The Nirvāna Paradox

Struggling not to Struggle

Nirvāna (Enlightenment) is when Tanhā (Desire) has been completely extinguished. More literally, there is no wind. The wind has blown out.

A Buddhist is one who seeks Nirvāna, for the benefit of themselves, and others.

Note, I used the word “seek”.

What if I use the word “desire” instead?

What if one desires Nirvāna?

Or in other words, what if you desire to completely extinguish desire?

You see the paradox. Don’t you?

If Enlightenment (Nirvāna) is the what, then Meditation (Bhāvana) is the how.

Buddhists practice stilling the mind with meditation, and the resulting insights are said to lead to enlightenment.

So, should a “Good Buddhist” desire to engage in Meditation?

After all, it is a step towards enlightenment, isn’t it?

But then it is also desire, right?

And desire runs in the opposite direction of enlightenment, doesn’t it?

I’m not the first person to ask these questions. Many have struggled with them.

And I know many who have entirely abandoned Meditation in particular, and Buddhism in general, for want of good answers to these questions.

And I, myself, must confess that, often I’ve too hinged on giving up.

But then, one day, I went for a walk.

I had recently bought a new pair of slippers. And put them on for the first time.

Since they hadn’t been “run in”, they felt a little stiff, and very different from my previous pair, which I’d well and truly worn for the best part of six years.

Each time my slippered foot made impact with the tiles on the floor, there was a strange, novel, but not unpleasant sensation.

And so, I found myself walking, fairly slowly, up and down the hallway.

Despite the usual distracting sounds coming from outside, I found myself not only oddly entertained, but paying full attention to the impact of, first my left foot, and then my right foot, hitting the ground.

That is when I realized something interesting.

The thing that was observing my feet, only seemed to be interested in one thing: My feet. It wasn’t even interested in observing my feet. Only my feet.

It didn’t seem to have any desires.

For example, it didn’t seem to think “My toenails are too long. I need to clip them.” or “These slippers are too tight. I should get a size larger”.

All it cared about was the impact of my feet on the ground. I’m not even sure that “cared about” are the right words.

I don’t know what to call this “observing thing”.

I suppose I could call it “me”. But in many ways, it was not the “real me”, because it didn’t seem to have any needs or desires.

All it did was observe.

Much later, on reflection, I realized what I was really doing.

By walking up and down, I was meditating.

And not the “bad kind” where one desires and struggles to meditate. The “good kind” where there is neither desire nor struggle.

And so, at least at some intuitive level, not necessarily at an intellectual level, I feel I’ve solved the paradox. At least for myself. At least to some partial extent.

That said, I’m not sure if this essay convinces you that the paradox is solved. Something tells me that it, a construction of mere words, cannot.

But then, perhaps, you too, could go for a walk, couldn’t you?