(a) An object of sustained attention will exert a particularly
//strong// and //long-lasting// impact on the mind. Its influence
will be felt not only throughout the thought-series immediately
following the particular perception, but may also extend far into
the future. It is that causal efficacy which is the measure of the
//intensity of consciousness//.

(b) sustained attention leads to a //fuller picture// of the object
in all its aspects. Generally, the first impression we gain of any
new sense-object or idea will be its most striking feature; it is
this aspect of the object which captures our attention up to the
culminating point of the impact. But the object also displays other
aspects or characteristics, and is capable of exercising other
functions, than those we initially notice. These may be less
obvious to us or subjectively less interesting; but still, they may
be even more important. There will also be cases where our first
impression is entirely deceptive. Only if we sustain our attention
beyond that first impact will the object reveal itself more fully.
In the downward course of the first perceptual wave the prejudicing
force of the first impact lessens; and it is only then, in that end
phase, that the object will yield a wider range of detail, a more
complete picture of itself. It is therefore only by sustained
attention that we can obtain a //clearer understanding of an
object's characteristic features//.

(c) Among the characteristic features of any object, physical or
mental, there is one class we often overlook due to hasty or
superficial attention, and therefore needs to be treated
separately. This is the //relatedness// of the object. The object's
relatedness extends back to its past--to its origin, causes,
reasons, and logical precedents; it also extends outward to embrace
the total context--its background, environment, and presently
active influences. We can never fully understand things if we view
them in artificial isolation. We have to see them as part of a
wider pattern, in their conditioned and conditioning nature; and
this can be done only with the help of sustained attention.

Subliminal Influences
and its objective field clarified and
discerned in its relational structure, the ground is prepared for
"seeing things according to reality." But besides its obvious
direct influence, this threefold process also has an indirect
influence which is no less powerful and important: it strengthens
and sharpens the mind's subliminal faculties of subconscious
organization, memory and intuition. These again, on their part,
nourish and consolidate the progress of liberating insight. The
insight aided by them is like the mountain lake of the canonical
simile: it is fed not only by the outside rains, but also by
springs welling up from within its own depths. The insight
nourished by these "underground subliminal resources of the mind"
will have deep roots. The meditative results that it brings cannot
be lost easily, even with unliberated worldlings who are still
subject to relapse.

1. Perceptions or thoughts which have been objects of sustained
attention make a stronger impact on the mind and reveal their
characteristic features more distinctly than when attention is
slack. Thus, when they sink into the subconscious, they occupy
there a special position. This holds true for all three ways of
enhancing the consciousness of an object. (a) In a process of
consciousness, if attention is as strong in the end phase as in the
earlier phases, then when the process is finished and the mind
lapses back into subconsciousness, the latter will be more amenable
to conscious control. (b) If an impression or idea has been marked
by numerous distinct characteristics, then when it fades from
immediate awareness, it will not be so easily lost in the vague
contents of the subconscious or dragged by passionate biases into
false subconscious associations. (c) The correct comprehension of
the object's relatedness similarly will protect the experience from
being merged with indistinct subconscious material. Perceptions or
thoughts of enhanced intensity and clarity, absorbed into the
subconscious, remain more articulate and more accessible than
contents originating from hazy or "stunned" impressions. It will be
easier to convert them into full consciousness and they will be
less accountable in their hidden effects upon the mind. If, through
an improvement in the quality and range of mindfulness, the number
of such matured impressions increases, the results might be a
subtle change in the very structure of subconsciousness itself.

2. It will be evident from our earlier remarks that those
impressions which we have called "matured" or "more accessible and
convertible," lend themselves more easily and more correctly to
recollection--more easily because of their greater intensity, more
correctly because their clearly marked features protect them from
being distorted by false associative images or ideas. Remembering
them in their context and relatedness works both ways--it promotes
both easier and more correct recollection. Thus //sati// in its
meaning and function of mindfulness helps to strengthen //sati// in
its meaning and function of //memory//.

3. The influence of sustained attention on the subconscious and on
memory brings a deepening and strengthening of the faculty of
intuition, particularly the intuitive insight which chiefly
concerns us here. Intuition is not a gift from the unknown. Like
any other mental faculty, it arises out of specific conditions. In
this case the primary conditions are latent memories of perceptions
and thoughts stored in the subconscious. Obviously, the memories
providing the most fertile soil for the growth of intuition will be
those marked by greater intensity, clarity, and wealth of
distinctive marks; for it is these that are most accessible. Here,
too, the preserved relatedness of the impressions will contribute
much. Recollections of that type will have a more organic character
than memories of bare or vague isolated facts, and they will fall
more easily into new patterns of meaning and significance. These
more articulate memory images will be a strong stimulation and aid
for the intuitive faculty. Silently, in the hidden depths of the
subliminal mind, the work of collecting and organizing the
subconscious material of experience and knowledge goes on until it
is ripe to emerge as an //intuition//. The break-through of that
intuition is sometimes occasioned by quite ordinary happenings.
However, though seemingly ordinary, these events may have a strong
evocative power if previously they had been made objects of
sustained attention. Slowing-down and pausing for bare attention
will uncover the depth dimension of the simple things of everyday
life, and thus provide stimuli for the intuitive faculty. This
applies also to the intuitive penetration of the Four Noble Truths
that culminates in liberation (//arahatta//). The scriptures record
many instances of monks who could not arrive at intuitive
penetration when engaged in the actual practice of insight
meditation. The flash of intuition struck them on quite different
occasions: when stumbling against a rock or catching sight of a
forest fire, a mirage, or a lump of froth in a river. We meet here
another confirmation of that seemingly paradoxical saying that
"intentionally an unintentional state may be won." By deliberately
turning the full light of mindfulness on the smallest events and
actions of everyday life, eventually the liberating wisdom may
arise.

Sustained attention not only provides the nourishing soil for the
//growth// of intuition, it also makes possible the fuller
utilization and even repetition of the intuitive moment. Men of
inspiration in various fields of creative activity have often
deplored their common experience; the flash of intuition strikes so
suddenly and vanishes so quickly that frequently the slow response
of the mind hardly catches the last glimpse of it. But if the mind
has been trained in observant pausing, in slowing-down and
sustained attention, and if--as indicated above--the subconscious
has been influenced, then the intuitive moment too might gain that
fuller, slower, and stronger rhythm. This being the case, its
impact will be strong and clear enough to allow for full use of
that flash of intuitive insight. It might even be possible to lead
its fading vibrations upward again to a new culmination, similar to
the rhythmic repetition of a melody rising again in harmonious
development out of the last notes of its first appearance.

The full utilization of a single moment of intuitive insight could
be of decisive importance for one's progress toward full
realization. If one's mental grip is too weak and one lets those
elusive moments of intuitive insight slip away without having
utilized them fully for the work of liberation, then they might not
recur until many years have passed, or perhaps not at all during
the present life. Skill in sustained attention, however, will allow
one to make full use of such opportunities, and slowing-down and
pausing during meditative practice is an important aid in acquiring
that skill.

Through our treatment of pausing, stopping and slowing-down, one of
the traditional definitions of mindfulness found in the Pali
scriptures will have become more intelligible in its far-reaching
implications: that is, its function of //anapilapanata//, meaning
literally, "not floating (or slipping) away." "Like pumpkin-pots on
the surface of water," add the commentators, and they continue:
"Mindfulness enters deeply into its object, instead of hurrying
only over its surface." Therefore, "non-superficiality" will be an
appropriate rendering of the above Pali term, and a fitting
characterization of mindfulness.

* * *

4. DIRECTNESS OF VISION

//I wish I could disaccustom myself from everything,
so that I might see anew, hear anew, feel anew,
Habit spoils our philosophy//.
G.C. Lichtenberg (1742-1799)

In an earlier section we spoke about the impulsive spontaneity of
the unwholesome. We have seen how stopping for bare and sustained
attention is able to counter, or reduce, our rash impulsive
reactions, thus allowing us to face any situation with a fresh
mind, with a //directness of vision// unprejudiced by those first
spontaneous responses.

By //directness of vision// we understand a direct view of reality,
without any coloring or distorting lenses, without the intrusion
of emotional or habitual prejudices and intellectual biases. It
means: coming face to face with the bare facts of actuality, seeing
them as vividly and freshly as if we were seeing them for the first
time.

The Force of Habit
~
Those spontaneous reactions which so often stand in the way of
direct vision do not derive only from our passionate impulses. Very
frequently they are the product of //habit//. In that form, they
generally have an even stronger and more tenacious hold on us--a
hold which may work out either for our good or for our harm. The
influence habit exercises for the //good// is seen in the "power of
repeated practice." This power protects our achievements and
skills--whether manual or mental, worldly or spiritual--against
loss or forgetfulness, and converts them from casual, short-lived,
imperfect acquisitions into the more secure possession of a quality
thoroughly mastered. The //detrimental// effect of habitual
spontaneous reactions is manifest in what is called in a derogative
sense the "force of habit": its deadening, stultifying and
narrowing influence productive of compulsive behavior of various
kinds. In our present context we shall be concerned only with that
negative aspect of habit as impeding and obscuring the directness
of vision.

As remarked earlier, habitual reactions generally have a stronger
influence upon our behavior than impulsive ones. Our passionate
impulses may disappear as suddenly as they have arisen. Though
their consequences may be very grave and extend far into the
future, their influence is in no way as long lasting and deep
reaching as that of habit. Habit spreads its vast and closely
meshed net over wide areas of our life and thought, trying to drag
in more and more. Our passionate impulses, too, might be caught in
that net and thus be transformed from passing outbursts into
lasting traits of character. A momentary impulse, an occasional
indulgence, a passing whim may by repetition become a habit we find
difficult to uproot, a desire hard to control, and finally an
automatic function we no longer question. Repeated gratification
turns a desire into a habit, and habit left unchecked grows into
compulsion.

It sometimes happens that, at an early time, we regard a particular
activity or mental attitude as without any special personal
importance. The activity or attitude may be morally indifferent and
inconsequential. At the start we might find it easy to abandon it
or even to exchange it for its opposite, since neither our emotions
nor reason bias us towards either alternative. But by repetition,
we come to regard the chosen course of action or thought as
"pleasant, desirable, and correct," even as "righteous"; and thus
we finally identify it with our character or personality.
Consequently, we feel any break in this routine to be unpleasant or
wrong. Any outside interference with it we greatly resent, even
regarding such interference as a threat to our "vital interests and
principles." In fact at all times primitive minds, whether
"civilized" or not, have looked at a stranger with his "strange
customs" as an enemy, and have felt his mere unagressive presence
as a challenge or threat.

At the beginning, when no great importance was ascribed to the
specific habit, the attachment that gradually formed was directed
not so much to the action proper as to the pleasure we derive from
the undisturbed routine. The strength of that attachment to routine
derives partly from the force of physical and mental inertia, so
powerful a motive in man. We shall presently refer to another cause
for attachment to routine. By force of habit, the particular
concern--whether a material object, an activity, or a way of
thinking--comes to be invested with such an increase of emotional
emphasis, that the attachment to quite unimportant or banal things
may become as tenacious as that to our more fundamental needs. Thus
the lack of conscious control can turn even the smallest habits
into the uncontested masters of our lives. It bestows upon them the
dangerous power to limit and rigidify our character and to narrow
our freedom of movement--environmental, intellectual and spiritual.
Through our subservience to habit, we forge new fetters for
ourselves and make ourselves vulnerable to new attachments,
aversions, prejudices and predilections; that is, to new suffering.
The danger for spiritual development posed by the dominating
influence of habit is perhaps more serious today than ever before;
for the expansion of habit is particularly noticeable in our
present age when specialization and standardization reach into so
many varied spheres of life and thought.

Therefore, when considering the Satipatthana Sutta's words on the
formation of fetters, we should also think of the important part
played by habit:

"...and what fetter arises dependent on both (i.e. the sense
organs and sense objects), that he knows well. In what manner
the arising of the unarisen fetter comes to be, that he knows well."

In Buddhist terms, it is preeminently the hindrance of sloth and
torpor (//thina-middha nivarana//) which is strengthened by the
force of habit, and it is the mental faculties such as agility and
pliancy of mind (//kaya// and //citta-lahuta//, etc.)[8] that are
weakened.

This tendency of habits to extend their range is anchored in the
very nature of consciousness. It stems not only from the
aforementioned passive force of inertia, but in many cases from an
active will to dominate and conquer. Certain active types of
consciousness, possessing a fair degree of intensity, tend to
repeat themselves. Each one struggles to gain ascendancy, to become
a centre around which other weaker mental and physical states
revolve, adapting themselves to and serving that central
disposition. This tendency is never quite undisputed, but still it
prevails, and even peripheral or subordinate types of consciousness
exhibit the same urge for ascendancy. This is a striking parallel
to the self-assertion and domineering tendency of an egocentric
individual in his contact with society. Among biological analogies,
we may mention the tendency toward expansion shown by cancer and
other pathological growths; the tendency toward repetition we meet
in the freak mutations which loom as a grave danger at the horizon
of our atomic age.

Due to that will to dominate inherent in many types of
consciousness, a passing whim may grow into a relatively constant
trait of character. If still not satisfied with its position, it
may break away entirely from the present combination of life forces
until finally, in the process of rebirths, it becomes the very
centre of a new personality. There are within us countless seeds
for new lives, for innumerable potential "beings," all of whom we
should vow to liberate from the wheel of samsara, as the Sixth Zen
Patriarch expressed it.[9]

Detrimental physical or mental habits may grow strong, not only if
fostered deliberately, but also if left unnoticed or unopposed.
Much of what has now strong roots in our nature has grown from
minute seeds planted in a long-forgotten past (see the Simile of
the Creeper, Majjhima 45). This growth of morally bad or otherwise
detrimental habits can be effectively checked by gradually
developing another habit: that of attending to them mindfully. If
we now do deliberately what had become a mechanical performance,
and if prior to doing it we pause a while for bare attention and
reflection--this will give us a chance to scrutinize the habit and
clearly comprehend its purpose and suitability (//satthaka// and
//sappaya-sampajanna//). It will allow us to make a fresh
assessment of the situation, to see it directly, unobscured by the
mental haze that surrounds a habitual activity with the false
assurance: "It is right because it was done before." Even if a
detrimental habit cannot be broken quickly, the reflective pause
will counter its unquestioned spontaneity of occurrence. It will
stamp it with the seal of repeated scrutiny and resistance, so that
on its recurrence it will be weaker and will prove more amenable to
our attempts to change or abolish it.

It need hardly be mentioned that habit, which has been rightly
called "the wet-nurse of man," cannot and should not disappear from
our life. Let us only remember what a relief it is, particularly in
the crowded day and complex life of a city-dweller, to be able to
do a great number of things fairly mechanically with, as it were,
only "half-powered attention." Habit brings considerable
simplification to our life. It would be an unbearable strain if all
our little humdrum activities had to be done with deliberate effort
and close attention. In fact, many operations of manual labor,
much of the //technique// in art, and even standard procedure in
complex intellectual work, generally bring better and more even
results through skilled routine performance. Yet that evenness of
habitual performance will also reach its end point. Unless
enlivened by the creation of new interest, it will show symptoms of
fatigue and start to decline.