by Dalai Lama
Sometimes I wonder if the ability to live without indulging in self-destructive guilt is partly cultural. In recounting my conversation with the Dalai Lama about regret to a friend who is a Tibetan scholar, I was told that in fact, the Tibetan language doesn’t even have an equivalent for the English word ‘guilt’, although it does have words meaning ‘remorse’ or ‘repentance’ or ‘regret,’ with a sense of ‘rectifying things in the future.’ Whatever the cultural component may be, however, I believe that by challenging our customary ways of thinking and cultivating a different mental outlook based on the principles described by the Dalai Lama, any of us can learn to live without the brand of ‘guilt’ that does nothing but cause ourselves needless suffering.
Resisting Change
Guilt arises when we convince ourselves that we’ve made an irreparable mistake. The torture of guilt is in thinking that any problem is permanent. Since there is nothing that doesn’t change however, so too pain subsides – a problem doesn’t persist. This is the positive side of change. The negative side is that we resist change in nearly every arena of life. The beginning of being released from suffering is to investigate one of the primary causes: resistance to change.
In describing the ever-changing nature of life, the Dalai Lama explained, ‘It’s extremely important to investigate the causes or origins of suffering, how it arises. One must begin that process by appreciating the impermanent, transient nature of our existence. All things, events, and phenomena are dynamic, changing every moment, nothing remains static. Meditating on one’s blood circulation could serve to reinforce this idea: the blood is constantly flowing, moving, it never stands still. This momentarily changing nature of phenomena is like a built-in mechanism. And since it is the nature of all phenomena to change every moment, this indicates to us that all things lack the ability to endure, lack the ability to remain the same. And since all things are subject to change, nothing exists in a permanent condition, nothing is able to remain the same under its own independent power. Thus, all things are under the power or influence of other factors. So, at any given moment no matter how pleasant or pleasurable your experience may be, it will not last. This becomes the basis of a category of suffering known in Buddhism as the “suffering of change.” ’
The concept of impermanence plays a central role in Buddhist thought, and the contemplation of impermanence is a key practice. Contemplation of impermanence serves two main vital functions within the Buddhist path. On a conventional level, or in an everyday sense, the Buddhist practitioner contemplates his or her own impermanence – the fact that life is tenuous and we never know when we’ll die. When this reflection is combined with a belief in the rarity of human existence and the possibility of attaining a state of spiritual Liberation, of release from suffering and endless rounds of rebirth, then this contemplation serves to increase the practitioner’s resolve to use her or his time to best advantage, by engaging in the spiritual practices that will bring about this Liberation. On a deeper level, the contemplation of the more subtle aspects of impermanence, the impermanent nature of all phenomena, begins the practitioner’s quest to understand the true nature of reality and, through this understanding, dispel the ignorance that is the ultimate source of our suffering.
So, while the contemplation of impermanence has tremendous significance within a Buddhist context, the question arises: does the contemplation and understanding of impermanence have any practical application in the everyday lives of non-Buddhists as well? If we view the concept of ‘impermanence’ from the standpoint of ‘change,’ then the answer is a definite ‘Yes.’ After all, whether one looks at life from a Buddhist perspective or a Western perspective, the fact remains that life is change. And to the degree that we refuse to accept this fact and resist the natural life changes, we will continue to perpetuate our own suffering.
The acceptance of change can be an important factor in reducing a large measure of our self-created suffering. So often, for instance, we cause our own suffering by refusing to relinquish the past. If we define our self-image in terms of what we used to look like or in terms of what we used to be able to do and can’t do now, it is a pretty safe bet that we won’t grow happier as we grow older. Sometimes, the more we try to hold on, the more grotesque and distorted life becomes.
While the acceptance of the inevitability of change, as a general principle, can help us cope with many problems, taking a more active role by specifically learning about normal life changes can prevent an even greater amount of the day-to-day anxiety that is the cause of many of our troubles.
Revealing the value of recognizing normal changes, a new mother told me about a visit to the emergency room she had made at two o’clock in the morning.
‘What seems to be the problem?’ the pediatrician asked her.
‘MY BABY! SOMETHING’S WRONG!’ she cried frantically. ‘I think he’s choking or something! His tongue keeps protruding; he just keeps sticking it out . . . over and over again . . . like he’s trying to get something out, but there’s nothing in his mouth . . .’
After a few questions and a brief examination, the doctor assured her, ‘There’s nothing to worry about. As a baby grows, he develops an increasing awareness of his own body and what it can do. Your baby has just discovered his tongue.’
Margaret, a thirty-one-year-old journalist, illustrates the critical importance of understanding and accepting change in the context of a personal relationship. She came to me complaining of mild anxiety which she attributed to difficulty adjusting to a recent divorce.
‘I thought that it might be a good idea to have a few sessions just to talk to someone,’ she explained, ‘to help me really put the past to rest, and make the transition back to the single life. To be honest, I’m a little nervous about it . . .’
I asked her to describe the circumstances of her divorce.
‘I guess I’d have to describe it as amiable. There were no big fights or anything like that. My ex and I both have good jobs, so there weren’t any problems with a financial settlement. We have one boy, but he seems to have adjusted to the divorce well, and my ex and I have a joint custody agreement that is working well . . .’
‘I mean, can you tell me what led to the divorce?’
‘Umm . . . I suppose we just fell out of love,’ she sighed. ‘It seemed that gradually the romance was gone; we just didn’t have the same intimacy that we had when we were first married. We both got busy with our jobs and our son and just seemed to drift apart. We tried some sessions of marital counseling, but they didn’t do any good. We still got along, but it was like we were brother and sister. It didn’t feel like love, like a real marriage. Anyway, we mutually agreed that it would be best to get a divorce; something just wasn’t there anymore.’
After spending two sessions delineating her problem, we decided on a course of short-term psychotherapy, focusing specifically on helping her reduce her anxiety and adjust to her recent life changes. Overall, she was an intelligent and emotionally well-adjusted person. She responded very well to a brief course of therapy and easily made the transition back to single life.
Despite obviously caring for each other, it was clear that Margaret and her husband had interpreted the change in their level of ‘passion’ as a sign that the marriage should end. All too often we interpret a diminution of passion as a signal that there is a fatal problem in the relationship. And more often than not, the first whisper of change in our relationship may create a sense of panic, a feeling that something is drastically wrong. Perhaps we did not pick the right partner after all? Our mate just doesn’t seem like the person we fell in love with. Disagreements come up – we may be in the mood for sex and our partner is tired, we may want to see a special movie but our partner has no interest in it or is always busy. We may discover differences that we never noticed before. So, we conclude, it must be over; after all, there’s no getting around the fact that we are growing apart. Things just aren’t the same anymore; maybe we should get a divorce.
So what do we do? Relationship experts churn out books by the dozen, cookbooks telling us exactly what to do when the passion and flame of romance grows dim. They offer a myriad of suggestions designed to help rekindle the romance – restructure your schedule to make romantic time a priority, plan romantic dinners or weekend getaways, compliment your mate, learn how to have a meaningful conversation. Sometimes these things help. Sometimes they don’t.
But before pronouncing the relationship dead, one of the most beneficial things we can do when we notice a change is to simply stand back, assess the situation, and arm ourselves with as much knowledge as possible about the normal patterns of change in relationships.
As our lives play out, we develop from infancy to childhood, to adulthood, to old age. We accept these changes in individual development as a natural progression. But a relationship is also a dynamic living system, composed of two organisms interacting in a living environment. And as a living system, it is equally natural and right that the relationship should go through stages. In any relationship, there are different dimensions of closeness – physical, emotional, and intellectual. Bodily contact, sharing emotions, thoughts, and exchanging ideas are all legitimate ways of connecting with those we love. It is normal for the balance to wax and wane: sometimes physical closeness decreases but emotional closeness can increase; at other times we don’t feel like sharing words, but just want to be held. If we are sensitive to this issue, we can rejoice in the initial bloom of passion in a relationship, but if it cools, instead of feeling worry or anger, we can open ourselves to new forms of intimacy that can be equally – or perhaps more – satisfying. We can delight in our partner as a companion, enjoy a steadier love, a deeper bond.
In his book Intimate Behavior, Desmond Morris describes the normal changes that occur in a human being’s need for closeness. He suggests that each of us repeatedly goes through three stages: ‘Hold me tight,’ ‘Put me down,’ and ‘Leave me alone.’ The cycle first becomes apparent in the first years of life when children move from the ‘hold me tight’ phase characteristic of infancy to the ‘put me down’ stage when the child first begins to explore the world, crawl, walk, and achieve some independence and autonomy from the mother. This is part of normal development and growth. These phases do not just move in one direction, however; at various stages a child may experience some anxiety when the feeling of separateness becomes too great, and then the child will return to the mother for soothing and closeness. In adolescence, ‘leave me alone’ becomes the predominant phase as the child struggles to form an individual identity. Although this may be difficult or painful for the parents, most experts recognize it as a normal and necessary phase in the transition from childhood to adulthood. Even within this phase, there is still a mixture of phases. While the adolescent is crying ‘Leave me alone!’ to his parents at home, the ‘hold me tight’ needs may be met by strong identification with the peer group.
In adult relationships as well, the same flux occurs. Levels of intimacy change, with periods of greater intimacy alternating with periods of greater distance. This is also part of the normal cycle of growth and development. To reach our full potential as human beings, we need to be able to balance our needs for closeness and union with times when we must turn inward, with a sense of autonomy, to grow and develop as individuals.
As we come to understand this, we will no longer react with horror or panic when we first notice ourselves ‘growing apart’ from our partner, any more than we would panic while watching the tide go out at the seashore. Of course, sometimes a growing emotional distance can signal serious problems in a relationship (an unspoken undercurrent of anger for instance), and even breakups can occur. In those cases, measures such as therapy can be very helpful. But the main point to keep in mind is that a growing distance doesn’t automatically spell disaster. It can also be part of a cycle that returns to redefine the relationship in a new form that can recapture or even surpass the intimacy that existed in the past.
So, the act of acceptance, of acknowledging that change is a natural part of our interactions with others, can play a vital role in our relationships. We may discover that it is at the very time when we may feel most disappointed, as if something has gone out of the relationship, that a profound transformation can occur. These transitional periods can become pivotal points when true love can begin to mature and flower. Our relationship may no longer be based on intense passion, the view of the other as the embodiment of perfection, or the feeling that we are merged with the other. But in exchange for that, we are now in a position to truly begin to know the other. To see the other as a separate individual, with faults and weaknesses perhaps, but a human being like ourselves. It is only at this point that we can make a genuine commitment, a commitment to the growth of another human being – an act of true love.
Perhaps Margaret’s marriage could have been salvaged by accepting the natural change in the relationship, and forming a new relationship based on factors other than passion and romance.
Fortunately, however, the story didn’t end there. Two years after my last session with Margaret, I ran into her at a shopping mall (the situation of running into an ex-patient in a social setting is one that invariably makes me, like most therapists, feel a bit awkward).
‘How have you been?’ I asked.
‘Things couldn’t be better!’ she exclaimed. ‘Last month, my ex-husband and I remarried.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, and it’s going great. We continued to see each other, of course, because of the joint custody. Anyway, it was difficult at first . . . but after the divorce, somehow the pressure was off. We didn’t have any expectations anymore. And we found out that we really did like each other and love each other. Things still aren’t the same as when we were first married, but it doesn’t seem to matter; we’re really happy together. It just feels right.’
CHAPTER 10
Shifting Perspective
Once there was a disciple of a Greek philosopher who was commanded by his Master for three years to give money to everyone who insulted him. When this period of trial was over the Master said to him: now you can go to Athens and learn Wisdom. When the disciple was entering Athens he met a certain wise man who sat at the gate insulting everybody who came and went. He also insulted the disciple, who burst out laughing. Why do you laugh when I insult you? said the wise man. Because, said the disciple, for three years I have been paying for this kind of thing and now you give it to me for nothing. Enter the city, said the wise man, it is all yours . . .
The fourth century Desert Fathers, an assortment of eccentric characters who retired to the deserts around Scete for a life of sacrifice and prayer, taught this story to illustrate the value of suffering and hardship. It wasn’t hardship alone, however, that opened the ‘city of wisdom’ to the disciple. The prime factor that allowed him to deal so effectively with a difficult situation was his capacity to shift perspective, to view his situation from a different vantage point.
The ability to shift perspective can be one of the most powerful and effective tools we have to help us cope with life’s daily problems. The Dalai Lama explained, ‘The ability to look at events from different perspectives can be very helpful. Then, practicing this, one can use certain experiences, certain tragedies to develop a calmness of mind. One must realize that every phenomena, every event, has different aspects. Everything is of a relative nature. For example, in my own case, I lost my country. From that viewpoint, it is very tragic – and there are even worse things. There’s a lot of destruction happening in our country. That’s a very negative thing. But if I look at the same event from another angle, I realize that as a refugee, I have another perspective. As a refugee there is no need for formalities, ceremony, protocol. If everything were status quo, if things were okay, then on a lot of occasions you merely go through the motions; you pretend. But when you are passing through desperate situations, there’s no time to pretend. So from that angle, this tragic experienc
e has been very useful to me. Also, being a refugee creates a lot of new opportunities for meeting with many people. People from different religious traditions, from different walks of life, those who I may not have met had I remained in my country. So in that sense it’s been very, very useful.
‘It seems that often when problems arise, our outlook becomes narrow. All of our attention may be focused on worrying about the problem, and we may have a sense that we’re the only one that is going through such difficulties. This can lead to a kind of self-absorption that can make the problem seem very intense. When this happens, I think that seeing things from a wider perspective can definitely help – realizing, for instance, that there are many other people who have gone through similar experiences, and even worse experiences. This practice of shifting perspective can even be helpful in certain illnesses or pain. At the time the pain arises it is of course often very difficult, at that moment, to do formal meditation practices to calm the mind. But if you can make comparisons, view your situation from a different perspective, somehow something happens. If you only look at that one event, then it appears bigger and bigger. If you focus too closely, too intensely, on a problem when it occurs, it appears uncontrollable. But if you compare that event with some other greater event, look at the same problem from a distance, then it appears smaller and less overwhelming.’
Shortly before one session with the Dalai Lama, I happened to run into an administrator of a facility where I used to work. During my tenure at his facility we had a number of run-ins because I believed that he was compromising patient care in favor of financial considerations. I hadn’t seen him in quite a while, but as soon as I spotted him, all of our arguments came flooding back and I could feel the anger and hatred welling up inside me. By the time I was ushered into the Dalai Lama’s hotel suite for our session later that day, I was considerably calmer, but still feeling a bit unsettled.