The Revealed Path

AC: In your chapter on "Imagination," you write that awakening is "by its very nature . . . free from the constraints of preconceived ideas, images, and doctrines. It offers no answers, only the possibility of new beginnings." My question here would be: Doesn't genuine awakening clearly and unambiguously reveal that perfect middle place between all pairs of opposites, in other words, the revealed path, the knowledge of which is the source of all genuine doctrine?

SB: That's not the language I myself would use. Again, though, I think I know what you're getting at, but maybe you could explain what you mean by "the revealed path."

AC: By "the revealed path" I mean that in profound insight it would always become clear what the only right response could possibly be.

SB: Okay, yes, I would sort of accept that and I think, in this case, that we're not actually saying much that's totally different. When I say that it gives no answers, only new beginnings or the possibility of new beginnings, I think that what you've just described is really the same thing I'm pointing to.

AC: Okay, but the reason I'm pursuing this is because when you say that it "offers no answers," again—and I might be misconstruing or misunderstanding it—the implication seems to be that there really isn't any Answer with a capital "A."

SB: That's right.

AC: Whereas what I would say is that what I'm calling this "perfect middle place between all pairs of opposites" would be the answer. In other words, one would never be able to know beforehand specifically what the appropriate response would be, but that place from which it is revealed at any given moment would be discovered to be always one and the same.

SB: Well, I don't know . . . maybe. Again, you see, I think this is not language I find so helpful. When I say, for example, that awakening does not give answers, only the possibility of new beginnings, what I'm getting at is that any kind of genuine insight experience—whether you call it awakening or anything else—is something that will only ever find expression in response to the specific and unique demand of the situation in which one finds oneself. The form that it takes will always be different because our situations are always changing due to the fact that they're fluid, they're contingent on different factors, there are different demands and so on and so forth. But I still think we're probably quibbling over words here.

AC: Well, no, because again, what I'm suggesting is that the insight itself—that depth of insight that is free from all fixed ideas—is the answer. But I get the sense in reading your book—and I think it's because you obviously feel strongly, and for many very good reasons, about staying away from anything that is absolute—that you believe there simply couldn't be one. Now that's fair enough, but it is my own experience that there is indeed an answer, and that answer is the discovery of that place—which, interestingly enough, I do agree you might be pointing to—where there are no fixed ideas. My point, though, is that when we are able to discover that place, it becomes possible for us to always know, or to always find out, what the right response actually is.

SB: Well I can accept that as long as we don't literalize that place as something that we can fix, as it were. I mean, I'm rather at home with the notion in Zen that one constituent of the awakened mind is that it is one in which there is no place to rest. And I think that what I'm trying to get at here is that I feel that the Buddha was always shying away from the idea that there was some kind of final absolute resting place—that although he recognized that through various disciplines and practices and lifestyles you can free yourself from the constraints that hold you in particular places and lock you into positions and fixations and so on, still, that process of liberation is not in itself a place but a possibility. It's an opening to a fresh and unprecedented response to the contingencies of the world. In other words, I see Buddhism and Buddhist practice as operating within a very dynamic context, one that is not concerned with, and in fact is highly suspicious of, the rhetoric and language of place, of ultimates, of absolutes, of positions of any kind.

AC: Well, as you say, when we're using language we can sometimes get into a little bit of difficulty. But when I say that the place I'm referring to is between all pairs of opposites, it ought to be pretty clear that from the point of view of the rational mind, it's not really a place that can be imagined, because it's inherently free from all the constrictions of any view. And yet, it is precisely the discovery of that "no-place" that makes a truly enlightened response to life possible.

SB: Yes, okay. In that way I can go along with it, I suppose. But to me, the point is really about freeing myself from fixations that trap one in a fixed set of images, ideas, views, patterns and so on, and once that style of being or way of being is realized, it's not as if you've discovered a place to rest, but rather an openness to responding to the world in a way that is not cluttered and labored and tied down with fixations and places.

 

Re-imagining the Self

AC: In the same chapter, "Imagination," you go on to say that the "notion of a static self is the primary obstruction to the realization of our unique potential as an individual being." Now it wasn't completely clear to me when I read this whether by "static self" you were referring to notions about the ego/personality or about the Self Absolute. But in either case, while I can understand why the notion of a static self could easily be "the primary obstruction to the realization of our unique potential as an individual being," it isn't so clear to me why the realization of our "unique potential as an individual being" would be so important to begin with, particularly in the context of enlightenment.

SB: Well first of all, in that particular passage I suppose I'm primarily referring more to a notion of ego. But at the same time, I would also include metaphysical and religious ideas of a kind of absolute Self, only with rather more caution because I know that that concept can be understood in a number of ways that are not at all similar to the way we hold an ego. I do believe, though, that for many people the notion of Self with a capital "S," however it is defined, is in many ways a kind of consolatory device to give one something to hold on to, something that you can identify with as being "me." Otherwise, I don't really see why someone would feel any particular need to perpetuate the use of the "S-word." For me, you see, one of the attractions of Buddhism is that the Buddha is fairly ruthless in refusing any kind of legitimacy to the term "self," and I think that whether we're speaking in terms of a contemporary psychological experience in which we're trapped in a kind of egoic, narcissistic self-preoccupation or in terms of the more mystical stance of resting in one's true Self with a capital "S," the problem is still the same. And that is that one is still trapped in a language of things and points and places rather than allowing oneself to become open to the possibility of imagining things otherwise. You mentioned that the passage we're speaking about came from my chapter on imagination, and I'd like to pursue that because for me, imagination is the key issue here.

Again, it's my understanding that the experience of insight or awakening is not something final in itself, and should not be thought of as an answer in itself, and the reason for that is that it's not really complete, really fulfilled, until it finds a form in the world, and that form is realized through the activation of the imagination. In other words, an authentic response is found not through satisfaction or fulfillment for me in my own personal domain, my own personal territory—be it the ego or the mystical Self—but at that point where I reenter the world of images, ideas, forms, suffering, pain and confusion that is all around me—all of which is, after all, not in my own psyche but in the world I inhabit. Awakening, therefore, if we're to expand the word out further, is not an exclusively subjective or private experience. It is actually an experience that embraces one's own personal expression as one pole of it, but then expands imaginatively through and into words and acts and images that take form in the world we share with other beings. And that is really, I feel, another way of expressing the more traditional idea of the integration of wisdom and compassion, which states that awakening is not just about wisdom but is the unification, the integration, of these two. So I don't see awakening as a private state at all, but rather as a description of a way of being in the world. The breaking down of these borders of self is tantamount to an opening to, an exposure to, a vulnerability or transparency to, the plight of the world, of the other—and that to me is really the core of what I understand by awakening. So I hope that helps to explain some of my critical points.

AC: That's very beautiful; it's what I would call a truly nondual view. What you're describing is truly holistic in that it's inclusive rather than exclusive.

SB: Yes, exactly.

AC: At the same time, I find it interesting that you're putting a great deal of emphasis on the autonomous individual's freedom to realize his or her unique capacity for personal and social fulfillment. Of course, from a certain point of view it definitely makes sense; the only question I have about it has to do with the fact that at some point, if someone is truly interested in becoming a liberated person, even the notions of autonomy, individual freedom and personal fulfillment are going to have to be left aside in order to find out what it actually means to be in the unknown—wouldn't you agree?

SB: I agree, but I wouldn't say "left aside." This is an important question, I think. I don't feel that the status of the individual and their personal autonomy are notions that need to be abandoned so much as radically reconstrued. In other words, one needs to recognize that one's sense of personal autonomy or individuality, from a deluded or nonawakened state, is one that is premised on the idea that underpinning one's sense of who one is is some kind of esoteric substance called "me," some kind of fixed, static point within my experience that represents the ground of my being. Now through exploring and inquiring into the nature of self, into the nature of who or what one is, that image is exploded in the sense that one begins more and more to recognize that who I am, which is unique and individual to a degree, is not what it is because of some fixed point within me but because of the unrepeatable matrix of conditions and causes and contingencies and so on that differentiate this being here from that being there. In other words, it's a recognition that who and what I am is a unique reflection of the whole, a unique reflection of everything else that is.

Now obviously, a notion of individuality or autonomy such as this is radically different from the more commonsense, gut-feeling notion of individuality or autonomy that we normally hold. I am who I am, in this case, not because of a deep sense of me, but because of my unique position, as it were, in relation to everything else—even physically. I mean, each person stands on the earth and looks at the world in a way that only that person could see the world.

 

What Defines a "Culture of Awakening"?

AC: It's obviously true that in a certain sense a liberated human being would be, and should be, a very clear example of a person who had realized his or her creative autonomy. The only point I'm trying to make is that if an individual is truly interested in awakening, then in order to take that leap into the unknown—which, as we all know, is not necessarily an easy thing to do because there is a profound existential fear of not knowing—they have to find a way to avoid the temptation of seeking solace in the belief that no matter what happened, they didn't have to worry because they were always going to remain quite unique. Quite often what we human beings are most afraid of is losing our uniqueness, precisely because, as you pointed out, this is what we hold on to in order to be able to recognize ourselves. So in order to become free, we obviously have to get to that point where we're no longer so compulsively looking to find ourselves.

SB: That's an important point, and it takes us back to the notion of what it actually means to pursue existential questions in a radical sense. What it means, of course, is to put everything up for question. And if you're not prepared to do that, then you're not really prepared to open yourself to another response to life.

AC: Absolutely true.

SB: But at the same time I think it's important to remember that it's a sequence of steps that is implied here, and initially the very possibility of making those steps depends upon the person feeling empowered to act, to take a step. Now it could be that the next step you take is one in which you then begin to radically question every assumption you have about yourself or your individuality, your personhood, and clearly, I agree that that is a very necessary part of the process, and that it is a very radical, unsettling and scary thing to do. But as I said at the beginning, one would only take that step were one confident in one's own personal power and ability, as it were, to do so. So these two things—autonomy and radical questioning—somehow go hand in hand, and for that reason I'd be reluctant to accept that there is any kind of language sufficient for all instances and all phases of the process itself. One needs to value and recognize different vocabularies, as it were, at different stages of one's engagement with this process.

I'd like to add to this another idea I believe I mentioned earlier, that of the "culture of awakening." I think there's a tendency in the West to sometimes give too much importance to the centrality of the individual embarking on a heroic quest, rather than looking from more of a historical distance and seeing that the possibility for that heroic quest rests on there being a place in the culture that values and supports it. What I see as the role of Buddhism in society—and of other traditions, too—is not as some kind of personal strategy for individuals but rather as the foundation for a culture in which such behavior is legitimized, valued, clearly articulated and encouraged in all strata of our society. And that, I think, is in many respects a far more important challenge for those of us who are engaging with these ideas today than always bringing it back again and again to the heroic individual quest. Now some people will, of course, feel that to be the prime motive for their response to their own existential or spiritual concerns, and I have no problem with that. But it does somehow exclude or put in second place those who are more concerned, perhaps, with creating structures that will give rise to a culture of awakening that will hopefully, over a much longer term, provide us with a means to transform this highly materialistic and very narcissistic culture that we live in at present into one that supports the kinds of values that we're discussing at the moment.

AC: One would think that they would go hand in hand. But unless at least a few are willing to be so heroic as to go beyond the known completely, what exactly the vision of those new structures would be couldn't become very clear—could it?

SB: Yes and no. Of course that element is crucial, without a doubt. But I think it also perhaps underestimates, or doesn't sufficiently value, the innate intuitive capacities of creative people—poets and artists and others—who may not be drawn toward that kind of intense spiritual practice but are nevertheless somehow intuitively in touch with other possibilities and forms, which, to me, also represent very legitimate forms of practice. So again, it's a question of recognizing that this awakening thing does not necessarily correspond to the model you seem to have of the heroic individual striving to let go of all of their stuff and embrace the unknown and so on as very much the solitary quest. That kind of approach, the heroic quest, is very much one that values transcendence over immanence. Clearly that's crucial, but it's important to recognize that awakening is also something immanent. It's also something that is in a sense already present in the ordinary mind. And it's there, I think, that the artist comes into his or her own. There are forms of practice, and forms of expression of these kinds of things, that are not reducible to the insights of people who've had intense transcendent spiritual experiences. I think that awakening percolates through, and is percolating through, in our time in history, in forms of culture, music, literature and art that are not even necessarily self-consciously engaged in that kind of heroic quest but are simply trying to express an intuitive kind of gut feeling of something else, something other. So I would say that a culture of awakening embraces and values both.

 

Autonomy or Authority?

AC: I appreciate the model that you've presented. My point, though, is that any genuine "culture of awakening" is obviously going to be defined by the realization and the deepest insights of the individuals involved, and those insights that make it a "culture of awakening"—if it really is one—are most likely to come from the individuals who've gone the farthest. But what you've said helps me to make a little more sense of the fact that despite your apparent dislike for the notion of the "solitary quest," you consider it a positive development that contemporary dharma practice, as you write in your book, "is becoming individuated," and that "in valuing imagination and diversity, such an individuated vision would ultimately empower each practitioner to create his or her own distinctive track within the field of dharma practice."

SB: That's right.

AC: What you describe there is a view that seems to be very popular these days, particularly in Buddhist circles. My question is: How could a dharma practitioner who is sincerely seeking enlightenment truly be able to create his or her own distinctive path? Isn't the evolutionary movement toward awakening a movement from the gross to the subtle, from the known to the unknown? Unless there is a profound and heartfelt willingness not to know, how could anyone ever get enlightened in the first place? Even in the relationship with a spiritual mentor—assuming, of course, that the mentor is enlightened—isn't it essential that the student be willing to submit to the mentor's guidance in order to find his or her way to the unknown—in other words, to liberation? Otherwise what we're left with is something on the order of, "Master, my inner Buddha is telling me that what suits my awakening today is to sleep in."

SB: I would cite, in this instance, the famous passage from the end of the Buddha's life, where he refuses to appoint a successor and gives expression to this whole idea of being "a lamp unto yourself," of taking the dharma as your guide—which is what speaks to my heart, as it were. But actually this discussion quite accurately reflects the whole Buddhist tradition if we look at how it tracks out historically, because it always has been caught in precisely this tension between the valuing of individual responsibility and self-reliance on the one hand, and the recognition, on the other, of the value of discipline—of giving yourself over to monastic orders, let's say, or giving yourself to the uncritical following of a teacher or a guru or a guide, whether it be a Zen master or a Tibetan lama or whatever.

Every historical phase of Buddhism has had to deal with responding to the past, to the tradition as it has been handed down, and that tension is always going to be there, and every response is going to be, to some extent, a new beginning. So while I personally find myself to be more in harmony, and more comfortable, with the path of self-reliance, I certainly wouldn't suggest that this alone is sufficient. And I value very highly the importance of giving oneself to the guidance of those who are wiser and more awake and enlightened than oneself. That, I think, is an unavoidable component, and if you take it away, then the whole thing does just become whatever you want to make of it.

AC: Exactly. And that's the question I have about the thrust of much of what you've written in your book. I feel that when push comes to shove it could too easily boil down to exactly that, because as you know, many people think they want to be free, but when they start finding out what it really entails, they often start backpedaling. It is at those times that are most critical that one often needs to be willing to take great risks in order to make that unimaginable leap into a completely different relationship to life.

SB: I think it's also a temperamental thing. I mean, some people do seem to have such a capacity for isolation and self-reliance that they have relatively little to do with communities and teachers and so on, and others have the very opposite temperament and require that sort of support as a precondition for any kind of progress along the path. But again, I wouldn't want to reduce the process to one extreme or the other. We need to recognize that in practice, it's a question of acknowledging and recognizing the shortcomings and advantages of both. And just as you can follow a very wise teacher and fall into dependency and a kind of disempowerment and a rather unhealthy reliance upon some authoritarian figure, following purely your own intuition and instincts and impulses can lead you to a kind of narcissistic absorption in your own fantasies.

AC: That's for sure.

SB: So it's a question, really, of finding a balance. I still feel, nonetheless, that the aim of the practice is freedom, and that includes freedom from being in the throes, as it were, of an authority figure to whom one endlessly defers.

AC: Even the Buddha, you mean?

SB: Yes, even the Buddha, sure.

AC: But if the Buddha was really the Buddha, would it be possible to be in that kind of a relationship with him, if he was who he is supposed to have been? I mean, would such a thing be possible?

SB: Oh, I don't know.

AC: To be disempowered in the way that you're describing?

SB: Well, yes, actually, I do think that's possible, and again, I don't want to elevate the Buddha into too much of a sort of superhuman person. He certainly was a very good organizer and probably ran a very tight ship, but what has always been telling for me are those injunctions he gave at the end of his life, where he actually said, in a sense, "Well, I've done my job. You get on with it." At that point, he rather seems to be emphasizing self-reliance over anything else. But I also think we have to see this in the context that it's somewhat dangerous to try to define what true Buddhism is, as it were, by locating it within a certain body of older texts. I see Buddhism as a 2,500-year ongoing experiment in awakening that is continuously trying out new things. It's continuously adjusting and changing, modifying, questioning what it's doing, and that to me is precisely where the richness of the tradition lies: that you can have Zen Buddhism and Tibetan Buddhism and Theravada Buddhism, all of which are amazingly different and yet nonetheless retain the core, the primary threads, of that which was set in motion by the historical Buddha.

The Buddha unleashed into history, as it were, a whole series of cultures of awakening, all of which would have been completely unpredictable in the Buddha's own time, each one reflecting the needs and specificities of the different situations in which the dharma found itself. So the kind of dharma that is going to emerge in our culture is not going to be like anything else that's happened before. It's going to have its own peculiar characteristics, and our challenge is to somehow keep aware of the diversity of approaches that we inherit and not allow ourselves to get drawn into one particular aspect of that and lose sight of the whole. And that, I think, is the great opportunity that we have in the West, because we can see that bigger picture perhaps better than it's ever been seen before; we can see Buddhism as an historical movement, as a series of contingent cultures.

AC: In your book, you describe the situation of being in your kitchen and then going out for some milk for your tea and coming back to drink it. Even though something like this obviously could never happen, if, when you went out for your milk one morning—and you hadn't even quite woken up yet because you still hadn't had your tea—you suddenly saw the Buddha before you with a throng of ten thousand monks, and he came up to you and said, "Stephen, your time has come. Follow me."—would you do it?

SB: Well, it's such a hypothetical question, I can't really answer. . . . I probably would, yes. . . . Yes, sure—why not?