DETACHMENT 

M. 0' C. Walshe 

One way of regarding the Buddhist training is to consider it under the aspect of detachment. Detachment is one of those simple things which we discover to be very profound and in its higher stages intensely difficult. By becoming progressively more detached, one gradually penetrates to the heart of Buddhism. Its importance is repeatedly stressed under various aspects throughout the whole range of the Buddhist scriptures. For instance, in the formula describing how one enters the first ]hãna: 'Detached from sensual objects, o monks, detached from unwholesome states of mind, the monk enters into first jhãna, which is accompanied by initial and sustained application (vitakka-vicãra), is born of detachment (viveka) and filled with rapture and joy.' The second jhãna is then said to be 'born of concentration'. We thus see that detachment is a prerequisite for all concentration. The calm and concentrated mind is the detached mind. While this is obvious enough when we stop to think about it, it may help us to realise why it is that, even in purely mundane matters, we so often fail to concentrate our minds. We all know the picture of the man with furiously knitted brows and a wet towel round his head, who is desperately trying to 'concentrate' on some problem. Of course he usually fails. The reason, surely, is not far to seek: he is going about it precisely the wrong way. He is not detached. He is in fact very much attached. He may be detached from sense-objects for the moment, but not from unwholesome states of mind. His state of mind is probably dominated by uddhacca-kukkucca 'restlessness and worry', and so long as this remains the case he will probably get nowhere with his problem. His body too, reflecting this mental tension, is probably tense and strained. He should first try to relax, physically as well as mentally, and then he might make some progress. 

At this point perhaps we might pause to consider an objection which is not infrequently made to the cultivation of detachment. There are people who positively regard it as morally wrong to be detached. One should not, they say, become detached and aloof from life, but should be actively involved in it -- engagé as the French say. For them, detachment is the equivalent of that opprobrious term we used to hear so much about -- 'escapism'. Their argument is of course a very simple one: there is so much evil in the world of one kind or another that it is our job to go out and fight it. Now I am not going to argue that such people -- let us call them as a generic term crusaders as opposed to the introspectives -- do not on occasion do a lot of good. A society which has a few dedicated crusaders is certainly, in its mundane way, healthier than one that discourages or represses their activities. They often succeed in abolishing, or at least reducing, much genuine evil. Let us take off our hats to them, and perhaps even on occasion join or support them. But let us also consider their position a little more closely. Why does the average 'crusader' function as he does -- irrespective of the particular cause he elects to take up? What really makes him tick? The answer to this question may put the whole matter in a rather different light. 

Most of our crusader friends, whether they go in for party politics or for other similar, perhaps semi-political causes they believe in, are convinced that they do so out of love for their fellow-beings, whether human or animal. In part, this is certainly true. They do, passionately want to help the poor, the sick, the oppressed, the suffering. Yet in fact their motives are usually not quite as pure as they themselves honestly believe them to be. The key to the situation lies, I think, in the word 'passionately'. They are under the sway of emotions, not all of which are, in the Buddhist view, entirely healthy. Conceit often plays a large if probably quite unconscious part. And surprisingly often too they are really moved far more by hate than by loving-kindness. Hatred, even of the oppressor or the criminal, is not really the right motive because it is not grounded in the right view. 

I am not seeking to disparage these people or belittle their efforts, but merely to elucidate something of their attitude in the context of my theme, which is detachment. So let us take a concrete example: one where the crusaders have won their case, and where I was and remain wholeheartedly in agreement with their aims. In Britain we have abolished capital punishment, rightly, I believe, though the increase in crime in recent years has led to demands for its reintroduction. Those who campaign for this even claim to be in the majority, though I doubt if this is true, and I certainly do not share their viewpoint. They too are 'crusaders', and their reaction is certainly an emotional one. They really seek, without knowing it, a 'safe' or 'legitimate' outlet for their own aggression. These emotions are in turn rooted in their own basic feeling of insecurity. The trouble is, of course, that such emotions as these (and this is a comparatively mild example, in the world today!), when held collectively are always much worse than when merely held by an individual, not only on account of being multiplied, but because of being at a more primitive level. 

It is possible, though I hope and believe unlikely, that pressures for the reintroduction of capital punishment in Britain will build up again to a serious point. Should this be the case, those who wish to oppose such a trend will need to be very careful indeed of their own state of mind. They must not let themselves be trapped in an opposite emotional reaction. They will need to find a way of reducing the build-up of emotional tension so that in a calmer atmosphere wiser counsels may have a chance to prevail. Emotional appeals would anyway, in such a situation, probably be useless, since the stronger emotions would be ranged on the other side. If you want, in fact, to abolish capital punishment you must not want to hang the executioner. Supporters of capital punishment often claim that its opponents show too much sympathy for the murderer and not enough for his victim. It does not seem too much to ask that a Buddhist -- or a Christian -- should be able to feel compassion for both, and even for the hangman as well, for he is certainly not creating much good karma for himself. 

I am not at all arguing that a Buddhist should necessarily and always stand aloof from such campaigns as the -- now -- rather theoretical one mentioned. I am arguing that whatever he does he should know his own true motives, his real emotional reasons for either acting or not acting. I would also suggest that it is truly necessary for society as a whole, as for the individual concerned, that there should be those who in fact keep aloof from the current problems that happen to agitate the world at any moment. It is not for our crusading friends to disparage those who are genuinely detached. If the crusader for, say, capital punishment is a victim of his own unresolved aggression and insecurity, how often is not his opponent in virtually the same case! A slight shift in viewpoint or circumstances, and sometimes the roles are even reversed ... 

The reformer looks around him and sees something wrong in society. This is usually not difficult, as there are plenty of things wrong with most societies, and it may be almost a matter of chance what particular evil or abuse he happens to pick on. What does he do then? He becomes what is significantly called an agitator. Now you can only agitate others if you yourself are agitated. What has really happened to our would-be reformer is that, his own emotions having been suitably stirred up, he feels it his duty to go out and stir up the emotions of other people. I know. I have gone through this phase myself. If you suggest to him that he should first calm his own emotions he is aggrieved, thereby developing some more agitation. He will probably tell you that this is the easy way out, and he may even admit that in any case he doesn't know how to do it - thereby, incidentally, contradicting the notion that it is 'easy'. Of course, if you can get him that far it may be possible to indicate to him the contradiction involved. If he cannot help himself to that extent, how can he expect to be able to help others? Even in the field of Buddhism there are those who seem to think they can become Bodhisattvas and 'liberate all beings' without first liberating themselves. They should take to heart the words of the great Zen patriarch Hui-neng, who told his pupils 'to deliver an infinite number of sentient beings of our own mind'. 

Let us leave world-problems now and turn to the problem of our own minds. What is it that we have to get detached from? In a sense, of course, it is from the outside world. That at least is how it seems to us. Let us not get involved in a metaphysical discussion about whether there really is an outside world or not. In point of fact, from the standpoint of the Buddhist training it scarcely matters whether there is or not! Perhaps we just project the whole thing from some mysterious inner centre. In any case, what we have to get rid of is our excessive preoccupation with it -- that is to say, with the things of the senses. What actually happens is this: we have an unsatisfactory feeling in the only place where we can have it -- within ourselves (whatever, philosophically, that means). This feeling may take many forms, but whatever its precise nature or mode of manifesting it is something unpleasant, i.e. what in Buddhism is known as dukkha. It may be quite vague in character, but we feel it somehow nevertheless. We therefore look out into the world, either to see what it is, out there, that is supposedly causing this dukkha, or to help us to forget it, by grasping at something which we assume to be pleasant. The result in either case is not really very satisfying, because we are not even looking in the right direction. Both the origin of dukkha and its cure are to be found within, so it is not the slightest bit of use looking outside for them. By looking outside, we are actually increasing the dukkha and ensuring its continuance. But creatures of habit as we are, we are strongly conditioned to looking outside, and indeed nature has equipped us with some remarkably efficient sense-organs for doing so. 

With our outward-turned senses we can do various things about the world we see and hear, smell, taste and touch. We can try to grasp something outside and extract enjoyment from it. We can try to alter what we see in some way to make it conform more to our idea of what it ought to be like. Or we can vent our ill-temper on it in a fit of destructiveness. There is a lot of this sort of senseless destructiveness about nowadays. There always has been, really, but we have now made it a special problem, the 'problem of modern youth'. The truth is simply that modern youth has in some ways rather more opportunities for being destructive than is it used to have. This is due in large measure to the nature and values of the society we live in, a society which has developed more efficient means of destruction than were ever dreamed of before. The fact that it has also developed more wealth and therefore more means of apparent enjoyment, available to more people than ever before, does not seem to have done very much to reduce the general feeling of dissatisfaction each one of us has deep down inside. All this, of course, goes a long way towards confirming the Buddhist analysis of the situation, that the origin of this suffering, this dukkha, lies in craving. Our society is built up fundamentally on a system of artificially stimulated craving all along the line. We accordingly have the simultaneous picture of more and more people craving for more and more things, and quite often getting them, and of both society and individuals 'showing more and more taste for bigger and bigger forms of 'motiveless' destruction. Greed and hate, in fact, are perhaps more nakedly at work in our society than ever before. That means that they are at work in every one of us, and they can only be dealt with in and by each one of us individually. 

Greed and hate arise from ignorance: from not understanding, not seeing the true situation as it really is. The individual is a microcosm of society, and each one of us reflects this situation, in some form, individually. Now it may be very dreadful, but so far nobody has found a way whereby society can collectively overcome its ignorance and set itself fundamentally to rights. Even the Buddha did not show a method of bringing this about - and if he couldn't find a way, it is unlikely that anybody else will... But for each individual there is a way: 

Sabbapãpassa akaranam, kusalassa upasampadã 
sacittapariyodapanam _ etam Buddãna sãsanam.

'Cease to do evil, learn to do good. Purify your own mind: that is the teaching of all the Buddhas.' And one of the prerequisites of purifying one's own mind is the cultivation of detachment. If we ask 'Detachment from what?' - the answer is 'from the five hindrances: sensual craving and ill-will, sloth, restless worry and indecision. These are things we all know only too well, and though their final conquest is difficult, they are things we can detach our minds from temporarily with a little effort. The first two of these are obviously aspects of greed and hate. Probably we can see that there is a need to cut these down as much as possible. But if we fail to do so it may be at least in part because one of the other three hindrances is preventing us: we may be too indolent or too excited, or we may dither in a state of indecision and doubt. 

Now the trouble is that we may see quite clearly, in a way, that our emotions of, say, greed or hate or fear are overmastering us and yet feel quite unable to do anything about them. Then we probably dismiss the whole problem with the words 'Oh yes, that's all very well, but I just haven't got the will-power.' In fact it is just here that the value of detachment comes in. What we think of as failure of will-power may really be much more a failure of technique. Let us take the case of a man who, as he thinks and as others probably also think, cannot control his temper. The deeper reasons for this may be various, but they will probably include some strong form of frustration or repression. It is not very difficult to see that the chances of gaining control of any situation are likely to be increased the more one understands that situation. Now what is called repression in psychology is really a 'thrusting away' -- in other words it is basically a refusal to see something, a form of deliberate (even though 'unconscious') self-deception. In order to gain insight into the situation, we must have some willingness to understand it. So we need to realise here, right at the outset, that there is a form of clinging to ignorance. In order to cope with this there must be a degree of detachment -- we must be able to regard the situation coolly and simply learn not to mind too much whatever it is we may be about to discover. We must be prepared to stop working on the old and foolish principle 'Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise'. 

It is possible that even this much of the chain of events may be fairly clear to us, and yet we may still not feel able to go any further. Intellectual awareness of an emotional situation is not in itself enough, though this does not mean it is of no use. It is just a preliminary stage, and it should be strongly emphasised that progress is in stages. The desire for perfection at a single jump is just another obstacle born of impatience and conceit. It is not an 'all-or-nothing' situation, but a case of 'one step at a time'. Perhaps we have already laid a certain foundation on which progress can be made, even without realising it. For the man who has said to himself 'I haven't the will power to correct this fault' has at least made one vital admission. He has in some measure accepted his own inadequacy -- in fact he is too much aware of this. He has to learn that what he really lacks is not necessarily will-power so much as insight. The next step, then, is merely and simply to recognise this fact. It will prove more helpful than may at first appear. For in fact seeing ourselves as we are is the cure. 

The next step, then, is to find out why we do not already 'see ourselves as we are'. The answer is, of course, as already indicated, that we don't want to, that there is a clinging to ignorance. Why this should be so is perhaps after all not hard to see. To the person with normal eyesight, physical blindness is a terrible thing. We can only too well imagine the feeling of helplessness and insecurity the blind person must suffer from. It is therefore not at all nice to think that though our physical eyes may be all right, we suffer from mental blindness. So we prefer to be blind to the blindness. This is attachment to ignorance with a vengeance. No wonder it is frustrating, for it is a terrible strain to keep up. Most of our unhealthy emotions are nothing but by-products of this tension, caused by deliberately keeping our mental eyes tight shut while all the time pretending they are wide open. Only the practice of mindfulness can help us here. 

What is mindfulness? There are professing Buddhists who are extremely vague about what mindfulness really is, and there are even some who are so afraid of it that they go about telling themselves and others that it is not really necessary. In principle, mindfulness is quite simple. It is just detached watching. Watching one's breathing is a method that suits practically everybody. First of all it brings calm, which enables one to watch one's thoughts and emotions more easily, and reduces the fear of what may come up - an important point sometimes. If mindfulness is pursued for a while, some such experience as the following may occur: a kind of 'unreal' feeling may arise in which one seems to be aware of various emotional states (perhaps self-pity, anger, or the like) without being fully involved in them. One may start thinking 'Am I really having this emotion or not? Am I somehow putting on an act?' What is really happening is that feelings are simply being experienced with detachment. And in such a state one can allow many things to come up to the surface which were previously repressed. But being detached, one is not trapped by these emotional states and sees them as mere effects of past conditioning. And in this way they can be harmlessly dissolved. 

The interesting thing is that, when such a situation is operative, everything really seems to go on just as before, with only one slight difference: 'I' am not fully in the situation. There may even be a distinct feeling of puzzlement as to where precisely 'I' am anyway. Am I, for instance, the emotion or the watcher? Or neither, or both? By following up this particular clue we may find that the practice leads us on further to a greater degree of understanding of the impersonality of all things - of our own fundamental egolessness, in fact. The point is here simply that by becoming calm and detached we have, so to speak, 'accepted the unacceptable'. As a result of this practice we shall find a reduction in our own feeling of tension, greater calm and, most probably, some increased insight into our own nature and the way things really work. 

We can now see the practical answer to our ill-tempered friend's problem. He cannot restrain his temper by will-power, but by detached mindfulness he can gradually dissolve it. And the same applies, of course, to all our failings and weaknesses. But there is one form of attachment we must guard especially against, because it makes the cure much more difficult. This is conceit. We all have conceit, of course, but if it is strong it is a particularly dangerous obstacle to progress. Conceit is really attachment to a false picture of the ego. Put negatively, it is a refusal to accept oneself as one is. It may manifest in the feeling 'I cannot possibly have these weaknesses or 'I have overcome these weaknesses'. Combined with, for instance, sexual repression it may take the form of a sort of 'purity complex': 'I am above all these horrid feelings of sex, they no longer exist for me', and the like. Perhaps this particular complex has become less common since greater openness on sexual matters has become usual. In any case, it is clear that for a person who does have this kind of attitude the development of true detachment, and hence mindfulness, will be exceptionally difficult. We must not be ashamed to admit to ourselves (if not perhaps necessarily to others) that we possess our full share of all the normal human weaknesses. 

At this point there comes an interesting and subtle twist. You may say 'Yes, I suppose that's true. But somehow there are a few things down there inside me which I just can't bring myself to face.' Now this is of course quite different from denying that they are there at all. It means in fact that repression, i.e. self-deception, has not been completely successful. Now it may indeed be true that to face up fully to some of the contents of one's unconscious may be too hard to bear. It might be impossible to maintain detachment. Emotional involvement and perhaps even quite serious trouble might result. But there is still a way. What we can do is to accept honestly that precise situation: 'There is a dark corner where I still dare not look.' It is the mental equivalent of saying 'I have a sore place which I dare not touch.' 

The technique from then on is basically the same as before, only at one remove. There is just a secondary emotion of fear to be dissolved before the primary situation which is the cause of that fear can be investigated. If that secondary fear is treated with the detachment we have used on other and less frightening emotions, it too can be dissolved. Later we may even look back and wonder why it was that we ever feared to look in that particular dark corner. 

To sum up: detachment is not a kind of selfish flight from the world, but the necessay precondition for coping with the world. It is absolutely essential as a means of dealing with our own emotions. Nor is it in any way incompatible with charity or compassion - as indeed any doctor or nurse can tell you. It is not 'escapism' as is sometimes alleged, but its very opposite. The degree of physical detachment and withdrawal which the individual undertakes may vary considerably - obviously it will be much greater for the monk than for the average lay person. There can be no successful higher meditation without detachment from the things of the senses, and it is an essential ingredient of Right Mindfulness. Incidentally it can even be quite fun. By being detached we can observe ourselves with ironic amusement. By so doing we may suddenly discover that some of the things about ourselves that we once took with deadly seriousness are in fact extremely funny. In that way we may find that detachment actually enables us to enjoy our own dukkha!