To be a good person... - Part 5

Among the many qualities one must cultivate to purify bodily, verbal, and mental actions, acceptance stands as one of the most essential. So often, human beings act from impulse or rigid personal views, neglecting the well-being of themselves and others: an outcome born of the absence of acceptance. True acceptance is not passive submission; it is a profound state of mind grounded in wisdom, and embraces patience, renunciation, empathy, karuṇā (compassion), and mettā (loving-kindness). When cultivated, acceptance becomes the fertile ground from which all wholesome conduct arises, guiding one gently towards being a good person in the eye of the Dhamma.

Acceptance in its highest form is born from upekkhā, the fourth of the brahmavihāras, or divine abidings. Many understand upekkhā as calmness — a balanced state of mind free from pride or sorrow but this is only the surface. The true essence of upekkhā lies in wisdom: the direct seeing that each being is the heir to their own actions (kammassakā).

Upekkhā is built upon the profound insight that "all beings are owners of their kamma, heirs of their kamma; all have kamma as their origin, kamma as their relative, kamma as their resort; all will be heirs of whatever kamma, good or bad, that they do." This understanding that each being creates their own kamma and experiences its consequences, and gives rise to acceptance and genuine acceptance of things as they are. Yet upekkhā is far more than mere intellectual acknowledgment of kammic inheritance. At its core is the profound understanding that all things are conditioned: the law of causality itself. This recognition that each being creates their own kamma within the vast web of conditions and experiences its inevitable consequences gives rise to acceptance and inner balance. It also stands as one of the pāramīs (perfections) that must be cultivated by those aspiring to attain the Noble Path and Fruition. The perfection of upekkhā as a brahmavihāra is nourished by wisdom, patience, acceptance, and the other divine abodes — mettā, karuṇā, and muditā — all working in harmonious integration.

Only one who possesses wisdom can truly cultivate upekkhā. This wisdom includes right view: the clear understanding that kamma exists, that kamma bears fruit, and that all conditioned formations are subject not only to kamma but also to the intricate web of countless past and present conditions. Without this penetrating insight into the nature of causality, upekkhā remains shallow and unstable.

Only one who possesses patience can accept the ripening of unfavorable kamma with equanimity, grounded in the understanding that nothing, neither pleasant nor painful, lasts forever. This patient endurance is not passive complacency, but an active recognition of impermanence.

Only one who possesses genuine acceptance can face both fortunate and unfortunate circumstances without falling into the extremes of prideful elation or despairing sorrow. This balanced acceptance allows the mind to remain steady amid life's inevitable fluctuations.

Finally, only one who has cultivated the other brahmavihāras — mettā (loving-kindness), karuṇā (compassion), and muditā (altruistic joy) — can sustain upekkhā with wisdom rather than cold indifference. With these qualities present, one can remain kind to others when circumstances turn difficult, and equally important, extend that same kindness toward oneself. Upekkhā without the heart qualities of the other divine abodes becomes mere detachment, cold indifference or abandonment.

Acceptance <-> Upekkhā

Acceptance is both the fruit and the seed of upekkhā. When we genuinely accept circumstances as they are, without the mental friction of wishing things were different due to our own greed, anger, or delusion, we create the inner spaciousness for upekkhā to arise. This acceptance is not resignation or defeat; rather, it is a clear acknowledgment of reality: "This is how things are in this moment, conditioned by countless causes I cannot fully control or comprehend." As this acceptance deepens, the mind settles into equanimity, no longer churning with resistance against what has already come to be.

The relationship flows both ways: as upekkhā strengthens through practice and wisdom, it enables ever-deeper levels of acceptance. The balanced mind, rooted in understanding the law of kamma and causality, finds it increasingly natural to accept both pleasant and unpleasant experiences without clinging or aversion. Thus acceptance and upekkhā become mutually reinforcing: acceptance opens the door to equanimity, and equanimity expands our capacity for acceptance. Without acceptance, upekkhā remains theoretical, disingenuous, and cold; without upekkhā, acceptance lacks the wisdom, patience, and stability to endure life's most challenging trials.

But why is upekkhā so essential for the proper cultivation of acceptance? To understand this, we must first examine what blocks acceptance in the first place.

The Illusion of Control

Most of the anxiety, fear, frustration, anger, and other unwholesome states we experience arise from the sense of not being in control. Rooted in māna — the conceit "I am" — the mind clings to the notion of a personal identity: me, mine, myself. From this false center grows the belief that we should command and shape the events of our lives, both inwardly and outwardly.

At first, this illusion seeks control over our own thoughts, bodies, and circumstances. But gradually it expands: we are no longer satisfied with controlling ourselves; we also want to control others, bending them to our will, thoughts, and liking. We expect the world and the people in it to behave according to our preferences. When they do, pride arises: "I have succeeded; things are as I wish." But when circumstances defy our expectations, the very same māna turns sour, manifesting as fear, anxiety, disappointment, or anger—all forms of dosa-rooted reactions to the failure of our imagined control. Within this web of defilements, the restless urge to control springs from māna, and when reality refuses to yield to our will, it ripens into dosa. But, this entire struggle rests on a fundamental misunderstanding.

The Buddha taught, time and again, that everything is conditioned. Every formation, every experience — whether physical form, feeling, perception, or thought — arises dependent on causes, and not just one cause, but multiple causes converging. All phenomena — the body, feelings, mind, perceptions, and mental states — are conditioned. To suppose mastery over them is to mistake participation for control. What we call "our effort" is itself merely one conditioned factor among countless others, most of which we cannot command. We can guide our minds to engage in wholesome or unwholesome actions, to pursue plans, goals, and objectives, yet results do not arise from desire, will, or effort alone. Many conditions must converge for any event to occur.

Consider a simple example: to see a beautiful Buddha statue, several conditions are required, which are a functioning eye-base, the presence of light, the object itself, attention directed toward it, and contact between the eye and the visible form. From this contact arises consciousness, which attends to the object, perceives, receives, investigates, and registers the experience. There must also be manasikāra (attention) and, above all, the kamma that has provided one with a body and the faculty of sight. In this seemingly simple process, where can one find an independent "I" who controls it all? Nowhere. Even this basic act of seeing occurs through conditions, not through command. When this truth is seen directly, even in such a fundamental experience, the illusion of self begins to loosen. This insight deepens further with the understanding of paṭiccasamuppāda—Dependent Origination—where one realizes through direct experience that every moment of life arises from a web of conditions, and that there is no fixed agent behind them, only the law of causality unfolding.

This is why, in explaining the law of causality, the Abhidhamma Commentary expresses this profound truth:

"In this world, there is no single effect that arises from a single cause.

Nor are there many effects that arise from a single cause.

Nor is there a single effect that arises from many causes.

Rather, many effects arise from many causes."

Given this profound nature of causality, that all phenomena are conditioned by multiple, interconnected causes, we must carefully examine our mental habits: the inclinations, temperaments, and thought patterns we habitually try to control. When we speak of "control" here, we are not referring to the wholesome forms the Buddha taught, such as sense restraint, avoiding unwise companions, or refraining from immoral actions. Rather, we mean the unhealthy compulsion to control that is rooted in māna (the conceit of self, the sense of "I") and characterised by mental rigidity: an inability to accept things and circumstances as they truly are.

This acceptance, ultimately, springs from the proper understanding and cultivation of upekkhā. While the core essence of upekkhā is recognising that all beings are heirs to their kamma, this understanding extends far beyond kamma alone. It encompasses the full law of causality: when we speak of kamma, we see it as one cause among many and not as the sole determinant, which would lead to determinism or fatalism. Upekkhā therefore rests on comprehending the intricate web of conditionality: past kamma, present effort, environmental factors, natural laws, and countless visible and invisible conditions all converging to shape each moment. When this profound understanding matures through practice, acceptance naturally grows. The mind gradually releases its grip on mental rigidity, which is the demanding insistence that things must be a certain way, and softens the harshness we direct toward ourselves, others, and circumstances.

How do we develop the mental strength to accept things as they are?

We can reflect on and cultivate the very principles upon which the brahmavihāra of upekkhā is built. Upekkhā is the mind's capacity to embrace all phenomena without being touched, swayed, or bound by them. Like space itself: vast, all-accommodating, yet unstained by whatever it contains. It is rooted in the understanding that all things are conditioned, and among such conditions, kamma is the most powerful force shaping our experience.

True acceptance is not passive resignation or indifference, but from the power of upekkhā grounded in this wisdom. When we deeply understand that all phenomena, both pleasant and unpleasant, both desired and unwanted, are conditioned by kamma and countless past and present causes beyond our immediate control, the mind can let go of the desperate grip that "this is how things should be."

We cannot change our past deeds, for they have already occurred. Whatever actions we performed — wholesome or unwholesome — we are now the heirs of that kamma. This is an immutable truth. Yet kamma is not the sole condition shaping our present experience. Natural laws, environmental factors, and countless present conditions — our health, knowledge, mental state, bodily capabilities, and surroundings — all converge to condition what we experience in each moment. Some of these conditions we can identify; many remain hidden from our direct perception and knowledge.

The wisdom to recognise the full scope of conditionality is the understanding that our experience arises from the intricate convergence of many causes: not from kamma alone, nor from any single factor we might control or believe we can control. As a result, when we encounter desirable circumstances, we accept them without clinging, knowing they are conditioned and impermanent. At the very least, we can reflect and cultivate muditā that this is due to past wholesome kamma. On the other hand, when we encounter undesirable ones, we also accept them without aversion or remorse, understanding that this is due to past unwholesome kamma and that the time to pay that kammic debt is due, and that they too have arisen from causes beyond our complete control or alteration. But this suffering is temporary, so there is no need to feel angry or sad over such circumstances.

This understanding dismantles the illusion that we can micromanage reality according to our preferences. Just as we cannot change the past or force a seed to become a tree overnight, we cannot bend the vast web of causality to our limited will. What arises in this moment has been conditioned by innumerable factors — our past actions, the actions of others, natural laws, environmental conditions, and the complex interplay of mental and material phenomena.

Acceptance is neither Fatalism nor Determinism

We must be careful not to fall into determinism or fatalism. Understanding conditionality does not mean resigning ourselves to passive acceptance, as if everything were predetermined and our efforts meaningless. On the contrary, our present effort —our current choices, actions, and mental states — is itself one of the most powerful conditions shaping what arises. The Buddha taught that while past kamma influences our present circumstances, it does not determine them absolutely. Present effort (vīriya) matters profoundly. When we practice skillfully — cultivating wholesome thoughts, making wise choices, applying right effort — we actively create conditions for desirable outcomes. When we neglect practice or act unskillfully, we create conditions leading towards suffering. This is why the Buddha emphasised both understanding kamma and making diligent effort, including vīriya as a factor of the Noble Eightfold Path and a key determinant of success in both meditation and daily life.

In essence, the wisdom of upekkhā is not: "Whatever will be, will be, so why try?" Rather, it is: "I will act skillfully with full effort and right intention, and I will accept whatever results arise—knowing they depend upon countless conditions, not on my will alone." This wisdom is the ability to keep the mind fully engaged in the present moment, accepting what is happening right now without regret for the past or anxiety about the future. In this very moment, we accept what has arisen and wisely discern what action, if any, is called for.

Upekkhā in its fullest expression is clear seeing of conditionality, wise acceptance, and skillful response, all meeting in the living present.

Cultivating Acceptance in Practice

This understanding of conditionality and acceptance can be actively cultivated both in formal meditation and in our daily relationships with ourselves and others.

In Meditation:

This acceptance becomes especially crucial during periods when progress seems elusive. Many practitioners encounter phases where, despite sincere effort and consistent practice, the mind feels dull, concentration remains weak, or insight seems impossibly distant. In these moments, frustration and self-doubt naturally arise: "Why am I not improving? What am I doing wrong? Perhaps I'm simply incapable of deep practice."

In such moments, when we resist our current state—fighting and becoming discouraged by our perceived failures—we add a layer of mental suffering that further obstructs the path. The frustration itself becomes an additional hindrance, draining energy that could be directed toward skillful practice. Acceptance here means recognising: "This is where my practice stands right now, conditioned by countless factors—past kamma, present conditions. Fighting against this reality will not change it; it will only create more suffering." From this point of clear-eyed acceptance, we can ask: "Given where I am now, what is the wise action? What effort can I apply in this moment?"

For meditators, as acceptance and upekkhā strengthen, the heart softens. It becomes receptive to the profound calm and insight that arise naturally from practice. Whenever wholesome mental states occur, they are accompanied by corresponding mental factors (cetasikā) such as lahutā (lightness), mudutā (malleability), kammaññatā (workableness), pāguññatā (proficiency), and ujukatā (rectitude). These qualities render the mind supple, balanced, and ready for wholesome action. They become especially potent during moments of deep concentration (samādhi) and insight (vipassanā).

Acceptance (and upekkhā) directly nourishes these wholesome qualities. When the mind accepts its present state without aversion, it becomes light (lahutā), free from the heaviness of resistance, sloth and torpor of discontentment and laziness. When it allows conditions to unfold, it becomes malleable (mudutā), bending easily towards wisdom rather than being rigid with pride or wrong view. When the mind trusts the process, it becomes workable (kammaññatā), applying effort smoothly without strain, and also repels the hindrances that make the mind rigid and incompetent in wholesome activities. Acceptance cultivates proficiency (pāguññatā), enabling the mind to be fit, competent and healthy in all wholesome deeds, and uprightness (ujukatā) to align the mind with honesty and integrity rather than self-deception.

However, when the mind dwells in the opposite — in unwholesome states — these wholesome qualities cannot arise. Even if they appear briefly, they are soon weakened by the surrounding defilements. This can be clearly observed during meditation: when clinging, aversion, or restlessness arise due to the inability to accept what is, the mind becomes heavy, rigid, and resistant, losing its natural lightness and pliancy. To restore and strengthen these wholesome qualities, one must practise mindful letting go — an acceptance grounded in upekkhā through wise reflection both within meditation and in the flow of daily life.

Seeds planted through consistent practice may be germinating underground, not yet visible but nevertheless growing. Or perhaps the practice is teaching us patience, humility, and surrender, which are lessons as valuable as any dramatic insight. Paradoxically, it is often only through accepting where we are — truly accepting, without resistance — that the mind finally becomes still enough, open enough, and receptive enough for the next stage of development to emerge. This does not mean we abandon effort or settle for complacency. We continue to practice diligently, applying right effort and wise attention but we do so from a foundation of acceptance rather than desperate striving, recognising that results will arise when conditions align, and that our concern should be with the quality of our effort and the conditions we cultivate, not with demanding specific outcomes on our preferred timeline.

In Daily Life:

With others, acceptance that is developed on upekkhā allows us to maintain compassion and kindness without becoming overwhelmed by their suffering or overly attached to particular outcomes. Perhaps more importantly, it frees us from the burden of imposing our expectations upon those we love: expectations that, however well-intentioned, often become sources of conflict, disappointment, and disconnection.

Consider the parent who expects their adult child to pursue a particular career, or live according to values the parent holds dear. When the child chooses differently, frustration and resentment can negatively impact the relationship. Or the partner who expects their spouse to express love in specific ways, think through problems as they do, or change fundamental aspects of their personality. When reality fails to match these expectations, disappointment breeds criticism and conflict. Or the friend who expects constant availability, identical views, or a particular level of emotional reciprocity—and feels hurt or betrayed when the friendship doesn't conform to these desires.

We can see that most relationship problems arise from an inability to accept either the other person or oneself as they truly are: it often grows from the collision between “who they are” and “who I want them to be.” That is why acceptance plays a pivotal role in cultivating genuine understanding between people. When someone we care about makes choices we disagree with, we can reflect: “They act according to their own understanding, conditioning, and present circumstances, not according to my vision of what their life should be. They are the heirs of their own kamma; whatever they do, wholesome or unwholesome, they will experience the corresponding results.” This does not mean we abandon them or withhold guidance when appropriate. We can still offer support, advice, and assistance when it may truly help. But we release the exhausting burden of trying to control their lives or taking responsibility for choices that are ultimately theirs to make.

A parent practising acceptance through upekkhā might reflect: “My child’s path is their own. I can offer guidance and share the wisdom of my experience, but I cannot and should not live their life for them. Their choices will bear their own fruits, and through those results they will learn and grow.” This acceptance does not mean loving one’s children any less. There must still be wise and appropriate guidance, given with care and understanding. Yet parents should realise that they cannot live their children’s lives for them, nor mould them entirely into what they wish them to be. The essence of upekkhā in parental love is that it is wise, and non-possessive.

A partner, relative, or close friend practising acceptance through upekkhā may reflect:

“This person who is dear to me has their own conditioning, their own way of feeling and responding, their own path of growth. I can express my needs clearly and work toward mutual understanding, but I cannot reshape them to fit my preferences. Can I love, care for and cherish them as they are, rather than resenting them for not being who I imagined?”

When others treat us unkindly, the wisdom born of acceptance and upekkhā allows us to recognise: “This person’s behaviour arises from their own suffering, their conditioning, and their defilements. They will also experience the results of their own unwholesome kamma. It is not fundamentally about me.” When we see this clearly, we stop taking everything personally, mistaking others' pain for our own failure. Of course, this understanding also doesn't excuse harmful behavior, nor does it require us to tolerate mistreatment or accusations. We can and should maintain boundaries, respond skillfully, and take appropriate action to protect ourselves but we do so without carrying the burden of resentment.

There are countless examples that could be given. These few merely illustrate how acceptance, when nourished by upekkhā, can create and sustain harmonious relationships, and creates space for genuine mettā, karuṇā, and muditā: we wish others well, feel compassion for their struggles, and rejoice in their happiness, while accepting that we cannot control their journey or shield them from the consequences of their own kamma. We offer what we can offer, accept what we cannot change, and remain ready to help when our effort can make a skillful difference.

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With such wise attention, practice and insight from proper cultivation of upekkhā, it matures into a profound acceptance of reality as it is without any participation. We cultivate a receptive state of awareness, an acceptance of all phenomena such as they are—free of wanting things to be any different, without aversion, without clinging desperation, and without arrogant assumption that we alone determine outcomes.

When acceptance through upekkhā is strong, we recognise: "This has come to be because conditions have supported it. This too will pass when conditions change." The mind remains balanced whether facing praise or blame, gain or loss, pleasure or pain because it understands the conditioned nature of our existences, and the inability to micromanage and control every aspect of our lives.

When acceptance through upekkhā is well established, the mind becomes steady, upright, and clear. Possessing wisdom, patience, empathy, wise detachment, mettā, karuṇā, muditā, and tranquillity, one becomes a 'sappurisa': a person of integrity who lives in accordance with the Dhamma.