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CHAPTER 2

SPIRITUAL FRIEND OR GURU?

The disciple must resort to the feet of a wise teacher, one who is an embodiment of that Teacher Who is already in his heart, the Eternal Wisdom…. [H]e needs the guidance of one who, because his whole being has become one with the Wisdom, can speak with the same voice as that Teacher in the heart and yet can do so in tones which can be heard with the outer ear.

–SRI KRISHNA PREM, THE YOGA OF THE BHAGAVAT GITA

[The Buddha] stated that the Dharma teacher acts as a spiritual friend (kalyana mitta) as well as an authority figure since the teacher belongs to the Sangha of practitioners.

–CHRISTOPHER TITMUSS, THE BUDDHA OF LOVE

First and foremost, a teacher is not a friend. If we really want to awaken, we do not need friendship but rather more unpredictability.

–THOMAS HÜBL, INTEGRALESFORUM.ORG

STEPHEN FULDER

Stephen Fulder was one of my early interviewees. We met for the interview at the Tovana Sangha House in Tel Aviv, where he spends a couple of days a week, a three-hour bus ride from his home in the Upper Galilee. Tovana, the Hebrew word for Vipassanā or “insight,” is the name of a leading Buddhist practice organization in Israel, which Stephen founded more than thirty years ago, and where he functions as a senior Dharma teacher. The apartment’s cool air and quiet and serene atmosphere were a relief from the hot, busy city streets outside, whose sounds were muffled by the closed windows and the hiss of the air conditioner.

AMIR: Let’s start with you as a student—who were your teachers or people you still consider as your teachers nowadays?

STEPHEN: In the Theravada tradition that I’ve been practicing and involved with, the principle of a single primary teacher—root guru or Satguru—is not relevant, and so I’ve had plenty of teachers. My first teacher was S.N. Goenka, but the relationship with him was impersonal, as he was teaching thousands of students. In Goenka’s tradition, based on a Burmese lineage, the teachers teach the practice rather technically and don’t really relate to you as an individual and to your issues or your life. They are masters at passing on to you a technique and motivating and encouraging you to practice intensively.

AMIR: But even though you say there was no personal relationship with Goenka and he was just communicating the teaching in a very technical way, there was something about him that made him a better vehicle for the teaching than many other teachers in that tradition. There was a reason why you went to see him and not hundreds of other teachers. What I’m aiming at is that there is something about the person that is an important factor in the transmission of the teaching.

STEPHEN: Yes, I only did one retreat with Goenka himself, who is charismatic and inspiring, and after that I did about a dozen with Sayama. She came from the same tradition as Goenka, and they both had the same teacher. Why I kept going back to her is an interesting question. I think it’s because she embodied a very finely tuned and subtle understanding of practice. I really respected her extraordinary power of mind, her Samadhi, and how she brought this into the practice. There was something about her that was crystal clear—as if she was coming from a subtle awareness and a space that I could trust, that did not embody a lot of belief or tradition or control. She radiated a present moment awareness that was very big, free, unbounded, powerful and deserved respect.

Also, Sayama was one of the few teachers I met in my life that clearly had extraordinary powers. She would often answer my questions before I asked them. I would come into her room with a question in my mind and she would immediately start to answer it and so I didn’t need to say anything. So in terms of a student-teacher relationship there was definitely more content, flow and dynamism than the relationship with Goenka.

AMIR: Would you say that in your relationship with Sayama there was a spiritual intimacy or deep connection? Because what you described about her ability to know what’s on your mind and respond—that must have something to do with knowing each other very well or communicating on a deep level.

STEPHEN: Not exactly. There was deep communication but it was not at all personal. It was technique oriented. She didn’t know me or was interested in me as Stephen, with a certain character and personality. I don’t think she really cared about me that much. She was dedicated to understanding and guiding my experiences, on a specific well-trodden path within the frame of reference of the practice. There is a benefit in this dedication, but also a cost, since it is a bit like a parent only relating to their child according to how well they do at school. A lot will be missing, for example the ability to know the gifts and inner life of each person and so guide the practice more holistically and individually.

Since then, I’ve met many teachers who I sat with and talked to, and though I wouldn’t say they were major teachers in my life, they certainly helped me on the road. Some of those really did have a much more personal relationship with me, such that in a way we never forgot each other. There are a few who I would say have been more significant guides, friends and co-travelers along the way, including Fred von Allman, Joseph Goldstein and particularly Christopher Titmuss, who I have been close to for more than thirty years, and for whom I have enormous respect and appreciation as a friend, a teacher and a colleague.

I want to stress that teaching happens at several levels at once, not all of which may be consciously known by the student. There is the guiding in which the teacher as a kind of tour guide defines the path and the way and supports the student along it. There is the imparting of verbal knowledge, inspiration and hints of what is beyond. There is the modeling, in which the teacher radiates a more invisible way of being. Teaching can also happen when the teacher mirrors or reflects back to you something you asked or did, offering a larger, freer and wiser perspective, and in that moment they become teachers of yours, although it’s not consciously a teacher-student relationship in any way. Once I was in India on a six-week self-retreat, in a small room in an ashram, and there was a spiritual teacher teaching in a nearby ashram. He used to come to my room at 5:30 in the morning every couple of days and we would sit and talk. He would first of all kiss my feet, which is of course an Indian way of expressing his appreciation for my practice, and I bowed to his feet as well because the appreciation was mutual. Then we would talk and I felt that any question I threw out was answered from a huge space, as if throwing a pebble into a great clay jar and listening to the unlimited resonances. You could feel that space behind his eyes, from which I was seen and understood. The words could be about rice and beans or about the subtlest and most delicate movements in consciousness. Everything that was put in there came back out spontaneously, immediately, with no obvious thought behind it, emerging like an echo from this expanded awareness.

He’s not my teacher and I did not see him before or after that, but we had something very powerful, intimate and unforgettable that went on between us. I was clearly in the role of student and he was in the role of teacher. Maybe in another time it could have been reversed, where I might’ve helped him, but that was the framework we chose and kind of agreed on without words, and we were both happy with that.

AMIR: You’re really giving a few very different examples or models of the teacher-student relationship.

STEPHEN: Yes, teaching can be much more existential than sitting on a stage and giving talks. It can be with the eyes, with body language, with the way you are with people, with how you sing to a baby or how you relate to a dog or a cat in the street—and that’s teaching. On a subtle level, it is teaching because it’s coming from that expanded awareness and clarity and wisdom that I was talking about, manifesting naturally within ordinary life. I feel that people who are quite developed teach that way. They don’t always teach as intentionally and consistently, it might be quite spontaneous and actually they can’t do anything else. This doesn’t need a label—but it is teaching.

AMIR: I think you’re saying that for some people the formality of a defined teacher-student interrelation can enhance their ability, pull out of them greater depth, responsibility, care, etc., while for others, it may do the opposite and actually be an obstacle.

STEPHEN: That’s right. In many cases, it is really needed to start off, as it sets the scene, defines the territory of teaching and is familiar to students, a bit like going back to school. Thus it is an agreement that reduces the concerns and insecurities of the unknown. But indeed, there are some students who don’t really need this theatre and for whom the projections and roles of teacher and student are just a nuisance. More than that, it may trigger psychological resistance and friction, perhaps because of some previous pain connected with their relationship with “father.” In any case, the formality and the separation and the roles gradually break down along the way, and then the word “teacher” becomes irrelevant. When you talk about a deeper level, the roles, concepts and words tend to break down and cease to function as a medium of teaching. One should be aware of that. The teaching then happens naturally because nothing else can happen, and it is expressed in speech, body and mind. There isn’t anything that a teacher needs to do, he or she is manifesting their spirituality through themselves. The role vanishes, and there is no thought that says: “I’m going to teach now. Look at the way I’m walking down the corridor.”

AMIR: And yet you seem okay with being called a teacher, you seem comfortable being in that position and fulfilling that function—why is that? Are there any benefits, psychological or spiritual, that you get from being a teacher?

STEPHEN: For sure. The importance is in the doing of it, not in the label, which is not interesting. If I am called a teacher or not called a teacher, it doesn’t turn a hair. One benefit for me is that the expression or teaching of the dharma releases more of the stream. Teaching moves through me and out, so I feel the flow and that’s joyful, and that’s one reason why I keep teaching. Another reason is that there is nothing more interesting for me to do in life.

What else is there? Go to the office every day and do an ordinary job? It’s so joyful to be in the environment of the teaching situation and to be creative and playful. It brings out of me qualities that are needed in this struggling world, so I think it’s what I can do to help the world. Another benefit I feel is that teaching simply opens the heart in the present moment meetings with an individual or even a group. In the last year I have been going ’round pubs and bars, under the title “Buddha at the Bar,” giving talks and meditations to large numbers of people, and it warms the heart to bring a different message to young people who are often so much in need of a more hopeful and meaningful view beyond the usual diet of conflict, materialism, competitiveness, pressure and agitation.

AMIR: I think you’re saying that to have the right relationship to what comes out of you as a teacher means that you have to let go of any sense of possessing the teaching.

STEPHEN: Yes, definitely. You let go of possessing the teaching, of owning the role, and in the same way you let go of you possessing yourself—the self that’s on stage. You have to let go of that. The Dalai Lama expresses this very beautifully before giving teachings by symbolically bowing down to the seat before sitting on it. It’s a ritual that says, “I’m going to sit on that seat and honor the role given to me, but I wear the role like clothes, and then come down and take the clothes off.” Someone once told me that being a Dharma teacher is not about giving the most charismatic and wonderful talk you can give; but if you give the worst talk ever, you get up from your seat and have no more thoughts about it.

AMIR: Do you think that, as the Dalai Lama sits on his seat and wears those clothes, he also activates in himself certain human qualities that are required of anyone in that role? Is that something you experience when you sit on the stage in front of people asking you questions, that certain human qualities manifest in you that don’t manifest in other situations?

STEPHEN: No, I don’t think there are qualities I 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 death and the fear of losing each other,” and you’d listen to me. And then we’d both say to each other: thank you! So you see, this space between us holds endless variations, like the wind goes as it pleases.

AMIR: That’s beautiful! Now let’s compare it with a different scenario, in which I set up a meeting with you because I want to consult you as my teacher. I think our stance toward each other would be slightly different, and that would make something possible between us, that is different from us having a friendly conversation.

JAMES: Let’s say, you call because you want to speak to me in my role as a teacher, then I have to meet you by serving that role. If you’re in the role of the student, I have to be willing to be in the role of the teacher. Then the whole exploration would be in that context, of a teacher-student exchange. What is it in the exchange that you’re counting for me as the teacher to teach? I have to be faithful to the lineage and heritage of the tradition. I have to be sitting there and letting it use me for its own purposes. I have to be there for you with the integrity of that.