The Wise Heart: A Guide to the Universal Teachings of Buddhist Psychology

by Jack Kornfield

I’d like to underscore a point the Dalai Lama has made repeatedly: “Buddhist teachings are not a religion, they are a science of mind.” This does not deny the fact that for many people around the world Buddhism has also come to function as a religion. Like most religions, it offers its followers a rich tradition of devotional practices, communal rituals, and sacred stories. But this is not the origin of Buddhism or its core. The Buddha was a human being, not a god, and what he offered his followers were experiential teachings and practices, a revolutionary way to understand and release suffering. From his own inner experiments, he discovered a systematic and remarkable set of trainings to bring about happiness and fulfill the highest levels of human development.

O Nobly Born, O you of glorious origins, remember your radiant true nature, the essence of mind. Trust it. Return to it. It is home. —Tibetan Book of the Dead

Much of the time we operate from the protective layer. The primary aim of Buddhist psychology is to help us see beneath this armoring and bring out our original goodness, called our Buddha nature.

See the inner nobility and beauty of all human beings.

The word nobility does not refer to medieval knights and courts. It derives from the Greek gno (as in gnosis), meaning “wisdom” or “inner illumination.” In English, nobility is defined as human excellence, as that which is illustrious, admirable, lofty, and distinguished, in values, conduct, and bearing.

Categorizing problems helps us study them and then, it is hoped, cure them in the most scientific and economically efficient way. But often we give so much attention to our protective layers of fear, depression, confusion, and aggression that we forget who we really are.

Frankl wrote, “We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

When we bring respect and honor to those around us, we open a channel to their own goodness. I have seen this truth in working with prisoners and gang members. When they experience someone who respects and values them, it gives them the ability to admire themselves, to accept and acknowledge the good inside. When we see what is holy in another, whether we meet them in our family or our community, at a business meeting or in a therapy session, we transform their hearts.

Zen master Shunryu Suzuki remarked to a disciple, “You are perfect just the way you are. And…there is still room for improvement!” Buddhist psychology offers meditations, cognitive strategies, ethical trainings, a powerful set of practices that foster inner transformation. But it starts with a most radical vision, one that transforms everyone it touches: a recognition of the innate nobility and the freedom of heart that are available wherever we are.

When we clearly realize that the source of disharmony and misery in the world is ignorance, we can open the door of wisdom and compassion.”

Buddhism teaches that we suffer not because we have sinned but because we are blind. Compassion is the natural response to this blindness; it arises whenever we see our human situation clearly. Buddhist texts describe compassion as the quivering of the heart in the face of pain, as the capacity to see our struggles with “kindly eyes.” We need compassion, not anger, to help us be tender with our difficulties and not close off to them in fear.

Compassion is our deepest nature. It arises from our interconnection with all things.

Beneath the sophistication of Buddhist psychology lies the simplicity of compassion. We can touch into this compassion whenever the mind is quiet, whenever we allow the heart to open.

From the perspective of Buddhist psychology, compassion is natural. It derives from our interconnection, which Buddhism calls “interdependence.”

Just as we are interdependent with the earth and one another, we are also connected in consciousness.

In the Buddhist understanding, however, great courage is not demonstrated by aggression or ambition. Aggression and ambition are more often expressions of fear and delusion. The courageous heart is the one that is unafraid to open to the world. With compassion we come to trust our capacity to open to life without armoring.

Martin Luther King Jr. exhorted us, “Never succumb to the temptation of becoming bitter. As you press for justice, be sure to move with dignity and discipline, using only the instruments of love.” At the worst times, such an attitude may seem impossible.

Living with compassion does not mean we have to give away all our possessions, take in every homeless person we meet, and fix every difficulty in our extended family and community. Compassion is not co-dependence. It does not mean we lose our self-respect or sacrifice ourself blindly for others. In the West we are confused about this point. We mistakenly fear that if we become too compassionate we will be overwhelmed by the suffering of others. But this happens only when our compassion is one-sided.

Compassion is not foolish. It doesn’t just go along with what others want so they don’t feel bad. There is a yes in compassion, and there is also a no, said with the same courage of heart. No to abuse, no to racism, no to violence, both personal and worldwide. The no is said not out of hate but out of an unwavering care. Buddhists call this the fierce sword of compassion. It is the powerful no of leaving a destructive family, the agonizing no of allowing an addict to experience the consequences of his acts.

Luminous is consciousness, brightly shining is its nature, but it becomes clouded by the attachments that visit it. —Anguttara Nikaya

Buddhist psychology sends us directly into this mystery, to see for ourselves how consciousness works, independent of any object or content. It first describes consciousness as “that which knows,” that which experiences. To understand this, we can deliberately turn our attention to examine consciousness.

Ordinarily we take consciousness for granted, ignoring it as a fish ignores water. And so we focus endlessly on the contents of experience: what is happening in our body, feelings, and thoughts. Yet each time we move, listen, think, or perceive, consciousness receives all that occurs. Unless we grasp the nature and function of consciousness, it is impossible to live wisely.

When we shift attention from experience to the spacious consciousness that knows, wisdom arises.

The capacity to be mindful, to observe without being caught in our experience, is both remarkable and liberating. “Mindfulness is all helpful,” taught the Buddha. As we shall see, the transforming power of mindfulness underlies all of Buddhist psychology. To those who seek self-understanding, the Buddha teaches, “With the mind, to observe the mind.” The central tool for investigating consciousness is our own observation. With mindfulness, we can direct our attention to notice what is going on inside us, and study how our mind and experience operate.

If you relax and allow this experience of unfixed knowing, you will discover what Buddhist writers call the clear open sky of awareness. It is empty like space, but unlike space it is sentient; it knows experience. In its true state, consciousness is simply this knowing—clear, open, awake, without color or form, containing all things, yet not limited by them. This open quality of consciousness is described as unconditioned.

Consciousness is also compared to a mirror. A mirror reflects all things, yet remains bright and shining, unchanged by whatever images, beautiful or terrible, may appear within it.

But the mirror and the open sky represent only one aspect of consciousness. Through Buddhist analysis, consciousness, like light, is found to have two dimensions. Just as light can be described as both a wave and a particle, consciousness has an unbound wave or sky-like nature and it has particular particle-like aspects. In its sky-like function, consciousness is unchanging, like the sky or the mirror. In its particle-like function, consciousness is momentary. A single state of consciousness arises together with each moment of experience and is flavored by that experience. With precise mindfulness training, meditators can experience this particle-like nature of consciousness arising and passing away like bubbles or grains of sand.

Here is a description of the two fundamental aspects of consciousness: CONSCIOUSNESS IN ITS SKY-LIKE NATURE CONSCIOUSNESS IN ITS PARTICLE-LIKE NATURE Open Momentary Transparent Impersonal Timeless Registering a sense experience Cognizant Flavored by mental states Pure Conditioned Wave-like, unbounded Rapid Unborn, undying Ephemeral

Develop a mind that is vast like space, where experiences both pleasant and unpleasant can appear and disappear without conflict, struggle, or harm. —Majjhima Nikaya

In Buddhist psychology indifference is called the “near enemy” of true openness and equanimity, a misguided imitation.

“If you are lost in the forest, that is not really being lost. You are really lost if you forget who you are.”

Speak or act with a deluded mind and sorrow will follow you As the wheel follows the ox who draws the cart Speak or act with a clear mind and happiness will follow you As closely as your shadow, unshakable. —Dhammapada

In popular Western culture we are taught that the way to achieve happiness is to change our external environment to fit our wishes. But this strategy doesn’t work. In every life, pleasure and pain, gain and loss, praise and blame keep showing up, no matter how hard we struggle to have only pleasure, gain, and praise. Buddhist psychology offers a different approach to happiness, teaching that states of consciousness are far more crucial than outer circumstances.

Recognize the mental states that fill consciousness. Shift from unhealthy states to healthy ones.

mindfulness gives us the option to choose a healthier response.

We take things very personally. The more tightly we hold self, the more problem. No self, well…[laughing]…no problem. —Master Hina-Tyana Dhamma Loka

Our ideas of self are created by identification. The less we cling to ideas of self, the freer and happier we will be.

What we take to be a self is tentative, fictitious, constructed by clinging, a temporary identification with some parts of experience. Self arises, solidifying itself, like ice floating in water. Ice is actually made of the same substance as water. Identification and clinging harden the water into ice. In a similar way, we sense ourself as separate.

ambrosia

anything. We merely learn to see through the false ideas of our self. We discover that we can let go of the limited sense of self, that grasping and identification are optional.

You may give it any name you like. Love says, ‘I am everything.’ Wisdom says, ‘I am nothing.’ Between these two my life flows.”

We can study identification directly by examining the many roles life gives us to play. At times, for example, I can sense myself as a man, son, parent, worker, student, husband, father, teacher, taxpayer, healer, patient, citizen, rebel, and member of a particular tribe, ethnic group, and religion. All are roles. Each arises due to circumstances and conditions.

To be wise we need to be able to enter each role fully, with awareness and compassion, and to let it go when our part is done. When we marry we have to let go of being single. When our children become adults, we have to let go of our old role of helping manage their life. When we take a new job or leave one, retire, or change from employee to manager, we need to let one role go and take up another. We can be free only if underneath all these temporary roles we do not forget that they are not who we really are.

In the same way that we identify with a role, we can identify with a self-image. Do I look intelligent, attractive, strong?

As Pema Chödrön tells us, “Being preoccupied with self-image is like coming upon a tree of singing birds while wearing earplugs.” When we release our grasping of self-image there is a huge relief, and the world opens itself to us again.

Another way we create identity is seeing ourself as a member of a particular ethnic group, religion, tribe, caste, and class. I can identify myself as a middle-class, university-educated American. I can identify with being a Buddhist. I can identify with my ethnic roots as a Jewish person with Russian and Turkish ancestors. Each identification is a description of a particular circumstance and social structure, but on a deeper level they too are tentative, an illusion.

A mature life requires an ability to enter each of the roles given to us. Freedom arises when we hold them lightly, when we see them for what they are.

we can let go of the false sense of self created by identification.

One day a student complained that ordinarily his mind was filled with thoughts and plans, judgments and regrets. He wondered what it was like to live more selflessly. So he asked Dipama directly about the alternative: “What is in your mind?” She smiled and said, “In my mind are only three things: loving-kindness, concentration, and peace.” These are the fruits of selflessness. With selflessness there is less of us and yet presence, connectedness, and freedom come alive.

Selflessness is not a pathologically detached state, disconnected from the world. Nor is it a state where we are caught in a new spiritual identity, “See how selfless I am.” Selflessness is always here. In any moment we can let go and experience life without calling it “me” or “mine.” As the beloved Tibetan master Kalu Rinpoche has said, “When you understand, you will see that you are nothing. And being nothing, you are everything.”