Returning To the Circle, Part 2

A Rare and Precious Thing: The Possibilities and Pitfalls of Working with a Spiritual Teacher
by John Kain

(Page 2 of 2)

Still there always exists the resurgent spirit pulsing in the ligaments of our lives. As Gary Synder, the poet, Buddhist, and eco-activist points out, "The world is our consciousness, and it surrounds us. There are more things in mind, in the imagination, than 'you' can keep track of - thoughts, memories, images, angers, delights, rise unbidden. The depths of mind, the unconscious, are our inner wilderness areas." When we turn to a spiritual teacher we look for a guide, not one who is familiar with well-worn paths, but one who knows, as Snyder puts it, the "etiquette of freedom."

Yet in wanting a teacher to illuminate the lush and tangled undergrowth of our interior, we inevitably step into a paradox. As the late Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche (gifted Tibetan teacher, author, and founder of the Shambhala organization, who introduced thousands of Westerners to Tibetan practice, said, "When you hear of someone that possesses remarkable qualities, you regard them as significant beings and yourself as insignificant." In other words, our perceived inadequacy - that feeling which often got us looking for a teacher in the first place - is reinforced when we look upon someone or something as "more advanced," "wiser," "more enlightened," and so forth. We want what we think they "have." I've been studying Zen for more than twenty years and have been a student of Zen master John Daido Loori for seven years and continue to struggle with the teacher-student paradigm - thus the impetus for writing this book.

"Is the existence of so many religious types and sects and creeds regrettable? ... I answer 'No' emphatically.... No two of us have identical difficulties, nor should we be expected to work out identical solutions," wrote James. We are genuinely lucky in the West to have so many choices, but then an endless supply of options can lead to inaction, to a dysfunctional stupor or an attitude of "shopping" frenzy in which desire trumps truth. We have to find the heart of our own sincerity - not the prepackaged kind found in greeting cards - to give the spiritual journey meaning. Intimacy is essential and inherently risky.

The feeling of inadequacy is not all bad: it is good that we want to change our often shrunken and self-absorbed view of the world and become more compassionate. Yet we must stop wanting to fix ourselves. In the spiritual world, continually wanting to "get somewhere" gets us nowhere. Because it's the ego that's never satisfied, that's always thinking there is something right around the corner and therefore keeps us from just "being," keeps us feeling separate.

It is the spiritual teacher's job to offer new ways of seeing. But this process entails a delicate surgery that places both the student and the teacher in a vulnerable position. The exchanges of power in these situations can do considerable damage if not held in balance. Recent history - from Jonestown to the Branch Davidians to 9/11 and untold religious scandals - is filled with this traumatic and bloody power play. If teachers think that they have personal power, that the "I" is teaching, then they are just transmitting more self-centered and diseased ways of being. "I cured with the power that came through me. Of course, it was not I who cured. It was the power from the outer world, and the visions and ceremonies had only made me like a hole through which the power could come to the two-leggeds. If I thought that I was doing it myself, the hole would close up and no power could come through. Then everything I could do would be foolish," said Black Elk.9 Much foolishness has been wrought in the name of spirituality, both here in the West and around the world. I touch on some of these missteps in chapter 10, which deals with teacher abuses.

There is not just one type of teacher-student relationship. As we find in this book, the permutations are endless. Students can (and do) view their teacher as a parent, as a lover (both figuratively and literally), as a friend, as an enemy, as god, and as a demon - perhaps all within an hour's time. The psychological pitfalls of the relationship are complex and varied. Transference and projection run rampant, and there's plenty more where that came from, as they say. Alexander Berzin, in his book about Tibetan Buddhist practice, Relating to a Spiritual Teacher: Building a Healthy Relationship, describes six different attributes of the teacher-student relationship:

Almost all spiritual seekers progress through stages along the spiritual path. Most practitioners study with several teachers during their lifetimes and build up different relationships with each. Not every spiritual teacher has reached the same level of accomplishment. The type of relationship appropriate between a specific seeker and a specific teacher depends upon the spiritual level of each. People usually relate to their teachers in progressively deeper manners as they advance along the spiritual path. Because the same teacher may play different roles in the spiritual life of each seeker, the most appropriate relationship each seeker has with that teacher may be different.

This list is filled with sober insights and common sense. Yet for some mysterious reason students often check their practicality at the door, like an overcoat at a fancy restaurant, when entering spiritual practice. The best thing teachers can do for their students is to convince them that common sense is a valuable attribute. If a teacher is sleeping with a student, nine times out of ten it's a bad idea. If a teacher is an alcoholic, that teacher is an alcoholic. Some things are exactly as they appear. In the book How to Meditate: A Guide to Self-Discovery, an early work on spiritual practice (published in 1974), the author, Lawrence LeShan, gave some practical and sage advice about choosing a spiritual teacher: "Watch how they treat their spouse." At the same time, teachers do make mistakes, all of them, and if we think otherwise we're on the wrong track.

There's a razor-fine line between taming the ego - and thus unearthing compassion - and taming the person. I mentioned the difference between the individual and individualism above, but it bears repeating. A sense of self as an entity intricately connected to the web of the universe - a selfless self - is a healthy thing. A sense of self as the center of the universe around which everything revolves - me, me, me, me - is, other than being ridiculous, unhealthy for everyone concerned. It's a touchy process, then, negotiating the building up of one and the softening of the other. Every teacher and student I interviewed for this book has struggled with the tension between the two.

Thomas Merton writes:

"Religion," in the sense of something emanating from man's nature and tending to God, does not really change man or save him, but brings him into a false relationship with God: for a religion that starts in man is nothing but man's wish for himself. Man "wishes himself" (magically) to become godly, holy, gentle, pure, etc. His wish terminates not in God but in himself. This is no more than the religion of those who wish themselves to be in a certain state in which they can live with themselves, approve of themselves, God is at peace with them. How many Christians seriously believe that Christianity itself consists of nothing more than this? Yet it is anathema to true Christianity.

Copyright © 2006 by John Kain.

About the Author

John Kain has been associate publisher of Tricycle magazine and his articles on Buddhist teachers and teachings as well as his poetry have appeared in Tricycle, Shambhala Sun, Yoga Journal, and Terra Nova and on Beliefnet.com. This is his first nonfiction book. He lives in Ashland, Oregon.