When a smoke detector goes off, the first thing you do is look around to see what set it off. Maybe the battery is low. Maybe your dinner is making too much steam or smoke on the stove. Or maybe there is actually a fire. If is it a false alarm (i.e. no fire), you push the button to silence the alarm and move on with your day. If there is a fire, you either grab a fire extinguisher or call 911. You do something about the problem. What you don’t do is carry the blaring smoke detector around with you all day! That would obviously be pointless and stressful; and yet, that is essentially what many of us do with our guilt or worry.

A more effective approach would be to treat your guilt or worry like the smoke detector. When it goes off, the first thing you do is look around to see what set it off. In the case of guilt, you might ask, “What’s going on? Did I really screw up? Did I hurt someone in some way? Can I do anything about it?” In the case of worry, you might ask, “What’s going on? What am I worried about? Is the problem real? Is it certain or even likely? Do I have any control over it? Can I do anything about it?”

If you decide that the problem is real, the next thing you do is look for possible interventions. With guilt, you might apologize, make amends, or fix the situation in some way. With worry, you might take steps to minimize the possible dangers or negative outcomes. You heed the alarm and respond accordingly. That’s what alarms are for. Once you’ve taken all reasonable steps to address the problem, the alarm should stop, because it no longer serves any purpose.

If, on the other hand, you decide that the guilt or worry is a false alarm, or if the alarm has not stopped after you’ve intervened, then you run into a small problem. Unlike smoke detectors, your guilt and worry do not have a reset button. You can’t just turn them off by getting a broom and whacking a little box on the ceiling. You also can’t simply leave the room, because unlike smoke detectors, you carry your guilt and worry around with you. The only way to escape is to turn off the alarm, and the only way to do that is to clear the air. Like waving a towel in front of a blaring smoke detector, you have to look at the situation, remind yourself why you believe it is a false alarm, and be patient. At first, it may seem like an impossible task, but there is a skill to it, and you can get better.

Ideally, we can learn to avoid false alarms by training our guilt and worry to be more discriminating. This means challenging any guilt or worry that fails to serve a useful purpose. We can also learn to minimize actual problems by refining or disciplining our behaviors. This might mean being more careful with our comments or judgments, treating people with greater respect or compassion, or avoiding unnecessary risks. If we learn to reduce both false alarms and actual problems, we unlock the potential for a life that minimizes guilt and worry. The alarms are still there to protect us in an emergency, but they do not go off unless absolutely necessary.

As a final note, I should point out that living a life with less guilt and worry may lead to the perception by others that you don’t care enough. Some people wear their guilt and worry like badges of honor, as a sign of just how much they care. However, this seems dangerous to me, because it links being a good and caring person with carrying around lots of guilt and worry. That reality may be fine and good for some people, but I don’t want it for myself. It puts suffering on a pedestal, and there’s enough suffering in the world already.

Consider the pre-verbal, selfish, and often aggressive nature of babies. Is it possible that infant consciousness mirrors that of early humans? Babies are more adorable than cavemen, but it is only their relative size and helplessness that allow them to be so. If babies had the size, strength, and mobility of adults, they would be absolutely terrifying when upset, much like Lennie from Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. Now, imagine an entire community of these infant-adults, and you get a glimpse of how brutal and chaotic early human existence might have been.

These parallels continue from infancy into childhood and adolescence. Even with the development of language, the underlying narcissism and brutality do not necessarily disappear. Children eventually learn to follow rules and care for others, but as we all know, children can still be cruel, and not only during infancy. Much the same is true for human cultures and civilizations. In either case, despite the maturation or evolution of our brain structures, the development of more sophisticated perspectives and values can come very late or not at all. All we have to do is watch the news to see countless examples of lingering selfishness, aggression, and cruelty… even among adults in “civilized” societies.

As we move through childhood and into adulthood, our brains develop greater complexity, and we are exposed to the lessons of family, culture, human history, and personal experience. Through these lessons, some of us begin to learn and practice more sophisticated behaviors, and we tend to seek out others who share our perspectives. These pockets of sophistication may be rare in grade school or even high school, but they become more common with age. In the adult world, there are all levels of sophistication representing all kinds of perspectives, but narcissism and brutality still exist.

Human evolution has also included pockets of sophistication for thousands of years, and overall, these pockets appear to have grown more prevalent over the centuries, culminating in our modern human world. Unfortunately, whether we are talking about individuals or the species as a whole, sophistication is neither universal nor inevitable, at least not yet, and pockets of cruelty and selfishness remain common. The development of consciousness is a rocky road, and humanity still has a long way to go.

In exploring this idea further, it may be useful to consider the example of high school. Within most communities of teenagers, selfishness and aggression remain common traits, and this creates a hostile environment dominated by various kinds of bullies and their followers. High school is a primitive world, but unlike early childhood, it does include noticeable and ever-expanding pockets of sophistication. Indeed, the brutality of this world may actually provide a catalyst for individual growth, especially among those who are not in power. Unfortunately, high school can also provide reinforcement for those who are able to dominate, potentially trapping these individuals in a violent and narcissistic existence.

One thing that stands in the way of growth is the tendency for people to be drawn toward the norm. This is much like the statistical concept of regression toward the mean. When there is a dominant majority representing a certain set of perspectives and values, others will tend to be drawn toward those values. They “regress” away from the periphery and toward the norm, as if drawn by gravity. It is hard to resist this gravitational pull and stand firm as an outlier, especially during high school, because teens typically lack stable personal identities. In many ways, finding that identity is what being a teen is all about. At a time of life when primitive traits probably represent the majority, sophistication is represented mostly in the smaller pockets, the outliers. In such an environment, it is not surprising that many individuals would be unwilling to venture away from the primitive majority, even if it is a source of suffering. But some do resist the pull and venture out, and over time, these individuals create centers of gravity of their own.

By the time any generation gets to adulthood, these small pockets of sophistication have grown and combined into a larger segment of the population. As the primitive majority loses members, its gravitational pull diminishes, and acceptance for primitive behaviors declines. There is still a tendency for regression toward the mean, but there are now multiple centers of gravity to attract the lost and isolated. Primitive groups still exist, but their dominant status slips away as they lose their majority. Some members of these primitive groups may eventually feel drawn to evolve themselves. Others may cling to their primitive culture, even as it shrinks into obscurity.

Naturally, all of these trends will depend on the larger cultural context, and in some cultures or societies, primitive traits may remain dominant even in adulthood. This is the nature of human evolution, as well as individual development. Some people push forward into new human potentials, creating new centers of gravity (i.e. more sophisticated behavioral norms), while others remain closer to our primitive origins.

At this point, we must be careful not to confuse technological progress with sophistication, lest we be deceived into a false sense of superiority. After all, technological advances do not necessarily lead to a reduction in selfishness or aggression, and many industrialized nations, including the United States, do not necessarily represent the highest state of human evolution. In fact, our tendencies toward individualism, competition, consumerism, and warfare suggest that we are nowhere near the pinnacle of human consciousness. We may have pockets of great sophistication, but as a whole, we still demonstrate strong tendencies toward primitive behaviors.

Despite all of our limitations, I still have faith that humanity is on an upward trajectory toward greater levels of sophistication, even if it sometimes happens slowly and inconsistently. Every time we reveal our darkest potentials, it seems that we also reveal our outrage. Hopefully, this means that lessons are being learned. Hopefully, our primitive behaviors are serving a purpose for our species as a whole. Hopefully, we will continue to embrace a shift away from aggression and narcissism and toward an existence that minimizes suffering for all.

Philosopher and author Alan Watts (1915-1973) described li this way:

Though the Tao is wu-tse (nonlaw), it has an order or pattern which can be recognized clearly but not defined by the book because it has too many dimensions and too many variables. This kind of order is the principle of li. . . . Li may therefore be understood as organic order, as distinct from mechanical or legal order, both of which go by the book. Li is the asymmetrical, nonrepetitive, and unregimented order which we find in the patterns of moving water, the forms of trees and clouds, of frost crystals on the window, or the scattering of pebbles on beach sand. . . . As soon as this beauty is pointed out it is immediately recognized, though we cannot say just why it appeals to us. When aestheticians and art critics try to explain it by showing works of art with Euclidean diagrams superimposed on them–supposedly to demonstrate elegance of proportion or rhythm–they simply make fools of themselves. Bubbles do not interest one merely because they congregate in hexagons or have measurable surface tensions. Geometrization always reduces natural form to something less than itself, to an oversimplification and rigidity which screens out the dancing curvaceousness of nature.
-Alan Watts, Tao: The Watercourse Way, 1975, pp. 45-46

Because it is a naturally occurring phenomenon, li does not require our intervention or control. Nature dances, and li is the beauty of that dance. As natural beings, humans have an innate ability to experience li, but we must first learn to be present and open to reality. I’m not talking about the over-processed reality in our heads, but rather the raw reality as it comes to us through our senses. So often, our rational minds get in the way, and so we must learn to turn down the volume on our thoughts. Only then will li become fully apparent.

Animals don’t need help with this, because they are not burdened with our reasoning abilities. As a result, they exist wholly within the patterns of li. Their relationships, interactions, and patterns of behavior are li. Human behavior gets hung up on mental constructs like expectations and control, and we lose contact with natural order. Through our thoughts and efforts, we actually destroy li. Imagine trying to intervene as a snowflake is forming, trying to make it turn out a certain way, and you will get an idea of the danger and futility of trying too hard. Li doesn’t need us to make it happen. In fact, it often can’t tolerate our efforts. It just needs us to participate in life and allow it to happen.

If li still seems difficult to grasp, consider a few more examples, and maybe it will become more clear. Li is the smoke of a candle spiraling and folding in on itself. Li is dust in a sunbeam. Li is clear water rippling in the wind on a sunny day. Li is sparkles of sunlight dancing across the surface of a body of water. Li is the northern lights, sunrises and sunsets, and the starry sky. Li is waterfalls, rapids, leaves on trees, and mountain ranges. Li is storms. Li is all weather. Li is the patterns within and across lifespans. Li is the chemistry between two people. Li is the cycle of life and death. Li is ecosystems. Li is solar systems. Li is also “the zone” experienced by athletes. Li is anytime we feel truly connected and caught up in the flow of life.

I will not speculate about how or why li occurs, because I do not know with any certainty the answers to those questions. My goal is simply to point out that li does occur, that it does so with great abundance, and that it is always available to us… as long as we don’t get in the way.

(10) Suffering = Feeling x Control
(12) Suffering = Stress / Coping

While the overall effect of reducing control may be positive, our formulas suggest that we can also reduce suffering by reducing stress and increasing coping. Reducing stress generally means taking some of the stressors off of our plates, while increasing coping means enlarging our plates through improvements in self-care and stress management. The goal, of course, is to have a plate that isn’t overflowing.

At this point, I would like to modify our control formula (10) to make room for another important variable, which is trust:

(13) Suffering = Feeling x Control / Trust

This new variable represents our degree of trust in self, others, and life. When we have trust, we are better able to let go of the feelings that contribute to suffering (e.g. doubts, fears, worries, and insecurities). Therefore, as trust goes up, suffering goes down, regardless of the level of control. However, as trust approaches zero, suffering approaches infinity.

Trust is an internal process related to how we see the world (i.e. our subjective perceptions), while control is more of a response or behavior. This means that we can address suffering through our behaviors (control) or through the personal perceptions on which they are based (trust). I believe the perception approach is more efficient in the long run, because increased trust will lead to fewer behavioral concerns. It’s a matter of treating superficial vs. underlying causes. A lack of trust causes suffering, and people often cope with suffering by increasing control, which then leads to further suffering. Both trust and control are related to suffering, but trust (i.e. perception) is the deeper issue.

If we add together the suffering derived from control and trust (13) with the suffering derived from stress and coping (12), we get a single formula for understanding suffering:

(14) Suffering = (Feeling x Control / Trust) + (Stress / Coping)

Just for fun, let’s call this our Unified Theory of Human Suffering. What it says is that, if we hold feelings as a constant, suffering goes up with increases in control and stress, but it goes down with increases in trust and coping.**

I assume that humans can never completely let go of control, so control can never reach zero. I also assume that stress can never reach zero, because stressors are inherent in life. Meanwhile, I assume that trust and coping have no such limits. At least in theory, we can lose our trust completely, and we can suffer a complete breakdown in coping. Here are my assumptions in mathematical form:

(15) Control > 0
(16) Stress > 0
(17) Trust ≥ 0
(18) Coping ≥ 0

If these assumptions are true, then suffering can never equal zero, because control, stress, and feeling are always present (i.e. greater than zero). The only way suffering can get close to zero is for trust to be very high compared to control and for coping to be very high compared to stress. Of course, all four variable are important, but no matter how much we try to reduce control and stress, a lack of trust or coping will always make suffering skyrocket!

In A Formula for Suffering (Part 3), we will conclude this exploration by looking at the role of expectations and walking through some examples to see how our formula might work in practice.

**I realize that these variables are not entirely independent (control is related to coping, stress is related to trust, etc.). I also realize that there is no single unit of measurement that could possibly quantify all these variables. These formulas are simply useful as tools for exploration and reflection.

(1) Suffering = Pain x Resistance
(2) Frustration = Pleasure x Grasping

The basic idea is that suffering results from resisting pain and grasping at pleasure. As resistance and grasping increase, suffering and frustration increase. As resistance and grasping approach zero, suffering and frustration approach zero. These ideas go back to the earliest teachings of the Buddha over 2300 years ago, especially his teaching on The Four Noble Truths.

In working with these formulas, I like to start with a few assumptions. First, I assume that frustration is a form of suffering. Second, I assume that pain represents any negative feeling (-Feeling), including both emotions and physical sensations, while pleasure represents any positive feeling (+Feeling). Finally, I assume that resistance and grasping are both forms of control. Resistance is control used to push something away, while grasping is control used to pull something in. Here are my assumptions in mathematical form:

(3) Frustration = Suffering
(4) Pain = -Feeling
(5) Pleasure = +Feeling
(6) Resistance = Control
(7) Grasping = Control

If we apply these assumptions to our original formulas, we get the following:

(8) Suffering = -Feeling x Control
(9) Suffering = +Feeling x Control

In other words, suffering comes from taking our positive or negative feelings and magnifying them through control (i.e. resistance or grasping). We can simplify these formulas by realizing that, regardless of whether feelings are positive or negative, the rest of the formulas are the same. Therefore, we can combine them into a single equation:

(10) Suffering = Feeling x Control

If we assume that feelings are an essential part of life, even the negative ones, then perhaps we can hold feelings as a constant. In other words, reducing feelings is not really an option, so if we wish to reduce suffering, we must focus on reducing the level of control.

The implications of this formula (10) are profound, because control is a widely accepted, even celebrated, approach to life. I’m not just talking about “control freaks”. I’m talking about anyone who resists or clings to certain feelings, and that includes just about all of us! If control actually produces suffering, then we must question its effectiveness as a coping strategy, no matter how popular.

The formula does offer a simple solution to suffering, which is to reduce control. Unfortunately, while this solution may be simple, it is far from easy. There may also be negative side-effects to reducing control. Letting go of control means reducing a coping mechanism for handling stress, and with fewer coping mechanisms, anxiety increases. Mathematically, we might say it this way:

(11) Anxiety = Stress / Coping

In this formula, the amount of anxiety is determined by the ratio of stress to coping. As coping goes down, anxiety goes up. If we assume that anxiety is yet another form of suffering, we get this:

(12) Suffering = Stress / Coping

So, by reducing control, which is also a form of coping, we reduce suffering in one way (10) but increase it in another (12). What is the net effect? I believe that humans are not very good at control, and as a result, control is not a very good coping mechanism. Therefore, the benefits of control (12) are limited. I also believe that control efforts cause a lot of damage, so the costs of control (10) are great. If my assumptions are accurate, then the net effect is that control causes more suffering than it prevents.

In A Formula for Suffering (Part 2), we will continue this exploration by considering the role of trust. We will also attempt to combine our equations into a single formula for understanding human suffering.

Fortunately, we are not so powerful that we can create an event simply by willing it or fearing it. Not every prayer gets answered, not every wish gets granted, and most fears go unrealized. This is a good thing. Imagine the chaos of a world inhabited by such omnipotent gods, each with his or her own beliefs, biases, and wants. Such a world would surely be torn apart by all the conflicting intentions!

While the idea of the self-fulfilling prophecy is not an absolute law, it is a real phenomenon that shapes our experiences. It does so by building upon our most basic beliefs and expectations about ourselves, other people, life, and the world around us. The mechanism is really quite simple…

1. We expect that life will be a certain way.
2. We look for evidence to support our expectation.
3. We notice things that validate our expectation.
4. We dismiss evidence to the contrary.
5. We collect evidence until we feel we have proof.
6. We believe that our expectation has been fulfilled.

This mechanism won’t crash an airplane, but it can easily ruin your day… or make your day. It might even be capable of killing you, albeit indirectly. Whatever you expect to see is what you will look for, and what you look for is what you will tend to find. In this way, both the optimist and the pessimist are inevitably proven right, within the realm of their own perceptions. Put in the simplest terms, believing is seeing.

We like to think of ourselves as objective observers of the world around us, as observers of truth, but the truth is that our perceptions of the world are wrapped in layer upon layer of subjectivity. Medical researchers realize this danger in their own work and use double-blind studies to control for their own expectations (i.e. the observer-expectancy effect) and the expectations of their patients (i.e. the subject-expectancy effect or placebo effect). Unfortunately, most of us are not so cautious. We plow forward with our expectations and subjective realities, all the while believing that what we see is the objective and unchangeable truth. This error of perception may seem harmless, but for those who feel trapped in an ugly reality, it is a source of great suffering. It may also be a primary cause of human conflicts and wars.

By understanding the mechanism of the self-fulfilling prophecy, we may be able to challenge its effects, but we must first learn to set aside our blind commitment to our subjective realities. We must accept the idea that most of what we see is not objective truth. If we can do that, perhaps we can learn to shape our realities after all. Perhaps we can become semi-omnipotent, at least at the level of perception.

We may not be all-powerful gods, but we are not powerless victims of fate either. The secret to our true power is held in three little words: believing is seeing. For those who can unlock the depths of this idea and set aside their rigid perception of truth, there is an opportunity to escape the shackles of fate and destiny, an opportunity to choose and be free.

Imagine the life of a cowboy and his horse. If the horse gets sick or injured, is that a betrayal? Certainly not. The horse and cowboy rely on each other mutually, and both have limits. The cowboy depends upon his horse for work, transportation, safety, and even companionship; while the horse depends upon the cowboy for food, water, rest, companionship, and a good brushing. If the cowboy fails to care for his horse, the horse will become ill and less capable of providing for the cowboy. Even if the cowboy takes good care of his horse, sickness and injury are still inevitable over time.

How should the cowboy respond at these times? How would you respond? With resentment, mistreatment, or neglect? Or with caring and compassion? I believe that most people would advocate for caring and compassion. Even from a purely practical point of view, the compassionate approach seems likely to help the horse heal more quickly. No matter how inconvenient the sickness or injury may be, it is important for the cowboy to acknowledge the needs of the horse. If he does not, his own needs may also go unmet. For the cowboy, caring for the horse is caring for himself.

The same is true for our relationships with our bodies, and we should treat our bodies as good as we would treat our horse. Not all ailments can be reversed, even with the best of care, but mistreatment and neglect will almost always accelerate the decline.

So, have a little compassion for your body. Take care of it. Treat it well. Be good to your horse.

I often talk about emotions as a stream that runs through our consciousness. Sometimes it sparkles in the sunlight, sometimes it is dark or muddy, sometimes it gurgles playfully, sometimes it roars, sometimes it is only a trickle, and sometimes it swells into a raging torrent. Many of us try to manage or control the stream by building dams, but we fail to see the many perils of this approach.

First of all, humans are not very good dam builders. Streams are far more powerful than they look, and our dams tend to crack and leak all over the place. This is okay for children trying to dam a gutter with twigs, but the consequences are less innocent for adults trying to dam emotions. The resulting cracks and leaks can take the form of emotional outbursts and even physical symptoms, such as high blood pressure, ulcers, eye twitches, skin conditions, and so forth.

Second, dams don’t really solve the problem. In fact, dams always lead to more problems, because after a while, not only do you still have the stream, but you also have a huge reservoir or lake looming behind the dam. If the stream scares you enough to build a dam, how much more scary is an entire lake of emotion held back by a cracking dam? Unfortunately, we often don’t consider this risk. We commit ourselves to dam building (i.e. emotional control), and then we get stuck in the never-ended business of dam maintenance, too afraid of the reservoir to try anything else.

The alternative to dam building is simply to let the stream flow and trust that it will never sweep us away. We must go with the flow of our own emotions. Yes, streams are unpredictable, but they tend to be okay most of the time. Even if a big surge causes the stream to overflow its banks, it is not likely to do much harm, and most of the damage we do experience is caused by our own panic in the face of the surge. Kayakers, rafting guides, and surfers can attest to this truth. When it comes to both water and emotions, resistance is futile… and often harmful.

If you are not already in the dam business, I strongly suggest that you don’t start. Unfortunately, this is one of those lessons we often have to learn for ourselves. If you are in the dam business, here are some suggestions for getting out:

1. Let the dam leak. The only way to drain a reservoir is to let more water go downstream. This doesn’t mean blowing up the dam all at once, but it does mean resisting the urge to patch up every little crack.
2. Spend time observing the stream. When we stop indulging our fears and discomforts, when we bravely turn our attention toward our emotions, we eventually start to understand that the stream of emotions is not so scary or dangerous.

Emotions are an essential part of us, and they add all the flavor and color to life. To deny or repress emotions is to miss out on a huge aspect of living, so even if you could build the perfect dam, why would you? The costs far outweigh any benefits.