The Tim Ferriss Show - #342: Sam Harris, Ph.D. — How to Master Your Mind
Episode Date: October 29, 2018Sam Harris (@SamHarrisOrg) received a degree in philosophy from Stanford University and a Ph.D in neuroscience from UCLA. Sam is the host of the Waking Up podcast, and he is the author of mul...tiple books including The End of Faith, Letter to a Christian Nation, The Moral Landscape, Free Will, Lying, Waking Up, and Islam and the Future of Tolerance (with Maajid Nawaz).This experimental episode came about because a few months back Sam asked me to be a beta tester for his Waking Up meditation app that he was creating at the time. It was recently released, and I highly recommend it. I anticipated it would be good because Sam's work is always good, and he's one of those rare humans who seems to think and speak in finished prose, and he has a voice that can very easily lull you into a semi-psychedelic state while you are completely sober. You'll hear what I mean soon.Sam has a unique combination of experiences and areas of expertise, and his approach is that of a logical progression of layering on different types of training for learning the skill of meditation. In this episode, Sam will discuss his experiences with MDMA, his spiritual exploration, contact with so-called gurus, duality versus non-duality, and lots more. If you want to dive right into a beginner level guided meditation, skip to [52:32].Make sure to check out the bonus episode that is released at the same time as this one if you enjoy what you find here and want to jump straight to the guided meditations. The bonus episode also features additional content from Sam not found in the longer episode. Enjoy! This episode is brought to you by LegalZoom. I've used this service for many of my businesses, as have quite a few of the icons on this podcast including Automattic CEO Matt Mullenweg of WordPress fame.LegalZoom is a reliable resource that more than a million people have already trusted for everything from setting up wills, proper trademark searches, forming LLCs, setting up non-profits, or finding simple cease-and-desist letter templates.LegalZoom is not a law firm, but it does have a network of independent attorneys available in most states who can give you advice on the best way to get started, provide contract reviews, and otherwise help you run your business with complete transparency and up-front pricing. Check out LegalZoom.com and enter promo code TIM at checkout today for special savings and see how the fine folks there can make life easier for you and your business.This podcast is also brought to you by Athletic Greens. I get asked all the time, “If you could only use one supplement, what would it be?” My answer is, inevitably, Athletic Greens. It is my all-in-one nutritional insurance. I recommended it in The 4-Hour Body and did not get paid to do so. As a listener of The Tim Ferriss Show, you will receive a one-off supply of 20 free Athletic Greens Travel Packs, valued at $99.95. To order yours, visit AthleticGreens.com/Tim.***If you enjoy the podcast, would you please consider leaving a short review on Apple Podcasts/iTunes? It takes less than 60 seconds, and it really makes a difference in helping to convince hard-to-get guests. I also love reading the reviews!For show notes and past guests, please visit tim.blog/podcast.Sign up for Tim’s email newsletter (“5-Bullet Friday”) at tim.blog/friday.For transcripts of episodes, go to tim.blog/transcripts.Interested in sponsoring the podcast? Please fill out the form at tim.blog/sponsor.Discover Tim’s books: tim.blog/books.Follow Tim:Twitter: twitter.com/tferriss Instagram: instagram.com/timferrissFacebook: facebook.com/timferriss YouTube: youtube.com/timferrissPast guests on The Tim Ferriss Show include Jerry Seinfeld, Hugh Jackman, Dr. Jane Goodall, LeBron James, Kevin Hart, Doris Kearns Goodwin, Jamie Foxx, Matthew McConaughey, Esther Perel, Elizabeth Gilbert, Terry Crews, Sia, Yuval Noah Harari, Malcolm Gladwell, Madeleine Albright, Cheryl Strayed, Jim Collins, Mary Karr, Maria Popova, Sam Harris, Michael Phelps, Bob Iger, Edward Norton, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Neil Strauss, Ken Burns, Maria Sharapova, Marc Andreessen, Neil Gaiman, Neil de Grasse Tyson, Jocko Willink, Daniel Ek, Kelly Slater, Dr. Peter Attia, Seth Godin, Howard Marks, Dr. Brené Brown, Eric Schmidt, Michael Lewis, Joe Gebbia, Michael Pollan, Dr. Jordan Peterson, Vince Vaughn, Brian Koppelman, Ramit Sethi, Dax Shepard, Tony Robbins, Jim Dethmer, Dan Harris, Ray Dalio, Naval Ravikant, Vitalik Buterin, Elizabeth Lesser, Amanda Palmer, Katie Haun, Sir Richard Branson, Chuck Palahniuk, Arianna Huffington, Reid Hoffman, Bill Burr, Whitney Cummings, Rick Rubin, Dr. Vivek Murthy, Darren Aronofsky, and many more.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.
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At this altitude, I can run flat out for a half mile before my hands start shaking.
Can I ask you a personal question?
Now would have seen a perfect time.
What if I did the opposite?
I'm a cybernetic organism living tissue over metal endoskeleton.
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Hello, boys and girls.
This is Tim Ferriss, and welcome to another episode of The Tim Ferriss Show.
This is an experimental episode and my guest, so to speak, is someone I've known for quite a long time now, Sam Harris.
Sam Harris, you may know the name, received a degree in philosophy from Stanford University and a PhD in neuroscience from UCLA. He's the author of many bestselling books, including The End of Faith, Letter to a Christian Nation, The Moral Landscape, Free Will, Lying, Waking Up, and Islam and the Future of Tolerance, a dialogue,
which he co-authored. He also hosts the popular podcast Waking Up with Sam Harris. You can find
him on Twitter at SamHarrisOrg, that's H-A-R-R-I-S, SamHarrisOrg, and on the web at SamHarris.org.
But this episode came about because Sam asked me somewhere between six and nine months ago
to be a beta tester for a new app he was creating.
And ostensibly, it was a meditation app.
It's called Waking Up, and you can find it at wakingup.com, which I highly recommend.
I anticipated it would be good, because Sam is always good, and he's one of those rare humans who very irritably seems to think and speak in finished prose.
He also has a voice, one of the few voices that can put you into a semi-psychedelic state while you are completely sober.
And if that makes no sense, it will make sense
experientially once you get to the end of this episode. In any case, there are some great apps
out there for different purposes. Among them, Oak, made by my friend Kevin Rose from Meditation,
also fantastic. Sam's approach is a little different. And as he puts it in the audio
that you're going to listen to, in part,
he says, you do not have to be the best at anything to be almost uniquely qualified for
something. He has a very unusual combination of experiences and areas of expertise. And his
particular approach here is that of a progression. And what I like is that there's a logical progression, one, two, three, white belt, yellow belt, et cetera, in terms of layering on different types
of training for learning the skill of meditation. And it's really an experience of exploring
consciousness. He also gets into quite a bit more. He talks about his experiences with MDMA,
his spiritual exploration, God forbid, see what I did there in India,
contact with so-called gurus, dueling masters, the goal is the path, duality versus non-duality.
And there are a lot of gems within that you can apply to business, your personal life,
et cetera, because guess what? The precursor to all of this is your mind and consciousness. So learning how to hone the mind and your perceptions is
really paramount to mastering on some level everything else. If you want to just jump to
the meditations and lessons that he presents, you can jump to about 47 minutes after he starts.
And those of you who are even more impatient, I'm going to be publishing a companion episode to this
immediately after this one.
So think of it as simultaneously.
If you go back to wherever you got this podcast,
you'll find a shorter one of say 10 or 20 minutes,
I'm not sure exactly how long,
that will take you through meditations and lessons.
I did one meditation first thing in the morning
and one lesson in the late afternoon
to wind down. That's how I approached it so that you can just hit play and jump immediately into
guided meditations. And they will offer different approaches to give you a flavor. In any case,
the lessons themselves will jump into thinking about death, the mystery of being,
and in the companion episode, the logic of practice.
This is a somewhat dense episode.
I encourage you to stick with it.
If it's too tough, if you find yourself wandering in the mind, which, of course, you're going to be training in a sense against,
then you can jump to minute 47 after Sam starts for the meditations, or you can go to the companion episode.
In either case, I really suggest checking out waking up.com. That is the app itself. I have
no financial stake, nothing to gain other than recommending you to a tool that I found to be
incredibly powerful. And that is shared by some people I also respect greatly who are beta testers, like Dr. Peter Attia, who's also been on the podcast.
So without further ado, that was a lot of ado, but I think necessary context, please enjoy this exploration of your own mind. This is Sam Harris of the Waking Up Podcast, and now the Waking Up
Course, which is a app that I just released on iOS and soon to be on Android. And my friend Tim
has very generously invited me onto his podcast to preview this course for you and to speak a little bit about meditation, and I am
very happy to do that. First, a warning. In addition to just talking about the course and about meditation,
Tim has asked me to preview a few of the guided meditations from the app. So parts of this podcast
won't make for very good listening in the car, or at the gym, or while multitasking.
To get value from these sections, and to not be bored by the periods of silence,
you really need to be paying attention. So if you're not in that situation now,
you might save this whole podcast for another time. I'll let you know when I'm dropping them
in and how long they are. So if you insist on listening to this while you are kite surfing or hacking some government installation or staggering around
South by Southwest in full ketosis or whatever it is that the average Tim Ferriss fan does on a day
like today, you will be okay. Okay, so I'm going to talk for a while about what I'm attempting to do with this course
and why I've released it as an app.
Of course, there are several meditation apps out there, and many of them are quite good.
There's Calm and Headspace, and my friends Dan Harris and Joseph Goldstein have the 10% Happier app.
Tim's buddy Kevin Rose has the Oak app.
These apps really are quite good, and they will definitely
teach you how to meditate. And while I cover similar ground in the Waking Up course,
it's not just a meditation app. I'm attempting something else, too. But before I get into the
app, first let me tell you a little bit about my background, for those of you who are not
familiar with it. I got into meditation at the end of my sophomore year in college,
just when I turned 20, and this was on the heels of a psychedelic experience that provided a fairly
startling firmware upgrade of my mind. I've written about psychedelics in supportive and
also in fairly cautionary ways, especially in my book, Waking Up.
And actually, there's a main chapter on that topic that's available both in print and in audio on my website under the title, Drugs and the Meaning of Life.
In fact, Tim has not only referenced it on this podcast,
but I think the audio is available in one of his earlier podcasts. And I'll say a few
words about how I view the difference between psychedelics and meditation in a minute. Actually,
I think I should just read you the first few pages of my book, Waking Up, because it gives
the full context about how I came to this topic and how I think about the nature of mind and the
role that my experience with psychedelics played here, and also how I think about the nature of mind and the role that my experience with
psychedelics played here, and also how I came to the practice of meditation. So here's how the book
begins. I once participated in a 23-day wilderness program in the mountains of Colorado.
If the purpose of this course was to expose students to dangerous lightning and half the
world's mosquitoes, it was fulfilled on the first day.
What was, in essence, a forced march through hundreds of miles of backcountry
culminated in a ritual known as the Solo,
where we were finally permitted to rest,
alone on the outskirts of a gorgeous alpine lake,
for three days of fasting and contemplation.
I had just turned 16,
and this was my first taste of true solitude since exiting my mother's womb.
It proved a sufficient provocation.
After a long nap and a glance at the icy waters of the lake,
the promising young man I imagined myself to be
was quickly cut down by loneliness and boredom.
I filled the pages of my journal
not with the insights of a budding naturalist,
philosopher, or mystic,
but with a list of the foods
on which I intended to gorge myself
the instant I returned to civilization.
Judging from the state of my consciousness at the time,
millions of years of hominid evolution
had produced nothing more transcendent
than a craving for a cheeseburger
and a chocolate milkshake.
I found the experience of
sitting undisturbed for three days amid pristine breezes and starlight, with nothing to do but
contemplate the mystery of my existence, to be a source of perfect misery, for which I could see
not so much as a glimmer of my own contribution. My letters home, in their plaintiveness and self-pity,
rivaled any written at Shiloh or Gallipoli. So I was more
than a little surprised when several members of our party, most of whom were a decade older than I,
described their days and nights of solitude in positive, even transformational terms.
I simply didn't know what to make of their claims to happiness. How could someone's happiness
increase when all the material sources of pleasure and distraction
had been removed? At that age, the nature of my mind did not seem to interest me. Only my life
did, and I was utterly oblivious to how different life would be if the quality of my mind were to
change. Our minds are all we have, they are all we have ever had, and they are all we can offer
others. This might not be obvious, especially when there are
aspects of your life that seem in need of improvement, when your goals are unrealized,
or you're struggling to find a career, or you have relationships that need repairing.
But it's the truth. Every experience you have ever had has been shaped by your mind.
Every relationship is as good or as bad as it is because of the minds involved.
If you are perpetually angry, depressed, confused, and unloving, or your attention is elsewhere,
it won't matter how successful you become or who is in your life.
You won't enjoy any of it.
Most of us could easily compile a list of goals we want to achieve or personal problems
that need to be solved. But what is the real significance of every item on compile a list of goals we want to achieve, or personal problems that need
to be solved. But what is the real significance of every item on such a list? Everything we want
to accomplish—to paint the house, to learn a new language, to find a better job—is something that
promises that, if done, it would allow us to finally relax and enjoy our lives in the present.
Generally speaking, this is a false hope.
I'm not denying the importance of achieving one's goals,
maintaining one's health, or keeping one's children clothed and fed.
But most of us spend our time seeking happiness and security without acknowledging the underlying purpose of our search.
Each of us is looking for a path back to the present.
We are trying to find good
enough reasons to be satisfied now. Acknowledging that this is the structure of the game that we're
playing allows us to play it differently. How we pay attention to the present moment largely
determines the character of our experience, and therefore the quality of our lives. Mystics and
contemplatives have made this claim for ages,
but a growing body of scientific research now bears it out.
A few years after my first painful encounter with solitude,
in the winter of 1987,
I took the drug 3,4-methylenedioxyn-methylamphetamine, MDMA,
commonly known as ecstasy,
and my sense of the human mind's potential shifted profoundly.
Although MDMA would become ubiquitous at dance clubs and raves in the 1990s, at the time I didn't
know anyone of my generation who had tried it. One evening, a few months before my 20th birthday,
a close friend and I decided to take the drug. The setting of our experiment bore little
resemblance to the
conditions of Dionysian abandon under which MDMA is now often consumed. We were alone in a house,
seated across from each other on opposite ends of a couch, and engaged in quiet conversation as the
chemical worked its way into our heads. Unlike other drugs, with which we were by then familiar,
marijuana and alcohol, MDMA produced no feeling of distortion in our senses.
Our minds seemed completely clear.
In the midst of this ordinariness, however, I was suddenly struck by the knowledge that I loved my friend.
This shouldn't have surprised me. He was, after all, one of my best friends.
However, at that age I was not in the habit of dwelling on how much I loved
the men in my life. Now I could feel that I loved him, and this feeling had ethical implications
that suddenly seemed as profound as they now seem pedestrian on the page. I wanted him to be happy.
That conviction came crashing down with such force that something seemed to give way inside me. In fact, the insight
appeared to restructure my mind. My capacity for envy, for instance, the sense of being diminished
by the happiness or success of another person, seemed like a symptom of mental illness that had
vanished without a trace. I could no more have felt envy at that moment than I could have wanted
to poke out my own eyes. What did I care if my friend was better looking or a better athlete than I was? If I could have bestowed these gifts on him,
I would have. Truly wanting him to be happy made his happiness my own. A certain euphoria was
creeping into these reflections, perhaps, but the general feeling remained one of absolute sobriety
and of moral and emotional clarity unlike any I had ever known.
It would not be too strong to say that I felt sane for the first time in my life.
And yet the change in my consciousness seemed entirely straightforward. I was simply talking to my friend, about what I don't recall, and realized that I had ceased to be concerned about
myself. I was no longer anxious, self-critical, guarded by irony,
in competition, avoiding embarrassment, ruminating about the past and future, or making any other
gesture of thought or attention that separated me from him. I was no longer watching myself
through another person's eyes. And then came the insight that irrevocably transformed my sense of how good human life
could be. I was feeling boundless love for one of my best friends and I suddenly realized that if a
stranger had walked through the door at that moment, he or she would have been fully included
in this love. Love was at bottom impersonal and deeper than any personal history could justify. Indeed, a transactional form of
love, I love you because, now made no sense at all. The interesting thing about this final shift
in perspective was that it was not driven by any change in the way I felt. I was not overwhelmed
by a new feeling of love. The insight had more the character of a geometric proof. It was as if,
having glimpsed the properties of one set of parallel lines,
I suddenly understood what must be common to them all.
The moment I could find a voice with which to speak,
I discovered that this epiphany about the universality of love
could be readily communicated.
My friend got the point at once.
All I had to do was ask him how he would feel
in the presence of a total stranger at that
moment, and the same door opened in his mind. It was simply obvious that love, compassion,
and joy in the joy of others extended without limit. The experience was not of love growing,
but of its being no longer obscured. Love was, as advertised by mystics and crackpots through the ages,
a state of being.
How had we not seen this before?
And how could we overlook it ever again?
It would take me many years to put this experience into context.
Until that moment, I had viewed organized religion
as merely a monument to the ignorance and superstition of our ancestors.
But I now knew that Jesus, the Buddha,
Lao Tzu, and the other saints and sages of history had not all been epileptics, schizophrenics,
or frauds. I still considered the world's religions to be mere intellectual ruins,
maintained at enormous economic and social cost. But I now understood that important
psychological truths could be found in the rubble. Okay, so that's how I started my book, Waking Up, which is a book about the nature of consciousness
and how we can understand some of the life-changing experiences people can have,
experiences often described as mystical or spiritual, but understand them in a 21st century
rational scientific context. As some of you
probably know, I've been a fairly vociferous critic of religion over the years. I've written
several books and participated in many debates spelling out the reasons why. My basic view is
this. There's a difference between believing things for good reasons and believing things
for bad reasons. And this is a difference that we all recognize in every area of our lives until the conversation
turns to things like God and what happens after death and the origins of certain books like the
Bible and the Quran. So my argument is that we can get what is most profound out of human life
without lying to ourselves or to our
children about the nature of reality. That's not to say that the universe might not be incredibly
strange or that science has everything figured out. In fact, the universe is incredibly strange
and science does not have everything figured out. But one thing should be absolutely clear.
The men and women who lived 2,000 years ago didn't have
everything figured out either. And on many crucial points, they were ignorant of things that every
child learns in school today. Like, for instance, that brains are somehow involved in producing
minds. No one knew this 2,000 years ago. And to deny it today is intellectually irresponsible.
So after I had the experience on MDMA I just described, I spent the better part of my 20s
seeking out a fairly esoteric education. It wouldn't have been so esoteric in the 60s,
when many people were dropping out and going to India with the Beatles, but it was fairly rare
to see someone my age doing this
in the late 80s. So most of my friends at the time were 20 years older than I was, and I made many
trips to India and Nepal to study with various meditation masters. I spent around a year and a
half or two years on silent retreat, never for longer than three months at a time. That was
spread out over my 20s. I did a couple
of three-month retreats and several two-month retreats and one-month retreats and many shorter
ones, mostly in the context of practicing Vipassana, otherwise known as mindfulness meditation,
but ultimately practicing Dzogchen, which is a Tibetan practice that I'll talk about. In fact,
I should just read you another section of my book, Waking Up, because I spell out some important distinctions there. There's a distinction,
generally speaking, between gradual versus sudden notions of realization or awakening.
And this can seem totally paradoxical to people. So I'm going to read you a little bit about this,
and you'll get
more of my background here. This is from a section in the book titled Gradual vs. Sudden Realization.
We wouldn't attempt to meditate or engage in any other contemplative practice if we didn't feel
that something about our experience needed to be improved. But here lies one of the central paradoxes of spiritual life,
because this very feeling of dissatisfaction
causes us to overlook the intrinsic freedom of consciousness in the present.
As we have seen, there are good reasons to believe that adopting a practice like meditation
can lead to positive changes in one's life.
But the deepest goal of spirituality is freedom from the illusion of the self.
And to seek such freedom, as though it were a future state to be attained through effort,
is to reinforce the chains of one's apparent bondage in each moment.
Traditionally, there have been two solutions to this paradox.
One is to simply ignore it,
and to adopt various techniques of meditation in the hope that
a breakthrough will occur. Some people appear to succeed at this, but many fail. It is true that
good things often happen in the meantime. We can become happier and more concentrated, but we can
also despair of the whole project. The words of the sages may begin to sound like empty promises,
and we're left hoping for transcendent experiences that
never arrive, or prove merely temporary. The ultimate wisdom of enlightenment, whatever it is,
cannot be a matter of having fleeting experiences. The goal of meditation is to uncover a form of
well-being that is inherent to the nature of our minds. It must, therefore, be available in the context of ordinary sights, sounds, sensations,
and even thoughts. Peak experiences are fine, but real freedom must be coincident with normal
waking life. And as a sidebar to this, this is now me speaking off book, this is one of the crucial
distinctions between meditation and psychedelics as tools. It's very easy to draw
the lesson from psychedelic experiences, however useful, that freedom somehow lies in radically
transforming the contents and character of consciousness. Whereas the goal of meditation
is to recognize that there's something about ordinary consciousness,
the very awareness in you that is experiencing the sound of my voice in this moment,
that is already radically free of self.
It's already open. It's already undefined.
Consciousness never is truly confined by its contents.
And so while psychedelics have been very useful for me and many others, the center of the bullseye for me is something that is
actually coincident with normal waking consciousness, right? Precisely the kind of
consciousness that could allow you to safely drive a car, right? Which, if you've ever taken acid or mushrooms, is not where one tends
to be pitched on those drugs. So, back to the text. The other traditional response to the paradox of
spiritual seeking is to fully acknowledge it and concede that all efforts are doomed. Because the
urge to attain self-transcendence or any other mystical experience is a symptom of the very disease we want to cure.
There is nothing to do but give up the search.
These paths may appear antithetical, and they are often presented as such.
The path of gradual ascent is typical of Theravada Buddhism
and most other approaches to meditation in the Indian tradition.
And gradualism is the natural starting point for any search,
spiritual or otherwise. Such goal-oriented modes of practice have the virtue of being easily taught
because a person can begin them without having had any fundamental insight into the nature of
consciousness or the illusoriness of the self. He need only adopt new patterns of attention,
thought, and behavior, and the path will unfold before him.
By contrast, the path of sudden realization can appear impossibly steep. It is often described as
quote, non-dualistic, because it refuses to validate the point of view from which one would
meditate or practice any other spiritual discipline. Consciousness is already free of anything that remotely resembles a self,
and there is nothing you can do, as an illusionary ego, to realize this.
Such a perspective can be found in the Indian tradition of Advaita Vedanta,
and in a few schools of Buddhism.
Those who begin to practice in the spirit of gradualism often assume that the goal of self-transcendence is far away,
and they may spend years overlooking the very freedom they yearn to realize.
The liability of this approach became clear to me when I studied under the Burmese meditation master Sayadaw Upandita.
I sat through several retreats with Upandita,
each a month or two in length.
These retreats were based on the monastic discipline of Theravadan Buddhism.
We did not eat after noon,
and were encouraged to
sleep no more than four hours each night. Outwardly, the goal was to engage in 18 hours
of formal meditation each day. Inwardly, it was to follow the stages of insight laid out in
Buddhaghosa's 5th century treatise, the Vasudhimagga, and elaborated in the writings of Upandita's own
legendary teacher, Mahasi Sayadaw. The logic of this practice is
explicitly goal-oriented. According to this view, one practices mindfulness not because the intrinsic
freedom of consciousness can be fully realized in the present, but because being mindful is a means
for attaining an experience often described as, quote, cessation, which is thought to decisively uproot the illusion
of the self, along with other mental afflictions, depending on one's stage of practice. Cessation
is believed to be a direct insight into an unconditioned reality, in Pali this is called
nibbana, in Sanskrit nirvana, that lies behind all manifest phenomena. This conception of the
path to enlightenment is open to several criticisms.
The first is that it is misleading with respect to what can be realized in the present moment,
in a state of ordinary awareness.
Thus it encourages confusion at the outset regarding the nature of the problem one is trying to solve.
It is true, however, that striving toward the distant goal of enlightenment,
as well as the
nearer goal of cessation, can lead one to practice with an intensity that might otherwise be difficult
to achieve. I never made more effort than I did when practicing under Upandita, but most of this
effort arose from the very illusion of bondage to the self that I was seeking to overcome.
The model of this practice is that one must climb the mountain
so that freedom can be found at the top.
But the self is already an illusion,
and that truth can be glimpsed directly
at the mountain's base
or anywhere else along the path.
One can then return to this insight
again and again
as one's sole method of meditation,
thereby arriving at the goal in each
moment of actual practice. This isn't merely a matter of choosing to think differently about
the significance of mindfulness. It is a difference in what one is able to be mindful of. Dualistic
mindfulness, paying attention to the breath, for instance, generally proceeds on the basis of an
illusion. One feels that one is a subject,
a locus of consciousness inside the head, that can strategically pay attention to the breath
or to some other object of awareness, because of all the good that it will do. This is gradualism
in action, and yet from a non-dualistic point of view, one could just as well be mindful of
selflessness directly. To do this, however, one must recognize that this is how consciousness is,
and such an insight can be difficult to achieve.
However, it does not require the meditative attainment of cessation.
Another problem with the goal of cessation
is that most traditions of Buddhism do not share it,
and yet they produce long lineages of contemplative masters,
many of whom have spent decades doing nothing but meditating on the nature of consciousness.
If freedom is possible, there must be some mode of ordinary consciousness
in which it can be expressed.
Why not realize this frame of mind directly?
Nevertheless, I spent several years deeply preoccupied with reaching the goal of cessation,
and at least one year of that time was spent on
silent retreat. Although I had many interesting experiences, none seemed to fit the specific
requirements of this path. There were periods during which all thought subsided, and any sense
of having a body disappeared. What remained was a blissful expanse of conscious peace that had no
reference point in any of the usual sensory channels.
Many scientists and philosophers believe that consciousness is always tied to one of the five senses, and that the idea of, quote, pure consciousness, apart from seeing, hearing,
smelling, tasting, and touching, is a category error and a spiritual fantasy. I am confident
that they are mistaken. But cessation never arrived. Given my gradualist views at that point,
this became very frustrating. Most of my time on retreat was extremely pleasant,
but it seemed to me that I had been merely given the tools with which to contemplate the evidence
of my non-enlightenment. My practice had become a vigil, a method of waiting, however patiently,
for a future reward. The pendulum swung when I met an Indian
teacher named H.W.L. Punja, called Punjaji or Papaji by his students. Punjaji was a disciple
of Ramana Maharshi, arguably the most widely revered Indian sage of the 20th century. Ramana's
own awakening had been quite unusual because he had had no apparent spiritual interest or contact with a teacher.
As a boy of sixteen, living in a middle-class family of South Indian Brahmins,
he spontaneously became a spiritual adept.
While sitting alone in his uncle's study, Ramana suddenly became paralyzed by a fear of death.
He lay down on the floor, convinced that he would soon die.
But rather than remaining terrified, he decided to locate the self that was about to disappear.
He focused on the feeling of I, a process he later called self-inquiry,
and found it to be absent from the field of consciousness.
Ramana the person didn't die that day,
but he claimed that the feeling of being a separate self never darkened his consciousness again. After fruitlessly attempting to behave like the ordinary boy
he had once been, Ramana left home and traveled to Tiruvannamalai, an ancient pilgrimage site
for followers of Shiva. He spent the rest of his life there, in proximity to the mountain
Arunachala, with which he claimed to have a mystical connection. In the early years
after his awakening, Ramana seemed to lose his ability to speak, and he was said to grow so
absorbed in his experience of transfigured consciousness that he remained motionless for
days at a time. His body grew weak, developed sores, and had to be tended by the few locals
who had taken an interest in him. After a decade of silence, around 1906,
Ramana began to conduct dialogues about the nature of consciousness.
Until the end of his life, a steady stream of students came to study with him.
These are the sorts of things he was apt to say.
These are quotes from Ramana Maharshi.
The mind is a bundle of thoughts.
The thoughts arise because there is the thinker. The thinker is the ego. Here's another quote.
This is the direct method. Because ego is no entity, it will automatically vanish and reality will shine forth by itself.
This is the direct method, whereas all other methods are done only retaining the ego.
No sadhanas, spiritual practices, are necessary for engaging in this quest.
And finally, here's one more quote.
There is no mystery greater than this, that being reality, we seek to gain reality.
We think that there is something hiding our reality,
and that it must be destroyed before the reality is gained.
It is ridiculous.
A day will dawn when you will laugh at your past efforts.
That which will be on the day you laugh is also here and now.
Back to my text.
Any attempt to make sense
of such teachings
in third-person scientific terms
quickly produces monstrosities.
From the point of view
of psychological science,
for instance,
the mind is not just a, quote,
bundle of thoughts.
And in what sense can reality
be, quote,
simply the loss of the ego? Does this reality include quasars and hantavirus? But these are the kinds of quibbles
that will cause one to miss Ramana's point. While the philosophy of Advaita, and that's the word for
non-dualism in Sanskrit, while the philosophy of Advaita and Ramana's own words may tend to
support a metaphysical reading
of teachings of this kind, their validity is not metaphysical. Rather, it is experiential.
The whole of Advaita reduces to a series of very simple and testable assertions.
Consciousness is the prior condition of every experience. The self, or ego, is an illusory appearance within it. Look closely
for what you are calling I, and the feeling of being a separate self will disappear. What remains,
as a matter of experience, is a field of consciousness, free, undivided, and intrinsically uncontaminated by its ever-changing contents.
These are the simple truths that Poonjaji taught. In fact, he was even more uncompromising than his
guru in his non-duality. Whereas Ramana would often concede the utility of certain dualistic
practices, Poonjaji never gave an inch. The effect was intoxicating, especially to those of us who
had spent years practicing meditation. Poonjaji was also given to spontaneous bouts of weeping
and laughter, both apparently from sheer joy. The man did not hide his light under a bushel.
When I first met him, he had not yet been discovered by the throngs of western devotees
who would soon turn his tiny house in Lucknow into a spiritual circus. Like
his teacher Ramana, Poonjaji claimed to be perfectly free from the illusion of the self,
and by all appearances he was. And like Ramana, and every other Indian guru, Poonjaji would
occasionally say something deeply unscientific. On the whole, however, his teaching was remarkably
free from Hindu religiosity, or unwarranted assertions about the nature of the cosmos.
He appeared to simply speak from experience about the nature of experience itself.
Poonjaji's influence on me was profound,
especially because it came as a corrective to all the strenuous and unsatisfying efforts
I had been making in meditation up until that point.
But the dangers inherent to his approach soon became obvious. The all-or-nothing quality of Poonjaji's teaching obliged him to acknowledge
the full enlightenment of any person who was grandiose or manic enough to claim it.
Thus, I repeatedly witnessed fellow students declare their complete and undying freedom,
all the while appearing quite ordinary, or worse. In certain cases, these people had clearly had some sort of breakthrough,
but Poonjaji's insistence upon the finality of every legitimate insight
led many of them to delude themselves about their spiritual attainments.
Some left India and became gurus.
From what I could tell, Poonjaji gave everyone his blessing
to spread his teachings in this way.
He once suggested that I do it,
and yet it was clear to me that I do it. And yet it
was clear to me that I was not qualified to be anyone's guru. Nearly 20 years have passed, and
I'm still not. Of course, from Poonjaji's point of view, this is an illusion. And yet there simply
is a difference between a person like myself, who is generally distracted by thought, and one who
isn't and cannot be. I don't know where to place Poonjaji on this continuum of
wisdom, but he appeared to be a lot farther along than his students. Whether Poonjaji was capable
of seeing the difference between himself and other people, I do not know. But his insistence that no
difference existed began to seem either dogmatic or delusional. On one occasion, events conspired
to perfectly illuminate the flaw in Poonjaji's teaching.
A small group of experienced practitioners, among us several teachers of meditation,
had organized a trip to India and Nepal to spend ten days with Poonjaji in Lucknow,
followed by ten days in Kathmandu, to receive teachings on the Tibetan Buddhist practice of Dzogchen.
As it happened, during our time in Lucknow, a woman from Switzerland became, quote,
enlightened in Poonjaji's presence. For the better part of a week, she was celebrated as something
akin to the next Buddha. Poonjaji repeatedly put her forward as evidence of how fully the truth
could be realized without making any effort at all in meditation. And we had the pleasure of
seeing this woman sit beside Poonjaji on a raised platform,
expounding upon how blissful it now was in her corner of the universe. She was, in fact,
radiantly happy, and it was by no means clear that Poonjaji had made a mistake in recognizing her.
She would say things like, there is nothing but consciousness, and there is no difference between
it and reality itself. Coming from such a nice, guileless person,
there was little reason to doubt the profundity of her experience.
When it came time for our group to leave India for Nepal,
this woman asked if she could join us.
Because she was such good company, we encouraged her to come along.
A few of us were also curious to see how her realization would appear in another context.
And so it came to pass that a woman whose enlightenment had just been confirmed
by one of the greatest living exponents of Advaita
was in the room when we received our first teachings from Tukurgan Rinpoche,
who was generally thought to be one of the greatest living Dzogchen masters.
Of all the Buddhist teachings, those of Dzogchen most closely resemble the teachings of Advaita.
The two traditions seek to provoke the same insight into the non-duality of consciousness.
But generally speaking, only Dzogchen makes it absolutely clear that one must practice this
insight to the point of stability, and that one can do so without succumbing to the dualistic
striving that haunts most other paths. At a certain point in our discussions with Tuku Ugin, our Swiss prodigy declared her boundless freedom in terms similar to those she had used
to such great effect with Poonjiji. After a few highly amusing exchanges, during which we watched
Tuku Ugin struggle to understand what our translator was telling him, he gave a short
laugh and looked the woman over with renewed interest. How long has it been since you were last lost in thought? he asked.
I haven't had any thoughts for over a week, the woman replied.
Tooka Urigan smiled.
A week?
Yes.
No thoughts?
No, my mind is completely still.
It's just pure consciousness.
That's very interesting.
Okay, so this is what's going to happen now.
We're all going to wait for you to have your next thought. There's very interesting. Okay, so this is what's going to happen now.
We're all going to wait for you to have your next thought.
There's no hurry.
We're all very patient people.
We're just going to sit here and wait.
So please tell us when you notice a thought arise in your mind.
It is difficult to convey what a brilliant and subtle intervention this was.
It may have been the most inspired moment of teaching I have ever witnessed.
After a few moments, a look of doubt appeared on our friend's face.
Okay, wait a minute. Oh, that could have been a thought there. Okay. Over the next 30 seconds,
we watched this woman's enlightenment completely unravel. It became clear that she had been merely thinking
about how expansive her experience of consciousness had become, how it was perfectly free of thought,
immaculate, just like space, without noticing that she was thinking incessantly. She had been
telling herself the story of her enlightenment, and she had been getting away with it because
she happened to be an extraordinarily happy person for whom everything was going well for the time being.
This was the danger of non-dual teachings of the sort that Poonjaji was handing out to all comers.
It was easy to delude oneself into thinking that one had achieved a permanent breakthrough,
especially because he insisted that all breakthroughs must be permanent.
What the Dzogchen teachings made clear, however,
is that thinking about what is
beyond thought is still thinking. And a glimpse of selflessness is generally only the beginning
of a process that must reach fruition. Being able to stand perfectly free of the feeling of self
is the start of one's spiritual journey, not its end. I think I'll read one more section here because this will give you more context
for how I think about meditation.
It's the next section here, titled
Dzogchen, Taking the Goal as the Path.
Tuka Ugin Rinpoche lived in a hermitage
on the southern slope of Shivapuri Mountain,
overlooking Kathmandu Valley.
He spent more than 20 years of his life on formal retreat
and was deservedly famous for
the clarity with which he gave the, quote, pointing out instruction of Dzogchen, a formal initiation
in which a teacher seeks to impart the experience of self-transcendence directly to a student. I
received this teaching from several Dzogchen masters, but I never met anyone who spoke about
the nature of consciousness as precisely as Tukurgan. In the last five years
of his life, I made several trips to Nepal to study with him. The practice of Dzogchen requires
that one be able to experience the intrinsic selflessness of awareness in every moment,
that is, when one is not otherwise distracted by thought, which is to say that for a Dzogchen
meditator, mindfulness must be synonymous with dispelling the illusion of the
self. Rather than teach a technique of meditation, such as paying close attention to one's breathing,
a Dzogchen master must precipitate an insight on the basis of which a student can thereafter
practice a form of awareness, the Tibetan term is Rigpa, that is unencumbered by subject-object
dualism. Thus it is often said in Dzogchen that one, quote,
takes the goal as the path,
because the freedom from self
that one might otherwise seek
is the very thing that one practices.
The goal of Dzogchen,
if one can call it such,
is to grow increasingly familiar
with this way of being in the world.
In my experience,
some Dzogchen masters
are better teachers than others.
I've been in the presence of several of the most revered Tibetan lamas of our time,
while they were ostensibly teaching Dzogchen,
and most of them simply described this view of consciousness
without giving clear instructions on how to glimpse it.
The genius of Tugurgen was that he could point out the nature of mind
with the precision and matter-of-factness of teaching a person how to thread a needle,
and could get an ordinary meditator like me to recognize that consciousness
is intrinsically free of self. There might be some initial struggle and uncertainty, depending on the
student, but once the truth of non-duality had been glimpsed, it became obvious that it was always
available, and there was never any doubt about how to see it again. I came to Tuka Uragin yearning for the experience of self-transcendence
and in a few minutes he showed me that I had no self to transcend.
In my view, there's nothing supernatural or even mysterious
about this transmission of wisdom from master to disciple.
Tuka Uragin's effect on me came purely from the clarity of his teaching.
As it is with any challenging endeavor,
the difference between being utterly misled by false information, on me came purely from the clarity of his teaching. As it is with any challenging endeavor,
the difference between being utterly misled by false information, being nudged in the general direction, and being precisely guided by an expert is difficult to overstate. The direct
perception of the optic blind spot provides a useful analogy. Imagine that perceiving the blind
spot will completely transform a person's life.
Next, imagine that whole religions, such as Judaism, Christianity, and Islam,
are predicated on the denial of the blind spot's existence.
Let us say that their central doctrines assert the perfect uniformity of the visual field.
Perhaps other traditions acknowledge the blind spot, but purely in poetical terms,
without giving any clear indication of how to recognize it.
A few lineages may actually teach techniques whereby one can see the blind spot for oneself,
but only gradually, after months and years of effort,
and even then one glimpses of it will see more a matter of luck than anything else.
In a more esoteric tradition still, a quote blind spot master gives the quote pointing out instruction,
but without much precision.
Perhaps he tells you to close one eye, for reasons that are never made explicit,
and then says that the spot you seek is right on the surface of your vision.
No doubt some people will succeed in discovering the blind spot under these conditions,
but the teacher certainly could be clearer than this.
How much clearer?
If Tukewurgen had been pointing out the blind spot, he would have produced a figure like the one below and
given these instructions. And then I have the classic image you would use to glimpse your own
blind spot of a fixation cross on one side and a large dot on the other. And then I give the
instructions here. I'll just read them through to remind you
about how clear this could be. One, hold this figure in front of you at arm's length. Two,
close your left eye and stare at the cross with your right. Three, gradually move the page closer
to your face while keeping your gaze fixed on the cross. Four, notice when the dot on the right disappears. 5. Once you find your blind spot,
continue to experiment with this figure by moving the page back and forth until any possibility of
doubt about the existence of the blind spot has disappeared. It's considered bad form in most
spiritual circles, especially among Buddhists, to make claims about one's own realization.
However, I think this taboo comes at
a high price, because it allows people to remain confused about how to practice. So I will describe
my experience plainly. Before meeting Tukorgen, I had spent at least a year practicing Vipassana
on silent retreats. The experience of self-transcendence was not entirely unknown to me.
I could remember moments when the distance between the observer and the observed had seemed to vanish. But I viewed these experiences as being dependent
on conditions of extreme mental concentration. Consequently, I thought that they were unavailable
in more ordinary moments, outside intensive retreat. But after a few minutes, Tukorgan simply
handed me the ability to cut through the illusion of the self directly,
even in ordinary states of consciousness. This instruction was, without question,
the most important thing I have ever been explicitly taught by another human being.
It has given me a way to escape the usual tides of psychological suffering, fear, anger, shame,
in an instant. At my level of practice, this freedom lasts only a few moments,
but these moments can be repeated, and they can grow in duration. Punctuating ordinary experience
in this way makes all the difference. In fact, when I pay attention, it is impossible for me
to feel like a self at all. The implied center of cognition and emotion simply falls away,
and it is obvious that consciousness is never truly
confined by what it knows. That which is aware of sadness is not sad. That which is aware of fear
is not fearful. The moment I am lost in thought, however, I am as confused as anyone else.
Given this change in my perception of the world, I understand the attractions of traditional
spirituality. I also recognize attractions of traditional spirituality.
I also recognize the needless confusion and harm that inevitably arise from the doctrines of faith-based religion. I did not have to believe anything irrational about the universe or about
my place within it to learn the practice of Dzogchen. I didn't have to accept Tibetan Buddhist
beliefs about karma and rebirth or imagine that Tuka Organ or the other meditation masters I met
possessed magic powers.
And whatever the traditional liabilities of the guru-devotee relationship,
I know from direct experience
that it's possible to meet a teacher who can deliver the goods.
Okay, so, that's the end of my reading.
So that's how I come to the practice of meditation.
And after I spent the decades of my 20s largely
focused on meditation, as well as reading the relevant Eastern and Western philosophy,
I decided to go back to school because I was writing nonfiction about the nature of the mind.
Happily, I had dropped out of Stanford University, where you can never really drop out.
I think Stanford is one of the few schools in the United States that has the policy of never making you reapply.
So I just showed up like some Rip Van Winkle character after 11 years away and finished my degree in philosophy.
And then went on to do a PhD in neuroscience at UCLA.
So I bring a philosophical and scientific and secular perspective to meditation.
Ultimately, I think we should all be practicing non-dual mindfulness without believing any
bullshit. That is a human future worth wanting. And that's what I'm attempting to equip people to do
in the Waking Up Course. In producing the Waking Up Course, I'm attempting to do in the waking up course. In producing the waking up course, I'm attempting to
do something that I'm especially qualified to do. I mean, I don't consider myself the best at any one
thing, but you don't have to be the best at anything to be almost uniquely qualified for
something. The waking up course is in part a meditation course, so obviously there are guided
meditations. I'll be continually adding
to those as time goes on. And I would say that even if you're an experienced meditator,
using guided meditations can be extremely helpful. And this is one of the things that's unique about
audio. You can't do this with a book. There's no alternative to having an actual voice remind you
that you're supposed to be paying attention. And I find guided meditations extremely helpful, and I've been meditating for now nearly 30 years. In addition to the guided
meditations, there's also an expanding curriculum of short talks on a variety of topics. I call
these talks lessons. Some explain concepts that are directly relevant to meditation. Others are
more like philosophical interventions, where I have you reflect on a specific topic for a few minutes,
sometimes starting with a scientific finding or quotation
that inspires a particular line of thought.
So here I'd like to give you a taste of the course.
I'll start with one of the early meditations,
very much designed for someone new to the practice of mindfulness.
So if you're not bored already,
this is the part of the podcast that really will bore you to tears
if you're working out of the gym or commuting. But if you're in a already, this is the part of the podcast that really will bore you to tears,
if you're working out of the gym or commuting.
But if you're in a spot where you can meditate, here's the first 10-minute meditation.
Once again, take a seat, either in a chair or cross-legged on a cushion.
It's good to sit as comfortably as you can.
And it's usually best to be sitting as straight as you can.
Now, close your eyes and become aware of the sensations of sitting.
Feel your arms at your sides.
And perhaps take a few deep breaths. just allow gravity to settle you into your seat.
Now, as you did yesterday,
become aware of the sensations of breathing.
Notice where you feel the breath most clearly.
Either at the tip of the nose or in the rise and falling of your abdomen
or chest.
It doesn't matter where you pay attention to the breath.
And you can change your focus
from session to session if you like.
But for the moment, just pick one spot
and focus there. There's nothing especially significant about the breath.
But it's something you always have with you.
And it's as good as any other sense object
as a basis for training your powers of attention.
Eventually the practice will incorporate
everything that arises in consciousness. Just feel the mere sensations of breathing.
From the beginning of the inhalation
to the pause between breaths
and follow the exhalation
to the end.
Try to cover the breath
with your awareness.
And once again, there's no need to control your breathing.
Just let it come however it comes. Thank you. What we're doing here is sharpening the only tool you really have, your mind.
This is what you take with you in any situation in life.
This is what determines how you respond to emotional stress and physical pain and every other difficulty you encounter.
This is the basis for every decision you make
and every interaction you have with other people.
And as you begin to observe it, you will notice, perhaps with growing amazement, that your
mind is totally out of control. and as you try to pay attention to the breath
you'll begin to notice that the primary obstacle
to your paying attention
is thinking
thoughts continually arise
and you forget that you're even trying to meditate at all.
And this happens over the course of mere seconds.
Just try to count the next ten breaths
without getting distracted.
You can silently in in your mind,
count one on the inhalation
and one again on the exhalation,
and then two.
See if you can get to ten. Thank you.... Unless you have a lot of concentration,
you probably were unable to tell
how precarious your awareness of the breath actually was,
how your attention was being buffeted
on all sides by discursive thought.
Now, the goal isn't to stop your thoughts
or to suppress any emotion that might arise along with them.
It is rather to notice these mental events clearly
and to experience them fully, more fully, in fact.
To recognize them as appearances in consciousness the moment they arise.
But that is generally a very difficult thing to do in the beginning.
So for the time being, the moment you discover that you're thinking,
just observe it and come back to the breath.
In this final minute of the meditation, just start again.
Just feel the next breath as it comes. Okay.
Okay.
Well, just take a moment to take stock of how you're feeling.
Whether you're tired, or restless, or calm,
whether your experience was pleasant or unpleasant isn't really the point.
What you're learning here is a new skill.
And unless you're coming to this course already knowing how to meditate,
you can't expect to be able to do it well in the beginning. And as the
practice develops over the next days and weeks, you'll see that you do less, not more, than you
normally do. You're not adding an artifice to your experience in the present moment. Rather, you're
simply becoming less distracted. The purpose of meditation is to discover what your mind is like when you're
no longer perpetually identified with the contents of your thoughts. And to make progress, you simply
need to be willing to begin again. Okay, so that's what an early guided meditation sounds like.
Now I'll give you a lesson.
And these are, again, these are short talks on many different topics.
Here's one on the topic of death.
Well, today's topic is a topic we all think about, while doing our best not to think about it.
The topic is death.
And how we think about death changes depending on whether we're thinking about dying ourselves or about losing the people we love. But whichever side of the coin we take here, death is really an ever-present reality for us.
And it is so whether we're thinking about it or not.
It's always announcing itself in the background, on the news, in the stories we hear about the lives of others,
in our concerns about our own health, in the attention we pay when crossing the street.
If you observe yourself closely, you'll see that you spend a fair amount of energy each day trying not to die.
And as long been noted
by philosophers and contemplatives and poets,
death makes a mockery of almost everything else
we spend our lives doing.
Just take a moment to reflect
on how you've spent your day so far.
The kinds of things that captured your attention.
The things that you've been genuinely worried about.
Think of the last argument you had with your spouse.
Think of the last hour you spent on social media.
Over the last few days, I've been spending an inordinate amount of time
trying to find a new font for my podcast.
This has literally absorbed hours of my time.
So if you had stopped me at any point in the last 48 hours and asked me what I'm up to,
what really concerns me, what deep problem I'm attempting to solve,
the solution to which seems most likely to bring order to the chaos
in my corner of the universe? The honest answer would have been, I'm looking for a font.
Now, I'm not saying that everything we do has to be profound in every moment. I mean,
sometimes you just have to find a font. But contemplating the brevity of life brings some perspective to how we use our attention.
It's not so much what we pay attention to
it's the quality of attention.
It's how we feel while doing it.
If you need to spend the next hour looking for a font
you might as well enjoy it
because the truth is none of us know how much time we have in this
life. And taking that fact to heart brings a kind of moral and emotional clarity and energy to the
present. Or at least it can. And it can bring a resolve to not suffer over stupid things.
I mean, take something like road rage.
This is probably the quintessential example of misspent energy.
You're behind the wheel of your car
and somebody does something erratic
or they're probably just driving
more slowly than you want
and you find yourself getting angry.
Now, I would submit to you
that that kind of thing is impossible if you're being
mindful of the shortness of life. If you're aware that you're going to die and that the other person
is going to die and that you're both going to lose everyone you love and you don't know when. You've got this moment of life,
this beautiful moment,
this moment where your consciousness is bright,
where it's not dimmed by morphine in the hospital
on your last day among the living.
And the sun is out,
or it's raining.
Both are beautiful.
And your spouse is alive.
And your children are alive.
And you're driving.
And you're not in some failed state
where civilians are being rounded up
and murdered by the thousands.
You're just running an errand.
And that person in front of you,
who you will never meet,
whose hopes and sorrows you know nothing about,
but which if you could know them, you would recognize are impressively similar to your own,
is just driving slow.
This is your life, the only one you've got,
and you will never get this moment back again.
And you don't know how many more moments you have.
No matter how many times you do something, there will come a day when you do it for the
last time.
You've had a thousand chances to tell the people closest to you that you love them,
in a way that they feel it, and in a way that you feel it.
And you've missed most of them.
And you don't know how many more you're going to get.
You've got this next interaction with another human being to make the world a marginally better place.
You've got this one opportunity to fall in love with existence.
So why not relax and enjoy your life?
Really relax.
Even in the midst of struggle.
Even while doing hard work.
Even under uncertainty.
You are in a game right now, and you can't see the clock.
So you don't know how much time you have left.
And yet you're free to make the game as interesting as possible.
You can even change the rules.
You can discover new games that no one has thought of yet. You can make games that used to be impossible suddenly possible
and get others to play them with you. You can literally build a rocket to go to Mars
so that you can start a colony there.
I actually know people who will spend some part of today doing that.
But whatever you do, however seemingly ordinary,
you can feel the preciousness of life.
And an awareness of death is the doorway into that way of being in the world.
Okay, here's a lesson titled, The Mystery of Being.
Of all the solar systems in this universe that might sustain complex life,
we find ourselves in this one.
It took billions of years of evolution on this Earth to produce the people we now are.
Our brains and bodies have evolved through millions of generations,
reaching back to creatures totally unlike us,
to animals so strange that we wouldn't even want them as pets,
and finally to single-celled organisms.
For ages, the world got on without us.
But now we're here.
And among all the possible people that could exist,
we are among the tiny minority that actually do.
And of all the periods in human history where we might have appeared, we live among the tiny minority that actually do. And of all the periods in human
history where we might have appeared, we live in this one, arguably the first in which it was
possible to understand our circumstance in a truly universal sense. For the first time,
a person's view of the world need not be dictated by the mere location of his birth
or the religion of his parents. For the first time, the barriers of
language and geography have totally fallen away. At this moment, you have instantaneous access to
more information than even the greatest scholar or world leader did a generation ago. And yet,
on some level, we confront the same mystery of our existence that Socrates or the Buddha faced. The fact that you are you,
the fact that you exist in this moment, is a miracle of sorts. There's something
fundamentally inexplicable about it. There's no amount of knowledge that seems adequate to
dispel the mystery of our appearance here. And whatever you know, whatever you believe,
whatever you have done or hope to do, you have this moment of conscious life to contemplate.
You have this minute, this hour, this day, and it will never come again.
So I want to talk for a few minutes about the intrinsic mystery of this circumstance.
It really is the mystery of being.
In science and philosophy, we often claim that we're in the business of getting rid of mysteries.
And there is, of course, a sense in which that's true.
If we don't know why people are getting sick, for instance,
and we discover the virus that's causing it, well, then the mystery has been solved.
But there's another sense in which mystery never recedes. And if you pay attention, you can see that it's an ever-present fact
of even the most well-understood phenomena. The philosopher Bertrand Russell described our most
rudimentary knowledge of the world as knowledge by acquaintance. For instance, the color of a table standing before you.
And here's a quote. The particular shade of color that I'm seeing may have many things said about
it. I might say that it is brown, that it is rather dark, and so on. But such statements,
though they make me know truths about the color, do not make me know the color itself any better
than I did before. So far as concerns the knowledge of the color itself,
as opposed to knowledge of truths about it,
I know the color perfectly and completely when I see it,
and no further knowledge of it is even theoretically possible.
Thus the sense data which make up the appearance of my table
are things with which I have acquaintance,
and things immediately known to me, just as they are. End quote. Now, what Russell seems to overlook here is that this
basic knowledge, to which no knowledge can even be theoretically added, is a place where we uncover
an intrinsic limit to understanding. When we consider any facet of experience, in this case
a vision of color, if we can then stem the tide of our thoughts long enough to merely observe it
as it is, the fact that we're in total ignorance of what it is can become obvious. I mean, what is
the color blue? Not as a function of wavelengths of light or neurophysiology,
but as it is directly perceived.
We're really left with nothing to say but that it's blue,
which of course does nothing to clarify things.
In fact, it's not even blue, which is just a word.
It's a noise we're making.
Or what we see before us is whatever it
ineffably is. Focusing on this distance between concepts and experience is a means of sneaking
up on a truth that is generally described in Buddhism as the truth of emptiness. The idea
that no thing has intrinsic independent existence in the way that it seems. Now, there are many ways to come
at this insight into emptiness. And frankly, this line of inquiry may be too steep for some of you
at this point. So I encourage you to return to it after you have more experience in the practice
of meditation. But it is worth reflecting on even in the beginning. The moment we suspend the
conceptual associations we have with a given object or perception,
our knowledge about it, our direct experience of it can grade into this experience of just
pure mystery. We're left with this wordless intuition of consciousness and its contents,
about which nothing more really can be said. Right now, as you listen to me speak, pay careful attention to the process
of listening, the feeling of sitting in your chair. Look closely at everything around you.
I'd like to suggest that while you know many things about the present moment, you do not know what anything in itself is. Now look at your hand. What is it? You can define this part
of your body in language. You can call it hand. You can consider the fact that it's made of bone
and muscle and threaded with blood vessels and nerves. But this is all a description about the object that you're now looking at.
If you simply look at your hand and ask yourself, what is it? You might realize in a moment of
rare open-mindedness that it is an absolute mystery. It is, in fact, as mysterious an
appearance as any you could ever hope to find.
Now, there are scientific arguments that can be arrayed against the mysteriousness of any object.
We can point to the fact that the atoms in your hand were born billions of years ago in the belly of a star.
And, in fact, some of these atoms may have inhabited several stars in succession.
It's even possible that some atoms that were once in the bodies of historical figures, like Churchill or Cleopatra, are now in you.
In fact, it might be descriptively true to implicate the entire universe in your hand,
or in any objects being what it is.
But no such litany of concepts or connections
can account for the mystery that looms whenever you just look at something,
closely, anything, however
commonplace, and realize that while you might have volumes of knowledge about it, you don't
have the slightest understanding of what it is in itself.
Now, others have noticed this fact.
Walter Benjamin, the German literary critic, stumbled upon this mystery in Marseilles after
smoking hashish for the first
time. He distilled it in the phrase, how things withstand the gaze. And all things really do
withstand the gaze. We confront the mystery of being in every moment, but we don't notice it
because this mystery is tiled over with concepts.
Now, meditation isn't about understanding things conceptually.
It's the ability to experience things more clearly, prior to concepts.
It is the knowledge by acquaintance that Russell spoke of here, taken to the ultimate degree.
And the more you practice it, you'll find that it really is a new form of intelligence. It leads to another way of being in the world,
and one that can allow for a kind of psychological freedom that a continuous entanglement with
concepts doesn't. There's a famous parable from the Buddha meant to get at this difference.
A man is struck in the chest with a poison arrow,
and a surgeon rushes to his side to begin the work of saving his life. But the man resists.
He first wants to know the name of the fletcher who fashioned the arrow's shaft,
and the type of wood from which it was cut, and the motive of the man who shot it,
and the name of the horse upon which he rode,
and a thousand other things that have no bearing at all upon his present suffering or ultimate survival.
So this man needs to get his priorities straight.
His commitment to thinking about the world
results from a basic misunderstanding of his predicament.
And though we may be only dimly aware of it,
we too have problems that will not be solved by more thinking.
Finally, here's a 12-minute guided meditation that comes a little later in the course. As you get comfortable in your seat,
you might keep your eyes open for the beginning of this session.
And take a few deep breaths,
and just let yourself settle into the feeling of resting in space.... And as you gaze in front of you,
just let your gaze be as wide as possible.
No need to focus on anything in particular. just stare into space
with soft eyes
feeling the breath
come and go. Listen to the sounds in the room
arising and passing away.
And as you stare into your visual field,
take a moment to look for what is looking.
See if you can look back with your attention at the one who is seen.
Now, this may sound paradoxical,
but see what happens the moment you look.
There was a teacher named Douglas Harding who wrote a book titled On Having No Head
and the exercise he recommended to his students
was to gaze at whatever is before you
and look for your own head
notice that your head is not one of the things you see.
What is it like to see the world and simultaneously notice that your head is not appearing in it.
See if that does anything to your sense of awareness.
Harding used to say that where his head was supposed to be
there was just the world
see if you can be mindful of that
in each moment... and now gently close your eyes
and pay attention to this feeling
that you might have
that you're now inside your head
that your attention is in something but again what you're calling your head, that your attention is in something.
But again, what you're calling your head,
the sensations you get from your skin,
the muscles in your face,
all of that is appearing in consciousness. That which is aware is not inside of something. Everything is in it.
See if you can feel that. open your eyes again
and ask yourself what has changed
is there a sense that the world comes rushing in?
That space just got bigger?
You might play with this,
opening and closing your eyes periodically.
Is there really a change?
There's a change in the contents of consciousness, clearly.
There are things you can see with your eyes open that you can't with your eyes closed.
But you still have a visual field in both cases.
When you close your eyes,
your visual field doesn't disappear.
All that is changing are the contents that consciousness has a center that there's a meditator in the middle of each moment of meditation,
a thinker of thoughts, a seer of sights, a hearer of sounds.
We'll be looking into that,
that feeling that awareness emanates from a single point inside the head.
And in some ways this is even easier to do with eyes open,
because we use vision to define ourselves in opposition to our environment more than we do with the other senses.
There's a clear feeling that most of us have most of the time that we are behind our face
looking out at the world through our eyes.
But as you look out at the world in this moment,
see if that feeling is true. You might look to see if there's any evidence
that you are behind your face at this moment. Thank you. And the moment you notice you're lost in thought,
come back to this exercise, keeping attention very wide, with our eyes open or closed. and seeing if this feeling of being inside the head
survives scrutiny. In the last minute of this session,
just give up all efforts
and notice whatever appears on its own. Thank you. Well, today I introduced a slightly different exercise,
and there'll be some more of that coming from time to time. Because it's good to use this growing facility with mindfulness
to engage a kind of structured analysis of experience.
You can definitely precipitate certain insights
by doing something a little more directed than just noticing whatever happens
to arise. And if you're interested, you might get that book I mentioned on Having No Head by
Douglas Harding, because he, in a way that was quite unique to him, developed analogies and exercises that can provoke an insight into the illusoriness
of subject-object perception. It's not to say that consciousness isn't arising in the brain.
It's not making any claims about your mind being coterminous with the rest of the physical world. What Harding was doing was
showing that this sense of being inside the head from the side of experience changes when you
actually look to see if it's true. And as you play with that exercise you might find that a very expansive
and centerless sense of what awareness is
can emerge in place of this feeling
that you would otherwise call I. Okay. Well, hopefully that gives you a sense of what I'm doing with the Waking Up course.
Again, this is an ongoing project for me. And as I add content to the course, I'll be attempting
to synthesize everything I've discovered in my own practice, and in philosophy and science
generally. This seems helpful for increasing our understanding of our own minds. Of course,
many of these things have been discussed by philosophers and contemplatives for thousands
of years, but they can now be viewed in a 21st century context. So unlike my own podcast,
which deals with politics and recent developments in science and a host of topical and controversial
issues, The Waking Up Course is really a chance for me to talk about the most important things
I've ever learned. So if you're interested in practicing meditation with me and engaging in
philosophical and scientific considerations about the nature of mind, you can check it out at
wakingup.com. And thank you, Tim, for inviting me on your podcast.
Your audience should know that I consider myself not only a friend of yours,
but I'm also one of your true fans,
because yours is one of the podcasts that I regularly listen to.
In fact, with some regularity, I steal your guests.
I discovered Eric Weinstein on your podcast,
and he and I now have done a few together.
I found Will McCaskill here,
along with the inimitable Jocko Willink. I think there may be a few others. And all those guys
became not only podcast guests, but friends as well. So apart from being grateful that you're
in my life, Tim, I am hugely benefiting from what you are doing in the world. So keep it up,
my friend.
And thanks again for introducing me to your audience.
Hey guys, this is Tim again.
Just a few more things before you take off.
Number one, this is Five Bullet Friday.
Do you want to get a short email from me?
Would you enjoy getting a short email from me every Friday
that provides a little morsel of fun for the weekend? And Five Bullet Friday is a very short email from me every Friday that provides a little morsel of fun for the weekend.
And Five Bullet Friday is a very short email where I share the coolest things I've found or that I've
been pondering over the week. That could include favorite new albums that I've discovered. It could
include gizmos and gadgets and all sorts of weird shit that I've somehow dug up in the world of the
esoteric as I do. It could include favorite articles that I've read
and that I've shared with my close friends, for instance. And it's very short. It's just a little
tiny bite of goodness before you head off for the weekend. So if you want to receive that,
check it out. Just go to 4hourworkweek.com. That's 4hourworkweek.com all spelled out and
just drop in your email and
you will get the very next one. And if you sign up, I hope you enjoy it. I get asked all the time,
if you could only use one supplement, what would it be? My answer is inevitably Athletic Greens.
It is your all-in-one nutritional insurance. I recommended it in the 4-Hour Body, did not get
paid for that. And I travel with it to avoid getting sick. I take it in the 4-Hour Body, did not get paid for that, and I travel with it to avoid getting sick.
I take it in the mornings to ensure optimal performance.
It just covers all my bases if I can't get what I need through whole food meals throughout the rest of the day.
If you want to give Athletic Greens a try, they are offering a free 20-count travel pack for first-time users.
I always travel with at least three or four of these.
This represents a $100 value.
So if you buy Athletic Greens, you get an extra $100 in free product.
So check it out, athleticgreens.com forward slash Tim.
Again, that's athleticgreens.com forward slash Tim for your free travel pack with any purchase.
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