Reactive Cycles
Question:
‘Hi Roger, in your book you talk about reactive cycles. I’ve not heard of them before and it’s an interesting idea, so I was wondering if you could flesh it out for me, in particular how it relates to meditation practice.’
I coined the term ‘reactive cycles’ when I was writing ‘Happy to Burn’ – stupidly as it happens, because the more common term ‘feedback loop’ would have been better. So, silly me – anyway, the idea behind reactive cycles is that, aside from the natural friction and accidents of a life, a lot of our unique human suffering arises from them – the root cause being our habit of reacting to what we think has happened rather than what is actually happening – and that thinking then feeding our reactions, which feed the thinking, and so on. Mentality causing physicality, causing mentality causing physicality.
With our uniquely human capacity to mix up what we imagine with analysis and determination, and to then take action – well, it’s a form of madness only we know.
Perhaps it’s better if I explain with an example.
A dog will attack if it feels threatened. But as soon as the threat disappears, the dog’s mentality and physicality instantly begin returning to equilibrium. After a few minutes of relaxation response, it is as if the threat never existed. I
Unlike us the dog didn’t take what’s just happened in a personal way – it just reacted to make the threat go away, then relaxed.
But with us it’s different.
Humans in the same position, once the threat has gone, will keep remembering, imagining and reacting to what has just happened – all of which keeps activating the stress reaction in the body.
Reason being, we take what’s happened personally – perhaps feeling slighted, disrespected, or simply wanting revenge for a perceived wrong, (something only humans do). For whatever reason this internal story-telling keeps us in an aggressive posture long after the threat has gone.
Similarly, in a weird capacity for self-generated suffering, we are continually subject to reactive cycles between us and ourselves – our mind and body reacting to each other in a self-created dance that causes us to suffer more than other creatures.
An example.
I was in a supermarket once and a man and a woman passed me by pushing a trolley loaded with groceries. As they passed I noticed they were in the midst of a whispered argument – and I heard the man hiss, ‘I wasn’t angry before, but you made me angry, and that makes me really angry.’
Classic reactive cycle.
In effect, he was angry about being angry – his story being, he hated feeling angry, and his anger was making him even more angry. Angry thinking in his mind in a dance with the hormonal charge of anger in his body.
Another more apt example is depression.
It’s normal for depression to arise from an emotional reaction – of anger, or sadness, or frustration – which is not allowed expression. Perhaps we’re having a problem at work, or in a relationship, which we are unable to express or address. So, we get depressed until we get an opportunity to clear the air in one way or the other.
Then there’s the more insidious chronic depression, the cause of which is hidden deep in the dark ocean of our unconscious mind – some psychological glitch that, once triggered, causes a powerful hormonal charge to appear in our body.
However it begins, depression is so mentally and physically painful, not to mention confusing, that we react badly.
And our reaction to depression has the effect of intensifying and extending it, largely because we have no way of processing how we feel. Are we sad? Angry? Frustrated? We don’t know, because we’ve suppressed the original emotion. So we become depressed.
And because we don’t know what to do we take it personally – our mind making up stories in a futile attempt to ‘sort it out’ – muttering about how we’re no good, we’re a failure, we should die, blah blah blah … the mentality recharging the hormonal charge that caused the depression – and so we spin in a reactive cycle between mind and body, with the depression becoming more intense all the time.
An acquaintance of mine who was struggling with depression once said, ‘You know the most depressing thing about being depressed?’
I shook my head, saying, ‘No … what?’
He smiled ruefully, saying, ‘Being depressed. It’s so depressing.’
We create reactive cycles about all kinds of things. A friend accidentally says something that offends us? As they walk away we simmer with the offence, even for hours after they have disappeared – our mind inflaming our body, which in turn inflames our mind all the more.
We accidentally knock our shin on the sharp corner of a bed – instead of simply accepting the sharp pain and relaxing around it, in which case it quickly disappears, we tense up around it and castigate ourself for being so clumsy, then worry we’ve done ourselves damage – which only makes the pain more intense and long-lasting.
And then there is the ultimate reactive cycle – being in a cold sweat worrying about something that might happen, or has happened. Mind creating fear, which inflames the mind, which creates more fear.
We’re constantly taking life personally, turning it into stories that inflame us in one way or another, long after the natural causes have gone.
So how does this relate to meditation? Well, as I’ve said many times, in practising meditation, we’re building a skill – the skill of being able to let go. The ability to let go is the door through which stillness appears.
Let go of what?
Well, as we meditate, we should be practising how to let go of everything – whatever our attention sticks to.
So, why is this skill of letting go so significant when it comes to the reactive cycles?
Well, it’s a bit like a game of throw the ball – whether an argument, a depressive state or a war between nations, a reactive cycle is like a game of throwing the ball – something throws a ball to something else, which feels compelled to throw the ball back, and so on.
So, letting go is when we drop the ball. And we keep on dropping the ball. Eventually whatever, or whoever is throwing the ball back at us will eventually stop, because we’re not playing anymore.
Without us feeding our side of the reactive cycle, whatever is disturbing us will fade away. That’s what we’re practising as we meditate – letting go of whatever our attention attaches to.
And that’s why the breath is so important in meditation. As we practice constantly removing our attention from whatever it attaches to, we keep returning it to the breath, and over time our mind learns how to let go.
And the more we practice, the more instinctive letting go becomes. And the more instinctive it becomes, the less prone we are to becoming stuck in reactive cycles. And life becomes less fraught.
Not sure what else I can add to this. Hope it makes sense.
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Hi Roger— great post as usual !
I like your description of this but have one question, one which, for me , keeps coming up in almost all facets of mindfulness. Specifically, unlike the dog, humans are consciously aware that their survival is at stake, or that their survival depends on others. So anytime a human gets a strong emotion, be it sad, angry , depressed etc , you can usually trace it back to some aspect of their survival being jeopardised. And to the extent there is any purpose to life, survival would arguably be that purpose, as almost every action taken by you is designed to protect your survival.
So I think there is this fear that if we don’t cling , we will be giving up the fight fir survival — we will lose ( die) to say it bluntly. To compound this , unlike the dog , in addition to our thinking mind being aware of our purpose our thinking mind in modern times is the main tool we use to survive, so this makes it even harder to be like the dog. And to compound it further , unlike the dig, we are aware of time and the finiteness of our survival ( death).
So all in all, it seems our predicament as humans is that we are aware of our purpose, of what’s at stake , and that our time is short. This, unlike the dog , taxes our system to such a higher degree, and makes clinging much more a part of us. I agree that mindfulness is the best tool to improve the situation, but I think we all underestimate, way underestimate , how ingrained consciousness of our survival being at stake, our awareness of time, and our modern need to rely on our thinking mind for survival all mess with us to such a large degree,
Thanks again for your posts
Hi KJ …sorry this reply has been so long in coming. I’ve been a bit preoccupied with other stuff.
I appreciate your point that, unlike the dog, we need to live and work within the story we humans have created, which entails conceptualizing and imagining scenarios of possibility before acting. Our lives are very …um…. political, one might say. which, causes us to utilize a part of our mind that the dog has no need for. Where it acts instinctively when it needs to, in our highly political culture, we must strategize and consider many options before acting.
Our survival depends on it.
All of which enhances our habits of over-thinking and getting caught in internalized reactive cycles that make us sick – most notable being our habit of worrying about things that are not immediate.
I probably didn’t make it clear, but I am not proposing a black and white conclusion – that bein, I am not saying we should live from pure instinct like the dog – as you point out, that would not work in our human world. But there is a middle way – that being, we should be able to think and strategize our way through life, without taking it as personally as we tend to – which makes us sick. To live in a more detached way, clear of emotional bias.
And this is what meditation trains us for – it helps us to be able to learn to let go of our personal bias, and strategize our way through life, so that when it comes time to act, our actions are as clean and precise as possible.
The Samurai warrior culture of ancient Japan formalized some of what I am talking about – their concept of ‘no mind’.
‘No mind’ does not imply a lack of intelligence or awareness or forethought. Rather, ‘no mind’ represents a state of mental clarity, calmness, and pure perception, free of egoistic dissonance. It allows the samurai, once action has been decided, to act spontaneously and instinctively to any situation without being hindered by distracting thoughts or emotions.
The idea behind cultivating “no mind” is to train the mind to be free from attachment to anticipated outcomes or the ego, so the samurai can respond to the immediate demands of the present moment. This mental state enables quick decision-making, rapid reflexes, and a heightened awareness of the opponent’s movements.
In Japanese, it’s called ‘mushin’, and it’s not limited to combat situations, but can be applied to any aspect of life. It is seen being fully engaged in the present moment rather than being preoccupied with the past or future. By practicing “no mind,” we act in flow, with our actions effortless and instinctive.
I hope I’ve added some value to the conversation.