The illusion of control

Another of my defects of character, and one which leads almost inevitably to anger is the illusion of control, the idea that I can find permanent safety if I simply organize things well enough. Of course, you must also be organized by me, because the humans in my life are the most unpredictable (and therefore dangerous) elements. Unfortunately, of all the parts of my life in need of ordering, you humans seem to be the most intransigent to my ideas of how I think you should be molded. Damned ungrateful of you, if you ask me.

Not surprisingly, the Big Book of AA has an appropriate quote regarding this tendency: "Is he not a victim of the delusion that he can wrest satisfaction and happiness out of this world if he only manages well?" (pg. 61) [A little side note: it amuses me to observe in myself the fact that I want so badly to manage the grammar of the above quote, which I find awkward.]

This illusion of control is one aspect of what the Buddha meant by suffering. It is worthwhile to recall that, although there are thousands of teachings in the Buddhist canon, the Buddha himself said that he taught only two things: suffering and the end of suffering. The most succinct definition of suffering I have ever read is Sylvia Boorstein's: "Suffering is unappeasable need." We want to cling to that which gives us pleasure while keeping that which gives us pain always at a distance. These needs are unappeasable because they are impossible; pleasure leaves us and pain finds us, always. This is not a nihilistic philosophy, but a realistic one; the Buddha was not teaching a way of living so much as a way of looking at what is. One of the most common misconceptions in those who are unfamiliar with Buddhism is that the Buddha meant that one must suffer in order to be spiritually whole. What he truly taught is that we will suffer, whether we like it or not, and the key is how one relates to suffering.

But it is also important to remember the second half of what the Buddha taught, which is the end of suffering. How can one reach the end of suffering if suffering is inevitable? Isn't this antithetical? The answer is in the full and open acceptance of the reality of existence, an honest examination of what the nature of our suffering is, which leads in turn to the realization that our suffering and its sources are illusory, and the further realization that what we call "I" is also an illusion. If there is no "I", then there is no one who suffers, therefore there is no suffering. This is what the Buddha called nirvana.

I hasten to add that this non-self realization is one which comes at the very end of a long path, a path which most of us have just barely begun. I am nowhere near such a realization, but I have come to understand the possibility of it as something of an intellectual exercise, and as a goal to which I can aspire. For me, this is the Second Step's promise of restoration to sanity. (For a wonderful discussion of this idea of aspiration as a guiding force in leading a Buddhist life, see Sharon Salzberg's book Faith).

This idea of suffering and the end of suffering is, to me, identical to the concept of powerlessness in the First Step. I am powerless over alcohol and everything else in my life, and my life is most certainly unmanageable. This idea that I can "manage" my life is the illusion of control from which I suffer so much.

In the third edition of the Big Book, on page 449 (in the fourth edition on page 417) are some of the most oft-quoted words in AA: "Acceptance is the answer to all my problems today." This, and the words that follow are one of the most eloquent descriptions of how this urge to control causes me to suffer, leads me to create suffering in the lives of others, and puts me at risk of the misery which leads to relapse into active addiction.

Anger

That which I call demons and the story metaphorically calls tigers in the previous posts is what we in recovery refer to as character defects. Anger seems to be the defect of character from which I suffer most. It has been my observation that anger is always fear in some form or another, even if at the moment I feel it I cannot identify the fear involved.

One of my major fears, now that I am at a point of my recovery where the most frequent experiences of discomfort in sobriety have passed, is that some action of mine or another person, place, thing, or institution will come along to put me out of balance and that I will then suffer that acute discomfort I felt when I was first getting sober. Being a good Buddhist, though, I recognize (intellectually, anyway) that of course things will come along that will make me uncomfortable. Some of them might even make me feel truly awful, such as the death of a loved one or a serious illness. When my balance is threatened, I feel a surge of anger and find it almost beyond my abilities to keep my tongue or pen in check.

This happened to me just yesterday, at an AA event, no less. One of my fellow recovering alcoholics (I want to describe him as "blowhard" and "pompous," my impulse being to set up the expectation in a reader and myself that he was at fault and I am blameless) expressed an opinion I was sure was incorrect, so I interrupted him to let him know that he was proceeding down an errant path. He didn't appreciate the interruption and made sure to let me know about it later; this made me angry (the method, not his message), and I had to walk away to avoid a confrontation.

One of the problems with anger is that it is so unworkable. It is a hot coal I can't hold for long enough in my calm observation to find where it can be taken apart and examined. For me, this is why the recognition of anger as fear is so helpful. If my anger is fear and the other person's is also, I can feel compassion for us both, and with this compassionately held fear, come to an understanding of what my part is in the confrontation.

Which is not to say that the other person in nearly any confrontation does not also have a large part (perhaps the larger part) in the creation of the situation which induces anger. However, as the book Alcoholics Anonymous says (pg. 66), "to conclude that others were wrong was as far as most of us ever got". What I must do is find it in my heart to forgive their part, to pray that their anger and its sources to be eased, and then to identify what in me caused this situation to be a problem for us both. When I find what my part was, then I can make amends to the person I offended and pray that the character defect which caused the flare-up be removed. At that point, I must turn the situation over to God and let it be. To bring something up in my mind over and over again is only to cause myself harm. In fact, the root meaning of the word resentment is "to feel again." No solution is to be found in this action; it must be let go. As the old saying goes, "resentment is like swallowing poison and expecting the other person to die."

Why this insistence on letting go of the problem once it has been addressed to the best of our ability? Because, to quote once again from Alcoholics Anonymous (pg. 66): "It is plain that a life which includes deep resentment leads only to futility and unhappiness. To the precise extent that we permit these, do we squander the hours that might have been worth while....For when harboring such feelings we shut ourselves off from the sunlight of the Spirit."

Searching For Tigers

Joseph Goldstein, one of the pre-eminent dharma teachers in the US, once told this story: a group of Buddhist monks in the Thai forest tradition were asked to go for an extended meditation in the forest. One of the primary reasons they were asked to do this was to confront their fears; they had good reason to fear being out in the forest because in those days wild animals roamed the forest, always hungry for whatever was available, not hesitating to eat humans when the opportunity arose. One day the monks were walking meditatively through the forest when, sure enough, a tiger leapt out from behind a tree and began to maul one of them. Seeing there was nothing they could do to help their fellow monk, the other hid behind trees and yelled encouragement to him, telling him to remain mindful so that the present suffering might lead him to enlightenment. The story goes that he was indeed able to remain in the present moment, even as he was being eaten alive, and achieved Nirvana. Joseph ends the story by saying, "Now, of course, we shouldn't go searching for tigers...."

I respectfully disagree. At least for those of us in recovery, searching for tigers is precisely what we should be doing. Why? Because until we come face to face with our demons and recognize them for what they are, we will never recover, we will never move past that which stands between us and the sunlight of the spirit. The 4th, 5th, 8th, and 9th Steps deal specifically with these "tigers", and when we balk at doing so, we have the experience of remaining restless, irritable, and discontented.

I hope to expand more on this theme in the future.

Hello and welcome.

This is a new experience for me, not having been an active member of the "blogosphere" up to this point. However, I recognize the power of blogs to affect the world, and hope to add a bit of my own knowledge to the topic of recovery. I look forward to this experience and hope some others will join me on the journey. Major topics: Buddhism and recovery, Buddhism and alcoholism, Buddhism and AA, the nature of spirituality; is AA a Christian program?