Resolve and Doubt

This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Resolve and Doubt with Diana Clark. It likely contains inaccuracies, especially with speaker attribution if there are multiple speakers.

The following talk was given by Diana Clark at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on August 08, 2023. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Resolve and Doubt

Good evening, welcome.

Tonight I'd like to share with you a little bit about practice, starting off with a story from the Mahagosinga Sutta^[1].

The Mahagosinga Sutta

I think it's kind of interesting and a little bit fun. Most suttas begin by saying where the Buddha is, and in this one, he is staying in Gosinga, which is a sal^[2] forest park. My understanding is that sal trees are these really majestic, giant, beautiful trees, maybe like how we might think of redwood trees; they have a certain majesty when you're amongst them.

The Buddha is staying there, and there are a number of his senior monastics who are also staying there. During the day, they go off and meditate in their own different places in this sal forest. At the end of the day, in the late afternoon or early evening, one of his monastics, Maha Moggallana^[3], goes to Maha Kassapa^[4] and says—this is my rendition—"Hey, let's go hear Sariputta^[5] give a talk."

So they're going to go to one of their friends, another one of the senior monastics, to hear a Dharma talk. Then Anuruddha^[6] says, "Oh, okay," and they invite him too. So now there are three people going to see Sariputta give a talk. Then Ananda^[7] sees these three in the distance and says, "Oh, what are you guys doing? I want to go," and he invites Revata^[8].

For me, this is kind of fun. I like this idea that they're practicing in silence all during the day, but at the end of the day, they're connecting. They're friends, they want to spend time together, and they want to go hear a Dharma talk from Sariputta, who is probably the most senior monastic at the time of the Buddha. So all five of them go to see Sariputta.

Sariputta sees them approaching and welcomes them. By the time they get there, it's now early evening or dusk. Sariputta says, "The sal forest is lovely and the night is bright." He's commenting on how lovely it is and how the light is. He says the sal trees are in full blossom—these magnificent trees with lots of flowers—and there's a divine scent that seems to float on the air. It's this really magical, lovely place.

Sariputta asks Ananda, "Ananda, what kind of practitioner could illuminate or beautify this park, this place where we're practicing, even more? Is there somebody that, by the way they talk or the way they show up, could just make this even better?"

Remember, Ananda is the Buddha's attendant. He is the one who tradition holds was there when the Buddha gave all these talks and remembered them. After the Buddha died, it was Ananda who taught all these discourses to everybody else, and this is how they got preserved through the ages. So Ananda is known for his memory and for knowing all the Buddha's talks.

Ananda says, "A person who has learned much, who remembers what he has learned, consolidates what he has learned, and then gives teachings that are beautiful in the beginning, beautiful in the middle, and beautiful in the end. That is somebody who would make it more beautiful." It's probably not a coincidence that Ananda, who's known for having learned everything and remembered it, says, "Oh yeah, somebody who has learned it and remembered it, that would be the best."

Sariputta says, "Well, Ananda has responded according to his own ideal," recognizing that this is something unique to Ananda. Then Sariputta asks, "Well, what about you, Revata? What kind of practitioner could beautify or illuminate this park even more?"

Revata was a preeminent meditator. He was known as somebody who liked to go off on retreat, practice on his own, and just spend time in meditation. So Revata says, "A person who delights in retreat, who is devoted to internal serenity of mind and does not neglect meditation. A person who possesses insight and dwells in empty huts." Dwelling in an empty hut is something some of you may know the Buddha often gave as an instruction: "Go into an empty hut and meditate," or "Go to the foot of a tree and meditate."

Not surprisingly, Sariputta says, "Well, Revata has responded according to his own ideal. What about you, Anuruddha? Who do you think would be the most beautiful?"

Anuruddha says, "A person who surveys the entire galaxy with a clairvoyance that is purified and surpasses the human." Anuruddha is saying something fantastic. Sariputta replies, "Well, he has spoken according to his own ideal."

This continues with all of them giving ideas about what they are personally known for. There are six different people, and they give six different ideas. I think they may all be delighting in this. And then they say, "Well, let's go talk to the Buddha and see what he has to say."

They go to the Buddha, and Sariputta recounts everything that happened. The Buddha replies, "Good, good." He affirms that Ananda answered in the way that's right for him, Revata answered in the way that's right for him, Anuruddha answered in the way that's right for him, and so on for each person.

Then Sariputta asks, "Well, Venerable Sir, who has spoken best?" He kind of wants to know! And the Buddha replies, "You have all spoken well."

There's a little bit more to this, but I love this. The Buddha isn't saying, "This one is best," or "That one is the worst." He's saying, "You have all spoken well." These are all the Buddha's senior disciples, and they all have different expertise, specialties, or proclivities in the ways they practice. Six different people, six different ways, and the Buddha says, "You have all spoken well."

I feel touched by this because it's not like there's only one way practice has to look. The Buddha is recognizing that different people bring different things to practice. The practice matures in them differently and shows up in them differently. It doesn't have to look one particular way.

The Buddha's Answer: Resolve

After affirming them, the Buddha says, "You have all spoken well, each in his own way. But let me also share what kind of person would beautify this sal forest in Gosinga."

Now the Buddha gives his answer: "It is a person who returns from alms round, and after the meal, sits down cross-legged, sets their body straight, and establishes mindfulness. They practice mindfulness and resolve: 'I shall not break this sitting position until, through not clinging, my mind is liberated from the taints^[9].'"

Those of you who know the story of the Buddha know this is verbatim what the Buddha said himself before he became awakened. It was this resolve, this determination after so many years of practice, that he was going to sit and not move until he was awakened.

So here is a seventh person with a seventh way to show up. I appreciate that the Buddha isn't talking about fantastic things like learning everything, having clairvoyance to see galaxies, or constantly retreating. He's just talking about sitting down, bringing mindfulness, and having some resolve.

This is something all of us can do. The Buddha is holding up this ordinary mindfulness practice. Yes, when the Buddha did it, he had the intense resolve that he wasn't going to move until he became awakened. But each of us has our own way of illuminating or beautifying our practice area, embodying this path of practice. Resolve is something we can bring to whatever flavor or way we practice.

Mindfulness, as it matures, may show up in all kinds of different ways, but combining it with some resolve allows this mindfulness to blossom and unfold in a way that brings greater and greater freedom and peace.

Cultivating Resolve (Adhiṭṭhāna)

What does it mean to have resolve in practice? There are a number of ways we can think about it. Some of it is just a certain amount of tenacity, determination, or stick-to-itiveness. It is overcoming the resistance to meditation.

Everybody has said, "I don't feel like meditating. I don't want to. I'm not going to go to the Dharma talk. I'm not going to sit. I see my cushion there, and I usually meditate at this time, but I don't feel like it." All of us do this; it's part of the human experience. But maybe resolve is just putting aside alternatives, instead of sleeping in or whatever it may be. Or maybe resolve means having enough trust, faith, or confidence in ourselves and in the practice that even though we might not feel like it, we are still willing to meditate and practice mindfulness.

Here is something that I think is really important about resolve. I wish I had a better word to translate the Pali word adhiṭṭhāna^[10], because sometimes when we hear about resolve, it feels like this really straining, striving, and pushing energy. It turns out that works for a little bit, and then it doesn't.

I don't think it'll ever work just to hear somebody say that; we all have to have the experience. Real striving and straining can actually get in the way of practice. What often fuels this driving is the thought, "I've gotta get it." This approach works in our professional life, and it works in our educational life, but it doesn't work in our meditation life. Because what's fueling it is a big sense of, "I have to make something happen."

We need a little amount of effort, but so much about practice is having the trust that you don't have to make everything happen in that very moment. It takes effort to get to the cushion. It takes resolve and determination to begin, and to keep on meditating even though you don't feel like it. But there's a way in which it can collapse and turn into drudgery, where you feel like you're just slogging through the snow and bearing it out.

Resolve is letting go of the idea that personal growth comes quickly with minimal effort, but also recognizing that it does need some amount of effort. Part of the art of practice is getting a sense of the right amount of effort. Resolve is recognizing that practice is not always fun or easy. Difficulties are part of the path, and it's not always pleasant or comfortable. When we do give up, resolve is just to begin again as best we can. Even if we haven't meditated for months, we just begin again. It doesn't have to be complicated. We don't have to add all these stories about what it means about us as a person or as a meditator. We simply begin again.

For some people, this idea of perseverance or resolve is a quality they already have in abundance. They make a plan, they execute it, and they just don't stop until it's done. For those people, working with adhiṭṭhāna might be about exploring the edge of their practice: how to maintain resolve without getting too tight or constricted. How do you continue practice without it turning into drudgery? Is there a way to bring some lightness to it?

I know sometimes I fall into drudgery, thinking, "Oh my gosh, I have to do this." I push through it, even though I could choose to make it lighter and not quite so heavy. It doesn't have to be that way, but we can easily slip into that sense of obligation. For others, it might not be hard to continue their practice, but they become disconnected or brusque with people: "Go away, I'm meditating," or "No, I can't do that, I have to meditate." Their relationships get affected because they are so focused on finishing the project.

So for some people, resolve isn't so much about repeatedly coming back; it's about maintaining stick-to-itiveness with spaciousness, openness, and ease. We often want to collapse around the things we need to do, but we have to ask ourselves: is there a way we can do it with some joy or happiness?

What are these things that we resolve on? I've been giving the example of meditation practice, but as part of Buddhist practice, we also resolve not to harm others or ourselves. We resolve to be mindful of what's happening, whether formally on the cushion or generally in our life. And we resolve to let go as best we can, recognizing that clinging and holding on really tightly is never the best way forward. Opening and letting go is the way forward.

Hindrances to Resolve: Working with Doubt

What are some of the things that get in the way of resolve? It turns out that the hindrances to meditation are also the same hindrances to resolve, and the same hindrances to so many things in our life! [Laughter]

These five energies, these five occupations of the mind that show up in our formal meditation practice, are also what get in the way: sensual desire, ill will, sloth and torpor, restlessness, and doubt^[11]. These are five obstacles to practice, and five obstacles to doing anything we really want to do. They distract us from our intentions and our aspirations. They are pretty powerful in our life; if we're not aware of them, they can push us around in an incredible way.

I'd like to talk about one of them in particular: doubt. There are so many different ways doubt shows up. Maybe we're meditating, and everything is going along swimmingly, and then it becomes uncomfortable. We might have some difficult emotions, memories, or sudden thoughts: "Oh my gosh, I forgot to do that thing, and now this terrible thing is going to happen! I've gotta jump up and send that email." Or maybe it's just a pain in the knee or the back.

With this flash of uncomfortableness, maybe an inner critic arises: "Everybody else seems to be able to do this, but I can't." Or maybe, "I shouldn't have even started. Who do I think I am?" We can quickly undermine our capability and start to doubt ourselves. We might even start thinking, "Why am I doing this meditation thing anyway? I'm not even sure that it helps. It used to help, but it doesn't seem to be helping now."

We can cook up all these ways practice seems unhelpful—anything opposite to resolve. You might notice that you don't have these types of thoughts when meditation is going well, when we're feeling settled and have a certain amount of ease. Doubt usually arises when things are uncomfortable, or when we feel like we'd rather be doing something else.

A consequence of this type of thinking—"Maybe I shouldn't do this, I should be doing something else"—is that as soon as we get lost or caught up in it, we're no longer actually with our experience. We are lost in our thoughts.

I love what Gotama Buddha^[12] was saying about the person who sits down in mindfulness, holding this up as an ideal practice. We don't have to do it perfectly. But as soon as we're lost in thoughts, those thoughts can go anywhere and everywhere, and they do. Is there a way we can just bring awareness back and say, "Oh, this is doubt. This is doubt about myself. This is doubt about the practice, doubt about the teachings, or doubt about the teacher."

Doubt has a sense of hesitation, vacillation, or getting lost in papañca^[13]—this proliferation of thoughts. It has a certain amount of swirling and an energetic feel to it: "Oh, I'm not sure if I'll do this, maybe I'll do that." When we recognize these thoughts or this feeling of vacillation, we can just tune into that experience and name it: "Oh, this is doubt."

Doubt rarely shows up and announces itself. Instead, it tries to mask itself as wisdom: "It would be better to do some self-care. Take care of yourself, go do something else. Just sleep in or take a nap instead." To be sure, sometimes you should sleep in and take a nap! But sometimes, meditation practice is exactly what's needed.

Practices for Working with Doubt

One way to practice with doubt is just to recognize it and name it. It's really helpful to bring awareness back to the body when you feel this sense of uncertainty. It can be helpful to feel your physical foundation, what you're sitting on, and feel the connectedness and settledness. Remind yourself: "Oh, I'm here right now. I'm doing this meditation practice." This helps get us out of abstract thinking and philosophizing. Tuning into the bodily experience is the First Foundation of Mindfulness^[14].

You can also remind yourself that thoughts are just thoughts. They're ephemeral. A whole other set of thoughts is going to show up in another moment, so you don't have to grab these thoughts, hold them as authoritative, or believe they are the truth of the moment. Observing this is the Third Foundation of Mindfulness^[15]: mindfulness of the mind. This helps undermine the idea that practice isn't a good thing to do.

Next, you can investigate. Get a little bit curious, as if you were a naturalist. Say, "Okay, I'm having all this doubt, and it feels like this." You might do a gentle inquiry: was there something that planted the seed for it? It could be a specific question or a particular uncomfortable experience that allowed the inner critic to show up, take over, and undermine what you're doing.

It might be helpful to ask: Is there a specific question that I have? Is there something I really do have doubt about regarding the teachings, the teacher, or myself? Getting specific cuts through the vacillation. Sometimes it can even be helpful to write the question down to clarify it.

Once you have a question, you can go find an answer. Read Dharma books, talk to other people, talk to teachers, do more practice, or just Google it! Alternatively, you can just recognize, "Okay, it feels like this to have a question." Having a sincere question is different than the hindrance of doubt. Questions are welcome and are definitely part of the practice. To have a question and not know the answer is a profound part of practice.

Not knowing is a way we let go of needing to know exactly what the next moment is going to bring. Always needing the answer is a subtle way we try to control things so we feel more comfortable. Not knowing is uncomfortable, but that is also where the freedom is. If we always knew what was going to happen next, there would be no freedom. So when there's doubt, can you identify a specific question and see if you can be okay with not having an answer? That shifts you away from vacillation and towards mindfulness: "I have this question, and not knowing the answer feels like this."

One last way to work with doubt is to bring to mind what you do have confidence in. What do you know about the practice, or about yourself? It can be helpful to reflect: "Before I had a meditation practice, I didn't realize how busy my mind was. I didn't realize what a planner I was." Or, "Since I've been mindful, not only have I gained greater understanding, but I have a little bit more patience with other people because I see how they're trying to figure things out in the same way I am."

You can also bring to mind times when your practice has been uplifting, meaningful, or transformative. Instead of abandoning things when they get difficult, remember the real fruits of practice you've experienced in the past. And remind yourself that when you sit down to meditate, how it feels at the beginning is rarely how it feels at the end. The meditation shifts and changes. Sometimes at the end it's worse, and sometimes it's better, but it's never exactly the way it is at the beginning. We might feel like there's no way we can sit here for the whole time, but holding the memory that there have been times when the mind really settled and opened with ease can sustain us.

Conclusion

The Buddha talked about many different ways practice shows up, but he emphasized mindfulness and resolve. We can ask ourselves what gets in the way of resolve, and very often, it's doubt. We can practice with doubt by being mindful of it, investigating it, getting a little bit curious about it, and seeing if we can simplify it into a specific question. We can also bring to mind what we have confidence in and reflect on uplifting experiences we've had in meditation.

I like that we started with the Mahagosinga Sutta, where these practitioners come together, practice together, and appreciate each other. They recognize that practice doesn't look exactly the same for everybody. Sometimes the doubt that undermines our practice takes the form of comparing ourselves: "They look like they have it and I don't," or "Clearly they're doing something better than I am." But we must recognize that practice looks different for different people. I think I'll end there. Thank you.

Q&A

Participant 1: When you were talking about doubt and the five hindrances, it reminded me of how we often separate ourselves or have trouble finding common ground. We actually share a lot of our own doubt in common with everyone else, but we tend to spend more time focusing on the things that separate us instead of unite us. It's interesting to think about connecting through our shared negative qualities.

Diana Clark: It's true! I've talked a number of times about how much I love that the Buddha discussed these thousands of years ago. Countless people have been having doubts about practice through all these years. It is definitely part of practice, and not only about practice, but everything in our life. The common humanity—what it means to be human—is to have doubt. Does anybody else have a comment or a question?

Participant 2: I'll make a comment. The last couple of weeks I watched a documentary called The Endurance about Sir Ernest Shackleton, and how dedicated he was once it became clear his ship wasn't going to make it to Antarctica. His goal shifted to saving all of his men. There was a sense of never giving up, and never exactly knowing what the right thing to do was—whether they were going to be able to get to land or certain islands. It was a very inspiring documentary about that sense of continually investigating: "What are the possibilities now?" As the ship got carried by the ice, they had to figure out what was closest, and what they could or couldn't save.

Diana Clark: Thank you, Jim, because that brings to mind something else that can help with doubt: having something that is particularly inspiring or motivating for us. Having a type of North Star that is really important to us. Just like Shackleton wanting to save all those men, is there something that drives, motivates, or inspires us? It might not be saving other people, but having that motivation helps. Thank you.

Participant 3: I read that sutta a couple of years ago and really liked it. It seemed to me that maybe this was written down long after the Buddha, because all these characters in it have superpowers that are larger than life. It's almost like the X-Men or the Legion of Superheroes! They're very well defined, as if they're all wearing different colored costumes. It just seems unlikely that they would all be in the same place at the same time, and the Buddha would be near there too. But I remember really loving the story because I thought for sure they were going to come to blows since they so vigorously disagreed. Like the blind men with the elephant who came to blows—but these were all arahants^[16]! It shows a healthy way to have differences of opinion. I was really sure the Buddha was going to scold them and say, "Why are you worried about which of you is more right than the other? That's not a wise thing to have your minds on." But instead, he said, "You all spoke well, and here's what I have to say." I think there was something really gentle about that.

Diana Clark: Yeah, in my mind, I had this idea that Sariputta—who is doing the speaking—just wants to hear from everybody, and it doesn't matter so much what they have to say. And going to see the Buddha—it is curious! Why did they go see the Buddha? Was it to resolve something, or just to share, "Hey, look what we did! We sat around and talked about this." I guess there are a number of ways we can read between the lines. Though, I think only one of them has actual superpowers in the story! [Laughter] I don't really know the X-Men, but I know the premise. I like thinking of their characteristics as "superpowers"—like the superpower of asking the right question, or being able to sit for long times. Maybe not supernatural powers, but finely distinguished characteristics.

There are some other historical hints in here about why it might be a later sutta, but I pulled this together because I think it's nice to see how practice shows up in different ways. We don't all have to look the same. Okay, thank you all.