In this dharma talk, Jack Kornfield reflects on how to meet the current moment—marked by political polarization, climate change, artificial intelligence, and nuclear fusion energy—through the Buddhist lens of impermanence (anicca), suffering (dukkha), and non-self (anatta). Rather than being swept into reactivity or despair, he offers a path grounded in quieting the mind, tending the heart, and recognizing our interdependence with all beings. The "Great Turning," a term describing humanity's shift from exploitative consumer consciousness toward mutual care and sustainable relationship, becomes not a burden but an invitation to practice wisdom, compassion, and unconditional love in the midst of radical change.
Kornfield begins by contextualizing the election cycle itself as part of a much larger landscape of change. Elections "come and go," he suggests, but what truly demands our attention are the massive forces reshaping human civilization: climate change, artificial intelligence, and nuclear fusion energy. These represent not merely political concerns but fundamental shifts in human capability and relationship to the earth.
This reframing is distinctly Buddhist in character. Rather than treating politics as ultimate, Kornfield invokes the doctrine of impermanence (anicca)—the recognition that all conditioned things are in constant flux. A political result, no matter how urgent it feels in the moment, is itself subject to change. The attachment to "our side winning" or "their side losing" misses the deeper teaching: that clinging to permanence in an impermanent world is itself a source of suffering. By stepping back to observe the larger forces at play—technological, ecological, spiritual—Kornfield invites practitioners to hold political engagement lightly, neither with cynicism nor despair.
Kornfield references Ajahn Chah, a beloved Thai forest monk teacher, to illustrate how wisdom traditions respond to outcomes we cannot control. Though the specific quote is not provided in the available material, the implicit teaching is that Ajahn Chah would likely counsel equanimity—the recognition that outcomes arise from countless causes and conditions beyond our individual will. This does not mean withdrawing from engagement; rather, it means engaging without the illusion that our preferred outcome will bring lasting happiness or security.
This is the heart of Buddhist realism: the world will continue to turn regardless of who holds power. Wars, aging, sickness, death, racism, and change persist across administrations and centuries. A spiritual practitioner's responsibility is not to ensure a particular political outcome but to tend their own heart and mind—to quiet the noise of reactivity so they can listen deeply and act from wisdom rather than fear.
Anicca, or impermanence, is one of the Three Marks of Existence in Buddhism. Kornfield uses this teaching to help practitioners understand the present moment not as a crisis demanding total control, but as a field of constant possibility. When we truly grasp impermanence, we release the exhausting effort to freeze the world as we wish it to be.
Uncertainty, in this framework, becomes liberating rather than terrifying. If we cannot predict or permanently secure outcomes, we are freed from the delusion that we can. This opens space for genuine listening—to the earth, to other beings, to the cries of those suffering. Annica teaches that nothing lasts, including both suffering and joy. This perspective can anchor practitioners during turbulent times: this too shall pass, whether it is political upheaval or personal loss.
The "Great Turning" is Kornfield's term (drawing on activist and Buddhist teacher Joanna Macy's framework) for the fundamental shift in human consciousness from exploitative, extractive, consumer-based relationship to the earth and to each other, toward one based on interdependence and mutual care. This is not a single event but a vast reorientation happening across generations.
Unlike viewing current crises as apocalyptic endpoints, Kornfield positions them as birth pains of a new way of being. Climate change, for instance, reveals the illusion of separation—the false belief that humans can endlessly extract from nature without consequence. Artificial intelligence raises questions about what it means to be human and how we relate to intelligence itself. These are not problems to solve in isolation but invitations to see ourselves as part of an interconnected whole.
The Great Turning also means facing directly what we have avoided: our collective suffering, warfare, racism, aging, death. Rather than transcending these by denial or spiritual bypass, practitioners are called to witness them with an open heart. This is the bodhisattva path—not escaping the world's pain but turning toward it with compassion.
The Three Marks of Existence—impermanence (anicca), suffering (dukkha), and non-self (anatta)—are often taught as sources of anxiety. But Kornfield reframes them as pathways to what the Buddha called nirvana: unshakeable freedom.
Dukkha, or suffering, is not merely pain but the fundamental unsatisfactoriness of conditioned existence—the stress that arises from clinging to impermanent things and treating the impermanent self as permanent. When we see clearly that the "I" we defend so fiercely is itself a flowing process rather than a solid entity, the armor we wear begins to soften. Anatta, non-self, is thus not a nihilistic doctrine but a liberation: if there is no fixed self to protect, no permanent identity to defend, then the endless vigilance and warfare in the mind can cease.
This understanding is directly relevant to politics. Much political polarization arises from rigid identity: "I am right, you are wrong"; "my group is good, your group is evil." Anatta dissolves this rigidity. All beings are flowing processes, all beliefs are provisional, all identities are permeable. From this recognition comes the possibility of genuine dialogue and compassion across difference.
Kornfield emphasizes four foundational practices rooted in Buddhist tradition: quieting the mind, tending the heart, listening to the cries of the world, and seeing with the eyes of wisdom. These are not esoteric techniques but direct applications of meditation and mindfulness to the contemporary moment.
Quieting the mind means stepping away from the constant loop of reactivity, judgment, and planning. In our hyperconnected age, the mind is rarely at rest. Meditation—even brief, daily practice—creates space where the nervous system can settle and genuine clarity can emerge. From a quiet mind, we are less likely to be swept into reactive politics or tribal thinking.
Tending the heart means cultivating lovingkindness (metta) and compassion (karuna) in daily practice. This is not sentimental; it is a deliberate training in expanding our circle of care to include those we dislike, those we fear, and ultimately all beings. Tending the heart also means acknowledging our own grief, anger, and fear—not suppressing them but meeting them with compassion.
Kornfield calls practitioners to listen—to the earth, to those experiencing racism, poverty, and injustice, to refugees and the displaced, to the ancient cries embedded in the bodies and lands we inhabit. This listening is the foundation of right action (samma-kammanta) in Buddhist ethics.
Without genuine listening, activism can become self-righteous or performative. With listening, action flows from compassion rather than anger or ideology. Kornfield implicitly invokes the teaching of the bodhisattva vow: to delay one's own final liberation in order to serve all beings. This is not martyrdom but recognition of our fundamental interdependence. My freedom is not separate from yours; my happiness is not separate from the world's healing.
Kornfield references a Zen teaching: the world as a "dew drop"—precious, momentary, already dissolving. This image captures the poignancy of existence. Each moment is both infinitely valuable and already passing away. A dew drop reflects the whole sun; a single moment contains the entire universe.
This perspective shifts our relationship to political outcomes and personal achievement. If all is dew drop, then neither victory nor defeat has the weight we imagine. Yet precisely because all is dew drop—precious and fleeting—every action matters. How we show up, how we treat each other, how we honor the earth: these are not trivial concerns but the very substance of a meaningful life.
Kornfield characterizes politics, in its current form, as "a form of ritualized warfare." Rather than armed combat, we wage symbolic battles: competing narratives, tribal affiliations, zero-sum thinking. The underlying pattern—an us-versus-them framework—remains the same as literal warfare.
This diagnosis is not cynical but clarifying. It suggests that genuine political change will not come primarily through winning electoral contests but through a shift in consciousness itself. As long as we operate from the illusion of separation and the assumption that my gain is your loss, politics will remain warfare by other means. The Great Turning, then, is also an invitation to transcend the adversarial model altogether, at least in our hearts.
Kornfield invokes the Bhagavad Gita and the figure of Arjuna, who stands on the battlefield facing relatives and teachers arrayed against him. Arjuna experiences despair and confusion—he does not want to fight his own kinsmen. Krishna, his charioteer and teacher, advises him to act according to his dharma (duty) without attachment to outcomes.
This teaching speaks directly to practitioners navigating politics and crisis today. We may find ourselves in situations requiring action—speaking truth, defending the vulnerable, working for justice—even when outcomes are uncertain and the cost is real. The Gita teaches that right action, undertaken with a clear conscience and without grasping for results, is the path forward. We do what is ours to do, not what we fantasize will save us.
Kornfield resists a narrative of unrelenting decline or inevitable apocalypse. Yes, human history contains enormous suffering, cruelty, warfare, and injustice. But it also contains profound acts of compassion, courage, and sweetness. Mothers protecting children, strangers risking their lives to shelter the persecuted, artists creating beauty in the midst of ruin, spiritual seekers dedicating their lives to liberation and service.
This balance is crucial for practitioners engaged in the Great Turning. Without acknowledging the darkness, we risk naive optimism. But without acknowledging the light, we risk despair and paralysis. The teaching is to hold both truths simultaneously: the world is suffering and beautiful, cruel and kind, finite and sacred.
Kornfield returns to the traditional Three Refuges of Buddhism: Buddha (the awakened nature within and exemplified by awakened beings), Dharma (the truth and teachings), and Sangha (community, both human and more-than-human). These are not external saviors but internal and relational resources.
In times of political upheaval and climate crisis, the Refuges offer anchor points. Buddha-refuge means trusting our own capacity for awakening and clarity. Dharma-refuge means returning to the fundamental teachings about impermanence, interdependence, and the path to freedom. Sangha-refuge means recognizing that we do not walk this path alone—we are held by lineages of teachers, by communities of practice, by all beings.
Kornfield's core teaching, stated throughout the talk, is that the antidote to reactivity and despair is unconditional love and a freedom from fear. This is not naive positivity but a spiritual maturity grounded in the understanding of impermanence, interdependence, and non-self.
Unconditional love (or universal lovingkindness) does not depend on outcomes or on whether others are "good" by our standards. It is offered simply because all beings seek happiness and deserve compassion. This love is paradoxically more resilient than conditional affection; it is not shattered when the beloved fails or when the world disappoints us.
Freedom from fear arises not from security—which is impossible in an impermanent world—but from accepting impermanence and recognizing our interconnection with all life. When we understand that our separate self is partly illusion, that death comes to us all, that we are part of an unfolding cosmos, then the small self's fear loses its grip. What remains is a willingness to live fully, love generously, and serve the Great Turning with grace.
To deepen this work, explore daily meditation practice, particularly loving-kindness (metta) meditation and mindfulness of breath or body. Read Buddhist texts on impermanence and non-self, such as the Dhammapada or contemporary teachers like Pema Chödrön. Engage with communities—both spiritual sanghas and activist groups—where you can practice interdependence and mutual support. Notice where you cling to permanent outcomes in politics or personal life, and gently investigate the suffering this creates. Listen—truly listen—to those who see the world differently than you do, and to the earth itself. And finally, consider what the Great Turning calls forth from you: not a forced awakening or heroic salvation, but a natural unfolding of compassion, wisdom, and service that flows from a quieted mind and tended heart.
