"Detachment"

So I was mentioning on my journal thread how intensely moving little things can be: the sight of a beautiful little bird or the sound of a child singing or an interaction with a street urchin recently moved me to sudden upwelling of tears. I recall another time, actually, where the sight of a fallen pine branch brought the same reaction.

This led to a comment by Kate about how the whole popular concept of Buddhists and Hindus being "detached" (or the goal of their practices being detachment) seems to be off base, since in her experience also things seem only to get more intensely felt. (My words, she said it better.)

Since that was just a brief exchange, and a tangent, i thought I'd add to it here for broader discussion.

The idea of detachment is not just Eastern, as monastic type spiritual training guides in Christianity encourage cultivating "resignation" and "indifference": indifference is letting go of your own desires and preferences and accepting things as they are; resignation is accepting God's will in whatever happens, without any preference. St. Teresa says "nothing disturbs me"... I think this common theme in many wisdom traditions points to a common experience, that of not being all tangled up in life's dramas. If you consider how much effort is expended being outraged, upset, freaked out, over-excited, etc. just being present and not tangled up in stuff could be called detachment or indifference easily enough. I mean, I sympathize with a friend who is having a family drama - I feel how painful that is for her. But I really don't care, in terms of the details of the story. It doesn't matter, and I don't feel outraged on her behalf or jump in to a "most egregious offense" story telling session. All things that used to be part of my life. So am I "indifferent" - to social drama, relatively so. To the pain this situation is causing my friend - no. But I also don't need to do anything about it. It's just felt. It's like co-participating in her unhappiness, but it's not mine, it's just sincerely felt-with, being-with, giving her a hug and a smile and moving on.

There seems to be this deeply felt connection to everything, so that I feel for other people more intimately than ever. I may have lost most of my own inner agonizing and soap-opera or wanting everything to be a certain way that suits me and then being pissed off when it isn't. But I feel the pain and joy of the world in general quite deeply, as if it were my own. No boundary, no separateness. And no need to fuss about it - it's okay, not a problem.

Other thoughts on this theme?

How funny, I thought I was replying and found myself hitting the thank you button. It lives!

Yup, you're right on. When you aren't sucked into other people's story, you can hear/understand their situation. But if you get sucked in, then it's really >your< story you're reacting to. I think that's the point.

That said, I have no idea why the kind of naturally ordered happening of some things (rain, leaves falling, branches in the wind) are so compelling, but they really are. Seeing movement beyond my control is both humbling and beautiful.

shargrol wrote: ... When you aren't sucked into other people's story, you can hear/understand their situation. But if you get sucked in, then it's really >your< story you're reacting to....

Bingo, yes. It seems that way to me.

Great topic! I feel like there's a lot to say about this inasmuch as it's important, but it needs a lot of reflection... what I will add for now is this quote from the Mahaparinibbana Sutta which I think is thought-provoking in relation to the topic (not only for people who identify as Buddhists or Theravada):

Then, when the Blessed One had passed away, some bhikkhus, not yet freed from passion, lifted up their arms and wept; and some, flinging themselves on the ground, rolled from side to side and wept, lamenting: "Too soon has the Blessed One come to his Parinibbana! Too soon has the Happy One come to his Parinibbana! Too soon has the Eye of the World vanished from sight!"

But the bhikkhus who were freed from passion, mindful and clearly comprehending, reflected in this way: "Impermanent are all compounded things. How could this be otherwise?"

And the Venerable Anuruddha addressed the bhikkhus, saying: "Enough, friends! Do not grieve, do not lament! For has not the Blessed One declared that with all that is dear and beloved there must be change, separation, and severance? Of that which is born, come into being, compounded and subject to decay, how can one say: 'May it not come to dissolution!'?"

Rowan - That seems to relate to what Shargrol said: "When you aren't sucked into other people's story, you can hear/understand their situation. But if you get sucked in, then it's really >your< story you're reacting to..." - in that those who got worked up were entangled in their own fear of death, etc? The Bikkhus have a different relationship to death and aren't frightened? That said, as someone who assists at numerous funerals, many people stand quietly there and don't show any outward signs of grief (what they feel inside is not known to me, and could range from a peaceful acceptance to a sullen determination, or whatever). Others cry softly. A few faint or wail loudly. There may be cultural factors that color what is deemed appropriate, too.

What part struck you and why?

I've thought about this passage a lot in terms of the question of the goal of practice, particularly when my goal was 'the end of suffering' which isn't how I'd see it now, necessarily - i.e. where does grieving or lamenting for that which is beloved or held invaluable fit into the equation and what's its relationship to the state of 'humanity,' so to speak. To some extent this reminds me of the 'culture wars' over Actual Freedom in the Pragmatic Dharma scene. At the same time though, I think if I was given the option to be 'detached from all suffering' I would take it, although I spose the early Theravada also asks as condition that one be detached from pleasure and enjoyment (including lots which we basically see as wholesome, e.g. intimate relationships).

Another beautiful and interesting passage in the story is the grief of Ananda, the Buddha's devoted disciple throughout his life, who, unlike the other major disciples, has still not attained Arahantship at this point (he gets there shortly after the Buddha's death):

Then the Venerable Ananda went into the vihara[50] and leaned against the doorpost and wept: "I am still but a learner,[51] and still have to strive for my own perfection. But, alas, my Master, who was so compassionate towards me, is about to pass away!"

And the Blessed One spoke to the bhikkhus, saying: "Where, bhikkhus, is Ananda?"

"The Venerable Ananda, Lord, has gone into the vihara and there stands leaning against the door post and weeping: 'I am still but a learner, and still have to strive for my own perfection. But, alas, my Master, who was so compassionate towards me, is about to pass away!'"

Then the Blessed One asked a certain bhikkhu to bring the Venerable Ananda to him, saying: "Go, bhikkhu, and say to Ananda, 'Friend Ananda, the Master calls you.'"

"So be it, Lord." And that bhikkhu went and spoke to the Venerable Ananda as the Blessed One had asked him to. And the Venerable Ananda went to the Blessed One, bowed down to him, and sat down on one side.

Then the Blessed One spoke to the Venerable Ananda, saying: "Enough, Ananda! Do not grieve, do not lament! For have I not taught from the very beginning that with all that is dear and beloved there must be change, separation, and severance? Of that which is born, come into being, compounded, and subject to decay, how can one say: 'May it not come to dissolution!'? There can be no such state of things. Now for a long time, Ananda, you have served the Tathagata with loving-kindness in deed, word, and thought, graciously, pleasantly, with a whole heart and beyond measure. Great good have you gathered, Ananda! Now you should put forth energy, and soon you too will be free from the taints."

Bhante Sujato, who is one of the monks I most admire, suggests somewhere that Ananda and Maha Kassapa (the most formidable and austere of the major disciplies) essentially represent archetypes, rather than complete human characters, with Ananda as the soft, gentle, loving, feminine aspect (of course, the nuns themselves are the feminine aspect of the sangha, but in the context of the culture at the time the stories were recorded). This also seems relevant.

To me, the epitome of "equanimity vs. detachment" is Issa's (I think) lament for the death of his young daughter:

"The world of dew
is a world of dew--
and yet...
And yet!"

It's all there: the acknowledgement of our fragility; and the acknowledgement of our capacity for deep emotion. And no facile reaching for a pat "solution" to the human condition.

Bouncing off what Chris said, I was thinking earlier about how it's true that many traditions deliberately encourage detachment as an exercise so that one becomes aware of attachment. Paying attention to the craving or aversion around various impulses, experiences, reactions etc can be formally done via things like typical monastic practices, and I think that is the main purpose of those exercises. Not as an end in themselves (and certainly not as something to be attached to!) but (besides their socio-cultural functions) as exercises in becoming mindful of where we are trying to manipulate things or hide from things. So that kind of practice of deliberately cultivating detachment exists, and is relevant in various phases, and may well come up on its own even if one isn't practicing in a tradition that encourages it.

There are also phases of practice where one feels an inclination to solitude, introspection, a lack of connection, loneliness, alienation from things that used to be part of ones life, and so on - so there can be passing periods of spontaneous detachment that arise.

Just riffing along, not intending any grand conclusions.

My gut is it's not a strict dichotomy, but rather that the two approaches overlap and intersect, such that even if a person is focused more on one or the other, the other will become apparent (at least to some degree), too.

Maybe I'm just subconsciously repeating back what you say!

But seriously, I had in mind as an example someone I know who has never done "micro looking" practice, only macro practice. And yet on occasion he has expressed a sudden recognition of the micro process (such as noticing the way that an emotion layers up from body sensations into thoughts). Does he see micro like Dan Ingram sees micro? No one sees micro like Dan! But the awareness of the micro processes seems to have spontaneously revealed itself as a fruit of the macro practices. Does that fit with your ponder?

I suspect I don't really do pixelated either, then.

Is that a real distinction? (I ask as someone who was very into the 'pixelated' thing and is now very much not) - that is to say, if you don't notice it, doesn't it fundamentally not exist?

Oh, Chris. How can my experience include something that isn't part of my experience (ie that I am not noticing)? If I notice it, then it becomes experiential. If I'm blind, sight is not experienced. if I'm deaf, sound is not experienced. If I can't understand German, the babbling sounds of Germans talking are just babbling sounds.

(I agree it's probable that if someone trained me to look for pixelation, I would in all likelihood begin to notice it, and then it would become part of my experience.)

A lot of what I just said over in the thread about Shinzen is relevant to this too, I'd say... so, we NEVER experience the neurons firing in our brain, and thus they're not experienced. And I would also argue that they only 'do' as a particular kind of myth we currently tell ourselves. In a hundred years when science finds that our theory of neurons was totally incorrect and our brain is 'really' made up of miniature flying spaghetti monster particles, what will happen to the reality of experience of neurons? This is why, from my POV, consciousness is not reducible to the brain.

The theory of pixelation we're discussing here reminds me a lot of Abhidhamma - a system which wants to concretize a fundamental and incontrovertible ontology, which in this case relates to the 'pixelated' view of reality that certain types of practice bring about. And it seems to me that this counteracts the theory of impermanence (of course not everyone finds impermanence a valuable notion).

Also, I'm not sure how the 'pixelation' thing relates to physiology - what's the similarity to, e.g., the idea of neurons firing in the brain? In discussing that divide I'm reminded of the distinction between Kenneth's claim, on the one hand, to not believe in or value the 'woo-woo' stuff, but on the other, to affirm astral projection...

I know we're off the 'detachment' topic but this is interesting stuff...

Interesting, when I read "experience is pixelated", I interpreted it as "everything is constructed/compounded", not neurology!

(I have no interesting follow-up statement.)

(oops, slightly drunk posting. One mint julep, delicious on a hot Chicago evening!!)

"Experience is pixelated"-- back in the day, that would have meant that it were pleasantly drunk, bemused, whimsical ... "pixilated" derived from "pixies," mischievous sprites who'd lead the unwary astray.

But seriously, I get what Chris means about seeing things deconstruct themselves-- and I'm prone to that sort of thing, too. And it seems logical that Ona doesn't; because she's more of a 'constructionist' who's good at visionary practice, which is completely beyond me.

This exchange is making me interested in digging up the concise guide to abidharma I've got somewhere, and finally reading it.

I hadn't thought of it like that Kate. Interesting.

Ona Kiser wrote: the whole popular concept of Buddhists and Hindus being "detached" (or the goal of their practices being detachment) seems to be off base

Yes. I'm thinking that "detachment" is the wrong word. It's a shorthand that's too easily misinterpreted as a "thing" to be acquired or an attitude to be adopted. It would be better to express it as "absence of attachment."

Ona Kiser wrote: The idea of detachment is not just Eastern, as monastic type spiritual training guides in Christianity encourage cultivating "resignation" and "indifference": indifference is letting go of your own desires and preferences and accepting things as they are; resignation is accepting God's will in whatever happens, without any preference.

The classic Christian work on this subject is Jean-Pierre de Caussade's Abandonment to Divine Providence.
www.amazon.com/Abandonment-Divine-Provid...resent/dp/0978479963