When the Buddha gained enlightenment, he didn’t teach for seven weeks. He didn’t even speak. He thought, “I can’t communicate this. They won’t get it.” His fellow ascetics kept requesting that he teach, and when he finally did, the first thing he taught were the four noble truths beginning with: Life is suffering.
From our modern perspective it might seem odd to start there. What a bummer! Life is suffering? Why didn’t he start with the truth of nirvana, the liberation from all suffering, something more uplifting? That’s how we would do it in our culture: Make a promise to consumers, a carrot on the end of the stick to lead them through a necessary set of actions so they can arrive at understanding. The Buddha, on the other hand, started with the truth of suffering because things, frankly, are not that good. If you don’t have an appreciation for our condition—whether you call it suffering, incompleteness, or discontent—you don’t make the real effort that is required.
With respect to the presentation of Buddhist thought in the modern world, a lot of it is what we might call “watered-down milk.” When I was living in Nepal, if we couldn’t get our milk directly from a farmer, we would buy it in the marketplace. The big challenge there was getting a straight answer from the peddler whether they’d actually watered down the milk. Despite their assurances to the contrary, once we g0t it home and put it in our tea it would sometimes become obvious we had been duped.
In a similar way, people today feel the freedom to interpret the Buddha’s teachings in their own way, to make them palatable to a wider audience. Yet the Buddhist philosophy on life, happiness and fulfillment has existed for more than 2,500 years. It is a philosophy of purpose that has worked for millions of people over the millennia. I’m not interested in changing it, nor am I qualified to do so. I have spent 45 years studying this material, including 12 years in a Tibetan monastery in Nepal, to glean all that I can. In The Six Myths We Live By, I attempt to present it to the reader in a way that is accessible, yes, but without changing the meaning.
A good example of watered-down milk is the present trend around self-compassion. My root teacher, Lama Thubten Yeshe said, “Be gentle with yourself. If you can be gentle with yourself you can be gentle with others.” But what is the effective way to be gentle or kind to oneself? The self-kindness Lama Yeshe is referring to is a self-kindness that leads to ultimate happiness, not some temporary feel-good state. We need to pay attention to the effects of our self-compassion; we have to be kind with a balance of wisdom. Does self-care directly work on the causes of our underlying dissatisfaction? To go for a run in order to relax your body and clear your mind so you are more effective in helping oneself and others is proper self-compassion. On the other hand, I regularly speak with people who say their “therapy” is exercising. They say they can’t be happy without their daily burst of endorphins generated through working out. With this limited motivation they are not being deeply kind to themselves but rather increasing their dependency on an endorphin hit. I think what Lama was referring to was a self-kindness that is helpful for the long term, as a support for lasting contentment.
What’s happened in our culture, on the other hand, because we are so materialistic and self-absorbed, is that self-compassion has become the latest indulgence in increasing “me-ness.” That can be destructive in the long-term. One of my psychotherapy clients sent her son back to his dad in Florida because she said she needed to work on herself more. She needed more time for herself. I have empathy for her, but that may not be the solution. Self-compassion, like any other Buddhist strategy, is about using each circumstance to improve ourselves so we are better at having a positive impact. Self-compassion, when used properly, allows one to take care of oneself while not becoming hijacked by self-centeredness. Thinking of others is not the same as being codependent. These distinctions are crucial, and they are becoming lost.
The audience for this book is therefore comprised of those seeking the truth of human existence, not another quick fix to feel good. If you belong to a more traditional Buddhist audience, the concepts, references and connections herein should all check out solidly. Beyond that group, I hope this book will appeal to seekers in general. People who are into self-development, if not self-help, or those who view psychology as their means of development. None of these readers need to come to the book with a sophisticated understanding of metaphysics, only a degree of earnestness and curiosity.
