What does Buddhism say about practicing with fear? Fear is a natural response that helps us protect ourselves and our loved ones, but it can also be inappropriate and debilitating. Buddhist practice offers many ways to help us manage our fear. We start with mindfulness of fear in and of itself, and then become mindful of what feeds it versus what decreases it. We then act in ways that increase our equanimity. We also let go of expectations, assumptions, and narratives in order to decrease suffering and ground ourselves in the absolute aspect of reality.
Quicklinks to Content:
The Experience of Fear
Practicing with Fear in Buddhism
Mindfulness of Fear: “Fear Has Arisen in Me”
What Can We Do with Our Body-Mind to Decrease Our Fear?
Is There Anything We Can Let Go of in Order to Increase Our Courage?
Our Deepest Source of Strength in Buddhism
The Experience of Fear
If you’re like me, there are lots of things that are lots of situations in the world right now that can trigger your fear. Global heating, challenges to democracy, the rise of dictators, the new coronavirus… Sometimes our fear lurks as a vague sense of foreboding, but sometimes it rises powerfully and has a physical manifestation. For example, I’ve been concerned about the new coronavirus, called Covid-19, since I first heard about it. I felt concern on behalf of the people in other countries who were affected, but when I read that the first Covid-19 case in my state had been identified not far from me, I felt stress hormones immediately course through my body. When, yesterday, I went to my local grocery store to stock up for a potential 2-week self-quarantine in the future, it was a complete zoo. Shelves were half empty and the checkout line snaked all the way across the store; the whole time I was in the grocery store I felt a moderate level of anxiety. Anxiety is not something I usually experience, but it was hard not to think about the people who were going to arrive at the grocery store later and not be able to get what they needed.
Fear is a deep and instinctual response that arises when we think we – or those we care about – are in danger. Physically, fear preps us for the three primal responses of “flight, fight, or freeze.” When we notice fear arising, it’s good if we pay attention to what’s going on around us. Are we actually in danger? How close and immediate is the potential source of threat? Is there something we should do, or stop doing, or somewhere we should go?
Of course, the problem is that fear can be inappropriate and debilitating. We can experience fear even when we’re not actually in danger. Our fear may be totally out of proportion to the likelihood of encountering a threat, or to the degree of damage that threat is likely to cause. Some ongoing situation we can’t do anything about may trigger our fear, leading to chronic negative emotional and physical impacts. If our fear is powerful enough, we may lose the ability to concentrate, think clearly, or take effective action.
In other words, fear is a natural reaction that can help us survive and protect our loved ones, but it’s also something we want to be able to manage.
Practicing with Fear in Buddhism
How do we practice with fear in Buddhism? I’ll answer that question at several levels. First, I’ll start with our immediate response to fear, and how to manage our symptoms. Then I’ll talk about ways to change our relationship to fear by shifting our mental or emotional perspective, and finish up be discussing how the ultimate result of Buddhist practice is fearlessness.
You might categorize different Buddhist practices around fear as being relative versus absolute approaches. The relative aspect of reality is where we have cause and effect, good and bad, life and death, pleasure and pain, etc. In a relative sense, there are many Buddhist practices we can do to change our relationship to fear so we don’t end up being completely controlled by it when it arises. The absolute aspect of reality, on the other hand, is where things just are as they are – a crazy, miraculous manifestation of one, seamless, luminous reality. In an absolute sense, there is no separate being to be threatened, and even no problem when fear arises. When dealing with fear, it helps if we have some grounding in a sense that, no matter what happens, everything will be okay in the broadest sense.
I’ll talk more about approaching fear from the absolute perspective later. First, let’s talk about how we practice with fear on a relative level.
Mindfulness of Fear: “Fear Has Arisen in Me”
The first step in practicing with fear is becoming mindful of it. Mindfulness means you become aware of something and then choose to pay attention to it. As I’ve mentioned in past episodes on mindfulness (Episode 79 – Buddha’s Teachings 10: The Four Foundations of Mindfulness), it’s like you’re using a pair of binoculars. You choose something you want to look at, and then aim the binoculars at it and keep it in your field of view. Directing your attention toward something and keeping it in your field of awareness is mindfulness.
In the case of fear, we turn our mindfulness toward our experience of fear in and of itself. To use classic Buddhist terminology, we say, “Oh, look, fear has arisen in me.” It’s important to note that we’re not paying attention, at this point, to whatever it was that triggered our fear. In fact, we’re deliberately shifting our attention away from the subject of our fear – whatever it is we think may be endangering us – toward the manifestation of the fear reaction in our mind and body. We may notice an increase in our pulse, tension in the pit of our stomach, or a cold sweat. We may notice thoughts arising, like “What if such-and-such happens?” We may notice we’re feeling compelled to do something, like run away, distract ourselves, or buy an entire case of face masks on Amazon.
When we practice mindfulness of fear, we have to take some time to become fully aware of what’s happening within us by temporarily refraining from judgment, commentary, and action. Unless, of course, we’re in imminent danger, which is another thing entirely! We’re talking here about practicing with fear when it’s having a negative impact on us, or when it’s out of proportion to the risk we’re actually facing. Assuming we have some space and time to safely do so, we first try to pay attention to our fear without trying to get rid of it or argue with it. As we all know, fear isn’t necessarily rational! It doesn’t help to push it away, deny it, or lecture yourself about how you shouldn’t feel it. Plus, if we do these things, we won’t be able to see our fear clearly.
We also need to at least temporarily refrain from acting on our fear when we’re cultivating mindfulness of fear in and of itself. As long as we’re running around trying to build up our defenses against the object of our fear, we’ll be focused on that object, on our experience of fear in and of itself.
Of course, sometimes there are things we have to do, but we can at least try moderate our actions and avoid working ourselves into a frenzy. For example, yesterday at the grocery store I mostly wanted to leave my cart full of stuff in the middle of the store and rush home to get away from the communal panic and competitiveness. However, I did want a few more cans of soup to have in reserve for me and my husband, so running seemed kind of extreme. Alternatively, I could have acted on my fear by filling my cart with a several extra cartons of soup cans. It was tempting, given the sense of scarcity triggered in me by the rapidly emptying shelves, but in my case that would have been hoarding and probably would have deprived others who had more need. I ended up enduring my anxiety and just buying a relatively small load of groceries, humbly observing my level of anxiety throughout the whole process.
Amazingly, just becoming mindful of our fear is often enough to defuse some of it, or put it into a larger perspective that decreases our reactivity. As soon as we recognize, “Oh, fear is arising in me,” we’re no longer completely absorbed in the fear. Unless, again, we’re in imminent danger, at this very moment we’re okay. Fear is about what might happen in the future, and it’s not yet happening. In the grocery store I could observe, “Given this situation, fear is arising in me that I may end up running out of food.” Just becoming aware of that fact led to some relief, as I immediately recognized this as a primal fear, but one that I experiencing at the moment far out of proportion to the likelihood I will starve.
At some level, when we become mindful of our fear in and of itself, we recognize it is only a part of our experience, and we become slightly less identified with it. Our fear has arisen for a reason. We’ve experience fear in the past, and then that fear eventually dissipated. Some of our past fears turned out to be unjustified. It’s not necessary to go through this kind of analysis intellectually, and that doesn’t usually help anyway. Instead, practicing mindfulness of your fear resets your body-mind so these kinds of insight occur naturally.
What Can We Do with Our Body-Mind to Decrease Our Fear?
The next step in practicing with fear using Buddhist tools is to become mindful of what we can do – or stop doing – to decrease our fear. Note this has nothing whatsoever to do with defending ourselves from a perceived source of threat. There may be a time and place for taking appropriate actions to keep ourselves and our loved ones safe, of course, but first it’s good to examine our own behavior and state of mind and see what we can do to increase our equanimity.
First, is there anything we’re doing that is inflaming our fear? The Buddha identified the primary way we feed our negative mind states, or hindrances, as paying “inappropriate” attention to whatever it is that has triggered them. For example, in the case of the coronavirus, maybe we’re checking the news every 10 minutes to read the scary updates about increases in worldwide infection. We need to keep ourselves informed, of course, but we’ve all found ourselves dwelling obsessively on something we’re upset about. Maybe we find ourselves morbidly researching past pandemics, or reading about virus symptoms, or imagining all the ways germs might be sneaking into our lives. Again, this isn’t to say we shouldn’t learn about how to take reasonable precautions, but as we do so, we should maintain mindfulness of our fear. Are we working ourselves into a frenzy? Are we waking up at night in alarm? Are we repetitively dwelling on the object of our fear throughout the day? If so, it’s probably time to back off of paying so much attention to it.
Then there are positive things we can do to decrease our fear. One of the Buddha’s top recommendations for dealing with hindrances is seeking out the company of good friends, and engaging in helpful conversation with them. When we’re dealing with fear, a good friend is someone who will be willing and able to admit they’re also feeling fear, if they are, or will be able to listen to and sympathize with your fear. At the same time, a good friend won’t inflame your fear with scary stories or speculation. A helpful conversation will be one that leaves you feeling a little calmer and braver, even if the situation that triggered your fear hasn’t changed at all. Maybe you and your friend can share some encouraging news, or recall the things in your lives that are going well.
In addition to the company of good friends and engaging in helpful conversation, we can do practical things to maintain a strong and healthy mind and body. Eating well and getting a good night’s sleep is a completely legitimate part of practice. We can notice when we’re making our situation worse by using intoxicants and distractions to take the edge off our fear, and prioritize healthier ways of coping like exercise and meditation. All of this may sound pretty basic, but it can make a huge difference when we consciously decide to do things that will decrease our experience of fear in and of itself, rather than dwelling helplessly in our fear as if we have no choice in the matter.
Is There Anything We Can Let Go of in Order to Increase Our Courage?
The next step in practicing with fear is looking to see if there’s anything we can let go of in order to decrease our fear, and increase our courage or equanimity.
When we hold on to or nurture our fear, we turn it into dukkha, suffering or dissatisfactoriness. As the Buddha taught, dukkha is caused by longing for things to be other than how they are. Sometimes the teaching is translated as “dukkha is caused by desire,” but I prefer the term longing because it conveys a kind of grasping or reaching for something; when we long for something, our basic desire has grown into state where we dwell on what we want and can no longer be satisfied with what we have, or with the way things are.
To a certain extent we can’t let go of simply wanting to be safe. That’s a natural, primal instinct. But we can definitely become very caught up in longing for our fear to go away as soon as possible, and we usually want that to happen because of changes in our circumstances. We long for the subject of our fear to be neutralized. We long for resources, defenses, or power, so the subject of our fear can’t hurt us. We long to understand the threat we’re facing so we can accurately predict exactly what’s going to happen. We long to be sure we won’t lose anyone or anything we love. We long for a guarantee that what’s pleasant and good in our lives will remain more or less unchanged. If we can’t manage to manipulate our circumstances in order to achieve what we long for, we at least long to develop our spiritual practice to the point that we no longer experience fear.
It’s possible to let go of all of these longings, and in doing so, we can avoid taking our naturally arising fear and fermenting it into dukkha. At the most basic level, we can’t (and shouldn’t) let go of our desire to protect ourselves from harm, loss, or pain. But can we avoid building our natural desires up into longing? Definitely! First, we first become mindful of our longing in and of itself.
For example, I recognize a desire within myself to be sure I won’t lose anyone or anything I love. To fulfill that longing in the face of the new coronavirus, I find myself suspending in-person meetings at my Zendo, minimizing the amount of time I spend out in public, and washing my hands a lot. But those measures can only do so much. Ultimately, I don’t have much control over what happens. This is scary. Fear arises. As long as I’m filled with longing to be sure I won’t lose anyone or anything I love, I’m going to experience anxiety and dukkha. If I let go of my longing, space opens up. The basic desire for safety for myself and my loved ones remains, and periodically something may trigger my fear. But the dukkha – the pervasive and perverting sense that things aren’t the way they should be, that something is fundamentally wrong – disappears. For a time, anyway.
What does it mean to “let go” of our longing? This is an experiential thing, not a philosophical argument, so each person will have their own way to describe how to let go, and what the result is. For me, in this example of longing to be sure I won’t lose anyone or anything, it means embracing the fact that I can’t know this, but that this is the nature of life. Centering myself in this moment, the fullness of my life fills me with gratitude, regardless of what might come. Not-knowing is our true state, and when we embrace it, we don’t feel scared, we feel enlivened and empowered. When loss comes, I will deal with it then. When I’m still caught up in longing, my body-mind feels constricted, twisted, and tense. When I let go, my situation may still seem daunting, but my extra resistance dissipates.
Sometimes I think about dukkha as responding to our circumstances by – metaphorically, at least – making fists, hunching over into a fighting stance, and yelling, “Nooooooo!” Sadly, this kind of resistance is futile, because it’s simply opposition to what is. Our lives go much more smoothly if we stand up, relax our body-mind, take stock of what’s going on, and just do our best.
When you find yourself twisted up with dukkha on top of your basic fear, you might want to ask yourself, “What can I let go of?” You don’t have to fix all of your attachments and delusions at once, but you might recognize at least one longing you’re holding on to that’s optional, and that can make a big difference.
Our Deepest Source of Strength in Buddhism
In theistic traditions, a person of deep faith can face fear by reminding themselves God has a plan and is merciful, or by taking solace in the fact that they will enjoy a heavenly realm along with their loved ones after death. How do Buddhists find strength and solace in fearful circumstances?
Obviously, I’ve already talked about various practices we can do to manage our fear and prevent it from controlling us, or causing us lots of pain. These practices were largely about the relative aspect of reality. What about the absolute, which I described earlier as “things just as they are – a crazy, miraculous manifestation of one, seamless, luminous reality?” From an absolute perspective, there is no separate being to be threatened, and even no problem when fear arises.
As I’ve discussed many times on this podcast, reality has both relative and absolute aspects at the same time, just as a finger is a separate physical manifestation and part of a hand at the same time. Therefore, saying “everything is precious and luminous just as it is” does not contradict in any way a relative reality in which everything might be going to hell in a handbasket. Both can be true at exactly the same time. And the precious and luminous piece doesn’t really help you deal with a relative challenge, such as a situation that’s causing fear, except that maintaining both absolute and relative perspectives at the same time can help you cope.
Again, this is about experience and not philosophy, so maybe an example will help. How does my small grasp of the absolute perspective give me strength and solace when facing the coronavirus? When I let go, for a moment, of my “mental map” of the world – something we learn to do through our meditation practice – I perceive things without my expectations and assumptions. Or, to be honest, the filter of my expectations and assumptions thins just a little bit. I feel my body, and breathe, and see the rhododendron bush outside my window. This moment of reality – actually the only reality there is – becomes alive, free from narratives about me, my life, safety, justice, right, wrong, gain, loss, birth, and death.
And how does reality appear, free from expectations, assumptions, and narratives? Vibrant. Alive. Miraculous. Intimate. Exquisite. Beyond comprehension but also laid bare. Tears well up in my eyes. In this boundless, seamless reality, the joys and sorrows of life are like the rising and setting of the sun, and the waxing and waning of the moon. Grief is only what love looks like in the face of loss. Our struggles are raw and pulsing unfoldings of life finding its way. It’s all okay, just as it is. And as part of what it is, I’m okay too.
We can’t grasp and package the strength and solace we gain from perceiving the absolute aspect of our existence. As soon we do, we’re just trying to apply it in the relative, which either doesn’t help, or causes us to adopt the wrong kind of emotional detachment – the kind that says things like, “Well, it’s all okay,” in the face of tremendous suffering. Still, at any moment, even when we’re feeling fear, we can stop and open ourselves up to our reality by relaxing our grasp on our expectations, assumptions, and narratives. And at the moment, as our hands are warmed by our tea cup, or we listen to our child’s laugh, or we watch a finch hide from the snow, we can remind ourselves, this too is real.
Image by Vektor Kunst from Pixabay
