Personality Theory:

A Biosocial Approach

C. George Boeree, PhD
Psychology Department
Shippensburg University

© Copyright C. George Boeree 2009

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Therapy

It is somewhat surprising that, for all the variation in theories, there is considerable agreement regarding therapy.

We are also taught to encourage our clients to discover more conscious, higher motivations - meaning the development of competence, creativity, and compassion, becoming valuable to oneself and to others....

And the means of therapy?  We are taught to use genuinely caring dialog, and to provide support (not management or control) with a goal of eventual autonomy for the client.

Otto Rank was another one of Freud's close associates, and his theory picks out one particular form of balance that would inspire many other theorists.  He was interested in the minds of artists - famous painters, musicians, and writers.  On the one hand, Rank says, the artist has a particularly strong tendency towards glorification of his own will.  Unlike the rest of us, he feels compelled to remake reality in his own image.  And yet a true artist also desires immortality, which he can only achieve by identifying himself with the collective will of his culture and religion.  Good art could be understood as a joining of the material and the spiritual, the specific and the universal, or the individual and humanity.

This joining doesn't come easily, though.  It begins with the will, Rank's word for the ego, but an ego imbued with power.  We are all born with a will to be ourselves, to be free of domination.  In early childhood, we exercise our will in our efforts to do things independently of our parents.  Later, we fight the domination of other authorities, including the inner authority of our sexual drives.  How our struggle for independence goes determines the type of person we become.  Rank describes three basic types:

First, there is the adapted type.  These people learn to "will" what they have been forced to do.  They obey authority, their society's moral code, and, as best as they can, their sexual impulses.  This is a passive, duty-bound creature that Rank suggests is, in fact, the average person.

Second, there is the neurotic type.  These people have a much stronger will than the average person, but it is totally engaged in the fight against external and internal domination.  They even fight the expression of their own will, so there is no will left over to actually do anything with the freedom won.  Instead, they worry and feel guilty about being so "willful."  They are, however, at a higher level of moral development than the adapted type.

Third, there is the productive type, which Rank also refers to as the artist, the genius, the creative type, the self-conscious type, and, simply, the human being.  Instead of fighting themselves, these people accept and affirm themselves, and create an ideal, which functions as a positive focus for will.  The artist creates himself or herself, and then goes on to create a new world as well.

There are considerable differences between Adler's therapy and Freud's: First, Adler preferred to have everyone sitting up and talking face to face. Further, he went to great lengths to avoid appearing too authoritarian. In fact, he advised that the therapist never allow the patient to force him into the role of an authoritarian figure, because that allows the patient to play some of the same games he or she is likely to have played many times before: The patient may set you up as a savior, only to attack you when you inevitably reveal your humanness. By pulling you down, they feel as if they are raising themselves, with their neurotic lifestyles, up.

This is essentially the explanation Adler gave for resistance: When a patient forgets appointments, comes in late, demands special favors, or generally becomes stubborn and uncooperative, it is not, as Freud thought, a matter of repression. Rather, resistance is just a sign of the patient's lack of courage to give up their neurotic lifestyle.

The patient must come to understand the nature of his or her lifestyle and its roots in self-centered fictions. This understanding or insight cannot be forced: If you just tell someone "look, here is your problem!" he or she will only pull away from you and look for ways of bolstering their present fictions. Instead, A patient must be brought into such a state of feeling that he likes to listen, and wants to understand. Only then can he be influenced to live what he has understood. (Ansbacher and Ansbacher, 1956, p. 335.) It is the patient, not the therapist, who is ultimately responsible for curing him- or herself.

The goal is to help the client realize his or her own self - his or her "style of life" as Adler put it. Style of life refers to how you live your life, how you handle problems and interpersonal relations. Here's what he himself had to say about it: "The style of life of a tree is the individuality of a tree expressing itself and molding itself in an environment. We recognize a style when we see it against a background of an environment different from what we expect, for then we realize that every tree has a life pattern and is not merely a mechanical reaction to the environment."

Finally, the therapist must encourage the patient, which means awakening his or her social interest, and the energy that goes with it. By developing a genuine human relationship with the patient, the therapist provides the basic form of social interest, which the patient can then transfer to others.

Carl Rogers is best known for his contributions to therapy.  His therapy has gone through a couple of name changes along the way:  He originally called it non-directive, because he felt that the therapist should not lead the client, but rather be there for the client while the client directs the progress of the therapy.  As he became more experienced, he realized that, as "non-directive" as he was, he still influenced his client by his very "non-directiveness!"  In other words, clients look to therapists for guidance, and will find it even when the therapist is trying not to guide.

So he changed the name to client-centered.  He still felt that the client was the one who should say what is wrong, find ways of improving, and determine the conclusion of therapy - his therapy was still very "client-centered" even while he acknowledged the impact of the therapist.  Unfortunately, other therapists felt that this name for his therapy was a bit of a slap in the face for them:  Aren't most therapies "client-centered?"

Nowadays, though the terms non-directive and client-centered are still used, most people just call it Rogerian therapy.  One of the phrases that Rogers used to describe his therapy is "supportive, not reconstructive," and he uses the analogy of learning to ride a bicycle to explain:  When you help a child to learn to ride a bike, you can't just tell them how.  They have to try it for themselves.  And you can't hold them up the whole time either.  There comes a point when you have to let them go.  If they fall, they fall, but if you hang on, they never learn.

It's the same in therapy.  If independence (autonomy, freedom with responsibility) is what you are helping a client to achieve, then they will not achieve it if they remain dependent on you, the therapist.  They need to try their insights on their own, in real life beyond the therapist's office!  An authoritarian approach to therapy may seem to work marvelously at first, but ultimately it only creates a dependent person.

There is only one technique that Rogerians are known for:  reflection.  Reflection is the mirroring of emotional communication:  If the client says "I feel like shit!" the therapist may reflect this back to the client by saying something like "So, life's getting you down, hey?"  By doing this, the therapist is communicating to the client that he is indeed listening and cares enough to understand.

The therapist is also letting the client know what it is the client is communicating.  Often, people in distress say things that they don't mean because it feels good to say them.  For example, a woman once came to me and said "I hate men!"  I reflected by saying "You hate all men?"  Well, she said, maybe not all - she didn't hate her father or her brother or, for that matter, me.  Even with those men she "hated," she discovered that the great majority of them she didn't feel as strongly as the word hate implies.  In fact, ultimately, she realized that she didn't trust many men, and that she was afraid of being hurt by them the way she had been by one particular man.

Reflection must be used carefully, however.  Many beginning therapists use it without thinking (or feeling), and just repeat every other phrase that comes out of the client's mouth.  They sound like parrots with psychology degrees!  Then they think that the client doesn't notice, when in fact it has become a stereotype of Rogerian therapy the same way as sex and mom have become stereotypes of Freudian therapy.  Reflection must come from the heart - it must be genuine, congruent.

Which brings us to Rogers' famous requirements of the therapist.  Rogers felt that a therapist, in order to be effective, must have three very special qualities:

1.  Congruence - genuineness, honesty with the client.
2.  Empathy - the ability to feel what the client feels.
3.  Respect - acceptance, unconditional positive regard towards the client.

He says these qualities are "necessary and sufficient:"  If the therapist shows these three qualities, the client will improve, even if no other special "techniques" are used.  If the therapist does not show these three qualities, the client's improvement will be minimal, no matter how many "techniques" are used.  Now this is a lot to ask of a therapist!  They're just human, and often enough a bit more "human" (let's say unusual) than most.  Rogers does give in a little, and he adds that the therapist must show these things in the therapy relationship.  In other words, when the therapist leaves the office, he can be as "human" as anybody.

I happen to agree with Rogers, even though these qualities are quite demanding.  Some of the research does suggest that techniques don't matter nearly as much as the therapist's personality, and that, to some extent at least, therapists are "born" not "made."

Therapy is a matter of freeing clients from the dead-end perceptions and behaviors and cognitions and emotions they have set up to protect themselves from the hardships of life.  Snygg and Combs once said that "Therapy is the provision of a facilitating situation wherein the normal drive of the organism for maintenance or enhancement of organization is freed to operate."  This can be done by active intervention by a therapist or by enabling the client to discover his or her own differentiations, depending on the individual's needs.

If a person's problem is poor construction, then the solution should be reconstruction, a term Kelly was tempted to use for his style of therapy. Psychotherapy involves getting the client to reconstrue, to see things in a different way, from a new perspective, one that allows the choices that lead to elaboration.

Kellian therapists essentially ask their clients to join them in a series of experiments concerning the clients' life styles. They may ask their clients to loosen their constructs, to slip them around, to test them, to tighten them up again, to "try them on for size." The intent is to encourage movement, essential for any progress.

Kelly, with his background in drama, liked to use role-playing (or enactment) to encourage movement. He might take the part of your mother and have you express your feelings. After a while, he might ask you to reverse roles with him - you be your mother, and he'll be you! In this way, you become aware of your own construction of your relationship and your mother's construction. Perhaps you will begin to understand her, or see ways in which you might adapt. You may come to a compromise, or discover an entirely new perspective that rises above both.

Kelly's therapy often involves home-work, things he would ask you to do outside the therapy situation. His best known technique is called fixed-role therapy. First, he asks you for a description of yourself, a couple of pages in the third person, which he calls the character sketch. Then he constructs, perhaps with the help of a colleague, another description, called the fixed-role sketch, of a pretend person.

He writes this sketch by examining your original sketch carefully and using constructs that are "at right angles" to the constructs you used. This means that the new constructs are independent of the original ones, but they are used in a similar way, that is, they refer to the same range of elements.

If, for example, I use genius-idiot as a construct in dealing with people, I don't give them a lot of room to be somewhere in between, and I don't allow much for change. And, since we use the same constructs on ourselves as we use for others, I don't give myself much slack either. On a really good day, I might call myself a genius. On most days, I'd have no choice, if I used such a dramatic construct, but to call myself an idiot. And idiots stay idiots; they don't turn into geniuses. So, I'd be setting myself up for depression, not to mention for a life with very few friends.

Kelly might write a fixed-role sketch with a construct like skilled-unskilled. This is a much more "humane" construct than genius-idiot. It is much less judgmental: A person can, after all, be skilled in one area, yet unskilled in another. And it allows for change: If I find that I am unskilled in some area of importance, I can, with a little effort, become skilled.

Anyway, Kelly would then ask his client to be the person described in the fixed-role sketch for a week or two. Mind you, this is a full time commitment: He wants you to be this person 24 hours a day, at work, at home, even when you're alone. Kelly found that most people are quite good at this, and even enjoy it. After all, this person is usually much healthier than they are!

Should the client come back and say "Thank you, doc! I believe I'm cured. All I need to do now is be "Dave" instead of "George" for the rest of my life," Kelly would have a surprise in store: He might ask that person to play another fixed-role for a couple of weeks, one that might not be so positive. That's because the intent of this play-acting is not that the therapist give you a new personality. That would quickly come to nothing. The idea is to show you that you do, in fact, have the power to change, to "choose yourself."

Kellian therapy has, as its goal, opening people up to alternatives, helping them to discover their freedom, allowing them to live up to their potentials. For this reason, and many others, Kelly fits most appropriately among the humanistic psychologists.

Ellis sees neurosis as based on the presence of three main irrational beliefs:

1.  “I must be outstandingly competent, or I am worthless.”
2.  “Others must treat me considerately, or they are absolutely rotten.”
3.  “The world should always give me happiness, or I will die.”

The therapist uses his or her skills to argue against these irrational ideas in therapy, or, even better, leads the client to make the arguments.  For example, the therapist may ask...

1.  Is there any evidence for this belief?
2.  What is the evidence against this belief?
3.  What is the worst that can happen if you give up this belief?
4.  And what is the best that can happen?

In addition to argument, the REBT therapist uses any other techniques that assist the client in changing their beliefs.  They might use group therapy, use unconditional positive regard, provide risk-taking activities, assertiveness training, empathy training, perhaps using role playing techniques to do so, encourage self-management through behavior modification techniques, use systematic desensitization, and so on.

Ellis has come to emphasize more and more the importance of what he calls “unconditional self-acceptance.”  He says that, in REBT, no one is damned, no matter how awful their actions, and we should accept ourselves for what we are rather than for what we have achieved.

One approach he mentions is to convince the client of the intrinsic value of him or herself as a human being.  Just being alive provides you with value.

He notes that most theories make a great deal out of self-esteem and ego-strength and similar concepts.  We are naturally evaluating creatures, and that is fine.  But we go from evaluating our traits and our actions to evaluating this vague holistic entity called “self.”  How can we do this?  And what good does it do?  Only harm, he believes.

There are, he says, legitimate reasons for promoting one’s self or ego:  We want to stay alive and be healthy, we want to enjoy life, and so on.  But there are far more ways in which promoting the self or ego does harm, as exemplified by these irrational beliefs:

I am special or I am damned.
I must be loved or cared for.
I must be immortal.
I am either good or bad.
I must prove myself.
I must have everything that I want.

He believes very strongly that self-evaluation leads to depression and repression, and avoidance of change.  The best thing for human health is that we should stop evaluating ourselves altogether!

But perhaps this idea of a self or an ego is overdrawn.  Ellis is quite skeptical about the existence of a “true” or “real” self, ala Horney or Rogers.  He especially dislikes the idea that there is a conflict between a self promoted by actualization versus one promoted by society.  In fact, he says, one’s nature and one’s society are more likely to be mutually supporting than antagonistic.

He certainly sees no evidence for a transpersonal self or soul.  Buddhism, for example, does quite well without it! And he is skeptical about the altered states of consciousness mystical traditions and transpersonal psychology recommend.  In fact, he sees these states as being more inauthentic than transcendent!

On the other hand, he sees his approach as coming out of the ancient Stoic tradition, and supported by such philosophers as Spinoza.  He sees additional similarities in existentialism and existential psychology.  Any approach that puts the responsibility squarely on the shoulders of the individual and his or her beliefs is likely to have commonalities with Ellis’s REBT.

Existential Therapy

Existential psychologists make a point of discovering their client's world view (or world design). This is not a matter of discussing a person's religion or philosophy of life, necessarily. They want to know about your Lebenswelt, Husserl's word for "lived world." He is looking for a concrete, everyday world view.

Ludwig Binswanger will, for example, try to understand how you see your Umwelt or physical world - things, buildings, trees, furniture, gravity....

He will want to understand your Mitwelt, or social world, as well. Here we are talking about your relations to individuals, to community, to culture, and so on.

And he will want to understand your Eigenwelt or personal world. This includes both mind and body, whatever you feel is most central to your sense of who you are.

Binswanger also talks about different modes: Some people live in a singular mode, alone and self-sufficient. Others live in a dual mode, as a "you and me" rather than an "I." Some live in a plural mode, thinking of themselves in terms of their membership in something larger than themselves - a nation, a religion, an organization, a culture. Still others live in an anonymous mode, quiet, secretive, in the background of life. And most of us live in all these modes from time to time and place to place.

Our relationship with others is as important to existential psychologist Medard Boss as it is to Binswanger.  We are not individuals locked up inside our bodies; We live rather in a shared world, and we illuminate each other.  Human existence is shared existence.

While Binswanger likes to use Heidegger's Umwelt, Mitwelt, and Eigenwelt, Boss prefers Heidegger's existentials, the things in life that we all have to deal with.  He is interested, for example, in how people see space and time - not the physical space and time of measured distances and clocks and calendars, but human space and time, personal space and time.  Someone from long ago, who now lives far away, may be closer to you than the person next to you right now.

He is interested in your view of time.  He would like to know how you view your past, present, and future.  Do you live in the past, forever trying to recapture those golden days?  Or do you live in the future, always preparing or hoping for a better life?  Do you see your life as a long, complex adventure?  Or a brief flash - here today, gone tomorrow?

Also of interest is the way you treat space. Is your world open, or is it closed? Is it cozy or is it vast? Is it warm or cold? Do you see life as movement, as a matter of journeys and adventures, or do you see it from an immovable center? None of these things mean anything all by themselves, of course, but combined with everything else, learned in the intimate relationship of therapy, they can mean a great deal.

Boss is also interested in how we relate to our bodies.  My openness to the world will be expressed by my bodily openness and my extension of my body out into the world, what he calls my "bodying forth."

A particularly "Bossian" concern is mood or attunement:  Boss suggested that, while we are always illuminating the world, we sometimes illuminate one thing more than another, or illuminate with different hues.  It's no different from how we try to set a certain mood by lighting a room one way rather than another.

As you can see, the language of existential analysis is metaphor. Life is much too big, much too rich, to be captured by anything so crude as prose. My life is certainly too rich to be captured in words that you thought up before you even met me! Existential therapists allow their clients to reveal themselves, disclose themselves, in their own words, in their own time.

Boss has studied dreams more than any other existentialist, and considers them important in therapy.  But instead of interpreting them as Freudians or Jungians do, he allows them to reveal their own meanings.  Everything is not hiding behind a symbol, hiding from the always-present censor.  Instead, dreams show us how we are illuminating our lives:  If we feel trapped, our feet will be bound by cement; if we feel free, we will fly; if we feel guilty, we will dream about sin; if we feel anxious, we will be chased by frightening things.  Existentialists might suggest that you let your dreams inspire you, let them guide you, let them suggest their own meanings. They may mean nothing, and they may mean everything.

The essence of existential therapy is the relationship between the therapist and the client, called an encounter. An encounter is the genuine presence of one Dasein to another, an "opening up" of one to the other. Unlike more "formal" therapies, such as Freud's, or more "technical" ones, such as the behaviorists', an existential therapist is likely to be involved with you. Transference and countertransference are seen as natural parts of the encounter, not to be abused, of course, but not to be avoided either.

On the other hand, humanists might find the existential therapist more formal than they, and more directive. The existential therapist is more likely to be "natural" with you - often quietly listening, but sometimes expressing their own thoughts, experiences, even emotions. "Being natural" also means acknowledging the differences between you. The therapist has the training and the experience, after all, and it is the client (presumably) who has the problems! Existential therapy is seen as a dialog, and not a monologue by the therapist, nor a monologue by the client.

But existential analysis has as its goal the autonomy of the client. Like teaching children to ride a bicycle, you may have to hold them up for a while, but eventually you have to let them go. They may well fall down, but if you never let them go, they will never learn to ride! If the "essence" of Dasein - being human - is freedom and responsibility for one's own life, then you can't help people become more fully human unless you are prepared to release them.

Viktor Frankl is nearly as well known for certain clinical details of his approach as for his overall theory.  The first of these details is a technique known as paradoxical intention, which is useful in breaking down the neurotic vicious cycles brought on by anticipatory anxiety and hyperintention.

Paradoxical intention is a matter of wishing the very thing you are afraid of.  A young man who sweated profusely whenever he was in social situations was told by Frankl to wish to sweat.  “I only sweated out a quart before, but now I’m going to pour at least ten quarts!” (1973, p. 223) was among his instructions.  Of course, when it came down to it, the young man couldn’t do it.  The absurdity of the task broke the vicious cycle.

The capacity human beings have of taking an objective stance towards their own life, or stepping outside themselves, is the basis, Frankl tells us, for humor.  And, as he noted in the camps, "Humor was another of the soul's weapons in the fight for self-preservation."  (1963, p. 68)

Another example concerns sleep problems:  If you suffer from insomnia, according to Frankl, don’t spend the night tossing and turning and trying to sleep.  Get up!  Try to stay up as long as you can!  Over time, you’ll find yourself gratefully crawling back into bed.

A second technique is called dereflection.  Frankl believes that many problems stem from an overemphasis on oneself.  By shifting attention away from oneself and onto others, problems often disappear.  If, for example, you have difficulties with sex, try to satisfy your partner without seeking your own gratification.  Concerns over erections and orgasms disappear - and satisfaction reappears!  Or don’t try to satisfy anyone at all.  Many sex therapists suggest that a couple do nothing but “pet,” avoiding orgasms "at all costs."  These couples often find they can barely last the evening before what they had previously had difficulties with simply happens!

Frankl insists that, in today's world, there is far too much emphasis on self-reflection.  Since Freud, we have been encouraged to look into ourselves, to dig out our deepest motivations.  Frankl even refers to this tendency as our "collective obsessive neurosis." (1975, p. 95)  Focusing on ourselves this way actually serves to turn us away from meaning!

For all the interest these techniques have aroused, Frankl insists that, ultimately, the problems these people face are a matter of their need for meaning.  So, although these and other techniques are a fine beginning to therapy, they are not by any means the goal.

"(H)uman existence - at least as long as it has not been neurotically distorted - is always directed to something, or someone, other than itself - be it a meaning to fulfill or another human being to encounter lovingly." (1975, p. 78)  Frankl calls this self-transcendence, and contrasts it with self-actualization as Maslow uses the term.  Self-actualization, even pleasure and happiness, are side-effects of self-transcendence and the discovery of meaning.

For the American Existential psychologist Rollo May, the most important motive for most people is eros.  Eros is love (not sex), and in Greek mythology was a minor god pictured as a young man (who the Victorians wouls later transform into that annoying little pest, Cupid).  May understood love as the need we have to “become one” with another person, and refers to an ancient Greek story by Aristophanes:  People were originally four-legged, four-armed, two-headed creatures.  When we became a little too prideful, the gods split us in two, male and female, and cursed us with the never-ending desire to recover our missing half!

Just like with Rank, another important concept for May is will, which he defines as the ability to organize oneself in order to achieve one’s goals.  This makes will roughly synonymous with ego and reality-testing, but with its own store of energy, as in ego psychology.

Another definition of will is “the ability to make wishes come true.”  Wishes are “playful imaginings of possibilities,” and are manifestations of our daimons.  Many wishes, of course, come from eros.  But they require will to make them happen!  Hence, we can see three “personality types” coming out of our relative supply, you might say, of our wishes for love and the will to realize them.  Note that he doesn't actually come out and name them - that would be too categorical for an existentialist - and they are not either-or pigeon holes by any means.  But he does use various terms to refer to them, and I have picked representative ones.

There is the type he refers to as “neo-Puritan,” who is all will, but no love.  They have amazing self-discipline, and can “make things happen”... but they have no wishes to act upon.  So they become “anal” and perfectionistic, but empty and “dried-up.”  The archetypal example is Ebenezer Scrooge.

The second type he refers to as “infantile.”  They are all wishes but no will.  Filled with dreams and desires, they don’t have the self-discipline to make anything of their dreams and desires, and so become dependent and conformist.  They love, but their love means little.  Perhaps Homer Simpson is the clearest example!

The eightfold path

As promised, we now take a look at the Buddhist approach:

The first two segments of the path are refered to as prajña, meaning wisdom:

Right view - understanding the Four Noble Truths, especially the nature of all things as imperfect, impermanent, and insubstantial and our self-inflicted suffering as founded in clinging, hate, and ignorance.

Right aspiration - having the true desire to free oneself from attachment, hatefulness, and ignorance.

The idea that improvement comes only when the sufferer takes the first step of aspiring to improvement is apparently 2500 years old.

Therapy is something neither the therapist nor the client takes lying down - if you will pardon the pun. The therapist must take an assertive role in helping the client become aware of the reality of his or her suffering and its roots. Likewise, the client must take an assertive role in working towards improvement - even though it means facing the fears they've been working so hard to avoid, and especially facing the fear that they will "lose" themselves in the process.

Right speech - abstaining from lying, gossiping, and hurtful speech generally.

Speech is often our ignorance made manifest, and is the most common way in which we harm others. Modern psychologists emphasize that one should above all stop lying to oneself. But Buddhism adds that by practicing being true to others, and one will find it increasingly difficult to be false to oneself.

Right action - behaving oneself, abstaining from actions that hurt others (and, by implication, oneself) such as killing, stealing, and irresponsible sex.

Right livelihood - making one's living in an honest, non-hurtful way.

Here's one we don't talk about much in our society today. One can only wonder how much suffering comes out of the greedy, cut-throat, dishonest careers we often participate in. This by no means means we must all be monks: Imagine the good one can do as an honest, compassionate, hard-working accountant, business person, lawyer, or politician!

I have to pause here to add another Buddhist concept to the picture: karma. Basically, karma refers to good and bad deeds and the consequences they bring. In some branches of Buddhism, karma has to do with what kind of reincarnation to expect. But other branches see it more simply as the negative (or positive) effects one's actions have on one's integrity. Beyond the effects of your selfish acts have on others, for example, each selfish act "darkens your soul," and makes happiness that much harder to find. On the other hand, each act of kindness, as the gypsies say, "comes back to you three times over." To put it simply, virtue is its own reward, and vice its own hell.

Right effort - taking control of your mind and the contents thereof.

Simple, direct practice is what it takes, the developing of good mental habits: When bad thoughts and impulses arise, they should be abandoned. This is done by watching the thought without attachment, recognizing it for what it is (no denial or repression!), and letting it dissipate. Good thoughts and impulses, on the other hand, should be nurtured and enacted. Make virtue a habit, as the stoics used to say.

There are four "sublime states" (brahma vihara) that some Buddhists talk about. These sublime states are fully experienced by saintly creatures called boddhisattvas, but the rest of us should practice them every moment of every day as an exercise in self-improvement. They are loving kindness to all you meet, compassion for those who are suffering, joy for others without envy, and equanimity or a peaceful, evenly balanced attitude towards the ups and downs of life.

Right mindfulness - mindfulness refers to a kind of meditation involving an acceptance of thoughts and perceptions, a "bare attention" to these events without attachment.

It is called vipassana in the Theravada (southern Buddhism) tradition, and shikantaza in the Ch'an (Zen) tradition. But it is understood that this mindfulness is to extend to daily life as well. It becomes a way of developing a fuller, richer awareness of life, and a deterent to our tendency to sleepwalk our way through life.

One of the most important moral precepts in Buddhism is the avoidance of consciousness-diminishing or altering substances - i.e. alcohol or drugs. This is because anything that makes you less than fully aware sends you in the opposite direction of improvement into deeper ignorance.

But there are other things besides drugs that diminish consciousness. Some people try to avoid life by disappearing into food or sexuality. Others disappear into work, mindless routine, or rigid, self-created rituals.

Drowning oneself in entertainment is one of today's favorite substitutes for heroin. I think that modern media, especially television, make it very difficult to maintain our balance. I would like to see a return to the somewhat Victorian concept of "edifying diversions:" see a good movie on PBS or videotape - no commercials, please - or read a good book, listen to good music, and so on.

We can also drown awareness in material things - fast cars, extravagant clothes, and so on. Shopping has itself become a way of avoiding life. Worst of all is the blending of materiality with entertainment. While monks and nuns avoid frivolous diversions and luxurious possessions, we surround ourselves with commercials, infomercials, and entire shopping networks, as if thery were effective forms of "pain control!"

Right concentration - meditating in such a way as to empty our natures of attachments, avoidances, and ignorance, so that we may accept the imperfection, impermanence, and insubstantiality of life.

This is usually thought of as the highest form of Buddhist meditation, and full practice of it is pretty much restricted to monks and nuns who have progressed considerably along the path.

But just like the earlier paths provide a foundation for later paths, later ones often support earlier ones. For example, a degree of "calm abiding" (shamatha), a beginning version of concentration, is essential for developing mindfulness, and is taught to all beginning meditators. This is the counting of breaths or chanting of mantras most people have heard of. This passifying of the mind is, in fact, important to mindfulness, effort, all moral practice, and even the maintaining of view and aspiration. I believe that this simple form of meditation is the best place for those who are suffering to begin - though once again, the rest of the eightfold path is essential for long-term improvement.

The most basic form of meditation involves attending to one's breath.  Begin by sitting in a simple chair, keeping your back erect if you can.  The more traditional postures are the lotus position, sitting on a pillow with each foot upon the opposite thigh, and variations such as the half lotus (one foot on the opposite thigh, the other out in front of the opposite knee).  This is difficult for many people.  Some people kneel, sitting back on their legs or on a pillow between their legs.  Many use a meditation bench:  kneel, then place a little bench beneath your behind.  But meditation is also done while standing, slowly walking, lying on the floor, or even in a recliner!

Traditionally, the hands are placed loosely, palms up, one on top of the other, and with the thumbs lightly touching.  This is called the cosmic mudra, one of a large number of symbolic hand positions.  You may prefer to lay them flat on your thighs, or any other way that you find comfortable.

Your head should be upright, but not rigid.  The eyes may be closed, or focussed on a spot on the ground a couple of feet ahead of you, or looking down at your hands.  If you find yourself getting sleepy, keep your eyes open!

Beginning meditators are often asked to count their breath, on the exhale, up to ten.  Then you begin back at one.  If you loose track, simply go back to one.  Your breath should be slow and regular, but not forced or artificially controlled.  Just breathe naturally and count.

A few weeks later, you may forego the counting and try to simply follow your breath.  Concentrate on it entering you and exiting you.  Best is to be aware as fully as possible of the entire process of breathing, but most people focus on one aspect or another:  the sensation of coolness followed by warmth at the nostrils, or the rise and fall of the diaphragm.  Many meditators suggest imagining the air entering and exiting a small hole an inch or two below your navel.  Keeping your mind lower on the body tends to lead to deeper meditation.  If you are sleepy, then focus higher, such as at the nostrils.

You will inevitably find yourself distracted by sounds around you and thoughts within.  The way to handle them is to acknowledge them, but do not attach yourself to them.  Do not get involved with them.  Just let them be, let them go, and focus again on the breath.  At first, it might be wise to scratch when you itch and wiggle when you get uncomfortable.  Later, you will find that the same scant attention that you use for thoughts and sounds will work with physical feelings as well.

Many people have a hard time with their thoughts.  We are so used to our hyperactive minds, that we barely notice the fact that they are usually roaring with activity.  So, when we first sit and meditate, we are caught off guard by all the activity.  So some people find it helpful to use a little imagination to help them meditate.  For example, instead of counting or following your breath, you might prefer to imagine a peaceful scene, perhaps floating in a warm lagoon, until the noise of your mind quiets down.

Meditate for fifteen minutes a day, perhaps early in the morning before the rest of the house wakes up, or late at night when everything has quieted down.  If that's too much, do it once a week if you like.  If you want, do more.

Most therapists know: Anxiety is the most common manifestation of psychological suffering. And when it's not anxiety, it's unresolved anger. And when it's not anger, it's pervasive sadness. All three of these can be toned done to a manageable level by simple meditation. Meditation will not eliminate these things - that requires wisdom and morality and the entire Buddhist program - but it will give the sufferer a chance to acquire the wisdom, morality, etc!

We do this by (1) understanding intentionality and (2) practicing bracketing.  Intentionality means being open to all aspects of the phenomenon, not leaving out what belongs.  So we must allow phenomena - whether it be a thing out there, or a feeling or thought inside us, or another person, or human existence itself - to reveal itself to us. We can do this by being open to the experience, by not denying what is there because it doesn't fit our philosophy or psychological theory or religious beliefs.  Spiegelberg said "The genuine will to know calls for the spirit of generosity rather than for that of economy...." (1965, p. 657.)

Bracketing is the other side of the coin.  Bracketing means setting aside all our usual, "natural" assumptions about the phenomena.  You can't hear something (or someone) if you are loudly telling it what it is!  Practically speaking, this means we must put aside our biases, prejudices, theories, philosophies, religions, even common sense, and accept the phenomenon for what it is.  If therapists brought all their prejudices into the therapy situation with them, they would never be able to understand their clients in all their frustrating uniqueness.  The same is true for any human being!

Our lives are such small things.  Sometimes we think we need something grand to make them worthwhile - like eternal life in paradise, or great success, or intense experiences.  Or we feel we need a grand philosophy or religion to give our lives meaning.  But that’s just not true.

One major source of happiness is competence.  It is the essence of our drive towards individual development.  To master an art, a craft, a musical instrument, a science, to be so well practiced at something means that you begin to experience that sense of flow we've talked about.  You feel more like a conduit of something higher - which is purpose.  Don't get me wrong:  You don't need to be a concert pianist or a brain surgeon.  Knitting a perfect scarf, playing a favorite tune on an old guitar, balancing the books, or doing your best at your job, all function as purpose.

Another important source of happiness is compassion.  Even mastery doesn't fully satisfy unless it is directed outwards, towards others.   As I said, meaning doesn't come from above.  Neither can we give it to ourselves.  Ultimately, the only source of meaning is others.  We are meaningful to them, and they in turn give us meaning.  When you ask "what is the meaning of my life?"  you should rephrase it "what do I mean to others?"  In a speech to English college students (quoted in Frankl 1975, p. 85),  the great humanitarian Albert Schweitzer once said, "The only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and found how to serve."