Looking on conflict kindly

This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Looking on Conflict Kindly. 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 April 11, 2023. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Looking on conflict kindly

Good evening, welcome. Nice to see you all to practice together. Today I'd like to start with a little quote that's in the suttas^[1] where somebody asks the Buddha a question. For me, when I hear this, it seems like a relevant question that we could just ask today. The question is: "When beings all wish to live in peace, why are they perpetually embroiled in conflict?"

This recognition that all of us want peace—of course all of us do, and not only humans, right? All beings. This is part of what it means to be alive. So the question is, when beings all wish to live in peace, why are they perpetually embroiled in conflict?

That's a good question. We all want peace, but why is there so much conflict all over the place? We see it in really obvious ways, and even in really subtle, quiet ways. Of course, we have nation-states, but we also have just being irritated with the neighbor because their dog barks all the time, or something like this. Maybe the conflict isn't obvious or manifest in throwing things, saying things, or harming, but there's this conflict: not getting along with, being in contention with.

So why is it that even though we want peace, we find ourselves in conflict? Sometimes we're even in conflict with the moment: "I don't want this to be happening, make it go away." There is this way in which we try to push things away, or change them, manipulate them, or engineer them in any way we can just to make them feel more comfortable, so that we don't feel like we have to be in conflict with them.

As you might imagine, in these suttas, after that question the Buddha gives a talk. I'm not going to go into exactly that particular sutta, but he gives a discourse where he traces all the causes of conflicts and hostility. He talks about subtler and subtler elements of our experience, finally landing on our views: beliefs. Of course it is. How could it be anything else? These ideas that we have about how things should be, or how we should be. But it's not quite that simple either, because otherwise we could just say, "Okay, well, we'll just change our beliefs, or don't have any beliefs," and then you wouldn't be in conflict. Somehow that doesn't quite work. There's this way in which we have views that we're not even aware of, and we're holding onto them in a way that we don't even know. We don't want to have this approach like, "Oh, nothing matters," or "Everything's okay and we don't need any boundaries." We don't want to do that. So how do we find our way with this idea of conflict, views, and beliefs?

First, I'll start with a story that the Buddha gives about himself. It's a little autobiographical and a bit different than what we usually hear about the Buddha. It's before he's awakened and describes what it was like to be a young man at that time in ancient India. It's very interesting because a lot of what he talks about, we could be talking about today.

It starts like this: "Just look at people and their quarrels, and I will speak of my dismay in the way that I was shaken, seeing people thrash about like fish in little water." There is this way that people thrash about like fish in little water—there's this agitation. Whether it's obvious with their body movements, there's an agitation that is wanting to lash out, or to harm, or blame. A fish in little water has this desperation to it, feeling like it's not going to survive. In some ways, people feel like this often, too. It's not so much that they're not going to survive, but something in them feels threatened, and so they're thrashing about like fish in little water.

"I will speak of my dismay in the way that I was shaken, seeing people thrash about like fish in little water, and seeing them feuding with each other, I became afraid." Quite something. Somebody who becomes the Buddha says, "I became afraid."

I had some neighbors that reliably at 9:00 PM the yelling would start. In the summer especially, when we all had our windows open, they were close enough to me. I couldn't understand the words, but I didn't need to. It made me so anxious at night just to hear all the yelling. I felt like I didn't know what was happening over there, but it was reliable almost every night for years. It's just so heartbreaking, and it's sad too.

So when the Buddha-to-be is talking about seeing them feuding with each other and saying, "I became afraid," maybe you've had that same experience too. When we see people thrashing around and yelling at each other—even on social media where there is some real ugly stuff that happens—there's this feeling of contraction and dismay.

The Buddha says: "Seeing them feuding with each other, I became afraid. I felt discontent at seeing only conflict to the very end." He felt like everywhere he could see, there was plenty of conflict. "But now," here's where they shift, "I saw an arrow here, hard to see, embedded in the heart." Hard to see. He didn't notice it, but noticed that there was this arrow, like a dart stabbing in the heart. "Pierced by this arrow, people dash about in all directions. When the arrow is pulled out, they don't run and they don't sink."

"They don't run and they don't sink" is a reference to another discourse where somebody asks the Buddha, "How did you cross the flood? How did you get through all this morass of difficulties of life?" With this metaphor of the flood as a raging river, somebody asks him, "How did you get across to the other side where things are safe and spacious and free?" He says, "I got across to the other side by not halting and by not struggling." So he's saying here, when the arrow is pulled out, it's the same thing: they don't run and they don't sink. It's a way to get to the other side where there's freedom, peace, and safety.

I appreciate this very much because the Buddha is pointing to something that he discovered in himself. He's not saying, "All you guys have this problem and you've got to fix it." He's saying, "I was distressed, and with that I discovered that actually there was something I was contributing to this—this arrow." And not only is he saying that, he is saying that other people can pull it out too. We might even say that his lifetime of teaching was about pulling out this arrow.

So we might ask, what is this arrow? How do we pull it out? How can we put an end to this conflict?

Before I answer that, I'll tell one more well-known story that comes out of the suttas. There is a version of this story in a number of different religious traditions from India, and different traditions incorporated it into their scriptures. I kind of like this idea that there's just this wisdom that was being shared. However, the details of this Buddhist version make a difference compared to the more sanitized versions I've heard in Dharma talks.

There's this king—we might think of a king as somebody who has authority—who asks his servant to round up persons who are blind from birth. When the servant had done so, the king asked the servant to show the blind people an elephant. Elephants are huge and powerful. To some of these blind people, he showed the elephant's head, to some the ear, to some the tusk, to some the trunk. You can imagine where this is going. If you're a blind person and you feel a tusk, you're going to have one idea. If you feel a trunk, you're going to have a different idea. They felt the body, the foot, the hindquarters, the tail, and even the tuft at the end of the tail. Everybody just feels one little portion of this giant elephant.

Then the king asked the blind people, "What is an elephant like?" Of course, somebody says it's like a water jar, it's like a basket, it's like an arrow, it's like a pole, it's like a storeroom, a post, a mortar, a pestle, a broom. But then here's what comes next: they start saying, "An elephant is like this." "No, it's not like that, it's like this!" The blind people get to fighting amongst each other. They fought each other with fists. They couldn't see one another, but they were flailing around and punching each other.

And the king was delighted with the spectacle. This was just for the amusement of this person. Unlike the Buddha, who, when seeing conflict, was feeling afraid and upset, here's somebody who's just doing it for sport. But we do some of that, right? Maybe there's a part of us that does this too. Athletic events can be a little bit like this, or maybe politics are like this. We kind of set up this conflict, and it's entertainment. The people became quarrelsome, disputatious, and wrangling, wounding each other with verbal daggers. They're calling each other names.

At the end of this, there's a little bit of a discourse where the Buddha says: "In the same way, some religious practitioners, so-called, are deeply attached to their own views. People who only see one side of things engage in quarrels and disputes." Of course we have views, but it's something different to have views and to be holding onto them so tightly that you have to quarrel, get in fights with others, and try to convince them that we're right and they're wrong.

This story with the elephant points to this tendency to think that we know the truth or we know what's really happening when we only know a piece of the story. Often we don't know what's going on inside somebody else. When we're in the middle of a conflict, we aren't thinking about the bigger picture. Can you imagine how these blind people would have reacted if the person showing them the elephant said: "Okay, I'm doing this for entertainment for the king, and I'm going to tell everybody else something different, and then ask you to say what it is." If they had the bigger picture, they would probably say, "I'm not going to do that. I'm going to go talk to these other people and maybe we will just talk together about what it is like."

We often think we have the bigger picture, but we don't. Or maybe we even have a really big picture, but we're still just holding onto it missing one integral piece of information that we don't even recognize. From our background, our social location, our history, we might be biased to think about things one way and not even recognize that different people think different ways. Of course they do! People come from different family stories, cultures, whatever it is.

Not only do we not have the big picture, but some of the views that we have are distorted about the world and about ourselves. We might think that we're the ones who see clearly and these other people are obviously confused. We might have this idea that we are the upstanding ones and they are not: us and them, me and everybody else. Or we might have the sense that we are the aggrieved and they are the transgressors. We so often have these views, but is this the whole picture, and what are we not seeing?

Here's an exercise that was an eye-opener for me regarding these views I didn't even know I was holding tightly. What are the groups that we belong to? Of course we belong to groups. Are you an employee of a certain company, and are you in a particular division within that company? Maybe you're interested in a particular hobby, or you have a profession. Are you involved in the arts, and maybe you identify with a particular style or genre? Maybe you have certain philosophical ideas, and there are these different schools of philosophy, including Buddhist traditions. Maybe it's sports teams, or even brand names: PC, Android, or iPhone. Or citizen of a nation, city, community, or neighborhood.

We all belong to these groups. We can ask ourselves: in what way is the identity of this group related to another group? Is there a rival team? Is there a competitor? I remember when I was in corporate America, the department I was in had to partner with this other department, and my department was always complaining about them. As a company, our rival was this other company. There's this little bit of conflict that just gets set up as part of being in the group. Do we have these common enemies that provide some cohesiveness in this group? There is a way in which these underlying beliefs sow the seeds for conflict, sow the seeds for "us versus them," "me versus you," "me against the world."

There's a quote from Michel de Montaigne^[2], a French philosopher in the 16th century: "I consider myself an average person, except for the fact that I consider myself an average person." We all kind of think that somehow we're a little bit better than average. There is nothing inherent in any person that makes them fundamentally our enemy, competitor, or something we need to be opposed to, and yet we so easily fall into that kind of thinking. These are cognitive biases that probably all humans have. One could even say that there's some evolutionary advantage to having cohesiveness within a group so we can take care of each other. But clinging to our views contributes to conflict.

Clinging to anything leads to suffering. Clinging is not the way to freedom. But sometimes we have these views that we don't even recognize, that we aren't even aware of. So what can we do? What are some ways in which we might be able to work with this?

I'll start with something that Gil Fronsdal^[3] said a number of years ago: "Be still and look upon everything kindly." There's something very simple about that: be still and look upon everything kindly.

"Be still" points to: is there a way that we can stop the thrashing about like a fish out of water? There is sometimes this sense of agitation. Can we quiet the mind, soothe the heart, so that we can see a bigger picture? Can we quiet the mind so that we can check in with our experience and notice how agitated we are? Sometimes when we're agitated, we're lost in the agitation and don't really have any awareness of it. When I had those neighbors that were yelling, sometimes I would not even be aware that I was agitated; I would just be agitated trying to escape from the sound.

Then there is this idea to "look upon everything kindly." Maybe we need to be still in order that we can look upon things kindly. There are so many different ways we might interpret this idea, but one of them is: can we soften our heart and soften our mind? Can we open up whatever is feeling constricted?

There's a few ways that we can do that. One is to just check in with the body and to relax the body. The body and the mind are connected; sometimes it's easiest to start with the body. Stretch, get comfortable, take some long deep breaths or long exhales. These are ways to soften the body and soothe the nervous system. When the nervous system calms down a little bit, then we can see a bigger picture and open the heart.

What would it be like if, in a conflict, you give the other group or the individual a victory? "Yeah, you're right. That's actually a good point." "You know what, I changed my mind. I can see what you're saying now." "Oh, I didn't realize that other information, so now what you're saying makes more sense." Or even saying, "I'm not entirely convinced, but I can see that you're convinced, so help me understand." These are different ways you might give them a victory so that it brings the tension down, and everybody can relax and see the bigger picture.

I think many of us know this verse from the Dhammapada^[4]: "Hatred never ends through hatred. By non-hate alone does it end." This is an ancient truth. Hatred is a strong word, but it's pointing out that conflict isn't going to end with conflict. Where is it going to end? Why not with us?

Sometimes we have these cognitive biases of "me against the world," "us versus them," that we aren't even aware of. They seem so familiar that we don't even question them. So much about this practice is starting to see some of these underlying beliefs that we have about ourselves, about others, and about the world, and starting to hold them lightly. Hold them like, "Okay, this is what makes sense to me now. This is my provisional understanding." Rather than holding on tightly.

Here's an excerpt from a short poem by Rosemarry Wahtola Trommer^[5]. The title of this poem gives it away; it's called, Dear moment that wasn't what I thought it was:

Thank you for blessing me with reality For showing me when I'm guilty of what my friend calls cognitive slippage. It's like stuffing a big scoop of wasabi into my mouth thinking it's guacamole. The mind believes what it wants to believe until it's shown otherwise.

This idea of a big spoonful of wasabi—it's very uncomfortable to have a mouthful of this, especially if you think it's guacamole, something smooth and delicious. It's an uncomfortable recognition. But it doesn't mean that we can't do it, and it doesn't mean that it's not a way to greater and greater freedom and ease, not only for ourselves but for those people that we are in conflict with.

One way to work with conflict is to be still and look upon everything kindly. To look upon things kindly means that we have this warm-heartedness. Sometimes we feel disconnected from our warm-heartedness. Mindfulness practice supports this; loving-kindness practice supports feeling connected both to ourselves and to a sense of warm-heartedness.

"To be still" points to: are there ways that we can be more aware of our beliefs? Can we be curious and inquire about when we find ourselves in conflict? Ask ourselves: what beliefs am I holding here that puts me in so much conflict? Why can't I hold this with open hands? We are still setting boundaries between appropriate and inappropriate behavior; we're not being passive or letting people walk all over us, but we're not forcing our beliefs on others. We're holding them lightly as opposed to tightly.

We can be curious about the opinions that we have. Why does that make sense to us? What's underneath them? Because our beliefs are resistant to change, and if we don't have this sense of curiosity or willingness to inquire, they'll just stay embedded and there will just be conflict after conflict.

Be still and look upon things kindly as a way to work with conflicts, to help become aware of some of these views that we have, and to help create the conditions to ease conflicts with others. I'm using this word conflict in a really general way—from mild irritation to as big as you can imagine.

Questions and Comments

Questioner 1: I was touched by the verse from the Dhammapada about "only by non-hate." The other religion says you have to love thy neighbor, and that's a lot to ask. Can you talk about the difference, and why not hating my neighbor is enough?

Diana Clark: Sometimes translators will call it love, but the Pali^[6] is "non-hate," and I like this very much for the same reason. Can you imagine why it is that "just not hating" is good enough?

Questioner 1: That I don't have to come up with the love. That somehow by non-hating, by setting that aside, there's space inside me and the love emerges naturally, rather than me having to do it.

Diana Clark: Very nice. I appreciate this very much, and I would say that's definitely what is there. But you know, love is a tall order. I think often when we hear "love thy neighbor," especially when we're having difficulties, it feels like a disconnect. How am I going to get there when I'm over here with this real anger or hatred?

Questioner 1: It's harder than that, because it's not just "love thy neighbor," it's "love thy neighbor as myself."

Diana Clark: Yes, right. So non-hate ends with this conflict here. It's the ending of conflict. It's more like honoring and respecting, which isn't the same thing as loving. It's kind of like, "Okay, I'm not in conflict with them," as opposed to loving them like myself.

Questioner 2: For me, the concept of not hating someone—what it means to me very deeply, and it took me a long time to figure out—is the amount of energy hating someone takes. The amount it takes away from me and my essence just is not worth the conflict or the hatred. I'm not even thinking about having a positive love for that person; I just don't want to be depleted anymore.

Diana Clark: Yeah, and not to be tangled up, right? When there's hatred, then you're tangled up with them in some kind of way. Thank you.

Questioner 3: When you were talking about your neighbors and said that the yelling went on for years, something in me just had sadness. Did it ever turn out okay? Did they move away?

Diana Clark: In the winter we couldn't hear so well because our windows were closed, but in the summer we had our windows open and we could hear. So I don't know, maybe they got along better in the winter.

Questioner 3: I used to drive a cab in San Francisco, and once I was driving along and looked out the window. If it helps to set the scene, it was on Sutter Street around Hyde, going westbound on the north side of the street. There was a man and a woman walking along side by side and yelling at each other bitterly. You could see this was a very sustained thing. I looked at my passenger in the back seat and said, "That is just so completely unnecessary." He agreed right off the bat.

Diana Clark: It's quite something that you remember this all these years later because it touched something. It's kind of like what the Buddha was pointing to; it touches something when we see this. They could just part and go different ways if they're not happy with each other, but for some reason, people don't do that.

Questioner 4: Just following on that, in the summer of 1973, I was going out with a woman that lived in an apartment, and in the apartment above her, there was a couple that fought all the time. It turns out the story was they fought all the time, so they got divorced, and then they missed each other so they got married again and moved in and still fought. It made me think that sometimes people like their patterns so much that not having it is worse than having the conflict. I think there's certainly a place for compassion.

Diana Clark: Yeah, and also seeing that it's not just them. There are ways in which I seek conflict—not like going to a boxing match, but I can see in myself a tendency leaning towards that occasionally. There's a little zing of energy that comes with that. I could see why we do this. Thank you. It was amazing to me that they actually got divorced, went apart, and then got married again so they could be back together in that same dynamic. There's some valence there. Maybe psychologists have something to say about that. It's like movie stars, right? [Laughter]

Questioner 5: What you're saying makes me think of my birth family—my mother, my sisters. Aggressive communication is kind of the norm, so I've tended to not spend time with them because I don't like it. But I've learned to not take it personally. I learned that it really has absolutely nothing to do with me; it's all them and how they need to communicate. Sometimes it's like they don't feel met, or heard, or seen unless you raise your voice.

Sometimes it's just meeting the energy. It's like a dance, an involvement: "Now I know that you see me." That is not how I like to be, but I can also see that it's just meeting them, giving them what they need to know—"Okay, you hear me and you see me." Then there becomes this challenge to be able to communicate in that mode without actually becoming angry. There doesn't have to be any anger; it's just meeting the mode of expression and the energy. It's really easy when you get back in that mode for that old habit energy to arise. So it's a very interesting dance to just notice how people communicate, not take it personally, and then ask what the situation needs. I don't avoid it as much anymore. I really used to, because they're my birth family and I don't want to avoid them. Sometimes we need to get together, but it's not my personal preference.

Diana Clark: Yeah, it's interesting the compelling nature of habit energy. Thank you. Wishing you all a wonderful rest of the evening.