Stoicism: Marcus Aurelius and Zen

 The Joy of Stoicism? Marcus Aurelius?

I just read an article by Brian Daly in the digital magazine, The Collector.1 The article is entitled “Why Has Stoicism Gained Popularity in Modern Times?” I’ve been quoting Stoicism for years in my talks and without having previously given it much thought, I realize that I completely understand the connection Brian makes between Stoicism and Mindfulness! I would extend this connection further to include a somewhat superficial resemblance to Zen Buddhism: “Chop wood, carry water.” 

But first I suppose I should make some statement about what Stoicism is. Usually, it is quoted to us as pithy aphorisms, but it essentially embraces the yogic path in its emphasis on non-reactivity to life’s ups and downs. A Stoic accepts life as it comes and strives to live a life of calmness, integrity and self-control. In many ways the Stoic resembles those who practice mindfulness and Zen (and all the traditional meditative paths) because all express non-attachment and practicing the present as the middle way of achieving equanimity and contentment.  

I practice Kriya Yoga in the yoga lineage of Paramhansa Yogananda, author of the popular classic, “Autobiography of a Yogi.” Kriya Yoga appealed to me because I felt the Buddhist way did not have an aspiration for upliftment of feeling and consciousness. Just chopping wood and carrying water was not enough for me.  

My perception at the time, as I look back, was inaccurate and superficial because meditation, properly practiced within any of the accepted traditions, awakens within us the joy that is our own nature. Zen has, moreover, a delightful sense of humor, epitomized in its famous koans.  

The striking similarity of Stoicism to mindfulness came to me slowly over the years of teaching meditation. But “pure” mindfulness by itself can leave one asking, “Is that all there is?” Don’t we also seek joy? Shouldn’t negation be balanced by a positive affirmation?  

During those same decades, psychology was expanding to include behavioral therapy. This resonates with yoga and its lifestyle with the basic idea that to be happy one must affirm happiness! In hatha yoga, you move the body and hold a position that induces a particular quality of thought and feeling. In the practice of Ananda Yoga, we have affirmations for each pose that reflects the specific quality and attitude of that position (asana). Affirming positive attitudes is a valuable behavioral modification therapy. “As we think, so we are” goes the popular expression. But does an affirmation of a positive attitude run counter to mindfulness, Stoicism, and non-attachment? Let’s explore. 

By not reacting emotionally to outward circumstances, Stoicism resonates with the core teaching of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. Verse two of Book One states the basic premise of yoga in words loosely fashioned like this: “The state of yoga (perfect equanimity) occurs when the oscillating polarity of the reactive process of likes and dislikes, thoughts, imagination and memory subside into a steady state of deep calmness and pure, unbroken awareness.” 

It is a common reaction to such precepts to object that these practices lead to a state of consciousness devoid of feeling. The reason the calmness of one-pointed focus on the moment seems to rob us of feeling is due to the habit of associating superficially stimulating but fleeting emotions with our frenzied activities. With the deliberately steady practice of mindfulness meditation, we achieve progressive degrees of quietude and calmness our of which dawns an inner sun of happiness and well-being. Like the story of the tortoise and the hare, victory (happiness) goes to the steady, Zen-like Stoic-yogi!  

Moreover, Stoicism, like yoga and Zen, isn’t practiced in order to achive the dubious goal of making us lifeless robots. Stoicism, for its part, affirms various active and positive virtues such as courage and moderation, to name just two. Yoga encourages devotion to the Supreme Spirit (in whatever name, form, or formless state appeals to your heart) while Zen fosters compassion and respect for all life. These positive intentions bring us a natural satisfaction and calm, inner joy. It’s not unlike outgrowing the restless, somewhat frenzied energy of a child in preference for the calm adult-satisfaction of sitting with a friend in meaningful conversation. 

The positive consequences of equanimity are NOT mere opposites of negative moods. The quiet satisfaction, joy, compassion and connection that results from the deep practice of self-awareness and calmness reflect the deeper nature of our consciousness. This deeper nature is our center. It does not possess a dual, opposite side.  

I can understand Brian Daly’s article about the growing interest in Stoicism because it naturally induces a calmness that can be an antidote for the over-stimulation, dizzying range of choices, and high expectations of success and pleasure that are so common today. The same motivation applies to many who seek to learn to meditate.  

Another modern phrase or attitude that coincides with these practices is the value of delayed gratification. Much is admitted in our culture of the flaws associated with seeking short-term profits, pleasure, or success at the expense of longer-term, more stable rewards. Paramhansa Yogananda stated that “Loyalty is the first law of God.” He might as well have stated as “Patience is the shortest route to success!” Again, the tortoise wins the race.  

Since here we are speaking of happiness—a state of consciousness—our reference to the poor tortoise should not be mistaken for a dull or mindless attitude of endless repetition. In meditation, we re-direct our attention inward and onto a mental image, thought, feeling or awareness of breath or mind. As we turn towards inner awareness, our awareness quickens even as our metabolism slows down. Regular meditation increases the depth and breadth of our perception and intuitive intelligence. Therefore, in an odd kind of way, meditation sharpens our inner range finder in part because the calmer we are, the less static thoughts and passing emotions block our view of what is true. 

Stoicism represents the “via negativa” or first stage in getting off the merry-go-round of our emotional, reactive life. Meditation, added to stoic attitudes and habits, awakens within us our higher, happier nature. With the regular practice of meditation, we can discover that we begin to see a new world—a world brighter and more meaningful because devoid of the colored filters of our own subconscious tendencies.  

Who, then, would have thought to connect ancient and classical Stoicism with modern mindfulness meditation, Zen, Yoga and behavioral psychology?  

Blessings to you while you connect the dots of life! 

Swami Hrimananda 

Hello Silence, my old Friend!

Hello silence, my old friend, it’s good to sit with you again!

Swami Kriyananda[1] made the statement: “If there was a sound continuous since birth, what would you call it? Silence!”

There’s not much silence in the lives of human beings of the twenty-first century. But for those who meditate daily, we seek inner silence. Why? And What is silence?

Silence usually refers to one who doesn’t speak out loud. A person who, like Mahatma Gandhi, had a day of silence doesn’t speak to others while in silence. At Ananda retreat centers we offer name tags or buttons that say, “I am in silence.” This is to warn others around them that they do not wish to speak.

In American law enforcement detainees are supposed to be told “You have the right to remain silent.” This means that a person cannot be coerced to testify against themselves. I mention that because in certain ways it could be said that every time we open our mouth we give testimony of, or too often, against, our own best interests.

There is another and more important kind of silence: inner silence. This means the cessation of internal, mental narration. Meditators speak of seeking to subdue the monkey mind, that is, the restless, ceaseless mental narration we all have.

The gold standard scripture describing the state of the meditation mind is the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. The second verse gives the clinical description of this mind, called “yoga.” The state of the yoga-mind is achieved when mental activity of image making, mental narration, and emotional responses to mental impressions like memory, fantasies, and sense stimuli subsides into a quiescent state of pure awareness.

The first part of this takes place when we do not react to the mental activity that appears in the mind. The second and deeper part is when mental activity itself ceases. By ceasing is NOT meant sleep or a trance state but simply being aware. Aware of what? The object(s) of awareness are less important than the awareness of awareness itself.

However, such unalloyed consciousness is difficult to achieve. Meditation techniques from a variety of traditions often give the meditator a suggestion as to what to focus on. Even the Yoga Sutras offer a catalog of objects from physical to subtle on which to contemplate.

Examples of “meditation objects” include the breath (controlled or merely observed), a word formula (affirmation or mantra), an image (physical or mental) of a holy personage or deity, repetitive prayer, mental counting, fingering beads, moving or observing the movement of energy flows or energy centers in the body, visualizing or observing internal colors or sounds, and chanting (silent or aloud) just to name some of the more common items.

One of the most effective keys to transcending restless mental activity is the discovery of the rishis of India: the breath-mind-body connection. The breath, which brings life into the body rendering it capable of activity (including restlessness) also holds the key to internal quietude, just as the final exit of the breath ordinarily signifies the death of the body. Of all the “objects” of meditation, breath control (aka “pranayama”) is supreme. It is mentioned in the Yoga Sutras and in the Bhagavad Gita, among other of India’s greatest scriptures.  

The purpose of such focus, combined with deep feeling, is to transcend the “natural turbulence” of the (monkey) mind and thereby invite a transcendent experience born of inner silence.

Experiencing inner silence isn’t a prerequisite of transcendence but, rather, invites transcendent experience to appear. This is because the steady focus or repetition of concentration upon the above-named “objects” can pacify or subdue the narrative function of the mind thus allowing the transcendent experience to descend, as it were, without the intervention of a discrete period of inner silence.

For most meditators, such concentrated focus is more effective than attempting to experience inner silence by willpower alone. This doesn’t mean that inner silence can be ignored or is of no value to seek. Why? For starters, the “doing” aspect of concentration upon an object is the opposite of the “being” nature of transcendence.

In the daily practice of meditation, “doing” may bring many benefits of meditation into one’s life but the desirable experience of transcendence can elude the meditator for years, or be so rare as to allow discouragement to set in. The ”ah-ha” experience of transcendence can “take my breath away!” Serious meditators naturally seek and treasure such experiences which have many, many names and are described by some as the gift of divine grace.

And here I am not even considering the oft-described ultimate states of consciousness variously named such as samadhi, enlightenment, inner communion, spiritual marriage, moksha, satori, or heaven. I am only considering the state of inner silence. These higher states generally induce or take place when breathing is suspended by natural breath-control and devotional means.

Paramhansa Yogananda coined the term “superconsciousness” to refer to the preliminary states of higher consciousness. These states are included in the sixth and seventh stages of the Eight-Fold (Ashtanga) Path described in the Yoga Sutras. Those stages are, respectively, dharana and “dhyana.” States of superconsciousness include, Yogananda taught, the eight aspects of superconsciousness: peace, wisdom, power, love, calmness, sound, light, and bliss.[2]

Paramhansa Yogananda taught that meditation techniques should be followed by a period of quiet. This period can be devotionally inclined with feeling or simple imagery, wordless prayer or silent yearning; or, it can be receptively silent, as in the inner silence which is the subject of this article. Devotion, too, can be a form of inner silence when it is beyond words and beyond creating mental images.

It is in the period of inner silence that the sixth sense of intuition is gradually developed. It is like opening a window that has been stuck closed for decades and which won’t stay open by itself. It must be “held open.” Sitting in the silence with a calm heart, a clear mind, and a deeply relaxed body is like holding open a window so that cool breezes of inspiration, guidance, and answers might be received. Doing so trains the body-mind to be more “open” and receptive not just in meditation but during activity, and even during sleep. To do this is like learning a new language or developing “eyes to see” and “ears to hear” to quote Jesus Christ! Let’s face it: we talk too much, even (indeed, especially) in our inner narrative whether our mouth is open or closed!

We all benefit from intuition at least occasionally, but few are aware of intuition’s silent and stealthy influence, coming “like a thief in the night” (again to quote Jesus Christ). Fewer still seek to develop their sixth sense for this is not generally taught, known or encouraged. Our deeply rational culture is all but unaware of intuition, relegating such experiences to coincidence or a lucky hunch, or worse, as something women seem to have more often than men.

Most meditators find it difficult to sit in the silence for very long without mental activity. Patience is indeed the quickest route to success. Practicing inner silence at moments during the day will be a great aid to “getting to know you.” Befriend the companionship of inner silence. In a song from the Ananda Sunday Service, “Festival of Light,” are the words “Out of the silence came the song of creation!” Scientists postulate that over 90% of the calculated energy and matter of the universe is invisible, but far from empty! This silence is vibrating with vitality; with joy; with love and acceptance; with intelligence!

By remaining locked in the body, brain, and nervous system with our own, even if justifiable preoccupations, we block the influence and guidance of our higher, divine Self. Learning to listen is the essence of meditation practice and is the heart of the daily life of a meditator.  This article is not intended to share the many practical and creative ideas on how to practice inner silence whether in meditation or in activity, but to do so is to open oneself to a life of vitality, creativity, security, and true happiness. (What more can be said!)[3]

This inner silence is the continuous sound or vibration of the Holy Spirit, or Aum, Amen, Amin….that has manifested all things. To be frequently and, with practice, continually in tune with this “music of the Spheres” is the purpose of our creation.

Yogananda created these words and sang them to the tune of “Roamin in the Gloamin” by Harry Lauder: “Sitting in the silence on the sunny banks of my mind. Sitting in the silence with my guru by my side. When my thoughts have gone to rest, that’s the time I see him best, oh ‘tis lovely sitting in the silence.”

Sitting in the silence,

Swami Hrimananda

 

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[1] Swami Kriyananda (1926-2013) was trained and ordained as a kriyacharya by Paramhansa Yogananda (author of “Autobiography of a Yogi”). Swami Kriyananda founded the worldwide work of Ananda in 1968. Ananda includes intentional spiritual communities, teaching centers, churches, publishing retreat centers, meditation groups and affiliated enterprises.

[2] One can experience higher states under virtually any circumstance, not just meditation and not just classically in the states of dharana or dhyana. Patanjali simply enumerated or teased out discrete stages of soul-awakening.

[3] I recommend this book: “Intuition for Starters,” by Swami Kriyananda

Who Do Men Say I AM?

Sages far wiser than most of us have long concurred that “Who am I” is the most important question we can and should ask ourselves. In “Autobiography of a Yogi” by Paramhansa Yogananda, he quotes a great sage:

“Outward ritual cannot destroy ignorance, because they are not mutually contradictory,” wrote Shankara in his famous Century of Verses. “Realized knowledge alone destroys ignorance.…Knowledge cannot spring up by any other means than inquiry. ‘Who am I? How was this universe born? Who is its maker? What is its material cause?’ This is the kind of inquiry referred to.” The intellect has no answer for these questions; hence the rishis evolved yoga as the technique of spiritual inquiry.1

Thus, the inquiry—essential as it is said to be—cannot be fathomed by the intellect alone but by actual experience.

Also, in “Autobiography” in a footnote to Chapter 1, Yogananda recounts: 

The poet Tennyson has left us, in his Memoirs, an account of his repetitious device for passing beyond the conscious mind into superconsciousness: “A kind of waking trance — this for lack of a better word — I have frequently had, quite up from boyhood, when I have been all alone,” Tennyson wrote. “This has come upon me through repeating my own name to myself silently, till all at once, as it were out of the intensity of the consciousness of individuality, individuality itself seemed to dissolve and fade away into boundless being, and this not a confused state but the clearest, the surest of the surest, utterly beyond words — where death was an almost laughable impossibility — the loss of personality (if so it were) seeming no extinction, but the only true life.” He wrote further: “It is no nebulous ecstasy, but a state of transcendent wonder, associated with absolute clearness of mind.” 2 

Jesus Christ famously asked his disciples, “Who do men say I am?” This question and the disciple Peter’s response has gone down in history, however, controversially. Catholic theologians claim that Jesus’ response established for all time his “church” and its authority through the papacy. Protestants claim, by contrast, that Peter’s “confession” that Jesus is the Messiah is the “rock” upon which the church is built (rather than Peter and the succession of prelates that followed him). Either way, the question and the answer are fundamentally profound for all time: not just for identifying the divinity of Jesus Christ, but, by extension, the innate divinity of all souls and our potential for Self-realization. 

The “I” principle waxes and wanes throughout our day and our lives. An infant makes little distinction between himself and the mother (or anyone else for that matter). But it isn’t long before the infant learns that the mother is not the same as himself nor omnipresent. “Separation anxiety” soon sets in.

During childhood—if family security and love prevail—the child has only bouts of aggression, selfishness or personal anxiety but otherwise is connected to the family scene. At puberty, separation begins in earnest, expressing itself in rebelliousness and intense ego-awareness. 

In marriage we find a repeat of the pattern. The couple meets and experiences unity but in time the frequency of experiences of differences grows and in time harmony can only prevail if recognition of those differences is accepted.

In our unreflective persona, we are wholly identified with life around us including and especially life as we mentally imagine, desire or fear it. Most “things” around us are generally prosaic and taken for granted. It is primarily our thoughts and feelings about the world (things, people, our opinions) that constitute the cocoon of self that we live in, happily or otherwise. Upon reflection, however (and only a little would suffice), we can know that the objects in this cocoon are ephemeral and often changing. The question can become—at least for a few— “Who am I (really)?”

As the Adi Shankacharya suggests, only by interior inquiry can we experience the “I” in its immutable nature of Self. We may crave endless change, but we do so from an assumed center of changelessness: continuity of existence and self-awareness held in the hope and expectation of satisfaction.

When one begins in earnest to explore “Who am I” we confront the initial reality that I am separate from you. This is true whether in therapy or in meditation. In therapy the “you” are all others (your parents, your spouse, children, co-workers) while in meditation one could say the “you” is whatever is your goal: God, guru, peace, bliss, samadhi, moksha, etc.

In the outer world, we can never pass beyond separateness: we can only reconcile to it. In the inner world of the self, we strive to rise above conditional awareness and self-definitions to achieve union with consciousness alone, as consciousness (however defined, named or not named).

This union of self with Self is not easily achieved. In the teachings of yoga, this process usually takes many lifetimes of effort and requires the help of a Self-realized Self to guide us out of the labyrinth of the mind. The mind, indeed the brain, too, takes input from the senses and creates a world of its own: likes, dislikes, desires, fear, opinions, emotions, tendencies, attitudes, and inclinations. Dissolving the intermediary of the mind to have direct perception is one of the ways to describe enlightenment. It must be said, however, that in the world of the mind and intellect the ways of describing the ultimate state are innumerable given the very nature of the mind and intellect! Do you see the conundrum, then?

“It takes a thorn to remove a thorn.” Our mind’s tendency to extract, reconstruct and redefine experiences in its own terms is obviously a hindrance but it is also a tool. “Work with things (and people) as they are” is good, solid, practical advice for all of us. Saints, sages and yogis are obviously practical people.

Redirecting our thoughts and goals to higher, less self-involved purposes is the first step. Looking to people more highly evolved in this pursuit becomes part of this first step. Refining our self-definition towards that of enlightened persons is very helpful. Yogananda tells the story of a yogi-saint who one day while meditating upon his chosen deity suddenly merged with the object of devotion and proclaimed aloud “I’ve been showering the murti (idol-image) with flowers and now I see that I AM THAT and now shower those petals upon my head as well.” The experience of oneness is not easily won, however.

Better it is, Krishna advises in the Bhagavad Gita, to approach God in the I-Thou relationship rather than to only seek the Absolute. For as long as we are encased in a human body and suffer the indignities of requiring air, water, food, shelter and sunlight, best it is to seek God-enlightenment as separate from us (for the time being until released by grace).

It is probably not useful to dwell endlessly upon transcending I-Thou. Let oneness be the gift of the One. The One has become many and it is not wrong to say that, in essence, the One IS the many. Why quibble over the distinction as if One is better than the Other? As my teacher, Swami Kriyananda would put it, “God is as much with you RIGHT NOW as He will ever be.” And as Yogananda put it, to achieve “Self-realization” you need only “improve your knowing.”

In the Eight-Limbed path of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, the final three stages of samyama reflect the steps to enlightenment as “I am experiencing peace,” to “Peace IS” to “I AM.”

Some practical applications of this process can include the experience of gazing out a window onto a landscape: all mental narrative vanishes, and no barrier of mind separates you from the experience. Gazing in this way is a kind of meditative exercise that can be deployed during the day. Taking breaks to observe the flow of your breath is another simple but effective exercise. More subtle but very powerful when well-developed is the focusing of attention in the forehead, especially at the point between the eyebrows from time to time during the day (and almost always during meditation itself). Lastly, lifting your gaze upward as if thinking about something but not actually thinking of anything is also very calming.

Practice listening intently to sounds or another person’s words. Don’t run a parallel narrative while listening but simply listen as if the sound wasn’t so much coming in through your ears as in through your heart (not physical heart but in the center line of your body near the physical heart).

For those whose energy is strongly outward and for whom (or at times when) these practices (above) are too contemplative, practice radiating heart energy outward into your space, environment, workplace, or neighborhood from wherever you are, including while moving through space in a car, plane, or train. You can “color” the radiation with peace or love or kindness if you feel to do so. No one can see nor need to know that you are silently blessing them.

Like the yogi’s response to the hot dog vendor’s question about which condiments to add, “Make me One with everything!” Finding that cosmic vendor will require practice, patience, and determination!

 Joy to you, 

Swami Hrimananda

footnotes:

 1)

Autobiography of a Yogi, Chapter 26: The Science of Kriya Yoga

2) Autobiography of a Yogi, Chapter 1: My Parents and Early Life, footnote 11