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Compliments to the Eightfold Path

Introduction

Well, good evening everyone and welcome. This evening our speaker is Jennifer Dungan. Jennifer has been studying the dharma for over 20 years. She was a student of Shaila Catherine in the Insight Meditation South Bay group, sat many meditation retreats, and used to be a member of the NASA Ames meditation club along with me until she retired. And so, I want to thank you, Jennifer, for agreeing to come and speak with us tonight.

Thank you very much, Jim. Thank you for inviting me. It's really interesting to be on this side of the room. Can everyone hear me? Okay, great.

So tonight I'm going to talk about compliments to the Eightfold Path. How many people feel like they are familiar with the Eightfold Path? Okay, thank you. A compliment, of course, is an expression of respect or regard. So for the theme of the talk, that's what I mean. I respect and regard the Eightfold Path, which is the fourth of the Four Noble Truths. But from here on in, I'm going to be using the word "complement" spelled with an e instead of an i, playing a little bit with concepts that at face value might seem like opposites to the canonical translations of the Eightfold Path. Rather than opposites, these are complementary sides of the practice that I hope will be easily recognizable through their connection with the Four Noble Truths, the five precepts, and other teachings.

Just to review for some of you, and for others, to give the list of the practices of the Eightfold Path: there is right action, right speech, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, right concentration, right view, and right intention. All of these elements are prefaced by the Pali word sammā^[1]. For example, sammā kammanta^[2] for right action, which is usually translated into English as "right." So when we hear the word "right," it's hard not to think of the word "wrong." The Victorians were the ones who did the translations of the Pali originally, and there was this Judeo-Christian view of morality—there's the right way to do things, and then there's the wrong way to do things.

However, in this context, modern interpreters say it's not really about moral absolutes or judgment, but more about what's balanced or fitting. I've heard Gil translate sammā as "appropriate" or "wise." Like the word "complement" spelled with an e, sammā also points to a state of being entire, full, or complete. The eight practices are often divided into ethical, meditative, and wisdom categories, but there aren't really any boundaries between them. It's just one way of keeping track of them.

Ethical Practices

The ethical practices are right action, right livelihood, and right speech. A theme running through all of these three practices is refraining or abstaining.

Taking each in turn, one could say the complement of right action is right non-action. In fact, according to the suttas, right action is abstaining from taking life, abstaining from stealing, and abstaining from sexual misconduct, which happen to be three of the five precepts right there. So in effect, right action is already its complement: non-action. We refrain from doing these harmful things that cause suffering or stress for ourselves and for others. We cultivate the ability to choose non-action in the face of triggering stimuli so that we have time to bring wisdom to bear on the situation.

This is one reason we meditate. We slow things down, practicing giving the whole body-mind a chance to catch up, to become conscious of what is actually happening in the present moment as opposed to assuming the old or habitual stories that we've developed in the past. As biological organisms, our nervous systems process pleasant sensations as not urgent. You don't have to act immediately, and there's time for the executive functions of the brain to weigh in on what to do next. It occurs to me this explains why good ideas can come while one is in the shower. You're there, there's warm water flowing over your body, pleasant sensations there. You know how to wash yourself; there aren't any decisions to be made. Most likely pervading pleasant sensations move through the whole body, and then the mind is free to be creative and allow ideas to bubble up to consciousness with less constraint.

In contrast, unpleasant sensations read as urgent and there's a need to act quickly. The foundational mechanisms are primal. For example, only the most extraordinary yogis would be able to keep a hand on a hot stove for any length of time, and that wouldn't be advisable either. But how reactive we can be to a particular unpleasant sensation is, of course, dependent on the intensity of the sensation and the perception of that sensation, which depends on a whole bunch of other conditioning factors. So when we meditate and slow down, we strengthen our right action practice through non-action. That's my first example of the practice and the complement.

How about right speech? According to the suttas, right speech is again abstaining from lying, abstaining from divisive speech, abstaining from harsh speech, and abstaining from idle chatter. Framing right speech in a positive or active way is to speak the truth, speak it kindly, helpfully, and at an appropriate time. I'd like to propose a complement to right speech is right listening. Listening can take as much skill as speaking. When in conversation, the monkey mind can be fully active. Many associations may arise as our conversation partner speaks, and we may wish to weigh in prematurely with our own experience, give advice, disagree, or give an opinion before our partner even finishes expressing their thoughts. Staying with the sensations of one's own body as one listens, refraining from judgment, and maintaining a warm heart—receptive to the extent possible in the moment—this could be right listening. How would you be able to ascertain what's kind, helpful, true, and timely in a conversation without listening carefully?

And then there's, of course, listening to oneself, which is really what our meditative practice is all about: attuning to our own thoughts and processes as they arise in the present moment. When I was new to meditation, a revelatory moment for me was listening to the sound of the tingsha bells^[3]. We were encouraged to listen to the bell for the entire duration of the sound. I experienced the ringing in a fresh way that day, realizing that habits of mind that would normally have conceptualized the ringing had moved to something else before the sound had even faded. It was an important experience for me that inspired me to pursue practice.

The third in this set of the Eightfold Path is right livelihood. This one is a little playful since I'm pretty sure there aren't any suttas about this, but the complement to right livelihood could be right retirement. What is right livelihood? It's the case where a disciple of the noble ones, having abandoned dishonest livelihood, keeps his life going with right livelihood, refraining from producing poisons or munitions, or refraining from working to kill animals, for example.

Perhaps a complement to livelihood is retirement. Naturally, such a concept might not have been terribly salient in the Buddha's time since jobs were not really institutionalized then. But some of us here in the room have retired from our jobs, so our livelihood depends on what we've saved, inherited, and received from pensions or retirement programs that depend on the accrual of money through investment and compounding interest. If we're lucky enough to have come to a time of life when we do not have to labor for our livelihood, we may have more time for formal dharma activities, more wherewithal to practice generosity, or to direct our activities to less remunerative roles that fulfill our good intentions. In other words, there may be room for a rededication to right effort, cultivating our skill, and giving back or paying forward the blessings that we've received during our working life.

Meditative Practices

The next three factors or practices are in the category of meditation. We have right effort, which goes along with mindfulness and concentration. A person who is practicing right effort generates desire, endeavors, activates persistence, upholds, and exerts their intent for the sake of the non-arising of evil, unskillful qualities that have not yet arisen. The abandoning of evil, unskillful qualities that have arisen, the arising of skillful qualities that have not yet arisen, and the maintenance, non-confusion, increase, plenitude, development, and culmination of skillful qualities that have arisen. That sounds like a lot of work. [Laughter]

That's right effort. But the complement to this effort is right effortlessness. The non-arising of unskillfulness and the arising of skillfulness can become effortless without the need for exertion. When starting out with dharma practice, meditation can seem effortful, deliberately and repeatedly bringing attention back to the breath, the body, the mind, and the mind states in the present moment. It takes conscious application, discipline, and repeated practice. Effortlessness is what the practice points toward. A state where awareness doesn't need to be manufactured or maintained through will, because the mind's habitual grasping, aversion, and distortion have let go sufficiently so that clear presence becomes the natural resting state rather than something one has to keep generating.

Then there's right mindfulness. A person practicing right mindfulness remains focused on the body in and of itself—ardent, alert, and mindful—subduing greed and distress with reference to the world. A person remains focused on feelings in and of themselves, ardent, alert, and mindful, subduing greed and distress with reference to the world. A person remains focused on the mind and mental qualities in and of themselves, ardent, alert, and mindful, subduing greed and distress with reference to the world. Those instructions are elaborated in the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta^[4] and are very foundational for us.

Perhaps a complement to right mindfulness is right contemplation, including the past and potential futures. Even though one of my favorite admonitions is giving up hope for a better past, it can be important to investigate the past sometimes for lessons on what old patterns we're clinging to. Contemplative practices can include the study of texts, writing in a journal, or engaging with psychotherapy. Undigested material from one's past can certainly arise in the practice, and engaging with a trusted teacher, a spiritual friend or friends, or a trusted therapist can be a great boon to progress. One of my favorite authors is Mark Epstein, a psychiatrist in New York City who has written many books on the intersection of Buddhism and psychology. His most famous one is called Thoughts Without a Thinker. Another one, which I brought along tonight, is called Advice Not Given: A Guide to Getting Over Yourself. It's about the Eightfold Path. In it, he discusses the ways in which these eight practices pertain to his patients' issues and how he engaged with them.

Moving on to right concentration. The sutta that describes this—the way a person in meditation enters and sustains the jhāna^[5] states—is what is known as right concentration. It goes into a description of the stages of the jhāna: the first, the second, the third, and the fourth. Some of you may have been practicing the jhānas and so are somewhat familiar with these. A complement to right concentration could be right openness. That is, the jhāna states are conditioned mind states requiring seclusion. It's not expected that a person would remain in these secluded states, but that the mind training needed for these states would then prepare a person to be more open to the world, to be able to act skillfully with discernment for self and others.

I'm going to read a short paragraph from Advice Not Given relevant to this. Mark was told about a hermit who, after meditating in a cave in the mountains of Nepal, heard that the Dalai Lama would soon be passing through his remote area. This hermit had mastered many of the classic meditations designed to quiet the mind and calm anxiety. Villagers had brought him food to keep him healthy. But other than these rare encounters, he had been alone for four years in deep states of meditation. He somehow arranged for a personal meeting with the Dalai Lama and emerged from his self-imposed retreat for the encounter. He asked the Dalai Lama for advice on what to do next. "Get a life," the Dalai Lama said. This monk from a poor Nepalese village was shaken by the exchange. It went against all his preconceived notions of what a monk should do. The Dalai Lama was not negating the value of the hermit's meditations, but he didn't want his student to stop there. It was time to pick up his bundle and return to town rather than resting on the laurels of his spiritual attainments. I give that as an example of what right openness would be: opening to the world and acting with skill and with wholesome action.

Wisdom Practices

So far I've covered six parts of the Eightfold Path. There are only two left. These are the wisdom practices. They're usually categorized that way: right view, also translated as right understanding, and right intention, or right thought, or right resolve.

What is right view? Knowledge regarding stress or dukkha^[6] or suffering, the origin of stress or suffering, how stress stops, and then how to practice to end suffering, which is what we're talking about tonight. The teaching coils back on itself; it's sort of a recursive thing. You may recognize that right view has been defined by knowledge of the Four Noble Truths. The complement to right view here is no view, or the right suspension of view.

The idea of no view has plenty of support in the suttas. No view is worth clinging to. I think this has to do with the nature of any view. It's a constructed and therefore impermanent thing. It can't be grasped to provide lasting, constant happiness. You may have heard the Buddha's instructions to the Kalamas^[7] as they were starting out on their spiritual journey: to see for yourselves. Try it out. See if it works. Don't cling to any particular views or the Four Noble Truths that have been laid out for you.

What about right intention or right resolve? Resolve for renunciation, resolve for non-ill will, resolve for harmlessness. Renunciation for a layperson might be the full knowing that whatever endeavor leads to pleasure will not ultimately be satisfying and will fade or disappear with the passage of time. Having practiced for some time, a possible complement to right resolve is right spontaneity. Intention needn't be explicitly conscious, thoughtful resolve at every moment. Through cultivation, wholesome action can occur spontaneously without a definite intention formed beforehand. For example, opportunities in the world to be generous can be offered, and those opportunities can be spontaneously taken.

Conclusion

In conclusion, a possible single takeaway from this talk is that sometimes the dharma seems self-contradictory. Yet there's much richness in considering different sides of each teaching: complements to the Eightfold Path.

What was my intention in accepting Jim's invitation to speak tonight? I think my answer was relatively spontaneous. I was not completely conscious of the ideas of renunciation or even harmlessness, but it seemed like the right thing to do. I hope you found this beneficial in some way. And if it was confusing or too complicated, please leave it behind. But thank you for listening.

Q&A

At this point, I would open it up for questions or for any testimony about your practice. I think Jim has a microphone if anyone wants to ask or say anything.

Questioner: Thank you very much. What a, for me personally, a fresh view that I really appreciate. What you brought to the Eightfold Path in so many ways. One, just kind of presenting each of the path factors, but then with the complements, it was just such an opening for me to approach practice in a new way on all of the factors. So I just really appreciate it. Thank you.

Jennifer: Thank you. I'm glad that was inspiring. The way I came to it was the seed of it—I was thinking about listening. Conversation takes two or more and right speech is emphasized, but if you don't have right listening, it doesn't work out. So that was the beginning, and then I started to think about the other seven practices.

Questioner: And I also really appreciated retirement, and it just made me think a whole lot about the responsibility of retired persons, especially dharma persons. That was just so interesting because so much in the news today does talk about seniors holding on to things and making it harder for the upcoming generation. And so within the dharma conversation, that was so powerful to think about the responsibility of myself as an older person, and so I appreciated that deeply. Also, each of the complements were just really helpful.

Jennifer: I'm delighted to hear that. Thank you.

Poem: Shoveling Snow with the Buddha

And we don't have to sit in silence necessarily, because I also brought along a poem by one of my favorite poets, Billy Collins, and I wanted to share it with you. It's not too long. So here it goes. The title of the poem is Shoveling Snow with the Buddha.

In the usual iconography of the temple or the local wok, you would never see him doing such a thing, tossing the dry snow over a mountain of his bare, round shoulder, his hair tied in a knot, a model of concentration.

Sitting is more his speed, if that is the word for what he does or does not do.

Even the season is wrong for him. In all his manifestations, is it not warm or slightly humid? Is this not implied by his serene expression, that smile so wide it wraps itself around the waist of the universe?

But here we are, working our way down the driveway, one shovelful at a time. We toss the light powder into the clear air. We feel the cold mist on our faces. And with every heave we disappear and become lost to each other in these sudden clouds of our own making, these fountain bursts of snow.

This is so much better than a sermon in church, I say out loud, but Buddha keeps on shoveling. This is the true religion, the religion of snow, and sunlight and winter geese barking in the sky, I say, but he is too busy to hear me.

He has thrown himself into shoveling snow as if it were the purpose of existence, as if the sign of a perfect life were a clear driveway you could back the car down easily and drive off into the vanities of the world with a broken heater fan and a song on the radio.

All morning long we work side by side, me with my commentary and he inside his generous pocket of silence, until the hour is nearly noon and the snow is piled high all around us; then, I hear him speak.

After this, he asks, can we go inside and play cards?

Certainly, I reply, and I will heat some milk and bring cups of hot chocolate to the table while you shuffle the deck. And our boots stand dripping by the door.

Aaah, says the Buddha, lifting his eyes and leaning for a moment on his shovel before he drives the thin blade again deep into the glittering white snow.

So, we still have about 10 minutes or so. If nobody else wants to say anything, we could just sit.