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Wild surmise

800px-No_Known_Restrictions_Horse_Racing,_Currier_&_Ives_Lithograph,_1890_(LOC)_(489398731)For better or worse, the word surmise seems to be growing rare. I can’t recall when I last saw it in print, much less heard it in conversation. Like the landline phone and the handwritten letter, this old-fashioned word may soon be leaving our daily lives.

Far less endangered is the mental activity surmise describes. In ordinary human affairs, the act of surmising is not only habitual but also necessary for survival. Precisely defined, surmise means “to infer or conclude from inconclusive or uncertain evidence.” And if you have been up for several hours, it’s likely that you’ve already surmised a hundred times or more.

Looking out the window, let us imagine, you observed dark clouds in a pewter sky, and you surmised that rain was on the way. Feeling an unwonted ache or pain, you surmised its cause. Driving to work, you checked the messages on your cell phone, having surmised that it was safe to do so. And when you took a mid-morning break to chat with fellow workers, quite possibly you did little else than surmise, as you exchanged political opinions or indulged in local gossip.

All this is ordinary human activity. But as the history of the word surmise reveals, the act of surmising can also have a sinister dimension. As recently as the early twentieth century, surmise could mean to accuse, charge, allege, or impugn. And often the word connoted a false or ill-founded accusation. Those who engaged in such activity, consciously or otherwise, were known as surmisers. They were not to be trusted or believed.

A few weeks ago, in the days immediately following the Boston Marathon bombings, our present-day surmisers, armed with the latest technology, were out in force. CNN led the pack, announcing at 1:15 pm on Wednesday that a “dark-skinned” suspect had been identified and at 1:45 that an arrest had been made. Although neither was the case, Fox News, the Associated Press, and the Boston Globe quickly picked up the story, all of them reporting that a suspect was in custody. Soon after, the New York Post, relying on information posted on Reddit, published a front-page photo of two “Bag Men,” who turned out to be an innocent high-school student and his friend. At once foolish and pernicious, ludicrous and libelous, this frenetic activity gave new meaning to “wild surmise,” a phrase coined by the poet John Keats in quite another context.

Don’t believe everything you read. Don’t take anything at face value. Double-check your sources. Revived and remembered, these common-sense imperatives might help to stem the tide of false surmise. But a countervailing force may also be found in an ancient Buddhist practice.

Known as “bare attention,” this practice fosters the skill of being intimately present for our experience. More specifically, it trains the practitioner to dwell in the receptive phase of the cognitive process, prior to conceptual thought. As the Ven. Henepola Gunaratana explains, bare attention “registers experiences, but it does not compare them. It does not label them or categorize them. . . . It is not analysis which is based on reflection and memory. . . . It comes before thought in the perceptual process.” * By closely observing our minds at work, we can become aware, in present-time, of the points where sensory impressions turn into perceptions, perceptions into thoughts, thoughts into conceptions, and conceptions into moral judgments. In short, we can catch our minds in the act of surmising. And with practice, we can also learn to protract the phase of “bare attention,” allowing, in the words of Nyanaponika Thera, “things to speak for themselves, without interruption by final verdicts pronounced too hastily.” **

Those who might wish to explore “bare attention” can find a detailed explanation of the practice in Thera’s The Heart of Buddhist Meditation, a classic Theravadan text. Instruction may also be found online. In contrast to the simplicity of Zen meditation, “bare attention” is a complex mental process, and it is not for everyone. But in my own experience, this practice can complement and augment such Zen-based practices as following the breath and cultivating “objectless” awareness. And in the digital era, where information is both more voluminous and far less filtered than ever before, practicing “bare attention” can provide a potent antidote to instant opinions, mindless speculations, and premature conclusions. Practiced with diligence, it can tame the wild surmiser in oneself.

__________

* Venerable Henepola Gunaratana, Mindfulness in Plain English (Wisdom 1991), 152

** Nyanaponika Thera, The Heart of Buddhist Meditation (Weiser 1988), 35.

Manjusri

Manjusri

One afternoon many years ago, when my son and I were playing chess at our dining-room table, our conversation turned to a woman I’d recently met.

“She seems honest,” I cautiously observed.

“I would have said ‘straightforward,’ Dad,” Alexander replied, taking my rook with his knight. Although he was only thirteen at the time, he was even then a stickler for definitions.

As it happened, however, father and son were both close to the mark. The word straightforward is a relative newcomer to the English language. The first usage cited by the Oxford English Dictionary dates from 1806. Originally, the meaning of straightforward was primarily descriptive. The word meant “directly in front of or onwards; in direct order.” But by the end of the nineteenth century, straightforward had acquired a moral aura, as in the Rev. Griffith John’s characterization of one Mr. Wei as a “plain, honest, straightforward-looking man” (1875). If not quite synonyms, honest and straightforward had come to occupy the same moral universe. Continue Reading »

Thich Nhat Hanh

Ven. Thich Nhat Hanh

If there is one indisputable fact of ordinary experience, it is that all things come and go. The bus arrives, picks up its passengers, and departs. Children grow up and leave home. Friends die. Yet throughout the literature of Zen we find the resonant phrase, “no coming, no going.” And over the centuries Zen teachers have often intoned that phrase, as if its meaning were self-evident.

For most people, I suspect, it is not, but it can sometimes be intuited through direct experience. With that aim in mind, I would like to offer a simple, twenty-minute exercise, drawn from the teachings of Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh.

This exercise consists of four gathas, or meditative verses. If you wish to explore the exercise, I would recommend that you record the gathas, leaving silent, four-minute intervals between them. Or, if possible, sit with a group, and appoint one member to recite the gathas. If you have a small bell to ring before each of the gathas, so much the better. Continue Reading »

Chickadee feeder 2012-06-25 005One spring morning five years ago, as I was watching chickadees flit around our backyard feeder, it occurred to me that those nimble little birds might appreciate having a trapeze on which to perch. When my son was a child I built him a trapeze, and he enjoyed it. Perhaps the chickadees would as well.

Construction was simple. Rummaging in the garage, I found a remnant of 3/4” flat screen molding. From this I cut two six-inch pieces for the top and bottom bars. These I connected with a central, four-inch dowel. Using wire-cloth staples, I fastened two three-inch lengths of cuckoo-clock chain to the ends of the top bar, joining them at the middle with a handsome brass S-hook. My trapeze thus completed, I hung it from a branch of our pin oak tree. Ready for occupancy, it swung invitingly in the wind. Continue Reading »

125. Elsewhere

Pruitt Taylor Vince(Rub Squeers in Nobody's Fool)

Pruitt Taylor Vince

If you have a good memory for movies, you may remember Nobody’s Fool (1994). Set in a declining town in upstate New York and based loosely on Richard Russo’s comedic novel, Nobody’s Fool stars Paul Newman as Donald “Sully” Sullivan, a feckless, sixty-year-old handyman who, in Russo’s words, has “led a life of studied unpreparedness.“ Although he is blessed with humane instincts and a generous heart, Sully’s devil-may-care attitude and his boyish penchant for mischief have too often sabotaged his better nature.

Sully’s sidekick and fellow bungler of odd jobs is a garbage collector named Rub Squeers, who plays a role in Sully’s adventures comparable to that of Sancho Panza in Don Quixote’s. Rub is just over five feet tall. His large head sits “like a medicine ball precariously balanced on his thick shoulders.” For most of his life Rub has seldom paid attention to much of anything. He finds attentiveness “hateful and exhausting,” and he considers inattention “normal human behavior.”

What Rub does do is wish, habitually and frequently. During a lull, when he and Sully are out of work, Rub wishes that “we’d just start up again like before.” Later, when they do find work, Rub wishes “we were all through with this job and sitting in The Horse eating a big ole cheeseburger.”* Wherever Rub might be, he wishes he were elsewhere. Continue Reading »

800px-Sliced_carrotsBeing retired now, I cook most of the meals in our home. And of late I have become a connoisseur of my wife’s responses, spoken and unspoken, to what I put on our table.

Let us say that tonight’s menu is Rotini with Lemon-Asparagus Sauce, a side of cooked carrots, and a Martha’s Vineyard salad. After a few bites, Robin may comment on what she has just eaten, or she may not. If she is silent for very long, I begin to get curious. “How do you like it?” I venture to inquire. Continue Reading »

Dennis O' DriscollPhoto by Kim Haughton

Dennis O’ Driscoll
Photo by Kim Haughton

“He gave the art a good name,” remarked the Nobel laureate Seamus Heaney of the Irish poet Dennis O ’Driscoll, who died suddenly on Christmas Eve at the age of fifty-eight. Dennis was the author of nine collections of graceful, civilized verse and one of the most respected voices in contemporary Irish letters. I am saddened by his early death, as are many of his fellow writers, Irish and American, who remember him as a true gentleman and a generous friend. Continue Reading »

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