Tuesday 9 August 2016

The stories we tell ourselves and how they cause us suffering

A few weeks ago I was on retreat when I came across someone who’d just arrived a little late and was in conversation with another retreatant in the lounge. I said hello but didn’t get a reply. Feeling a bit put out, I wandered over the tea bar and started concocting a story in my mind about the guy who’d ignored me: he didn’t like me, or I wasn’t important enough to talk to or he had better things to do. None of this made me feel any happier. Anyway, it turned out he simply hadn’t heard me and came over to say hello. So my story got blown out of the water, and we then got on fine.

This is a trivial example of something much more serious that the Buddhist tradition calls “papancha”, best translated as mental proliferation. It goes something like this: something happens, like being ignored as I was, that gives you an unpleasant feeling, and, on the basis of that feeling you interpret the event a certain way, just as I did on retreat. Before you know it, that interpretation has taken shape and solidified into its own reality through a process of thought. This rapidly gets out of control and creates a version of the world that may have nothing to do with what actually happened.
And our interpretation of what happens isn’t random. It’s determined by all sorts of factors like our previous experience, self-view, education, social background, the media and many others. In my example, my response was coloured by a tendency to lack self-confidence and my selective memory of previous encounters with the same man.

The reason this is so serious is that it’s how over-identification with ideology and fanaticism arise. If you’re only ever exposed to one narrative, like radical Islamism or the relentless demonization of immigrants, contact with certain people will give rise to an unpleasant feeling. This can colour your perceptions of them to the extent that they can cease to be human. And when people cease to be human, it’s easier to wish them ill and actively commit acts of harm, as we’ve seen so tragically in recent weeks.

So what can we do about it? The Buddhist take on the stories we concoct is to see them as just that: stories. How often do we stop to consider whether we’re in full possession of the facts when we give our opinion about things? The Buddha tells us to go right back to that unpleasant feeling and not to get involved in fabricating stories that may cause us to act in ways we later regret. This involves a high level of attention and mindfulness – and a readiness to question our experience.

And then, of course, there’s love. Just as clinging too tightly to a particular story can prevent us from seeing other people as human, trying to cultivate love will do the opposite. If we can truly learn to love people we will never run the risk of dehumanizing them.

Buddhism offers a wonderful practice for the development of love, sometimes referred to in the tradition as “loving-kindness”. You start by cultivating well-wishing towards yourself, reflecting on the fact that you want to be happy and well. You then bring to mind a good friend, and wish the same for them. By degrees you move on to someone you don’t know well, someone you find difficult, and all people and sentient beings everywhere. I know from experience that this is a wonderfully effective practice. And if everyone did it, there would be much less room for conflict and strife in the world.
But even if you don’t meditate you can still pause every now and again and reflect on whether the way you’re acting or speaking is subtly dehumanizing someone, and what the underlying view is. I would strongly recommend that you give this a try, as it can make the world of difference to your relationships with all sorts of people.