside of our control to make it irrational to be down on ourselves about anything that doesn’t work out the way it did. (Neither should we be too proud of anything that turns out well, though there’s no reason we shouldn’t enjoy it.)

Not being in control of our actions (or not being entirely in control), is perhaps a reason not to worry too much about anything that goes wrong, but some people may not find it sufficient reason yet to be cheerful. There are some other factors that may help.

2. Everything is interconnected.

The key statement of Sikhism is hard to translate but here are two translations by renowned experts.

“There is one supreme being, the eternal reality, the creator, without fear and devoid of enmity, immortal, never incarnated, self-existent, known by the grace of the Guru.”

“One, Manifest as Word, True of Name, Creative Being, Without Fear, Without Enmity, Whose Form is Infinite, Unborn, Self Existent, through the grace of the guru.”

“One” or the numeral “1” is the first word in Sikh scripture. This is not just an expression of monotheism, a statement that there is one God. It goes further. God is in everything.

The Sikh Gurus teach that God is “pervading everywhere, totally permeating the water, the land and the sky.” And the gurus mention that, “having created the universe God remains diffused throughout it. In the wind, water and fire he vibrates and resounds.”

In a stunningly poetic extended metaphor, Guru Ram Das says:

“He Himself is the field, and He Himself is the farmer. He Himself grinds the corn. He Himself cooks it, He Himself puts the food in the dishes, and He Himself sits down to eat. He Himself is the water, He Himself gives the tooth-pick and He Himself offers the mouthwash. He Himself calls and seats the congregation, and He Himself bids them goodbye.”

Try to unravel that! It means that the divine being has not just created the universe but is every part of the universe and every process that goes on in the universe. (It creates, processes, consumes, serves, is served, invites, and bids farewell).

What is more, the divine is within us human beings. Guru Arjan Dev writes, “He dwells deep within, inside the heart.” And crucially, Guru Amar Das says: “O mind, give up the love of duality. The Lord dwells within you.” Giving up the love of duality would mean to stop seeing oneself as a different entity from everything else.

That oneness is another foundation for chardi kala. Why should it matter what happens to me, if this perception of myself as a separate entity is a bit of an illusion, or at least an exaggerated sense of the importance my point of view? Why should I not move with flow of the universe perfectly cheerfully. As we’ve seen above, an important statement of the Sikh faith is that the One is “without fear” and “without enmity.” That can be seen as a logical consequence of rejecting dualism. It would take two, for something to fear something, or for something to be inimical to something. The fearlessness and positivity of chardi kala is founded in that principle.

To the secular mind, the claim that “all is one” may sound like the ultimate new age cliché. And I’m aware that the additional claim that the one is God, or that the divine fully permeates the one, will not make it any easier to believe.

But again, there are related less strong assumptions that could take the edge off fear and enmity give rise to the sense of cheerfulness and optimism that is chardi kala. We don’t need to believe that all is one. It may suffice to remind ourselves that we don’t live in isolation. I just want to mention three related thoughts:

  • We are able to let go of our subjective point of view and take on a more objective perspective, sometimes called the point of view of the universe, the view from nowhere or the view from the perspective of eternity. Taking that view, when we feel particularly sorry for ourselves can help relativise whatever it is that causes us to feel sorry for ourselves, or remind us to be grateful for what we have and what is going well in our lives.
  • Feeling connected with other people, just having social contact, has been shown to be a major factor in increasing wellbeing and happiness. Taking altruistic action, doing someone a favour, giving to charity or someone in need, has equally shown to be able to improve happiness.
  • Feeling connected to nature, even if it’s a green space in an inner city improves wellbeing. Spending time in nature has been shown to improve health impacts, e. g. by lowering blood pressure. Hospital patients with a view of plants have been shown to recover faster than those who had no such view.

3. Life as a human being is an opportunity too good to be squandered.

The Sikh Gurus regard the human life as a precious opportunity. This is because they believe that a soul wanders through various incarnations until it is freed from the cycle of re-birth. (Once it is released from having to be embodied in a living creature it is said to have entered nirvana.) A soul can be incarnated (literally “entered into flesh”) in any species. (That shared belief is also the reason why the some of the earlier Western philosophers recommended vegetarianism.) But the human being has the best chance to lead the kind of life that would lead to nirvana. (Though the Gurus are not derogatory about other species. They say: “Even kings and emperors, with mountains of property and oceans of wealth – these are not even equal to an ant, who does not forget God.”

So for example, in Sikh scripture you frequently read things like:

Through 8.4 million incarnations you have wandered, to obtain this rare and precious human life. (Guru Arjan Dev)

he wastes this human body, so difficult to obtain. In his ignorance, he tears up his own roots. (Guru Arjan Dev)

That body, which you believe to be your own, and your beautiful home and spouse none of these is yours to keep. See this, reflect upon it and understand. You have wasted the precious jewel of this human life; you do not know the Way of the Lord of the Universe. (Guru Teg Bahadur)

So, being born as a human being is already proof of great good fortune and a massive opportunity to achieve the release from suffering in various incarnations. As well as making the most of the opportunity (that would be through virtuous conduct and focus on the divine nature), it also is  a reason for cheerfulness and optimism. We could after all reach nirvana after a long series of  incarnations.

Again, I would argue that there is a pointer here to reasons for cheerfulness even for those who do not necessarily buy into the whole background of belief in re-incarnation through a number of species. Without wanting to be disrespectful to other species, it is hard to deny that as human beings we enjoy advanced cognitive functions, abilities to communicate, express ourselves and apply reason to practical and theoretical problems.

These are a unique opportunity to think about the kind of life that makes for a good life. (As Aristotle says in another point that compares being human with being an animal of another species, the good life must be about more than just satisfying our desires, otherwise we’d be no different from cattle eating grass.) They are also unique capabilities with which we can achieve greater happiness, such as cultivating conversations and relationships with other human beings, deepening our understanding of the universe and our place within it or contemplating the beautiful and the sublime (which in turn points us to that which is greater than our own time-bound existence). This life then as a human being is an opportunity to engage in all sorts of valuable activities. Of that opportunity we should make the most. We should also be happy that we have it.

 

 

 

Useful Concepts – #4 – Don’t Change Your Life, Use It!

Guess who had the following reading list:

  • Be Here Now by Baba Ram Dass
  • Zen Mind, Beginners Mind by Shunriu Suzuki
  • Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda
  • Cutting through Spiritual Materialism by Chögyam Trungpa

Yes, it was Steve Jobs, sometime in the seventies, according to his biographer Walter Isaacson. Isaacson tells us this, not least because it provides the intellectual – or maybe better spiritual – background for the minimalist aesthetics of what was to be Jobs’ global brand.

That spiritualism though was messy, often troubled and occasionally troubling compared to the clinical and secular mindfulness approaches we are more used to these days.

And yet… Continue reading Useful Concepts – #4 – Don’t Change Your Life, Use It!