The focus of Buddhist teaching, as we’ve discussed, is on suffering—from where it originates, and how it can be overcome.

Suffering

My understanding is that the suffering with which buddhism is concerned is generally of the mental variety rather than the physical. Certainly physical pain isn’t merely some illusion of the mind (though the point is probably open for argument), but results from some specific internal or external cause. Whether you’ve stubbed your toe, broken your collarbone, or have some painfully debilitating condition, physical suffering can be difficult or nearly impossible to escape from or ignore.

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Of all the teachings of the Buddha, the core and seed is the Four Noble Truths. These comprise a statement of the problem, the nature of the problem, the hope of a resolution to the problem, and the means of reaching that resolution.

As a religion born out of the Hindu tradition, Buddhism’s chief concern is with ending the cycle of rebirth—of reaching nirvana. This might also be expressed as enlightenment, or the universality or end of self.

Simply stated, the Four Noble Truths are these:

1. There is suffering;
2. there is a cause or origin of suffering;
3. there is an end to suffering;
4. and there is a path to the end of suffering.

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A friend commented on my Facebook link to the last post Why I Can’t Be Buddhist, saying that pretty much everyone could benefit from a bit of “mindfulness” in their daily lives.

I’m going to write more about the idea of mindfulness later, both generally, and specifically as something to be cultivated through a meditative practice, but I was struck by something a little while ago as I was reading a magazine article, that I’d like to share. Think of it as a little introductory nugget for you to ruminate on.

Mindfulness is essentially self-awareness, and specifically self-awareness within the present moment. As I was reading the article, initially I was fully involved with it, digesting the words and meaning as is kind of the whole point of reading. I didn’t realize, however, that at some point, I had stopped paying attention–my eyes were still scanning the page, seeing the words, but my mind was wandering, thinking along some tangential path the text had sent it down. Suddenly, I noticed that I wasn’t paying attention, and my focus snapped back to the words on the page while my brain re-routed itself back to the present moment.

It was in that moment, those few seconds when my brain yanked back on its own chain, that I was experiencing mindfulness–a non-judgmental self-awareness of myself as a thinking being. That kind of mindfulness, of course, is fleeting, and it evaporated as soon as I’d labeled it and moved on to thinking about writing this post.

So, there’s a shallow taste of what it means to be mindful. Perhaps you’ll catch yourself in several such moments today as well.

When I discovered Buddhism, what I found was a philosophy and set of teachings that coincided with my own thoughts and feelings about the world better, in many ways, than the brand of Christianity in which I’d been raised. Certainly, there are parts of the engendered faith of my childhood that I still agree and identify with, parts that give me comfort, and parts that ground me in my skin. But the endemic faith of my adulthood has been informed by my belief that it is in the convergent points between various world philosophies and religions that any true religion most likely lies. A common refrain of mine is that in every reasonable philosophy or religion, there surely exist some nuggets of truth. It is in the context of these two beliefs that my own philosophical, spiritual, and religious pursuits have been grounded.

Buddhism’s Appeal

My initial introduction to Buddhism—and to eastern thought in general—revealed a philosophy based on tolerance, inclusion, compassion, respect, wisdom, with a strong leaning towards self-understanding and self-improvement. These are things that I believed were also central to Christian teaching, but which I felt were almost unilaterally missing from the Christian religious community.

As I learned more about its philosophy and teachings, and particularly about meditation, my interest in Buddhism as a practice grew. The life of a spiritual comtemplative holds some appeal to me, but I would never be able to remove myself from the world enough to become a monk. Meditative practice, like prayer, seems to offer some window into that world without making life-changing sacrifices or an ascetic commitment. Also, it seems that meditation can offer something that prayer generally cannot—an opportunity to explore not just your relationship with God, but your relationship with yourself.

These things mean that Buddhism—both as a practice and as a philosophy—appeals to me very greatly. Unfortunately, Buddhism isn’t exclusively a practice, or a philosophy.

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