Vajracchedika – Page 3 – Flooded with Moonlight

The Selfishness of Pratyeka Buddhas

the purposes of saints

In the Theragatha (in Sariputta’s Chapter of the Thirties) it is said that the enlightened practitioner wishes neither to live nor to die. This suggests a profound orientation to the Middle Way, in that the arahat is declared subject neither to bhāva-tanhā nor vibhāva-tanhā. Our most immediate response on reading this though might not be to make such an observation, but rather to be shocked or at least disturbed. How on earth would it be not to even wish to live or die? What sort of meaning would our lives have, or what could our purposes be if we didn’t mind what happened? Is not our sense of purpose bound up with living and dying?

This neutrality an arahat has about their continued existence thus not only challenges our ordinary wish to exist or continue, but also brings into question conclusions we may have come to previously about the purpose and meaning of our own existence, as these are often based in finding some value in staying alive. Indeed we tend to struggle with meaning in situations in which our life is under threat, and both sets of concerns are operative together. When we are living ‘under conditions that seem unpropitious’, such as chronic illness or a terminal diagnosis, we are either struggling with difficult circumstances (‘how can I be positive about wanting to remain alive, when it is so difficult?’), or are faced with meaninglessness upon our imminent demise (‘what is the significance of my individual existence, now that I am about to lose it?’).

This all motivates reflection upon the broader question of the purpose of our lives considered ideally (the topic indeed of spiritual practitioners and philosophers everywhere), when we are not taking into account particular difficulties such as serious illness: what is the meaning of our lives when we are not beset by trials and tribulations? What is the purpose of our lives that illness or death ‘goes against’? What is it indeed that we are living for, that can be meaningful even in our time of dying?

As we come into adulthood, we established our identity and sense of meaning with some difficulty, if we managed it at all. As we become established on the Path, these bases can be revealed by practice as all too fragile, and will begin to fall away within mindfulness. It is important therefore to discuss a subsequent and new sense of meaning and purpose that does justice to our growing dependence on the Dharma, in order that we don’t fall between two stools as we quite appropriately lose faith in our old reliances. Hopefully this can be more realistic than those old meanings which are uncomfortably dissolving, and cope better with the realities of old age, disease and death. As an aid to shedding better light on these new purposes, and to help us to appreciate the arahat’s perspective that we began with more fully, I shall take some time to disavow some Mahayana platitudes which are often offered as fluffy answers to these perfectly serious concerns.

the purposes of ordinary beings

Ordinarily human beings want to feel connected, seen, loved, appreciated; part of a family or group which motivates them to function. This is normally a somewhat small scale concern, even rather ‘us and them’, and doesn’t really acknowledge issues of mortality or the wider questions about our existence. Even so, it is ridiculously strong in most people, and only an idiot would try to dismiss it prematurely, or ‘in one go’, so to speak. People are often primarily concerned about the promotion of kindness in this family or local or social sphere, and even nominal Buddhists can see the bodhisattva as someone who simply universalises this behaviour as it is experienced in the everyday. Without the addition of some real wisdom though, this is very unlikely to happen – kindness as such cannot save you, in the nibbānic sense. Indeed, one can think one is in the way of becoming a bodhisattva through this mere extension of ordinary kindness (which is of course so valuable in human terms), but not essentially be going anywhere different from one’s pre-Buddhist days. One can essentially still be that which is subject to death pursuing that which is subject to death, as it is so baldly put in the Ariyapariyesana Sutta, while falsely believing that one is pursuing the deathless. If such kindness is the sum of one’s concerns, one might as well save one’s-self some trouble and become a humanist.

The Karaniya Metta Sutta (SN 1:8) might seem at first glance to be about just this easy extension of kindness; but a closer look at the text shows that the mother of an only child is an example of single-minded and continuous protective intention, rather than of ideal love. We need to cultivate a boundless mind with the same energy we normally put into family pursuits in order to obtain nibbāna – it needs to matter that much to us. True enough – and an appealing example of the double-take that the Buddha often used as a teaching method.

As a mother would risk her life

to protect her child, her only child,

even so should one cultivate a limitless heart

with regard to all beings.

Applying common-sense to kindness

This idolising of kindness is apparent in the old pseudo-Mahayana debate about the nature of the Pratyeka Buddha. Pacé the Mahayanists, a bodhisattva is by definition less spiritually mature than any sort of Buddha, even the lowly pratyeka buddha. Still believing rather too much in beings on their own terms, still perhaps conflating the activities of kindness with the specific offering of nibbāna which is the Buddha’s special purview. The myth of the shattering of Avilokiteshvara is endlessly relevant. One often has the impression of a subtext – that the bodhisattva is worthier of worship because they are so kind. The pratyeka buddha is downgraded as ‘selfish’ – they must somehow be lesser than the bodhisattva, even if this isn’t stated formally or explicitly.

If however we make the common-sense assumption that anyone established in śunyatā would want to find ways of offering the path of freedom to others, we can dismiss as some kind of crude misconstruction the notion that a pratyeka buddha is unwilling to teach in any shape or form – and is therefore ‘selfish’. Looking more deeply suggests to me that pratyeka buddhas are in this respect made by circumstance; a buddha that is prevented by their culture or circumstance from teaching. It is indeed quite possible that this situation might occur within what is nominally a buddhist Order. Confusion with regard to Right View can combine with the reactionary forces of the group; if nothing current occurs to you, then think of Hui Neng. Not a selfish buddha taking himself off, but an enlightened being forced into exile and silence temporarily, even within a culture you might think would be appreciative.

The same circumstance which could render an insightful being mute would also be relevant to a consideration of the other traditional characteristic of a pratyeka buddha – that they are enlightened without the help of a buddha. I would imagine that this, in such a simple form, is quite rare. It seems much more likely that this is really about the cultivation of Insight without clear guidance or the support of a personal teacher. Traditionally personal guidance is central to one’s spiritual development – this is so important, and yet so easily glossed over if it is not part of one’s experience. An information-based culture such as we have now in the West has made this mistake with the Dharma as it has come across to us from the East. If the necessary apprentice-based approach is diluted or lost, even within a nominally buddhist culture, one can be effectively going it alone – trying to find one’s way through the morass of personal experience with whatever one can make of the traditional teaching. [thanks to Aparimana for pointing out the importance of the apprentice-based approach in an article of his] This is naturally far more difficult, and less likely to be effective, and even if successful likely to be a mixed blessing when it came to actually passing on the fruits of practice.

This mixed blessing is partly because, although one has the vivid proof of one’s practice, one is by definition working with an ineffective tradition. One would not wish to pass on a tradition that is clearly ineffective, and so has to do one’s best within or around that. This may be difficult if one’s interest or skill in teaching is lacking, or if you struggle for other reasons to articulate your profound experience effectively. It may be difficult to be taken seriously if you are even implicitly criticising the tradition you are at least nominally a member of. You may also not be perfectly patient.

everyday bodhicitta

If the motive of kindness has become rather mixed up in the discussions of both pratyeka buddhas and bodhisattvas in these ways, it is worth considering what a more correct understanding of the motives of Enlightened beings would be, as well as of those who are yet to complete the Path.

It is only common sense that one can only genuinely offer what one actually knows for one’s-self. A bodhisattva simply cannot offer nibbāna, as they do not appreciate it or its fruits yet – something in them is as yet unready and unwilling. The notion of continually teaching beyond one’s practice is not really a sustainable position, except imaginatively or ‘magically’ – it is not honest or straightforward. Of course, one may ‘teach’ the Path in a more intellectual or suppositional way (which is what we would normally mean by teaching, in a non-Buddhist culture), but this will not do for the personal guidance which would actually count here. This all being the case, the everyday bodhisattva needs therefore be motivated to move toward nibbāna for themselves and so others, and in that order. If they tell us that it does not matter whether they themselves become free from suffering, and that they only wish to consider the suffering of others, why would it even matter whether others were freed from that same suffering? And this is setting aside their as yet imperfect grasp of the end of suffering that they are nominally offering… It can all sound quite sweet – but on closer investigation looks rather shallow, or even a bit pathological.

Part of the delusive mind-set that can be found in the motivations of poetic followers of the bodhisattva path is the ‘inspiring’ notion that one should and could convert all beings to the Dharma. It is going to be difficult to do this when one’s appreciation of the Dharma is still limited, even assuming a massive range of skills and an unthinkable amount of control over conditionality; but more, there is an unwise misapplication of energies in the assumption that the Dharma is in any realistic sense for everybody. Many are far from the Dharma, even if they of course have the equipment for it in principle; many are not willing to undergo the path and the difficulties that are involved, or have even the faintest belief that it would be of relevance to their concerns. Have you ever met my family ;-(? How about a militant fundamentalist? For some indeed, enforced pursuit of the Path might lead to some kind of breakdown, or unmanageable suffering, such that they are better off pursuing their previous way of life for now, which keeps things manageable for the time being. It is arrogant to insist upon these ideas, and suggests a kind of groupish insecurity. One can reasonably undertake to do the best one can in whatever circumstances present, and this becomes increasingly possible as one’s kleśas are purified – indeed, if everyone was to do just this, we’d all be fine – but one doesn’t need to make such a song-and-dance about ‘saving all beings’, as the shadow of Samsara still looms large even so.

So, the common-sense of the bodhisattva on the Path will motivate them to protect their life in order to follow through to nibbāna, so they can be a guide to it for others. There is inevitably something of bhāva-tanhā in that motivation. With Enlightenment though, the purposes are no longer the same, and that motivation is gone. There is after this point perhaps some deepening of non-communicable wisdom, some further assimilation – but the bonds of Samsara are broken, and the fruits of this victory are constantly available. What is left as a motivation for life, is that one is required to offer the path to nibbāna – those that can genuinely do this are few indeed. This is the only thing left that has sufficient meaning, as one is no longer fundamentally motivated to live for one’s-self. No longer living for one’s-self is perhaps a difficult enough adjustment for such a practitioner to make, even if it arises gradually, but it will be particularly so in a culture in which they cannot easily express their vision, or find a way of being adequately useful.

Perhaps we can hope in future for a genuine tradition and Order as at the time of the Buddha. Younger practitioners would not be ordained without the effective personal support they needed in order to negotiate the difficulties of Samsara, and thus progress more speedily and less painfully. The grasp of the true nature of the Dharma amongst the senior-most would be thorough enough, that new expressions by less established practitioners would be neither confusing nor threatening to them. Enlightened practitioners would take their place as exemplars and teachers quite naturally, each finding the particular aspect of the Dharma that their skills qualify them to offer most effectively. This would be a Sangha proper, a real jewel.

Dukkha & the energetic appreciation of Śunyatā

From self to śunyatā

An experience of śunyatā that is quite common is its manifestation as the core of our being. It is apparent, usually within meditation initially, that our very deepest nature is open, free and pure – that all the conditioned elements of the personality are held within this spacious and compassionate presence. It is quite incontrovertible that this is what we most truly are, at this point. It is our true nature.

This is not the only way we can experience śunyatā, but it is very useful for the purpose of contrasting it with our ordinary experience of ourselves. There is something of a journey, from a narrow, pain-filled and judgmental sense of self, complicated and tetchy, to this relatively free state. I will explore some elements of this journey here, particularly in terms of the energetic transformation involved (which is in itself an unusual way of looking at it). This will I hope lead to a usable model for the resolution of dukkha within the fluid realms of Formless Practice.

If we only occasionally touch on śunyatā in the way described above, or are otherwise too busy, such experiences of śunyatā may seem rather disconnected from the narrative thread of before and after. While our experience remains thus linear, these illuminations will seem as though we are being blessed by a random grace. They seem to have nothing to do with us, but are very welcome all the same.

At some point, the frequency of their arisings, or the deepening longing for śunyatā within, will demand some kind of integration from us. Our wish for this integration will cause us to question our baseline state(s), and encourage a process of turning towards what might be in the way of that. This will lead us to explore what had been previously compartmentalised or locked away in the body, for the purpose of our current convenience or comfort. I have discussed this process of turning toward dukkha in depth on previous occasions, and do not wish to cover this same ground again here, or at least in the same way.

The energetic nature of dukkha

If suffering that is buried in the body is seen as an energetic phenomenon, as a nexus of energy that has been turned away from, rather than reified as some kind of separate thing that we ‘have’, we can appreciate the process of integration differently. For starters, this new approach does better justice to our general meditative experience of dukkha as having a location, though not a sharply boundaried one; and to our sense that it is alive with quickly-changing sensations, rather than being a unitary lump. We can notice how meeting and resolving dukkha results in a clearer psyche, with more energy available to flow, especially the first few days after resolution; a more pervasive experience of freedom and wholeness, quite literally. Whatever the historical conditions that led to what seemed initially to be an intractable dukkha-knot, it is quite clearly gone now, even if our history is nominally the same as it ever was.

We thus see how dukkha is assimilated by śunyatā/awareness; though the energetic and free nature of the latter was much more obvious to us initially, we now also see that dukkha is made of energy too. We generally have far fewer nouns with which we reify or limit our experience of positive states. We do tend however to reify difficult experiences, as part of the process of disidentifying from and ‘protecting ourselves’ against them in the ordinary deluded way, and this makes them rather lumpy and ‘not-us’. Seeing both dukkha and śunyatā as on an energetic continuum means that they can no longer be seen as poles apart, that they are indeed intimately related. This being so, we cannot persist quite so wilfully with trying to get ‘somewhere else’ apart and away from our dukkha to the land of milk and śunyatā. Dukkha therefore becomes much more our relevant and immediate problem.

Dukkha and the formation of personality

So we have drawn some basic conclusions about the relationship of dukkha to śunyatā at the direct experience level. What conclusions follow from a broader examination of how śunyatā is assimilated within nāma-rupa? Where does it fit in there? Well, we can track elements of this process of assimilation which are quite universal, and express these too in specifically energetic terms, and so have a better understanding of the broad processes of the self.

Broadly speaking, the personality often takes the forms it does as a defence against turning towards. It crystallises or sets so as to bury unfelt discomfort in the body – we might be said to be the shape of our avoidances. This constellation of avoidances (avijja) limits and traps the self in a very ordinary experience of space-time. In acceding to this process, we lose our relationship with the freedom of śunyatā; so for such a convenient payoff (i.e. relative sense of control, relative freedom from immediate discomfort) there is in the end this spiritually unacceptable consequence. Thus we have our third kind of dukkha – feeling trapped in a spiritually unbearable way, knowing obscurely that our soul is divided, our energies tied to a post, and hopeless about finding our missing pieces. This awareness of sankhāra-dukkha will be a fundamental motive for the serious practitioner, and drive them on.

Coming into meditative relationship with dukkha

One can usefully envisage the transition between you as you usually experience yourself, and the dukkha locked away, as consisting of a defensive layer which has experiential characteristics. One might also see the dukkha as the last aspect of the disruptive layer on the way through to śunyatā, and therefore as the gateway to it (which is of course no more than a traditional exposition of dharma).

A dynamic metaphor which shows the two ways of relating to this defensive layer might be helpful. Imagine effervescent water in a tall clear glass. The surface of the water is quite disturbed, and fragments the light and all the images that are reflected on the surface of the water. This is like the ordinary experience of the discursive mind. However, if we look from the side, we see what is going on more clearly. We see clear trails of bubbles emanating from particular points deep in the glass where it meets the water. The bubbles are like endless strings of thoughts which disturb the surface of the water, and represent that little bit of personality excitement as we try to insist that we exist and are separate. However, tracing the bubbles down into the depths of our somatic experience will show us where the dukkha is buried. This simple process represents the application of the four satipatthānas in meditation, by means of which we can find the sources of our suffering. The bubbles of our thoughts and feelings are not the fundamental dukkha, but the reactivity of our personality, as we try to separate from what is in fact ineluctably close at hand. It is the energetic expression of our defensiveness, perhaps a shriek or perhaps a drawn-out whimper, but it is not the end-point. That would be to touch the glass at the point the bubbles emanate from. This is what will bring that stream to an end.

The energised bubbles of the water represent the somewhat blind and automatic defensive response of the self. It is disruptive, and seeks to turn you away from seeing what is really going on. It is genuinely quite or even very uncomfortable, takes many and various forms, and yet is not in itself the end-point. Seeing it as a defensive and transitional layer is very helpful for disidentification in Formless Practice, and therefore for moving through and beyond it rather than turning back. The ordinary self knows nothing of śunyatā, being only able to conceive of it as some kind of annihilation – hence the defensive and avoidant response. Awareness though is of the nature of śunyatā and is doubt-free, and thus will feel into whatever is hidden, or sore, or unacknowledged. So you have a basic tension here. Entering mindfully and compassionately into the disruptive layer means that you will be less side-tracked and put off, and resolve dukkha much more sweetly. You are also in so doing aligning yourself with śunyatā/awareness, which cannot be over-valued.

Reading the Disruptive Layer aright

Until you get used to enough of a range of such experience to be comfortable with the process, you will tend to feel that the disruptive layer is scary and ‘wrong’, and that you are under threat. It is usually energetically active, and you are alerted at a neurological level, sensing threat (quite genuinely – the ordinary ‘you’ IS under threat). There is a feeling of turning into the stream and going against the current. Misread, one will be turned round and thrown back upon one’s ordinary understanding, perhaps feeling obscurely defeated. Read correctly, you appreciate that as a serious practitioner you head for the difficulty, not away – you take the disruptive layer as a positive if uncomfortable sign. You read it in the opposite way to the ordinary self, which will want to run for cover.

So, it is usually rather like this – except when it isn’t! In the same way that we have ‘fight, flight or play dead’, the disruptive layer can manifest energetically, or as emotional stasis and deadness. I would generally suggest that this latter is a more severe or profound response, and can happen when you bump into something too soon, or into something which the self is unable to manage or manipulate. One can feel empty, rudderless, and actively seek over-stimulation to ‘make’ yourself feel ‘alive’ or at least normal. I suggest it is the more severe, because with energetic forms of disruption you at least have a sense of yourself that is half-familiar as you turn into the gale. You know who you are, even while you are railing against existence. Being becalmed in this way doesn’t even allow you that luxury. Buckle up though – if you can skilfully manage this kind of calm transition, you are pretty much unstoppable. You are anyways as a serious practitioner going to come across periods of negotiating such transitions. It is important in Formless Practice to be able to be with everything.

Orienting to the Disruptive Layer

The usefulness of talking about this layer is to clarify its nature as a transition. If one can recognise it, there is hope of disidentification, and you can navigate the choppy waters more skilfully. Which is to say, without feeling fundamentally threatened. This enables a moving through into the realms of śunyatā, which is what this transitions to. The disruptive layer is not in itself that useful or requiring of any special acceptance in its own terms. It is much more like an electric field or no-man’s land that you pass through on the way to a deeper and much more genuine somatic mindfulness. It is that space that is relatively speaking the end-point, and much more deserving of our attention in itself. This is the realm in which the self is quiet or attenuated, and there we have a much better chance of seeing how things really are.

Because you have been corralled within these electric fences for much of your life, these layers can feel like the old enemy you’ve never had the courage to meet, but always slunk away from. Bumping into the fence repeatedly, feeling the shocks, turning back to old patterns of life.

Seeing the transitional and defensive nature of this layer makes disidentification easier, alerting you to the fact that you are heading toward the realms of peace and stillness that you treasure. Notice how different this is from seeing this layer as a fearsome boundary of your being… Awareness is leading you on through these phases, and their manifestation is evidence that there must be love of wholeness sufficient to bring about just such an exploration. In the end, the self is hoist by its own petard – it kicks up too much of a fuss for its own good. The qualitative experience of the defensive layer gives the game away. The mindful meditator is alerted by the dust-devils that the self kicks up, and holding firm makes use of them as a string of lights to guide her on her way.

Even positive transitions, from a skilful to a more skilful state, have this disruptive layer in between, at least while the transition is unfamiliar. Entering into the first jhana, or making the transition to the second or third jhanas, can require a negotiation of energetic discomfiture and resistance, until you get the hang of what is happening.

The importance of View and Review

In jhana, as elsewhere, one needs to have confidence in the place at which you will arrive, so to speak, otherwise you can lose your bearings while in the disruptive layer, and fall back. You are training in the recognition of the self’s unhelpful defensiveness, as it is experienced energetically. The purpose of the defensive layer is to protect the comfortable sense of self, and turn you away from a deeper experience which will be difficult and indeed undermine that limited sense of self. The usefulness of orienting in the middle of challenging meditative experience suggests there is a great value in evoking and reviewing one’s deepest meditation experience at other times – perhaps writing about them, communicating with others who can hear you, or some other form of expression. Śunyatā is subtle in its embodiment even though profound and releasing (we are much more viscerally alerted by dukkha), and not so easily remembered as the electric torment of the passage to it. Here it is though, beyond the roiling surf, past the torments and fears, in its way constantly known because constantly oriented to even in times of darkness.

As the truth and inherent stability of these states of being are established in your minds, you can see clearly how self resists the assimilation of śunyatā, in quite a blind or automatic way. There’s no blame to the self, because it knows not what is beyond itself; there’s no castigation at all, because the process is not much better than instinctive.

Shield emotions – the sand in the ointment

When we buried unbearable experience in the past, we may well have done it under pressure from a relatively more superficial emotion or response, perhaps induced to do so by our dependence on significant others. This common phenomenon is important in our understanding of some of the turmoil of the disruptive layer, as it largely consists of what I am calling shield emotions (and their corollaries). Which is to say that the basic dukkha we need to come at is often shielded by other responses, which can seem part of our current response, but are in fact part of what is being uncovered and released. They are like the lid on the pirate’s treasure-chest on the sea-bed, marked with a skull & crossbones, seeming like a threat, but hiding pieces-of-eight.

It is important in Formless Practice to include and take a stance beyond ALL aspects of the disruptive process. This happens to be a broader point about Formless Practice, but has a particular relevance here. Note how you are pushing, how you might be in a reactive cycle, how you are bargaining, how you are feeling judgemental about yourself and other, all these things – and relax around them in non-fixing mode. This will enable a moving into the original dukkha, and the resolution thereof. It might be apposite to give some examples.

Three examples

Experiences of inappropriate boundary-invasion can give rise to fear and loss of confidence. So as we come into disruption, and closer to the dukkha of when our basic sense of safety was threatened, we may experience lots of fear and lose confidence in our practice. This is a secondary response which can turn us back. Or we can see those responses as part of the funeral ceremony which buried the original dukkha, and be willing to re-experience them without believing in them. When the dukkha is met and released, the fear can transform into vulnerability, a characteristic of śunyatā.

We may have had an excruciating experience of being shamed by others, and feel that something about us has been forced out of sight, even though we had no sense of wrong-doing. So in disruption the sense of shame might convince us that we are going to a wrong place, even though we end up here because of relaxed and effective practice. Compassionately holding the feelings of unlovability enables a meeting with the fundamental dukkha, and a releasing of the shield emotions too as a great ease with our being, the basis for delighting in solitude (we don’t have a simple term for this, though it is symbolised by Vajrapani’s Royal Ease).

We may have been severely chastised for a behaviour or a non-behaviour, and made to feel selfish, worthless or otherwise thoughtless about others. So in disruption, we may feel guilty and bad, a selfish woman to be doing all this ‘personal’ practice. Not letting this be a show-stopper, but investigating the delicious taste of guilt and uselessness, we move into the primal dukkha. We release it into the purity of motive, called in Christianity the Sacred Heart, in which our non-violent and loving essence is directly apparent to us.

Always include

It is useful to reflect on our various reactions before practice in a disruption phase, so as to sit prepared with a skilful view. Otherwise the primal nature of the sensations and emotions involved may quickly drag us down, creating a vortex in combination with our old reactive thoughts. Also after practice, reflect on what may have not been included in mindfulness – what if anything was effectively driving you on by its being unacknowledged, as it were standing behind your shoulder. Shield emotions and their progeny are the servants of Mara, and shifty about being seen. Complete inclusion is the gateway to Equanimity, out of the disruptive layer into the deep waters of real life.

P.S.
In all this, I am aware that by introducing this notion of a transitional disruptive layer, that I am also introducing a stratification into Formless Practice. This is untraditional, I appreciate, as Formless Practice is completely level about whatever is arising, eschewing all signs. I do this mainly as an aid to equanimity within the most turbulent reaches of our experience, and hope that clarifying experience in this way proves useful enough for it to only to need be taken up temporarily. Once stability in śunyatā is normalised, the disruptive layer is much less problematic, as the landscape of the mind is become discernible.

Simply Nibbāna : notes toward the basis of a Buddhist Order

Put simply, the raison d’etre of a Buddhist Order is to bring nibbāna into our lives more effectively than the circumstance in which such an Order didn’t exist. To actually do this, rather than nominally be doing it, or ‘preparing’ to do it… An Order is not therefore a social group, or a repository of Buddhist knowledge, or a vehicle for various forms of social work or consciousness-raising, or a tool in the processes of gender politics, as these are ordinary purposes. It exists for the more effective transmission of the way to the Truth. If it is not this, it is just a worthy ethical body, competing with all the other human institutions for the attention of all good people, even while it regards its contribution as specially Buddhist.

It seems to me that the fundamental basis of a Buddhist Order is the explicit and vertical spiritual relationship. The one who has substantially seen the Truth, and lives from it, guides those who would also seek it, to the extent of the former’s competency at that time. This Truth would be the Truth of the Path beyond stream-entry, which is the distinctive Buddhist contribution – so it would not fundamentally consist of information about how to do certain practices, various forms of knowledge about Buddhism, or how to function confidently within the structures of an Order or movement.

Such a relationship does not require everyday intimacy or particular friendship, which would tend to be more of a horizontal phenomenon. It can indeed be just as effective between those who might not ordinarily be drawn to each other. It is however intimate, as real practice is being discussed; and kind, as one is offering another a way out of intractable suffering.

An Order therefore would offer conscious association with the wise. The relationship each member has with one or more others who is wiser is the core of the Order. It follows that ordination should be about this explicit vertical relationship, and that it should not take place unless such a relationship can specifically and effectively continue after ordination. It also follows that preceptors, to be effective, should at least have entered the stream. Otherwise they are not in a position to support practitioners in the way that actually counts.

It is possible to confuse and complicate the process of ordination by conflating it with the gathering of far more knowledge than a practitioner actually requires, and in this way miss the point. It is possible to make ordination more grandiose by increasing the numbers of hoops the ordinee has to jump through, leading to the usual risks of tick-boxing and limiting standardisation. The preceptor needs to be clear that the potential ordinee has had the Arising and Passing Away experience, so that the Truth glimmers in their hearts, and has the integration and single-mindedness to follow through on the training. This experience is quite identifiable (cf. http://integrateddaniel.info/the-arising-and-passing-away/), and far less subjective than, say, seeing whether someone ‘fits in’ with the personalities of an Order as presently constituted.

Preparation for ordination, it seems to me, would then be best occupied, not with the amassing of Buddhist knowledge (however stimulating), but with learning how to live mindfully and meditate effectively. We need to learn how to apply Right View on the cushion, how to meet the difficulties of Samsara appropriately, and be able to recognise progress in one or more of the many metrics that the traditional teaching offers.

Given that most ordinees are unlikely to be stream-entrants, they would neither be in a position to ordain others or to teach. Indeed, while in training in this way, the best occupation for new ordinees is with deepening their own practice. My experience with members of my own Order is that they universally ‘teach’ too soon, and become quickly confused about their own spiritual needs, and lose their way. Even beyond stream-entry, there is much work to do with one’s still-tormented heart from that new perspective, and one can have little to show for one’s insight for quite some time. It is quite difficult and inward work, and can be energetically draining, and emotionally exposing. It makes sense to give time and space to this process, so that when one does teach, one has arrived at enough stability and confidence to be a light unto others. If we do not give an appropriate period of five or ten years to this upon ordination, we would end up with an Order that is superficial and extrovert. Order members would engage in teaching and other activities from unclear or suspect motives, or a weak basis, which would not conduce to an Order’s long-term health.

The most senior practitioners are indeed those that need an Order least, at least for their own sake. They are more likely to abandon roles rather than take them up willingly. It would not be the best use of such practitioners to encumber them with an executive role; so such functions would best be managed by a body of Order members that would be subsidiary to them. Nor would their concerns be with promoting a particular personage within the life of the Order, or a particular Buddhist culture or expression thereof, or a particular mode or method of practice. These tendencies toward cultishness are signs of insecurity, and quickly become limiting.

Preceptors generally, and the spiritually senior-most in particular, need to be in good communication about their growing appreciation of nibbāna, in order to aid their own practice, as well as to support the effective transmission of the Dharma in their particular circumstances. That is, they would naturally be exploring and enhancing their appreciation of the Path with each other, and not implicitly assume common ground whilst, say, only discussing the format of the next event they are leading. The willingness to meet on this profound level would be the basis for a development of a tradition of sorts, though quite incidentally.

It seems to me that it would not generally do for such practitioners to become unavailable or to function purely independently, and would be as suspect as holding too much power or responsibility. In testing their understanding in communication, senior practitioners would be leading by example, and would be doing no more or less than what is asked even of the most newly ordained. Naturally any seeking motive is softer and less personal in the spiritually mature. Instead, effective transmission is increasingly the fundamental motive of those practitioners who are closer to nibbāna; the one song of compassion that they are all naturally drawn to sing, each in their own way.

If each student of the Dharma felt they were being supported in their practice where it really mattered, that would be enough to guarantee the longevity and future effectiveness of the Order. Whatever structures, knowledge and responsibilities there were pertaining to the life of the Order would clearly be secondary, and could vary, or come and go, as suited the times. Ordinees would be able to take confidence from their teachers who are no longer dependent on structures, and who already stand in śunyatā quite naturally. From whatever basis they start from in practice and understanding, they too could move toward the open and undistinguished spaces of the Void themselves.