What Buddha Understood But Freud Didn't

We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.

-Albert Einstein

Wise people across all cultures and from time immemorial have essentially been repeating the same maxim: “Know thyself.” In spite of all the things we do to know ourselves, we remain a mystery to ourselves throughout our lives. We all have multiple natures. If told a secret, one part of us wants to honor the vow by not telling the secret; however, we also experience a little relief by telling someone about the secret we’ve been asked to keep in confidence. We are truly divided: we simultaneously want to grow up and don’t want to grow up; hunger for sexual pleasure, dread sexual pleasure; hate our own resentments but are unwilling or somehow unable to forgive. It is as if we are not one monolithic identity or self but, rather, a myriad of selves with various and opposing drives.

The notion of the unconscious is a term Sigmund Freud used to connote all of the irrational forces that drag us hither and thither, that cause us to act and react in ways that we cannot and do not totally understand, nor can we consciously identify with. The goal of psychotherapy, according to Freud, was to come to an understanding of these subsurface urges through psychoanalysis, which consisted of dream interpretation and talk therapy.

Ultimately, at best, the psychotherapeutic patient, according to Freud, could not be cured of his or her divided self, but, instead, could become reconciled to the fact that he or she was made up of complex and multifarious drives. This simple knowledge would allow the individual to, once again, function as a contributing member of society.

Freud initiated the West’s fascination with the unconscious, but individuals in the Indian subcontinent had been exploring the divided self for thousands of years prior to Freud. People like Siddhartha Gautama, also known as the Buddha, had been experimenting on themselves as far back as the sixth century, B.C.E. in order to overcome life’s uneasy and sometimes even distressing qualities.

Like Freud, these “self-scientists” saw the suffering that resulted from their divided urges, but the goal was different; in fact, it was more thorough. They weren’t trying to fit into society again. Instead, they sought total freedom; not freedom from society per se, but freedom from the divided self. They sought access to resolving this divide. They sought a kind of wholeness. And their approach was quite different.

Je Pense, Donc Je Suis

In 1637, the French philosopher and mathematician René Descartes turned the West’s model of reality inside out when he stated: “Je pense, donc je suis,” or “I think, therefore I am.” What he implied in this statement was that being is conditional upon thinking. This notion that the human was first and foremost a thinking entity set a course for philosophical development in which the mind and body were separated, that the body was of a lower nature because, unlike the mind, it was not rational.

Descartes believed that minds and bodies were distinct kinds of substance. Bodies, he held, were spatially extended substances, incapable of feeling or thought; minds, in contrast, were thinking, feeling substances. Freud’s methodology is a byproduct of this paradigm; only through the use of the rational, logical mind can we come to terms with our divided self.

However, the more complex the thought patterns, the more we become separated from the fundamental problems and conflicts we experience. Thinking, while useful in solving some problems, often begets more problems, more fragmentation, and more complexity.

This is the fundamental difference between Freud and the Buddha: Freud sought to make rational sense of the divided self. The Buddha agreed that the self was divided, fragmented, and, ultimately, a great mystery, but he recognized that the thinking mind could not resolve the mystery. In other words, he couldn’t think his way out of the problem of fragmentation. He needed another methodology, another approach.

At first, the Buddha’s path was pretty extreme. He spent six years attempting to conquer the parts of himself that he didn’t like by trying to overcome the appetite for food, sex, and even comfort. He fasted. He took vows of celibacy. He slept in brambles and exposed himself to extreme heat and cold. In fact, his efforts in self-abnegation through fasting were so fierce that when he found himself near-to-death, he accepted a bowl of rice from a young girl.

Once he had eaten, he had a realization that physical austerities were not the means to overcoming the divided self. Starvation didn’t help. It only reinforced the divide by killing off the physical body. And so, instead of negating the various urges, trying to get away from them, he developed his own methodology of facing them. What he discovered was that when he could observe his body’s frustrations, anxieties, hurts, and longings in a non-reactive way, they lost their hold on him.

The Nervous System

Like Freud, he discovered two minds occurring simultaneously: the conscious mind (the mind of apparent reality) and the unconscious mind (the mind below the surface). While Freud used dream analysis to understand the hidden meaning of one’s unconscious thoughts, drives, and desires, the Buddha made use of an even simpler and more direct tool for making sense and working with the unconscious drive. What he observed was that when he lost contact with a presence of mind, he almost always left his body. If the thoughts were anxious, angry, or stimulating, and he brought his attention into the body, he would also notice his heart racing along with jittery feelings that made it difficult to sit still. If, on the other hand, he touched hopeless/helpless thoughts, thought forms associated with shame or overwhelm, he noticed his heart and breath rates would slow down, that he would feel drowsy, shut down, empty, and cold. He also noticed that whenever these feelings came on, a reflexive patterning of behaviors would ensue, behaviors that would prolong his loss of contact from presence.

Upon discovering this pattern, he devised a path out, a path he called mindfulness. Simply by observing, by staying present, non-reactive and gentle with himself when he fell into various qualities of fight, flight or freeze responses, he could settle his nervous system enough. By doing so, he developed a capacity to settle his nervous system’s reactivity.

Essentially, what the Buddha recognized was that this awareness, this means of knowing that what rests below the surface-the network of nerve cells and fibers that transmit nerve impulses between parts of the body and the brain-always remains inaccessible to us until we slow down and feel. While we have a great deal of training in thinking about the circumstances we find ourselves in thanks to Descartes, Freud, and pop-psychology, we have little to no training in working directly with our nervous systems. When we develop greater awareness and skillfulness when we lose the balance of our minds, we also gain a greater capacity to heal.  

Why Discipline Matters

This morning, as I was coming home from yoga practice, I came across this beautiful lotus in the picture. It seemed to me that it was saying, "Yes!!!" In spite of the muck of life from which it grows, this lotus wanted to spread itself wide open, to blossom in all of its fullness. In Hindu and Buddhist symbolism the lotus represents purity of body, speech and mind because it emerges from the muddy waters of attachment and desire from where it was born.

This isn't very different from the "Yes" that we say each morning we either stand on our mats to begin our yoga practice or sit on your cushions to meditate. We're saying, "Yes" in spite of the fact that we may feel like shit; in spite of the fact that we may be shut down; in spite of the fact that we would rather be nestled in bed. But what we're saying, "Yes" to is the transformation of those stuck, shitty, shut-down places. We're saying, "Yes" to life.

A Mirror for Ourselves

It takes incredible determination and courage to show up and practice on a day-in-day-out basis. Practice is a mirror. Because we practice the same thing—more or less—each day, it's easy to see misalignments both physically and emotionally.  

Yesterday, I had had a disagreement with a vendor I buy supplies from, and I was pretty pissed last night, but I felt pretty clear when I went to sleep. However as soon as I began my meditation practice this morning, I could feel myself fuming, again. And while I tried to ignore, overcome or distract myself from the irritation, I couldn't help but just keep spinning stories of vengeance the whole time. I can't say that I handled the anger with what the Buddhists call "skillful means," but that's what the practice can do. It puts you face-to-face with your stuff, whether you're ready to acknowledge it or not.

And those are the moments when you are really learning the deeper aspects of practice, those moment when you're caught in guilt, anger, grief, or any other powerful emotion that just triggers self-loathing or that comparison game we do.  You know the game,"She's better than I am." "I am more flexible than her." "I wish my butt was less flabby." That whole conversation is an invitation to look deeper, not at the content but at the underlying emotion that's running it.  

Yesterday a dedicated student of mine was complaining in class because, in spite of the fact that he'd been working on his backbend for several years, it lacked the mobility he thought was required of a practitioner of his status. The big learning for him was not having a physical breakthrough but in the recognition that what drove the need for a breakthrough was an underlying, anxiety that didn't just pertain to his backbend but to all aspects of his life.  Now that we've uncovered the anxiety, he can start to work with that rather than the need to "beat it" with a better backbend.

Showing Up in Spite of . . .

The "Yes" that I am speaking of is that in spite of all the bad news we see on 24 hour news channels, the onslaught of information coming our way through the Internet, the bills to pay, the loneliness and isolation we face, we still show up. Like the lotus, when we show up to practice, we're saying, "I could just watch TV or sleep a few more hours. I could give in to inertia or the anxiety or sadness or boredom, but I know that I am more than this. And these feelings are fodder for a breakthrough."

Showing up is a stand for transformation. Through practice, we meet those stuck, tender, painful, and often lonely places within our being that we typically try to avoid. We run away in hot pursuit of things that we think will make us feel better, like sex, money, or the perfect partner.

I'm often asked how long it took me to "be with" the painful things without turning away or distracting myself. Admittedly, there are lots of places I am still struggling to acknowledge in myself. As you read above, I am not particularly masterful with some forms of anger, but then if I look at my capacity to hold feelings of grief or boredom, I can say that I have gotten so much better.

Essentially, all practices cultivate our capacity to stay and be with whatever shows up. That staying really is about staying in relationship to yourself as distinct from the suffering that's showing up. In addition, the staying is about creating a relationship to the suffering. It's a relationship of your choice. If you want to be pissed off that you feel pain, then you get to be pissed off. If you want to see the pain as the key to your awakening, then you get to choose that. My experience is that the more empowering the relationship you create, the more you say, "Yes" to that which you are staying with, the more possibility there is for a breakthrough.

To give you an example, a client of mine was promoted to a huge project in her corporate job that required that she create coordinated communication throughout the company. The project was stalled for one year, which left her feeling guilty and irresponsible. Behind the self-criticism, a feeling of unworthiness was driving her. For a year, she practiced meditation, and her intention was to untangle the self-criticism and to meet the underlying feeling with warmth, compassion, and kindness. About a month ago, she mentioned to me that the sense of unworthiness was waning, and the project had just begun flowing with ease.

Yoga and meditation are lifelong practices. Those tender places cannot be repaired in a day or a few years. What I can say with certainty from first hand experience is that slowly, slowly all things are healed through the cauldron of practice. The bottom line, though, is that this transformation needs a "Yes!!!" from us. All we need to do is show up, do the practice and stay awake.