don’t have in other situations too, but certainly conditions will pull out of you and emphasize particular qualities that are needed and fitting to that situation. For example, the condition of running—I run every couple of days—pulls out of me qualities of perseverance. Teaching enhances sensitivity in a few dimensions. It invites me to be particularly caring and very watchful, and not to talk unkindly or unwisely; [to be] more watchful or mindful than perhaps I am with my grandchildren. Then, it encourages me to develop qualities of steadiness and confidence as well as fine-tuned ethics and care, clarity of mind, kindness, confidence and a little bit of authority. I’m given the authority and I am aware of that and appreciate it so I hold it with tenderness and some respect. Maybe there’s also a lift in energy that comes from being on the stage—a lift of the heart, I would say.
AMIR: Would you say that you are spiritually elevated as you step into that position?
STEPHEN: In a way, yes, but there are many other situations in life when I also feel that. So it’s definitely not the only one. I might feel that also in the deep silence of early morning before sunrise, when everything is quiet and I can only hear the jackals far away. So it’s not only in the teacher role, but the conditions of the teaching do tend to elevate you to the best you can be. Yes, I do feel that.
AMIR: How do you feel or respond when people say to you that you are their teacher, or they ask you to be their teacher?
STEPHEN: I don’t prevent it. I don’t tell people they must not say that about me—I can’t. But I don’t at all encourage it. I don’t support exclusivity in today’s modern culture, and I suggest to students to learn from many teachers. Sometimes when people say to me, “I want you to be my teacher,” I say to them, “Okay, I don’t mind you regarding me as being the main teacher for the moment, but I don’t really like the label, and eventually you should have other teachers as well.” I tend to discourage exclusivity whether in relation to myself or other teachers because I think it reduces the autonomy, the independence of mind and the authenticity and confidence of the student.
The other thing is that I don’t want to be constantly available for those who expect me to be in that role all the time. The role of personal teacher would carry with it an obligation. I just don’t want to be disturbed when I’m not teaching, like when I’m in my vegetable garden. I actually don’t want people calling me with questions like, “Should I go to India?” or “Should I get married?” or “Should I change jobs?” I am fine if they ask me those questions in the context of retreats and teaching, and then I’d relate to them, but that’s it, and then I go home and I take off that role like peeling off well-worn clothes.
AMIR: This is solving quite a few problems that other models of teacher-student relationship have, but also, don’t you think—and you’ve met a lot of people along the path—that for some people, the position of surrender, of trusting somebody else very deeply, more than they trust themselves, is an important catalyst in their journey?
STEPHEN: It can indeed be helpful, but only if it’s light. If it’s too intense and total, it can undo their spiritual journey, because they’re replacing themselves with someone else. But of all the questions you have asked so far, this is the most problematic and nuanced. Because, on the one hand, you can say, “What’s wrong with praying to the Buddha as a larger-than-life figure, identifying with and respecting his qualities, and so letting the prayer to the Buddha remind you of your own Buddha qualities?” But it only works if it is quite light. If there is a strong sense of supplication, worship, glorification and deification of a teacher or an icon, it can disempower our practice and disconnect us from our spiritual sources. Where I feel it’s too much, I would tend to question it and bring it back down to size. I would tend to say to the person, “You’re going too far making the teacher unrealistically dominant, using projection onto the teacher to avoid meeting your own existential pain and joy, and I suggest you go back to yourself a little bit.” I think it’s the scale—when trust and dependence on a teacher goes over the top it almost begins to be pathological.
In our Theravada tradition, we would tend to constantly shift the focus from the teacher to the teaching, the Dharma itself. I would tend to say: “Take refuge in the Dharma, not in Stephen.” This is different from the guru tradition, where the guru would be happy to hold that place of dependence for longer, to allow more intensity of transference. But it’s a good question, and not black and white.
Of all that we spoke about, it was Stephen’s story about his relationship with the man he met on his self-retreat in India, whom he described as being “half my peer and to some extent a teacher,” that stirred me most and stayed with me longest after the interview was over. His description of a fluid, informal, free and dynamic teacher-student relationship had the flavor of a fairytale—a fairytale I knew at the beginning of my relationship with Andrew and I still long for. Can a relationship such as the one he described, be maintained, or is it only the stuff that summer flings are made of?
I became most interested in the possibility of flexibility and variability in the teacher-student relationship, and I explored the guru/spiritual friend dynamic with many of the interviewees: Does the teacher hold different hierarchical positions in their relationship with different students? Are they comfortable playing either the “guru” and the “friend” roles, or do they have a strong preference to one or the other? Do they readily adjust and change position in their relationship with any specific student?
For some of the interviewees, there seemed to be little dynamic to speak of. This was clearly the case with Andrew Cohen (Chapter 7). During the time I was his student, the relationship between him and his students at that time could be characterized as “absolute hierarchy.” On the opposite end of the spectrum, the egalitarian model of the “spiritual friend” was expounded upon by Vipassanā teacher Christopher Titmuss in my interview with him.
CHRISTOPHER TITMUSS
CHRISTOPHER: Many teachers stick to their role—they teach a retreat or give a public talk and keep to their private life. I prefer to develop good friendships in the Sangha. I appreciate the Buddha’s encouragement to develop kalyana mitta, which essentially means “good friend.” Just before you arrived to interview me, I went out with two good Dharma friends to eat together. I regard such informal contact as vitally important in terms of the social aspect of the Sangha. I enjoy informal friendship. I think it’s very helpful for the students—although I don’t use the word “students” very often. I prefer to use the words “yogis” or “practitioners” or the “Sangha.” It is equally important for them and for me to experience informal contact. I get the chance to know them as a friend, but equally, they get to know me. I don’t think we need to elevate ourselves as an archetype, namely the spiritual teacher sitting in a role. Such a formal, functional approach is fine and it has its place, but it is also valuable to know a teacher in an informal way through a whole variety of situations. This develops a real connection. This is what I do and who I am.
JAMES FINLEY
Finally, an exchange related to the interplay between the functions of a spiritual friend and a guru took place during my interview with James Finley. As a young monk at the monastery of the Abbey of Gethsemane, James received spiritual guidance from the renowned monk and author Thomas Merton, and nowadays James leads spiritual retreats and works as a private clinical psychologist. In my interview with him, which took place over Skype, we both experienced a tangible sense of intimacy and friendship with each other, and out of that came the following exchange:
JAMES: Let’s take, for example, us talking right now. We’re sitting here together, two human beings participating in mutual exploration, attempting to shed light on the unexplainable nature of the unitive mystery. So that’s happening right now with us. Now let’s assume that toward the end of our time together you say: “Jim, before we go I have a personal question that I’d like to consult you about.” Let’s say you’d ask and I would listen out of the way we’ve been just talking and respond, but I’d say, “Well if you don’t mind I also have a question for you: this is something that I am going through in my life, my wife and I are talking about