On reflexivity and mindfulness
01/October/2008 06:47 PM Filed in: mindfulness
| reflexivity
In this entry I would like to address the issue of
mindfulness and its relationship to reflexive
awareness. If we are looking for mindfulness, this is
the area we need to examine. Along the way I’ll try
to address some of the issues that have been raised
in our discussions.
I take “reflexive” to mean bending back to oneself. How does reflexivity influence awareness? Normally, we are aware. We don’t have to make any special effort to be aware; we are simply aware. We see, hear, smell, touch, taste and think. Technically, we can say that it is the nature of mind to contact an object; to be aware of something. So far, so good. We are already aware. But are we aware that we are aware?
I take “reflexive” to mean bending back to oneself. How does reflexivity influence awareness? Normally, we are aware. We don’t have to make any special effort to be aware; we are simply aware. We see, hear, smell, touch, taste and think. Technically, we can say that it is the nature of mind to contact an object; to be aware of something. So far, so good. We are already aware. But are we aware that we are aware?
Let’s say that during meditation I am lost in
thought. There is certainly awareness here, images
flowing through the mind, capturing attention. Then
suddenly, I know I am thinking. What’s the difference
between this new experience — knowing I am thinking —
and what was going on just a second before —
thinking? Previously, there was awareness; now, there
is awareness of awareness. Here, within in
this quality of reflexivity, is where we find
mindfulness.
Sati, after all, literally means “memory,” and is classically defined as “remembering the object.” When we are meditating, following the object, and then suddenly slide into distraction, what happens? We forget. We forget the object of meditation; or, we forget we are meditating. So we are distracted, and don’t know that we are distracted. For isn’t that what happens? We are in fantasy, and don’t know that we are in fantasy. We know the fantasy; later, we may be able to recall what it was about. But when we are fully immersed in distraction we don’t know that we are fully immersed in distraction, and this “not knowing” is the essence of distraction.
Suddenly, we know we are distracted. It’s an interesting experience. A moment ago, we were distracted, and didn’t know; now, we know. What happened? We remember. We remember the object of meditation; or, we remember we are meditating. And what’s the difference between our distracted awareness now that we know we are distracted, and our distracted awareness back then, before we knew? I would say the difference is mindfulness, and I would further suggest that this moment of the arising of mindfulness always contains a quality of reflexivity.
So mindfulness remembers awareness, or the object of awareness. The work of being mindful, of practising mindfulness, is the work of reminding ourselves that we are (already) aware, or reminding ourselves to be aware — of this. Mindfulness, then, is always associated with energy. Awareness itself can be passive, purely receptive. Right now I am seeing, and am making no particular effort to see. But mindfulness is active. Right now, I am reminding myself that I am seeing, or what I am seeing. This quality of energy, activity, seems essential to mindfulness, and I find it suggestive that in the eightfold path, mindfulness is listed next to vayama, “energy/effort.”
Let’s look again at our gatekeeper, whose job is to keep out “the unknown” (aññata) and admit “the known” (ñata).” Her job is recognising, and recognition arises within reflexivity. Rena objects that this image of the gatekeeper suggests to her a condition of being “stuck in what we know, resisting change, resisting new.” Certainly, it is an interesting choice of words for the Buddha. What might he be getting at here?
Firstly, we need to see the context within which the image of mindfulness as gatekeeper functions. This is not any ordinary city, but “a frontier city with strong ramparts, walls, and arches.” This is a fortress, a city on the edge and expecting trouble. This city is located on the frontier of the wholesome (kusala), and perhaps planning to push this frontier deeper into enemy territory, the unwholesome (akusala), winning more territory for the wholesome. So the gatekeeper has a clear sense of purpose, of direction, in her seeing. Whoever comes, must be identified: friend or foe? Of course, let’s not over-read this image, not try to hang too much on it. The Buddha uses many other images to discuss mindfulness, and we shall doubtless examine some in the future. But this image does suggest mindfulness functioning in a conflict zone, and this gives it a particular flavour.
Does this image tell us that mindfulness is opposed to the process of opening to the new? Rena, you go on to give the example of students learning to draw where, if I understand you correctly, you are saying that this process involves learning to see anew, as unfamiliar, what we have previously learned to perceive as familiar. Caught in habits of seeing, our routines of seeing, we have become blinded to what is really going on around us. We think we know what’s happening, but don’t. What seems familiar — is too familiar — needs to be related to as actually unknown, containing unexpected possibilities.
This, to me, does not sound like mindfulness as such (although mindfulness must surely be part of this process), but perception (sañña). For example, the Buddha speaks of cultivating “the perception of impermanence” (anicca-sañña). He believes we are stuck in the perception of permanence (nicca-sañña), in which we take ourselves and our world to be the same, from moment to moment and year to year. Lost in this habitual perception — for perception is habit — we assume that what we are seeing now is the same as what we saw before. Cultivating the perception of impermanence involves learning to recognise that this, now, is different, now. It involves opening up to the new, the as-yet undreamed of, that you are speaking of in your drawing classes. Perception is something that must be learned over time, and while mindfulness plays a role in this learning process, I think that what you are speaking of is perception rather than mindfulness.
Hence our gatekeeper may well be surprised by who turn out to be friends and who enemies. Her whole perception of the frontier may well be transformed as she learns a new perception. But her job is to learn to recognise a situation, a landscape, a cast of characters. It may well be entirely new, unexpected; but mindfulness involves a process of recognition.
And more on that next time.
Sati, after all, literally means “memory,” and is classically defined as “remembering the object.” When we are meditating, following the object, and then suddenly slide into distraction, what happens? We forget. We forget the object of meditation; or, we forget we are meditating. So we are distracted, and don’t know that we are distracted. For isn’t that what happens? We are in fantasy, and don’t know that we are in fantasy. We know the fantasy; later, we may be able to recall what it was about. But when we are fully immersed in distraction we don’t know that we are fully immersed in distraction, and this “not knowing” is the essence of distraction.
Suddenly, we know we are distracted. It’s an interesting experience. A moment ago, we were distracted, and didn’t know; now, we know. What happened? We remember. We remember the object of meditation; or, we remember we are meditating. And what’s the difference between our distracted awareness now that we know we are distracted, and our distracted awareness back then, before we knew? I would say the difference is mindfulness, and I would further suggest that this moment of the arising of mindfulness always contains a quality of reflexivity.
So mindfulness remembers awareness, or the object of awareness. The work of being mindful, of practising mindfulness, is the work of reminding ourselves that we are (already) aware, or reminding ourselves to be aware — of this. Mindfulness, then, is always associated with energy. Awareness itself can be passive, purely receptive. Right now I am seeing, and am making no particular effort to see. But mindfulness is active. Right now, I am reminding myself that I am seeing, or what I am seeing. This quality of energy, activity, seems essential to mindfulness, and I find it suggestive that in the eightfold path, mindfulness is listed next to vayama, “energy/effort.”
Let’s look again at our gatekeeper, whose job is to keep out “the unknown” (aññata) and admit “the known” (ñata).” Her job is recognising, and recognition arises within reflexivity. Rena objects that this image of the gatekeeper suggests to her a condition of being “stuck in what we know, resisting change, resisting new.” Certainly, it is an interesting choice of words for the Buddha. What might he be getting at here?
Firstly, we need to see the context within which the image of mindfulness as gatekeeper functions. This is not any ordinary city, but “a frontier city with strong ramparts, walls, and arches.” This is a fortress, a city on the edge and expecting trouble. This city is located on the frontier of the wholesome (kusala), and perhaps planning to push this frontier deeper into enemy territory, the unwholesome (akusala), winning more territory for the wholesome. So the gatekeeper has a clear sense of purpose, of direction, in her seeing. Whoever comes, must be identified: friend or foe? Of course, let’s not over-read this image, not try to hang too much on it. The Buddha uses many other images to discuss mindfulness, and we shall doubtless examine some in the future. But this image does suggest mindfulness functioning in a conflict zone, and this gives it a particular flavour.
Does this image tell us that mindfulness is opposed to the process of opening to the new? Rena, you go on to give the example of students learning to draw where, if I understand you correctly, you are saying that this process involves learning to see anew, as unfamiliar, what we have previously learned to perceive as familiar. Caught in habits of seeing, our routines of seeing, we have become blinded to what is really going on around us. We think we know what’s happening, but don’t. What seems familiar — is too familiar — needs to be related to as actually unknown, containing unexpected possibilities.
This, to me, does not sound like mindfulness as such (although mindfulness must surely be part of this process), but perception (sañña). For example, the Buddha speaks of cultivating “the perception of impermanence” (anicca-sañña). He believes we are stuck in the perception of permanence (nicca-sañña), in which we take ourselves and our world to be the same, from moment to moment and year to year. Lost in this habitual perception — for perception is habit — we assume that what we are seeing now is the same as what we saw before. Cultivating the perception of impermanence involves learning to recognise that this, now, is different, now. It involves opening up to the new, the as-yet undreamed of, that you are speaking of in your drawing classes. Perception is something that must be learned over time, and while mindfulness plays a role in this learning process, I think that what you are speaking of is perception rather than mindfulness.
Hence our gatekeeper may well be surprised by who turn out to be friends and who enemies. Her whole perception of the frontier may well be transformed as she learns a new perception. But her job is to learn to recognise a situation, a landscape, a cast of characters. It may well be entirely new, unexpected; but mindfulness involves a process of recognition.
And more on that next time.
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