Emotional Awareness: A Conversation Between the Dalai Lama & Paul Ekman

Leading psychologist Paul Ekman received an invitation to a Mind and Life Conference with the Dalai Lama in 2000. He went because he knew it would it please his daughter, an admirer of the Dalai Lama. Ekman himself had no great knowledge of Buddhism and no religious beliefs or practices of his own. What happened as a result of this initial encounter changed Ekman's life, both personally and professionally. He hit it off with the Dalai Lama, experiencing a warmth and openness that affected him emotionally and that puzzled him as a scientist. And he learned things about the Buddhist tradition that triggered new perspectives and research agendas from him about the emotions and how we humans can learn to better cultivate them. This book records conversations held between Ekman and the Dalai Lama over several years. These transcripts and sidebars become a treasure-trove of insight into this most basic human (and animal) phenomenon that Buddhism has explored more than two millennia via introspection (meditation). Now science is taking a closer look at, especially with the advances in neuroscience and other techniques that provide us new ways of viewing and testing emotions. This book allows any reader can come away with a better understanding of how we live our emotional lives, and how we can cultivate those emotions for our own good and the good of those with whom we live. No small accomplishment.

The first two of the Four Noble Truths espoused by the Buddha state his assessment of the human condition. The First Noble Truth: Life is unsatisfactory. (More often, we see the original Sanskrit or Pali translated as “suffering”, but I agree that this word is perhaps too aggressive in its portrayal of the original insight.) The Second Noble Truth: The cause of suffering [or unsatisfactoriness] is attachment. Attachment, as you learn, can mean craving for something (greed), craving to escape something (aversion, hatred), or ignorance of the situation (delusion). So what has this to do with emotions? Via natural selection, mammals, and especially humans, developed emotions that refined our ability to approach or avoid. Mixed with our hyper-sociability (Jon Haidt), we developed a wide variety of emotions that attract or repel us from various perceived situations. Natural selection armed us over millions of years with these mind tools, but with the advent of civilization (living in cities instead of small hunter-gatherer groups), our array of emotions, such as anger and hatred, for instance, could lead us astray. Robert Wright argues in his course on Buddhism and Modern Psychology (now offered on Coursera) that Buddhism is an antidote to some aspects human behavior instilled in us by natural selection. Instead of acting on our feelings of attachment (“Yum, doughnuts! Let’s feast”) or aversion (“Your rotten SOB”), we learn to get between our emotions—developed for quick perceptions and responses—and our actions. This is a fundamental insight shared between HHDL and Ekman, each coming at the issue from their different traditions but finding a lot of agreement. Ekman calls a pause in our reactions a “refractory period”, which may be micro-moment, or—with cultivation—something much longer. 

After spending time defining emotions—different from moods, we should note—the two discuss how we might learn to tame them (and not, as some think Buddhism suggests, eliminate them). Here we learn of the benefits of meditation as a mechanism for developing awareness, a meta-awareness (B. Alan Wallace) that allows us to observe the development of an emotion within us and thereby make a conscious decision about how we shall (or shan’t) act in response to the impulse. This ability, along with the conscious cultivation of compassion, allows us to take ourselves in happier and more sociable directions than the naturally selected traits of our emotions might push us.

The above is just a taste of what the book covers. In addition to insights into basic and ongoing Western scientific research about the emotions and the Buddhist insights cultivated over 2000 years, we learn about the participants, especially Ekman. Ekman’s insight that he changes over the course of these conversations (estimated at about 39 hours) is really moving. Ekman grew-up with a very difficult father, and Ekman shares insights he gains about himself and that relationship. Ekman’s growth of insight and appreciation gives the book an emotional (in a very good way!) valence that adds spice to the wonderful scientific and Buddhist knowledge and wisdom that we garner through it. 

The emotions are an endlessly fascinating topic. The quality of our lives is a function of our emotions. Much of morality and ethics revolve around our emotions and how we handle them. Indeed, not just Buddhism, but all of the Axial religions and philosophies—later Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Socratic philosophy and its progeny, especially Stoicism, Confucianism, and aspects of Taoism and Hinduism—are efforts to re-direct human conduct from older, more atavistic (and now less well-adapted) traits vested in humans via natural selection. These religions and philosophies (philosophy, that is, “as a way of life”, in the words of Pierre Hadot) developed in response to a very different environment (civilization) than that of the hunter-gatherers from whom we descended. The challenge to us is to use the wisdom of these traditions and refine them (no more required, I suspect) to best fit our contemporary needs. This book goes a long way in forwarding that project. We must thank Dr. Ekman and the Dalai Lama for their courage in reaching across traditions to help us find our way.

P.S. This is a second take on this book. Indeed, blog 5/682 (i.e., near the beginning of my blogging) addresses my listening to this as an audio book. It was definitely worth a second take!

Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent & Lead by Brene Brown

Brene Brown is a bit of a celebrity after her viral TED Talk, but she seems not to have suffered from it. This book and the video that I link to below continue to reveal a person striving for greater understanding and a better world. The fact that she refers to things that are “shitty” in her book and talk only adds to her street cred. The situations that she describes are sometimes just that ("shitty") and her willingness not to mince words on the subject only adds credence to her academic work and 13,000 interviews. 

This 2012 book follows upon her two earlier books. For her inspiration, she cites a famous speech given by Teddy Roosevelt after his presidency. Because of its importance to Ms. Brown and to her work—and because it stands out in its own right—I share her quote from it in full (with just a bit more):

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

Brown cites this as the definition of vulnerability. In some sense, the entire book is a riff of this speech (minus TR’s more machismo elements). Indeed, Brown’s anecdotes about her personal experiences as presenter, researcher, spouse, and parent make the whole project personal in the sense that the stories she shares (appropriately) bring her insights into the realm of experiences of her readers and listeners. 

Brown argues that shame—the feeling or belief that we are inadequate—is ubiquitous. It’s different than guilt, which arises from specific actions or omissions. Although she does not use this term, I sense that we might consider shame as a species of original sin, impossible to escape. We can only cope. However, the universality of shame provides us with a shared humanity. 

Shame can arise from any area of life: physical traits, relationships, work, sex, play—you name it and people can feel a sense of shame. Brown argues that we have to recognize the reality of shame—we can’t cure it as such—and set it aside. Too many of us  avoid an endeavor that might reveal our shame, such as making a presentation, entering into a relationship, starting a new business—the list could prove go on indefinitely. The fact that we share this trait is one key to helping us overcome its drag upon us. But the most important ingredient for overcoming our reluctance born of vulnerability is courage. The worse thing that we can do is to don our vulnerability armor, the ways that we try to shield ourselves from vulnerability, which can run from physical isolation to cynicism to perfectionism. Each such strategy shortchanges us. 

After defining and identifying the sources of shame and our common strategies in attempting to allay our fears, Brown explores typical situations in parenting, work, and relationships. Lots of examples that we all can recognize.

The common requirement in every endeavor is the courage that TR speaks about in the opening quote. You must also learn to discern voices. Some critics, including yourself (maybe), are worth listening to. We need to learn, and learning includes criticism. We’re not perfect, and we need feedback in to improve. But we must ignore some critics, those shouting (or posting) from the cheap seats. Only those who have entered the arena, taken the risks, and (I argue) shared the goals to which you aspire, qualify as critics to whom you should listen. I’d add goodwill as a qualification as well, those who wish for you to succeed and perform well. I can imagine rivals or the jealous holding motivations that poison their judgments. 

I try to remember these when I consider criticizing any athletic performance or the actions of a political leader. Really? Do I have the responsibility, that level of skill? Am I in that game or holding that office? When someone boos at an athletic event, my thoughts usually consider the persons booing as losers who’ve never been in the arena. Likewise, among political leaders, we can and should disagree in a democracy when we believe ourselves justified, but we should do so with a sense of respect and humility. Some leaders are venal and inadequate, but far too often the most voracious criticism comes from those who are ill informed and who are not even rank amateurs. 

If you want the 20 minute executive summary of the book, watch this video, where Brown shares the essence of her book with a live audience.

Mastermind: How to Think Like Sherlock Holmes by Maria Konnikova

Few literary characters have the staying power of Sherlock Holmes, the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle. Years of book spin-offs, movies, and television don’t seem to have diminished our appetite for this rather bizarre fellow. Recent incarnations include the rather frenetic portrayal of Holmes by Robert Downey, Jr. in the two Guy Ritchie films, and Benedict Cumberbatch’s more recent (and to my mind more faithful) incarnation set in contemporary London (with Martin Freeman providing a superb Watson). Why are we so intrigued by this (almost) super-human misfit? I think because he is human and not super-human—that he does things that we can imagine doing. I think Maria Konnikova shares this perception. 

Ms. Konnikova is a psychologist who grew-up hearing Holmes stories read to her by her father in her native Russian. Now with a doctorate in psychology, she unpacks the dynamics of Holmes and his foil Watson to share with us ways in which we might emulate the great (fictional!) detective. For this task, Konnikova draws extensively on both the Holmes stories of Conan Doyle and cutting-edge psychological research. 

It turns out the Holmes-Watson pairing matches well with the “thinking fast and slow” paradigm of Daniel Kahneman (more prosaically designated as System 1 and System 2 thinking). Watson goes quick and instinctive, while Holmes thinks; Watson glances, Holmes observes. To put it in a nutshell, Holmes makes the sustained and energetic effort to observe and consider what he perceives, while Watson wants to cut to the chase (a surgeon, no doubt). 

Konnikova details the ways these two men go about their detecting work in light of what modern psychology has taught us. She highlights the scientific frame of mind used by Holmes that looks for evidence and tests hypotheses. She considers what information he puts (or doesn’t put) into his “brain attic”. Holmes is rather single-minded in his pursuit of information needed to make him the world’s only “consulting detective”, unlike Watson, who fills his mind with the drivel of the evening paper. But perhaps the most surprising difference between the two is that Holmes uses his imagination. He does so in a systematic and focused way, not in flights of fancy or mental woolgathering. Like Einstein’s thought experiments (riding that beam of light), Holmes tests and weighs alternatives in his mind based on the empirical evidence that he gathers and considers in the light of logic. We learn that imagination is at least as important, if not more important, than logic in resolving the problems that Holmes faces. 

We also learn that creativity plays a huge role in how Holmes operates. He improvises in each new situation, drawing on different mental practices as circumstances require—some need the magnifying glass, while others may constitute a “three-pipe problem” that mark an effort of sustained mental work. (Or a three nicotine-patch problem if you’re Cumberbatch’s incarnation in smoke-free London.) Konnikova emphasizes the dexterity and flexibility of the great detective’s mind. 

Konnikova concludes with the important point that Holmes never stops learning. He does err (rarely), but he reflects and learns from those errors, and he’s always getting his (non-mandatory) continuing education through his own self-guided study. How many times does Holmes cite a precedent to the unenlightened inspector or to Watson? He knows his subject matter! 

This is both an informative and immensely entertaining book. Large doses of Holmes mixed with intriguing perspectives from contemporary psychology make it fun to read. And, I hope, after having read it and reviewed it, we find ourselves a little more Holmes-like in resolving our problems, although, I hope with more social tact than our rather introverted detective. Also, I don’t think that I could ever match the eagle-eyed abilities that he possesses. As an aging, life-long four-eyes, I believe myself nearly hopeless in this regard! 

The Sea by John Banville

John Banville lives two lives as an author. One author is the Man Booker award-winning author of The Sea and other works. The "other" John Banville writes crime and detection fiction under the pseudonym Benjamin Black. I’ve read The Sea, and now I want to read his incarnation as Benjamin Black, including his recent re-creation of Raymond Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe in Black-Eye Blond. For alas, The Sea left me cold. 

The Sea is a first-person narrative of a man ruminating about the present, the recent past, and events in his childhood. The narrator moves between these three time perspectives with the fluency that we all experience. This trait, and the stream of consciousness-like perspective that it mimics, is a hallmark of modern (modernist) literature. We lose narrative arc and the Freytag triangle to a seemingly unremarkable flow of events. This marks “literature” today as opposed popular fiction. Indeed, Banville distinguishes between his work as an “artist” in writing a book like The Sea and his work as a “craftsman” writing under the pseudonym Benjamin Black. I wonder if the “art” expressed in his prose isn’t really more suited to poetry, with its ethereal handling of time, perspective, and consciousness. In The Sea, toward the end, a couple of plot revelations occur that tantalize the reader but that don’t disclose much in relation to the rest of the book. Perhaps if I re-read the book knowing these plot revelations I would gain more, but I’m not sure that the reward would justify the effort. Banville’s prose is well wrought, and I did enjoy it for its intrinsic aesthetic, but I want it to point to some insight beyond itself, more the beauty of mere description. For me, this didn’t happen, although the beauty of the prose and elusiveness of the work did keep me reading to the end. I can’t say that I really enjoyed the book, only that it works if you have the patience and inclination to explore a work in this genre. 

For me, the demands of much of modernist literature are too great for the rewards in comparison to more popular literature. Sometime I’ll give modernist “literature” another try, But now I'm eager to read Banville’s work as Benjamin Black, either the new Marlowe or one of his Quirke novels, to compare the "artist" with the "craftsman".