Showing posts with label fwbo criticism Sangharakshita. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fwbo criticism Sangharakshita. Show all posts

Friday, 27 July 2007

What is An Order Member?

Reprinted from Articles Shabda May 2004

Dhammaketu, Gent, Belgium

(Open to all)

Up to Bhante's full retirement the FWBO was a nicely structured, well oiled and well running machine, in which everybody had a well defined place. From a structural point of view, it was a pyramid, with controls very much at the top. The undisputed summit was Bhante, who acted as supreme watchman. Next came the Order, running things and keeping all strings securely in hand. Then came the mitras, non-officially but very really divided over three levels: first those who had asked for ordination, who had a clear program of things to be done to get ordained; then the old mitras who did not make it to ordination, were parked on a side track and eventually dropped out; and third the newer ones, who got attention as long as there were signs they might make it to ask for ordination. And at the bottom were the two classes of regulars: those who might become mitras and got attention, and those who would not, were sidetracked and eventually dropped out also.

All this gave a strong sense of security, and it was working quite well, as the astonishing growth figures testify: from very unpromising beginnings in 37 years to more than 1200 order members today, plus of course a few thousand mitras, a hundred Dharma centres reaching tens of thousands of people - and in India even far more ... . But since Bhante's retirement and especially since Yashomitra's article, this sense of security has gone. At the West-European Order Forum recently, I heard a very senior, highly regarded and deeply committed order member ask – “what it is to be an order member?” He was about the last one I would have expected this question from, but to him it clearly was not a rhetorical one at all. His question shows how deep and far-reaching the questioning goes, so I volunteer some reflections, not just about what it is to be an order member, but also about the order as a whole and its functioning within the movement. To understand both the past successes and the present state of questioning, we have to go back to one of the most weighty of Bhante's numerous fundamental contributions to present day Buddhism, both in the East and in the West: his emphasis on the Going for Refuge of the 'individual' - which happens to be also the foundation of our vision on the spiritual life in general, and on the Order specifically. I think that both what went well and what went wrong is connected to this, and so is the way out to the future.

Maybe we have repeated it so often, and often so unthinkingly, perfunctorily or at times maybe even dishonestly, that it may sound as a platitude, but the very foundation of what we are doing is just this: working at effectively Going for Refuge - and doing so as an individual.

Going for Refuge means somehow integrating the vision of the Buddha our lives. This is possible at various intensities and levels of stability, and as we all know, Bhante distinguished five levels we all know by heart, with only the first four being relevant at present.

At the bottom there is ethnic Going for Refuge: at its best this is living according to whatever of the vision of the Buddha has been integrated into the values and norms of the group one belongs to, and doing this in order to be accepted as a member of that group. Within the FWBO we tend to look down a bit patronizingly on this - unwarrantedly, because it is a very valuable thing. In as far as a group is inspired by the dharma, it will be a very positive one, and living according to its norms and values is highly beneficial. It is problematical only to the extent to which non-dharmic norms and values, or even counter-dharmic ones are mixed up with its dharmic ones.

But to live the spiritual life fully, we have to act as an individual: no longer to comply with group norms, but taking on shikshapadas, training rules, and acting according to them out of our personal growing emotional positivity and mental clarity. We start by trying out, with maybe still a lot of question marks and doubts, but definitely adjusting our lives out of our inner motivation. This phase Bhante has dubbed as 'provisional Going for Refuge'. And when we keep this going seriously and long enough, there comes a point at which the dharma is more and more becoming the centre of our lives and motivation, and we are able to decide this is how we will live on henceforth. And this is of course 'effective Going for Refuge'.

Now, according to traditional FWBO lore, ethnic Going for Refuge is typically found at the regulars level, provisional Going for Refuge with the mitras, and order members are distinguished by their effective Going for Refuge. But I think things are not that simple.

First, these are not three different and clearly demarcated levels, but rather three different mental attitudes, all three are still present in my mind, and I cannot help seeing them operating in others also. Our motives are mixed, we often act just as group members - luckily ours is an exceptionally positive group - , at times we have question marks and doubts, and only at our best moments we act out of inner clarity and positivity. These days [ie, in 2003] in Shabda we find ample evidence of rampant doubts and question marks within the order, and I think it even possible to meditate regularly, to be ethically decent and generally to be a 'good' order member when doing all this mainly in compliance to group norms. The only thing we can do about all this is working at keeping effective Going for Refuge the dominating attitude.

Second, this view about which level represents which attitude in Going for Refuge was formulated by Bhante very early on in the history of the movement, when the level of spiritual maturity was far lower than it is nowadays. When I hear some old stories, I have a feeling that some who become mitras nowadays are going for refuge far more effectively than was required to become an order member thirty years ago. And when I look at the practice of the majority of the mitras in Gent - including also the friends who will become mitras at next Wesak - I can testify the dharma is at the centre of their lives, they have no substantial doubts, and they have clearly decided this is how they will live henceforth - so they go for refuge effectively. Provisional Going for Refuge seems to be the province of some regulars and the people who came along very recently, and so is ethnic Going for Refuge..

I honestly think that effective going for refuge is no longer mainly limited to the order members and mitras approaching ordination. The old clear-cut demarcation lines do no longer obtain, and this has far-reaching consequences for the working of the movement. Bhante has always insisted, and very rightly so, that Buddhist movements should be run by committed people. In the early years the required level of commitment, stability and dharma knowledge was found only in order members, so we became a movement in which controls were kept tightly in the order. For a long time this has been a source of stable growth, but now it is becoming counter-productive. The great mass of effective Going for Refuge outside the order needs outlets to express itself, and it is noticeable that the most vigorous situations in the movement are mostly those in which mitras and committed friends are taking serious responsibilities. And instead of seeing this as threat or an exception to be avoided as much as possible, we should encourage it and create opportunities for it.

As the demarcation lines have gone, I think we need to get rid of the aura of exclusivity around being an order member and around the order. We order members are definitely not a special breed of Buddhists, we do not come back from our ordination retreats as new beings - in those of us who did not return as stream entrants the old person has not died at all! Maybe in the isolation of an ordination retreat we can whip ourselves up to believe this, but as soon as we are back in normal circumstances the old person just takes over - with post-ordination blues as a result. I sincerely hope the new ordination (non)-process will start dealing with this, and take down that wall, a bit in analogy with the dismantling of the old mitra system - which had a strongly invigorating effect on most of our centres.

Where does this leave us order members? When we no longer have the monopoly on effective Going for Refuge, are no longer running the show, and are no longer a special breed, where do we stand? Well, I see the order as the growth point of a movement which has set out to live an bring the dharma in forms which fit in with our culture, and we welcome into it those whose effective Going for Refuge is sufficiently intense, stable and mature to allow them to function at that growth point in our collective process of spiritual development. As for those of us who are already in the order, this means we have to keep growing, otherwise we will be overtaken and left behind. A tree has to grow to full maturity, and if we content ourselves with stagnating at the point we have reached, we are turning ourselves into a kind of bonsai order member - very decorative maybe, but rather useless this world needs more from its trees and order members.

In keeping growing we will be able to do what is most needed : instead of concentrating on running things ourselves, it will often be far more effective to concentrate more on being a kalyana mitra to all those who are ready to do their bit of work, and to operate as much as possible as givers of inspiration rather than as managers. To some characters such as mine letting-go of control does not come naturally, but it is a fine exercise in letting go of self-view - and maybe also a bit of a test of how seriously we are working at that. This does not mean we should stop doing things ourselves, there is quite a lot we still may have to take on, the need is to change our attitudes in this respect.

And of course, it is very unlikely we will in this life run out of personal growth opportunities. In our line of business, full maturity is Awakening for the sake of all beings, so we may kept busy for a few more lives or kalpas. But according to our teacher the first decisive step in that process is not that far off: real Going for Refuge, Stream Entry or the Awakening of the Bodhicitta. I still think, as I wrote a year ago, in the long run effective Going for Refuge is sustainable only when our perspectives are not limited to good meditations, good actions and being a good order member generally, but go for the next step in realising the full vision of the Buddha: Awakening, for the sake of all beings. In other words, in order to stay effectively Going for Refuge, we have to set out for that real Going for Refuge, not just by ritually repeating the words, but by acting on it, however inadequate our stumbling steps may seem. And only that, I think, makes us into real order members.

A Note on Revision of Bhante's Teachings

A couple of Shabdas ago Saccanama started a thread on the need of having a fresh look at Bhante's teachings. I intended to send some reflections on this topic also, but this article illustrates how I look at this question, so a short notice at the end of it will do.

Over the 16 years I have been involved in the FWBO, 9 of them as an order member, I have read extensively in Bhante's enormous output of books, talks, etc. In them I have found a lot of very inspiring insights for my life as a committed Buddhist in post-industrial Western Europe at the turn of the 21st century, and very little I did fundamentally disagree with - his interpretation of the Buddhist tradition about women and the spiritual life being the only instance coming to mind now. But especially recently I have noticed there are quite a few bits and pieces which do not fit any more. And when looking closely at them, it turns out they are sometimes just expressions of Bhante's personality or even idiosyncrasies or, more often, they were said in situations which are quite different from the present one.

So I have started to read Bhante with the eye of higher criticism. When I come across something which does not seem to fit, I ask a few questions, such as:

- in how far may this be an expression of the author's personality?
- who were the people to whom he said this?
- what were their needs at that time?
- in how far are these needs still present in our situation now?
- in how far are the means he recommended then still available or appropriate?
(This is just a sample; other similar or more detailed questions may be asked)

This is a powerful instrument for sifting, not the chaff from the corn - I have come across very little chaff in my reading of Bhante - but the universally valid general principles from what is circumstantial and no longer applicable in the present situation. It is not likely we will always all give the same answers to this kind of questions, but I think we have to ask them again and again, if we want to avoid ending up just parroting Bhante, with ironclad rules and immovable institutions cast in reinforced concrete - exactly the opposite of what he wanted us to be.

I have applied this approach in writing the above article, and I hope at least the questions will be useful for the further growth of our movement, even if we do not all agree on my answers.

Friday, 13 July 2007

Sexual Evolution

Dhammadinna
First published in Dharma Life 8, Summer 1998

In 28 years as a Buddhist, Dhammadinna, has seen or done it all. She recalls experiments in the Friends of the Western Buddhist Order around sex, celibacy and lifestyle and discusses how its collective experience has matured.

In the late Sixties I lived in a large commune of ten adults and four children. Some friends lived in a much looser commune where people didn't even have a room of their own, but changed rooms and partners on a nightly basis. The Sixties was a time of both genuine idealism and great naivety. Some of us believed, at least for a while, that anything was possible and that we could change ourselves and the world through love.

This was the era of free love, jazz, poetry and drugs; the development of humanistic psychology and the cult of free expression; the re-emergence of the women's movement and the advent of gay pride; the greater availability of birth control, especially the pill; and, from a background culture of drugs, the explosion of LSD to a wider public. It was a time of exploration and experimentation in many areas of life - political, philosophical, mystical and religious, psychological, artistic, musical, social, chemical and not least sexual.

Sexual liberation meant hedonistic, guilt-free sex: heterosexual, homosexual and bisexual, with one or a number of partners. From both humanistic psychology and drug experimentation came attitudes such as 'letting it all hang out', 'going with the flow' and 'if you feel like doing it, do it'. The positive side of this was a willingness to explore and experiment, taking nothing for granted. There was also a darker side induced by confusion, bad trips and sometimes descent into addiction, alienation and despair.

When Sangharakshita returned to England in the early Sixties, after 20 years in India as a Buddhist monk, it was with people from this counter culture that he found himself working. As the incumbent at the Hampstead Buddhist Vihara, he encountered a much more respectable section of society. But increasingly, the people he taught came from the 'counter-culture', and their energy and radicalism seemed to offer a basis for engagement with the transformative teachings of Buddhism.

In 1967 Sangharakshita founded the Friends of the Western Buddhist Order (FWBO) with the aim of developing ways of practising Buddhism that were appropriate in the modern world. From these beginnings a Buddhist movement developed. During the 1960s and '70s, the numbers involved in the FWBO were small. We were a 'circle of friends' attempting to put our ideals into practice and develop a new society based on Buddhist principles. Many of us were young and were willing to question and challenge all areas of life.

But times have changed, and some of the things we did in the past have given rise to controversy. Perhaps it is time to take stock; to look back on those early experiments, and consider what was learnt and what has been left behind. This means understanding the attitudes and activities of previous decades in the context of their time. We should be aware of the tendency to see the past through the eyes of the present: a time affected by Aids and by discussion of sexual abuse, as well as by political correctness and gender politics.

When I first encountered the FWBO in 1970 I was 24 and a hippy. I was in an 'open marriage' and, although I had personal sexual difficulties, I subscribed to the ethos that sex was a form of communication and it was open to each person to decide what they wanted to do. In my commune people had changed or shared partners, and I was not prejudiced about homosexuality or lesbianism, having friends of both persuasions.

In the FWBO people were of differing ages but many were young like myself and shared my ideas. When I first met Sangharakshita, he cut an unusual figure. He was dressed in orange robes, but had long hair and wore a Tibetan mala. He was also friendly and informal, although with an obvious air of spiritual authority and wisdom. Early retreats could be quite wild with people dancing and drumming on the lawns, engaging in drama or dream groups, forming and leaving relationships, as well as engaging in serious spiritual practice

Sangharakshita initially gave us a great deal of leeway, affirming our enthusiastic search for Truth, but he also knew when to begin to demand more. On the summer retreat of 1972 he introduced triple periods of meditation, long periods of silence, and an emphasis on mindfulness and reflection. After this retreat many of us decided to take our spiritual lives more seriously and formed the first residential communities around Pundarika, our centre in north London. And in 1973 I was ordained into the Western Buddhist Order.

Early in my involvement I wanted to go away and meditate for a few days and I chose a Tibetan Buddhist centre. The people there were friendly but referred to rumours concerning Sangharakshita and sex. I was not at all bothered; it didn't occur to me to check with Sangharakshita whether they were true. It struck me as a fuss about nothing. I had made a spiritual connection with Sangharakshita, and through him with Buddhism. He had befriended and guided me. I knew he wore robes for ceremonial reasons but less and less so otherwise.

I did not think of Sangharakshita as a traditional bhikkhu, and at that time I wasn't particularly interested in traditional forms of Buddhism. I trusted him. I had always found him willing to talk to me about all aspects of my life. He was sympathetic and helpful to me when my marriage broke up, encouraging when I practised celibacy, and understanding when I gave it up.

As our practice deepened my contemporaries and I in the WBO began to see that sex could cause a lot of confusion and be a distraction from Buddhist practice. Moreover we were beginning to realise that the romantic ideal - so prevalent in our western conditioning - could lead to dependency, and work against the development of friendships and a harmonious sangha (spiritual community). Reflections such as these led to the establishment of single-sex activities. This began with retreats for men and for women, but developed into the establishment of single-sex communities and 'Right Livelihood' working projects. By the mid-Eighties we came to feel that single-sex activities in all areas of practice were most conducive to spiritual growth.

Our decisions to practise within these single-sex situations and to question our sexual involvements and attitudes arose out of a desire to break our dependency on the opposite sex. This kind of exploration, however, was specific to the West; it arose from the need we felt to discover which lifestyles were most helpful at a time when conventions were being challenged. It wouldn't be appropriate in a more traditional society, where it might be unacceptable and undermine social stability.

My open marriage had ended amicably in 1972. Through forming other friendships and meditating I had realised how dependent I was on my partner, and I wanted to be more independent. I embarked on further relationships but soon became aware that I still had a tendency to emotional dependence. I wanted to experience myself single and alone, responsible for myself, with the time and energy to devote to my friendships and my spiritual practice. I also suffered from sexual guilt and I wanted some time free from that sort of conflict.

For me, moving to a single-sex lifestyle went along with giving up sex. For others it meant engaging in same-sex sex. Some people did this for a while, perhaps realising they were more bisexual than they had thought, while others discovered their true orientation was towards their own gender. Other people remained heterosexual, and still others became celibate. We were trying to break taboos, perhaps derived from Christian and social attitudes to sex, which sometimes resulted in irrational guilt. Some people began to speculate that homosexuality might be in some way more 'spiritual' than heterosexuality, because it was less likely to lead to domesticity and settling down. We also discussed whether spiritual friendship and sexual involvement could go together.

To what extent did these ideas derive from Sangharakshita? In assessing this I have looked back at transcripts of the seminars he led between the mid-Seventies and mid-Eighties. These were intensive and intimate retreats when Sangharakshita led the participants through a Buddhist text, discussing its meaning and its relevance to our spiritual lives. Seminars also provided an opportunity to discuss anything of interest to us. Sexual relationships, sexual orientation, gender, friendship, community life, and lifestyle were all crucial issues as we set up our new Buddhist movement. They were discussed openly and frankly.

These transcripts show how careful was Sangharakshita's thinking. In one discussion he was asked if he thought homosexuality was more 'spiritual' than heterosexuality. He commented that we had to consult our own experience and be honest, and he was not sure that there was less psychological projection in homosexuality. However, he suggested, men often fear expressing their feelings for each other in case they are seen as sexual, and this fear can lead to a general emotional repression. He thought that a man having strong feelings towards another man, even if those feelings are tinged with sexual attraction, need not mean he is homosexual. Sangharakshita concluded that spiritually speaking there is probably not much difference between heterosexual and homosexual relationships, and that we must be equally mindful in either. What is important, he said, is that we cultivate friendship, which will help us to leave sex behind.

In 1981 experimentation took another direction at one FWBO centre where a number of people decided to engage in friendly heterosexual sex outside committed relationships - in other words, promiscuity. This experiment involved very few people, did not last long, and soon people returned to being single, or celibate, or in settled relationships. Perhaps in response, Sangharakshita gave a lecture in 1982 on the virtue of fidelity. The lecture covered fidelity to oneself, to ideals and to other people. Under fidelity to others came the question of sexual fidelity and Sangharakshita outlined three possible modes: monogamy, promiscuity and celibacy. Each, he suggested, has a healthy form and a neurotic form. By promiscuity he meant non-continuity of sexual partners, in other words serial monogamy. He warned that people should be alive to the difficulties of each approach, and seek to avoid the dangers of neurotic attachment, distraction and so on.

Sangharakshita has always encouraged celibacy. He has stressed that people with a natural desire to be chaste should not be encouraged into sexual relationships by others who might think this more normal. He has also urged his disciples, as they get older, to start thinking of moving towards chastity. In an interview in Golden Drum magazine on 'Sex and the Spiritual Life' (autumn 1987), Sangharakshita discussed the powerful, sometimes destructive nature of the sexual drive and the need for those on a spiritual path to invest less emotional energy in sexual relationships.

He also expressed pleasure that more people were taking the Anagarika precept, which enjoins chastity. He never urges anyone to take this precept and Order members need not be celibate. 'One is only asked to keep one's sex life at the periphery, or towards the periphery ... But if one can be celibate ... in a positive and healthy way, I'm sure that will enable one - other factors being equal - to develop spiritually more rapidly.'

During the late 1980s and early '90s more men and women Order members took the Anagarika precept. Becoming an Anagarika does not constitute a higher ordination but it involves the precept of abstention from sexual activity (abrahmacarya). Some Anagarikas have maintained this precept while others have ceased to be chaste and reverted to their previous status. It seems that being celibate is not easy in the West, as the culture that surrounds us is so concerned with sex.

Sangharakshita maintains, however, that the extent to which we are caught up in sexual activity and craving is a matter of degree. In this sense we are all celibate or non-celibate to some extent, and he said that he would like to see everyone in the FWBO progressively moving away from sexual craving, and becoming 'more and more celibate every day'.

These then were the attitudes and examples that informed my own approach to sex. When I decided to end my sexual relationship and give up sex, I initially saw this as a matter of taking 'time out', and the first couple of years were helpful. But as time passed I came to think sex was bad and unspiritual and that I should give it up for good. To do otherwise would have been to 'fall back'. But I had not taken a vow, so in reality I was free to choose whether or not to begin another sexual relationship. This became painful and confusing when I started to experience sexual desire again, but it was also illuminating as I began to understand the extent of my irrational sexual guilt.

Sangharakshita was understanding. He said it was important with any decision to keep the initiative and that perhaps I had lost touch with my reasons for choosing celibacy. Some time later I started a sexual relationship. Over the years I have had a number of sexual relationships, interspersed with sometimes quite long periods of being single. The periods when I was able to be alone and still feel contented and happy have been important to me and helped my relationships to become less neurotic. At the moment I am single and happy with this state.

These days the FWBO is much larger: at first the whole Order could sit in one room and discuss its future in terms of principle and practice. It is harder to see what sexual attitudes in the FWBO currently are, except that they're varied. The average age of Order members has risen steadily, many of us have been practising for many years. We also attract more people with families, which has raised further issues. The emphasis on single-sex activities, community living and team-based Right Livelihood work has sometimes led people with families to feel marginalised.

This is an area of continuing discussion but recent years have seen many more family groups around FWBO centres. There is a creative tension in this area. On one hand we emphasise renunciation and 'going forth' from worldly life (with the institutions of the FWBO offering a practical means of doing this). On the other hand we need to help people in families to find ways of deepening their Buddhist practice.

I find it is now much easier to work with this tension. When I was a young Order member trying to set up communities and projects with few resources, I was sometimes alarmed if a team-member expressed a desire to have a baby. I could see the whole project collapsing. Now I find my greater life experience and maturity enable me to discuss such issues much more openly than in the past, and I can understand the experience of people with families much better.

Although there is now an undoubted ability to address such matters in the Order, sex and sexuality will continue to be an issue for a community that is neither lay nor monastic. In the FWBO there has always been discussion of sexual ethics - both in general terms and on specific issues. One key area is sexual relationships between Order members and the people they teach. Are these relationships exploitative? Can sex and spiritual friendship ever go together, or are they mutually exclusive?

Some people wonder if such relationships need to be governed by rules. But this would fail to express the spirit in which we approach ethical practice: we seek to understand the underlying principle expressed in the Buddhist ethical precepts, rather than proscribing particular actions. Furthermore in a Buddhist movement of the size and diversity of the FWBO - which is active in cultures as different as the modern us, India and South America - any attempt to dictate norms of behaviour could become enormously complex.

It is a mistake to regard an Order member in the same way as a therapist or a priest. An Order member is simply an individual who has made a decisive commitment to Buddhism, and who may express this by leading classes and retreats. However, people coming to learn will have expectations; and if sex is in the mix, it can be confusing. So this area needs careful scrutiny and discussion.

Personally I am convinced that the FWBO's exploratory approach to issues of sex and sexual relationships has been hugely helpful to me and my contemporaries. I have been involved in the FWBO for 28 years and have grown up within it. I have been both instrumental in and affected by its developing ethos. The FWBO's emphasis on spiritual friendship, going beyond emotional dependency, trying to make sexual relationships less central to one's life, thinking about ethics, and working towards celibacy have all had their effect on me.

I have been married, single, celibate, engaged in 'serial monogamy' and in periods of non-monogamy. I have tried to behave ethically and when I have failed I've tried to make amends. I have felt able to be open with my friends about sex and they have been honest with me. By working through strong feelings of irrational guilt about sex and Buddhist practice, I have freed up a great deal of energy. I certainly do not think everyone in the FWBO needs to experiment sexually. But I hope people feel they can be honest about who they are without incurring condemnation.

Particularly in the West, where there are so many options, we need to examine our sex-lives and make choices in accordance with our overall spiritual direction. As a result of our early explorations, we now have thriving single-sex teams and communities, which provide good conditions for serious Dharma practice. We have slowly - sometimes painfully - developed the maturity that enables people to discover their own path, and the lifestyle that best helps them to practise the Buddha's teaching.

Wednesday, 13 June 2007

Sex and the Spiritual Life - an interview with Sangharakshita

An interview with Sangharakshita published in Golden Drum in 1988.

This is probably the first time Sangharakshita spoke 'on the record' about his sexual experiences.

A more recent interview, also with Nagabodhi, is available on DVD. It is entitled 'A Retrospective' and covers a wide range of topics including sex.

Nagabodhi: The Five Precepts are the common 'minimal' ethical observance of Buddhists throughout the world. The third precept, Kamesu miccachara veramani sikkhapadam samadiami, is translated: 'I undertake the training principle of refraining from sexual misconduct'. What is the essential meaning of this precept?

Bhante: There is a personal aspect and a social aspect. One must avoid sexual behaviour which is socially disruptive, and one must at the very least avoid engaging in sexual behaviour of any kind to such an extent that one's ethical and spiritual progress is seriously impeded.

Nagabodhi: In the Buddhist East this precept is often taken to mean simply the avoidance of rape, abduction, and adultery.

Bhante: This is really quite a narrow view. The thought that immediately springs to mind is that of prostitution in Bangkok. Bangkok is almost the world capital of prostitution, so much of it goes on there. Yet Thailand is a Buddhist country, and the prostitutes in Thailand are all, presumably, good Buddhists. So those who engage in prostitution - assuming they are not married women doing it for a bit of extra house-keeping money - are not committing rape, they're not committing adultery, and are therefore, according to the current, popular Buddhist understanding, not committing any breach of the third precept. But one certainly couldn't feel that by having recourse to prostitution they were really leading ethical lives from a Buddhist point of view!

Nagabodhi: Why has the precept come to be interpreted in such a narrow way?

Bhante: I think people in the Buddhist East, including parts of India, don't really examine their sexual behaviour in any detail. At least until recently, you simply conformed to tradition and custom, rather than trying to work out what was ethical or non-ethical for yourself. More often than not, tradition and custom kept you on the right track - one has to acknowledge that - but perhaps not in a very intelligent way. People wouldn't usually examine their sexual conduct any more than they usually examined any other aspect of their behaviour. They'd be concerned only with SOCIAL approval or disapproval. And, naturally, the group interprets the precept in a rather social sort of way.

Generally speaking, in the Buddhist East, they don't worry too much about what goes on between consenting adults in private, provided it does not amount to rape, adultery, or anything of that sort. Certainly, in Buddhism, there isn't that preoccupation with the minutiae of sexual behaviour that we have had in the West, as a subject for gossip and enquiry, nor even, perhaps, for ethical scrutiny.

Perhaps it should also be said that, in those countries, there is no very serious expectation that the lay person will lead a spiritual life. The monks or nuns, on the other hand, ARE expected to lead a spiritual life, and for them there is the Vinaya, in which the precept is explored in far greater detail, probably to make it clear that absolutely all forms of sexual behaviour are excluded.

Nagabodhi: To what extent can the rules of the Vinaya be taken as the Buddha's own words, or as representing a detailed working out of his views on the subject of sex?

Bhante: Whether or not they are Buddha vachana in all their details can be debated; I am not at all sure that the Vinaya offers a fair representation of the Buddha's thoughts on the subject. It is very legalistic in tone, and I don't think the Buddha could have viewed anything in a purely legalistic way. But I think the Vinaya does give legalistic expression to an attitude, or a principle, which was the attitude of the Buddha himself.

There can be no serious doubt that the Buddha expected his monk disciples - those who had Gone Forth from their spouses and families - to be celibate. That seems to have been understood, not only by the Buddha himself, but by others of his day. One who had Gone Forth from home into the homeless life did so probably because he or she wanted to be free from all entanglements. So even if one disregarded the personal aspect of sexual ethics - if one disregarded the effect of sex upon the mind - one would still have to avoid sexual activity if one wanted to be free from worldly (in the sense of household) entanglements. If one did engage in sex, a sexual relationship might develop, children might be produced, and you would be back where you had started.

From this point of view, such abstention from sexual activity would be the concomitant of a certain LIFESTYLE, rather than of the spiritual life as such. The Buddha certainly wouldn't say that one who hadn't completely given up sexual activity couldn't make any spiritual progress, and it wasn't that you couldn't make spiritual progress without being a monk. The Buddha had householder disciples who were Stream Entrants, who appear not to have given up sexual activity. But, if you did follow the lifestyle of a monk, it would have been contradictory to engage in sexual activities in a society where there were no contraceptives.

Nagabodhi: When you were in the East, living as a monk, what part did chastity play in your own personal practice?

Bhante: I'm not so sure that it played a very active part. I knew I was expected to be celibate, and so I was. I accepted it as part of the deal, part of the spiritual life; but looking back, I don't think I regarded chastity as a PRACTICE, something I should WORK on.

I was chaste for many, many years, in body, and I think in speech. Unchastity of speech always displeased me from a quite early age. But I don't think I made a particular effort to eliminate sexual thoughts. I was more concerned with eradicating unmindfulness, and was much more distressed by angry or violent thoughts than I was by sexual thoughts - which I tended to think of as being more 'natural'.

But, even when I was in the army, these feelings, though strong, were very much at the background of my mind. I was finding the East so interesting. I was reading whatever Buddhist books I could get hold of; I was writing - it was a very exciting time for me. So even sexual THOUGHTS played a very minor part in my life. It was only when my thirst for such things as the Dharma, literature, poetry, and philosophy had been slaked to some extent that I started thinking about sex, towards the end of my stay in India.

Nagabodhi: In your experience of the modern Theravada, did the monks seem to be spotless in their practice of chastity?

Bhante: Some of them did talk to me about these things, and from what they said I gained the impression that most Theravada monks had committed minor breaches of celibacy, at least from time to time. I even met and heard of a few Theravada monks who had wives and children - though they kept them as secret as they could - but who none the less continued to wear the yellow robe and expected to be treated as monks.

Minor breaches of celibacy were generally overlooked, as if it was almost too much to expect of ordinary human beings that they should be completely celibate in body, even though they were monks. Among themselves, the attitude was fairly forgiving. After all, many of them had become monks purely for social reasons: because their parents wanted them to become monks, or because, by becoming monks, they could be sure of receiving a good education, or of achieving economic security. So there would be no question of any conflict between their breach of the precept and their spiritual aspiration. They were usually only concerned with what might happen if they were found out by the lay people.

Nagabodhi: Even so, in many traditional Buddhist countries, sex is the 'great divider', perhaps the major point of difference between the life of the monk and the life of the lay-person. The monk is chaste; the lay-person is not. Is this a fair observation?

Bhante: It is certainly fair with regard to the Theravada countries and those Mahayana countries where they do have celibate monks. But it wouldn't be a fair observation with regard to Japan, where celibate monks ceased to exist centuries ago, or to some of the sects of Tibetan Buddhism who do not emphasise the monastic life, and therefore do not emphasise celibacy.

In the Theravada world, the monks and the laity seem to have very little in common. They certainly don't seem be following one and the same spiritual path. The Mahayana's main emphasis, though, is on the Bodhisattva Ideal, and therefore on the development of the Bodhicitta (or 'Will to Enlightenment').

In the early days of the Mahayana there was a very strong conviction that the Buddha had taught what was, essentially, one path for all: not only in the sense of his having taught one yana instead of three, but also in the sense of his having taught a spiritual path which could be followed regardless of lifestyle. The Bodhichitta can be developed both by the monk and by the layman; the emphasis was very much on following the path of the Paramitas (Perfections), and on becoming a Bodhisattva. Celibacy and non-celibacy thus became less important issues. One did not have to be a monk - or a layman - to develop spiritually. In our FWBO terminology, we would say that commitment was primary and lifestyle was secondary.

A further development was of course that of the Vajrayana. There were great teachers, even in India, who were not monks. Chandragomin, who composed the 'Hymn to Tara', was a layman. We have the famous example of Vimalakirti, who was a Bodhisattva APPEARING as a layman. Marpa too is a famous example, - though his most celebrated disciple, Milarepa, led an extremely ascetic life and was certainly celibate. In this way, the ground was prepared for the 'married lamas' of the Vajrayana.

Nagabodhi: Do you think the Theravada has placed too much emphasis on the importance of chastity in the monk's life?

Bhante: I think it would be difficult to attach too much importance to chastity. It is, however, possible to attach too much importance to being a monk, in whose life chastity occupies an important place. You could say that the Theravada places too much emphasis on monasticism, too much emphasis on chastity as an aspect of monasticism, and, therefore, too much emphasis on chastity of BODY: on chastity in a purely TECHNICAL sense.

You see, it's not as if you've got the chaste as the sheep, as it were, and the rest as the goats. We shouldn't think of chastity and non-chastity as if they were white and black, and as though you were either one or the other. There are degrees. To begin with, there's chastity of body, chastity of speech, and chastity of mind. We can't divide Buddhists into those who are chaste and those who are not chaste. We can't even divide them into those who are bodily chaste and those who are not. One certainly can't associate chastity exclusively with the monk and non-chastity exclusively with the layman. I would prefer to say that there are infinite gradations, and that everybody is chaste to some extent and everybody is non-chaste to some extent.

Nagabodhi: I believe the Buddha once said, 'If there was another human passion as powerful as the sexual urge, there would be no hope of Enlightenment for human beings': What do you think he meant by that?

Bhante: One COULD argue that the Buddha was simply trying to point out how powerful that passion is, so that his disciples would guard against it. But I take it quite literally.

The sex drive is very powerful. From a common sense point of view, the sex drive is what enables the human race to perpetuate itself; it would seem to be nature's great con-trick. If there was no sex drive, and we were asked, on rational grounds, to do what the sex-drive impels us to do instinctively, most likely we wouldn't do it! If you didn't have any sex urge, or sex drive, would you REALLY want to be responsible for bringing into the world, and supporting, and educating, children? You'd have to be quite altruistic to want to do that on purely rational grounds!

Then again, the sex drive can have a very destructive effect. It can be a source of very strong feelings of attachment and possessiveness, of jealousy, hatred, and despair. It can completely overwhelm people, making it impossible for them to follow the spiritual life, or even think in terms of any higher human development.

I suppose the Buddha's view was that sexual desire is a form of craving. Craving is, of course, an unskillful mental state, and unskillful states hold us back from gaining Enlightenment. For Buddhism - certainly for early Buddhism, and certainly for the Theravada - sexual desire is thus axiomatically unskillful. I doubt very much whether it is anywhere considered that you can engage in sexual activity without, at least to some extent, that activity being an expression of an unskillful mental state.

Nagabodhi: Under no circumstances or conditions?

Bhante: It would seem so, yes.

The emphasis of Buddhism in this respect - its realisation that sex is, or can be, an obstacle to spiritual life - is virtually unique. The theistic religions tend to believe that God created everything in the world: he created human beings, and he created their bodies - including the reproductive organs. So, in a way, God is BEHIND sex, and approves of sex. In some religions, God even blesses sex (- though the Christian position is ambiguous, because the Fall has rather spoiled things).

In the case of Buddhism, however, there is no creator god, no god responsible for sex. So who IS responsible for sex? YOU are. Your past desires - 'past' in the sense of desires experienced in a previous existence - have brought you, in this life, into the gross material human body, equipped with sexual organs, by means of which you can give expression to the desires you have carried from your previous existence.

People are not aware of how powerful this force is. You experience the strength of a force when you oppose it. Usually people tend to go along with their sexual drives, and so don't experience their strength - except, perhaps, when they come up against external obstacles, in the form of parental disapproval, or something of that sort.

So, since Buddhism regards sexual desires (along with others) as binding you to the Wheel of Life and causing you to be reborn again and again, it therefore teaches that, if you are serious about not being reborn, if you are serious about following a spiritual path and attaining Nirvana, then you will need to avoid sex, not simply in the sense of abstaining from sexual activity, but in the sense of overcoming, eventually, those particular desires or cravings that find expression through sexual activity.

Nagabodhi: You have been using the words 'desire' and 'craving'. Craving is usually understood to imply a neurotic element, as distinct from 'desire' - which is sometimes understood to suggest more of a healthy appetite. Is sexual desire always to be regarded as a form of 'craving'?

Bhante: I think traditional Buddhism, especially Theravada Buddhism, would maintain that even a healthy appetite for sex is the expression of an unskillful mental state. It follows from Buddhist principles that one could be Enlightened and at the same time enjoy one's food, without any associated craving. But I doubt if that principle could be extended to cover sexual experience. Buddhists might well acknowledge that even an Enlightened person has to eat; but an Enlightened person does not have to engage in sexual activity, he does not have to procreate.

Then, of course, the sexual appetite usually involves other people. When one comes into close physical, or emotional, contact with another person within the context of a sexual relationship, usually all sorts of psychological projections take place, and sometimes a very complicated, even negative situation develops - which doesn't happen with regard to food, say, or to sleep. Even the so-called 'healthy appetite' for sex, if satisfied, very quickly leads to the development of attachment. That attachment can lead to the arising of very strong emotions of possessiveness, jealousy, hatred, and so on.

It could of course be argued that it is possible for someone to enjoy sex without any of these things arising. But then there would very likely be present in the mind of that person, the unskillful states, not so much of sexual craving, as of indifference, lack of positive emotion, and exploitiveness.

Nagabodhi: To return to the Five Precepts for a moment, you once composed a 'Tantric version', in which the third precept was rendered: 'Do not misuse energy.' Could you expand on that?

Bhante: The third precept represents an important form of ethical discipline. I discovered that a lot of young people in the West didn't take very kindly to the idea of discipline, so it wasn't very easy to talk about the importance of the precept in disciplinary terms.

What I had in mind was that sexual energy was a sort of paradigm of energy in general. I don't think there is, specifically, a special, separate, 'sexual energy'. The psycho-physical organism is itself an expression of energy, and sexual activity is simply one form in which that energy manifests itself. It's obviously important that energy should not be wasted, so if you can point out that sexual energy is a form of energy, then it becomes immediately obvious that that energy should not be wasted.

Nagabodhi: Some people argue that sexual activity - and particularly the orgasm - bestows energy, and that its denial depletes. Could you comment on this?

Bhante: I rather doubt whether sex does actually give people energy, as they maintain. At the time of orgasm there is an expenditure of energy; you experience yourself as spending energy, and therefore you experience yourself as being 'energy full' - as you might when you throw a cricket ball.

When people talk of sex and orgasm actually giving them energy, they are talking about something quite different. I think, especially in the case of men, that when they experience orgasm, there's a sort of sense of achievement, as if they've had their way: they've done something that they consider worthwhile. Their ego becomes a bit bloated and swollen, and this they interpret as a sort of access of energy. It isn't at all a healthy or positive state.

When one has experienced orgasm, one is often left in a state of what could be called 'enervation'. Having made the effort that the approach to orgasm involves, your natural tendency is simply to rest. If you want to meditate, to overcome the hindrances, to concentrate the mind, and enter the dhyanas, you have to make a very great effort, and after an orgasm, you won't feel like making an effort. Some people may not feel like making an effort - especially that mental effort - for many hours afterwards; for others it might be quite a few days. They are just not able to get their mental energies together. It's not that they feel physically weak, or even mentally exhausted: they have lost a certain cutting edge, not only in relation to meditation, but to all sorts of other areas. They need to give their energies, and especially their mental energies, time to build up again and to want to express themselves.

Nagabodhi: You sometimes hears it said that, at the moment of orgasm, one experiences a dissolution of ego and a sense of union with one's partner. . .

Bhante: There seems to be a confusion here between sinking below the ego and transcending it. Ego is lost in deep sleep; you are not self-conscious in all sorts of situations, not because you've transcended the ego, but because you've temporarily reverted to a state lower than that of the ego, or self-consciousness.

As for 'union', the very idea is nonsensical. Often, those very people who feel this sense of union at the time of orgasm are fighting and quarrelling five minutes later! So where is the union? What has been achieved? If one really achieved unity in a spiritual sense, not just by way of mutual unconsciousness, then one's attitude to the other person would be completely transformed: one would be positive, affectionate, and caring,- which ordinary human sexual relationships rarely are.

Nagabodhi: Even so, sex is usually regarded as a vital route - even the vital route to emotional fulfillment and satisfaction....

Bhante: I wonder whether people really do get emotional satisfaction and fulfillment out of sex. Certainly there is a MEASURE of satisfaction and fulfillment, but it's usually very short-lived.

Emotional satisfaction and fulfillment is quite a big thing. From a philosophical point of view, Buddhism sees man's predicament as stemming from the fact that he is looking for absolute happiness in something which is quite unable to give absolute happiness. He's looking for permanence in something which is quite unable to give him permanence, looking for the real in the midst of the unreal. No finite thing is capable of giving infinite and unlimited satisfaction and fulfillment - emotional or otherwise. But this is very often what people are looking for in sex. So sex may give them a measure of satisfaction, a measure of fulfillment; but it can't give satisfaction and fulfillment to the degree that people expect or hope.

Nagabodhi: But people look to sex at least for the enjoyment of emotional intimacy...

Bhante: Well, there is certainly physical intimacy in sex. Whether there is emotional intimacy is quite another matter. It is well known that all sorts of misunderstandings and confusions occur between people who are involved in sexual relationships. When a sexual relationship comes to an end, it often does so in a very unfortunate and emotionally negative way: the two people separate, perhaps with fairly negative feelings towards each other; their so-called intimacy might never have been.

Nagabodhi: So when people speak of their sexual partners as being their best friends, do you think they are absolutely deluded?

Bhante: Friendship and sexual infatuation are two very different things. Sexual infatuation can arise and reach its physical consummation very, very rapidly. Friendship is a plant of much slower growth; it takes much longer to develop. You become friends with someone as you really get to know them, as you develop confidence in them, as you come to feel that they really do know and understand you. This is very different from the process of sexual infatuation.

It may be that, when sexual infatuation subsides, if the two people are reasonably healthy, and if they have certain things in common, including the raising of a family, or if they have religious and spiritual ideals in common, they MAY be able to develop a friendship in the long run, especially as they get older. But, even so, a sexual relationship is a very different thing from a friendship. If anybody ever tells me that their wife is their best friend, or their girlfriend is their best friend, or their husband is their best friend, or their boyfriend is their best friend, I can't help feeling that they are using the word 'friendship' in a totally different sense from the sense in which I use it.

Nagabodhi: I believe you once said that the worst thing you can do to someone is to fall in love with them. Could you explain what you meant?

Bhante: Falling in love implies psychological projection, or seeing in the other person qualities and aspects which are in fact qualities and aspects of yourself, but of which you are unconscious. This means that you do not see the other person as they really are; in a way, you're not treating them as a human being; you are treating them as an object, a thing. Perhaps you're both treating each other in that way, and it may be that by that means you satisfy certain appetites. But there won't be any question of your development as a human being, much less still of any spiritual development.

Nagabodhi: Presumably, you have had to spend a fair amount of time over the years discussing this aspect of your pupils' lives?

Bhante: In the early days of the FWBO, especially, when people tended to bring their more everyday problems to me rather than to Order members, very roughly a third of my discussion time would be devoted to the subject of sex, and particularly to sexual relationships that had gone wrong or broken down.

Nagabodhi: Did you find that men and women have different problems and preoccupations in this area?

Bhante: It's not easy to generalise, but it does seem that achieving a sexual RELATIONSHIP was more important for women than for men. In the case of men, it was perhaps more a matter of gaining sexual satisfaction - not necessarily with one and the same woman.

In the case of women, sexual desire is very much bound up with the desire for children. At the back of the woman's mind all the time is the desire for a child, and there is therefore the desire to have someone to help her, and look after her, when she is having the child. That question doesn't arise in the case of the man - who has to be wary of adopting a purely self-indulgent and exploitative attitude with regard to sex. Men may want children, but rarely in the passionate sort of way that women very often do.

Over the years, I came very much to the conclusion that the reason why sexual relationships were so difficult, and sometimes ended so disastrously, was that people were investing far too much in them. Very often, they seemed to have built their lives around their sexual relationships, and had no other serious relationships: not with their parents, for example, and certainly not with their friends.

Nagabodhi: Is this a particularly Western syndrome? Or did you have to deal with similar problems in India?

Bhante: I don't remember having to, partly because people - if they did have problems concerning sex - might well have considered it inappropriate to bring them to me, a celibate monk. But I also think that people did not have that sort of problem - certainly the non-westernised people - because most Indians lived as members of a joint family; there was a good spread of relationships, even of important relationships, in their lives.

Nagabodhi: Could there be a lesson in that for us?

Bhante: In the FWBO we sometimes talk in terms of the 'mandala' (or, 'magic circle') The mandala, is your whole life, and what is within your mandala represents the contents of your life. A mandala has a centre, so there will be, in the mandala of your life, something which occupies a central position: the interest, activity, idea, or ideal around which your life is centred. Then, we include the other interests and activities of our lives, putting them nearer to the centre as they are more important, and nearer to the periphery as they are less important.

So, with regard to sex, I think we could say that, for most people, sex has a legitimate place somewhere near the periphery of the personal mandala. It certainly shouldn't be at the centre of the mandala; THERE we place the Buddha, representing the ideal of Enlightenment.

It is possible for a human being to develop spiritually while still engaging in a certain amount of sexual activity. But that is provided that not too much importance is attached to that activity, that our emotions are not invested in that sexual activity to a very great extent, and provided especially that there is a strong spiritual ideal seated right at the centre of the mandala.

Obviously, we have here to be very careful that we don't engage in rationalisation,- which is why I am sometimes very reluctant to admit that sex has a place in the mandala at all! I've heard so many men and women say that they are not very deeply involved in their sexual relationships, but who nonetheless absolutely broke down and were completely demoralised when their sexual partner left them.

Nagabodhi: But how is one to know when one is over-investing?

Bhante: You should ask your spiritual friends to tell you. It is very difficult to tell yourself. Of course, if you want to spend as much time as you possibly can with your sexual partner, then you've probably put them in the centre of your mandala.

You may also notice - or your friends will notice - that if you have a sexual partner and are very attached to them, you tend to relate in a certain way, engage in almost meaningless communication simply to reassure yourself that the other is still there. You find that people who are involved in a sexual relationship often do this. This suggests quite deep attachment and emotional dependence, which is not at all desirable.

Then, if you want to make sure that your sexual relationship really is towards the periphery of your mandala, you should be very careful not to spend too much time with the person you're having the sexual relationship with, and preferably not live with them. And you should ensure that you have strong friendships with members of your own sex.

In the FWBO, as you know, people who are having sexual relationships often live in separate communities, the man living in a men's community, the woman living in a women's community. I would say that this not only helps to ensure that the sexual relationship occupies only a peripheral place in those two people's mandalas, but also assures a happier, more truly human relationship between them, because they allow themselves space.

Nagabodhi: Would fidelity be an important factor in a 'successful' relationship?

Bhante: Fidelity is faithfulness over a long period of time, especially in the absence of the friend or sexual partner. It implies not only time: it implies space. It implies the ability, or the capacity, to behave in the absence of a friend, or a sexual partner, as though they were present. And you can only behave as though they were present if you have a strong sense of their existence when they're not actually there with you.

For this to be possible you must dwell much more on the 'mental' level - using that term in the Buddhist sense - than on the physical. You must be less susceptible to every passing physical stimulation, be less carried away by the senses, and live less in the present in a forgetful sort of way. Fidelity is a very human, very individual quality, like friendship or 'impersonal' love in the sense of metta. You are able to look ahead, able to imagine - or to feel - the presence of another person who is not physically with you. This suggests that you don't just see the other person as a body: you have some consciousness of them as a mind, as a 'spirit' if you like, and you relate to them in that way and on that level.

Fidelity is of course different from attachment. Perhaps it isn't always easy to distinguish between the two. Fidelity is a positive quality, whereas attachment is not. When you practise fidelity towards someone, you are, as it were, valuing them for their own sake. But when you're attached to them, you are wanting something from them for YOUR sake.

So I've observed that men and women can have very happy relationships, including sexual relationships, provided they live quite independent lives, and see each other just from time to time. When the man and the woman have each placed Enlightenment firmly at the centre of their mandala, they've got something to get on with; their lives don't centre around their sexual partners. Then, paradoxically, the relationship becomes more satisfactory, and they can relate more as human beings. You have to strike a sort of happy balance, where you see someone sufficiently often to keep up a continuity of contact, but not so often that you become attached, or become bored with each other's company.

Then, if you are committed to a spiritual way of life, or if you are committed to your personal development, and if you do see your sexual partner infrequently, and if you do both live in single sex spiritual communities, and if you have strong friendships with members of your own sex, and if you are making a very determined effort to develop spiritually, with the help of meditation, with the help of Dharma study, altruistic activity, retreats, and so on, then the danger of over-investment in a sexual relationship will be far less.

Nagabodhi: Obviously, many couples live together in order to bring up a family. They might argue that having and nurturing children is itself a spiritually challenging activity. Would you agree?

Bhante: Well, every human activity can be regarded as having a spiritually demanding aspect. There is always the possibility of a skilful, positive response, and of an unskillful, negative response.

Supposing it rains. You can have a positive response to the fact that it is raining, but does that mean that rain is, as such, a spiritual experience? In the same way, if you have children, you can be patient, forbearing, kindly, - and that can be a spiritual experience. But that does not mean that having children is, itself, a spiritual experience any more than the weather is.

Raising children and helping them to get on in the world can be a challenging and creative pursuit, but I would say that there are already far too many beings in the world who have never had that help, and who need that help; it would probably be much better for us to direct our attention towards THEM.

Nagabodhi: Even so, as you mentioned a moment ago, bearing children is a major issue - and a major source of conflict - for some women. Is there any general advice that you would offer?

Bhante: Some years ago I wouldn't have ventured to give a piece of general advice. Now I very definitely do. Quite a few women in the FWBO have experienced tremendous conflict between the very genuine desire to lead a spiritual life, and the desire for a child. I have come to the conclusion, after discussing the matter with quite a number of women, and observing women in the Movement who have children, that, if a woman has a genuine desire for the spiritual life, then having a child will not in the long run get in the way.

Of course, for two or three years, she will be very tied down by the child. She won't be able to go on retreats; she may not even be able to attend classes at the Centre, or able to attend Order meetings. She will have to be patient. But that period of almost total dependence of the child on its mother does come to an end; the mother does become more free with the passing of every year. And, if the mother's original interest in, or commitment to, the spiritual life has been genuine or sincere, it will re-emerge, and be free to express itself again.

Of course, if her involvement isn't very strong, the likelihood is that, even if she doesn't have a child, she will drift away from the spiritual life. Men often drift away from the spiritual life without even thinking about having children!

Nagabodhi: I believe you have said that heterosexual sexual activity and attitudes can have a polarizing effect on the individual, leading him or her to a one-sided kind of development. Could you say a bit more about this?

Bhante: If you're involved in a heterosexual relationship, you think of yourself as a man, the other person as a woman, or of yourself as a woman, the other person as a man. In other words, you don't relate to your partner so much as an individual, but as just a man or just a woman. So, within the relationship, only half your total 'nature', has an opportunity to express itself,- because a human being is not 'just a man', or 'just a woman': there are other potentialities too.

Then, if one relates predominantly as a member of THIS sex or THAT sex, the qualities and characteristics associated with the opposite sex are not developed; one becomes one-sided in one's psychological, and possibly even in one's spiritual, development. Thus you get the very 'macho' man and the extravagantly feminine woman, in whom the complementary qualities of the opposite sex have no opportunity to develop.

A human being should try to develop the whole range of human qualities: the so-called 'masculine' and the so-called 'feminine', and in this way become - to talk in these 'sexual' terms - androgynous. This doesn't necessarily mean that a man will become bisexual or a woman will become bisexual; they may continue to confine their sexual activities to partners of the opposite sex. But, nonetheless, they will have developed - if they're truly, psychologically androgynous - the psychological and spiritual qualities of, so to speak, both sexes.

Nagabodhi: Is there less risk of polarisation, attachment, or psychological projection in homosexual relationships than in heterosexual ones?

Bhante: It's very difficult to generalise. I get the impression that, among men who might be described as 'professionally gay', sexual relationships can become quite turbulent. But where the men concerned are not actually gay, or not gay in an extremely one-sided way, it is possible for them to have a relationship in which sex may play a part, if not a very important part.

The case of women is rather different. So far as I've observed - and of course I am generalising - sexual relationships between women can result in very powerful emotional attachments of a very 'heavy' kind. Sex, and the emotions associated with sex, play a much more important, and in a way constant, part in the life of a woman than in the life of a man. So when two women come together, you tend to get a much more emotionally charged relationship.

Nagabodhi: But do you think that people who are looking for a clearer sexual mode might at least benefit from experimenting with homosexuality?

Bhante: I don't think one can experiment with homosexuality - or even with heterosexuality come to that - on purely rational grounds. It simply doesn't work. The essence of the matter is that there is a natural, spontaneous attraction, whether sexual or non-sexual.

Nagabodhi: But is anybody 100% heterosexual or homosexual?

Bhante: There are people who appear to be 100% heterosexual, and to have not even the slightest homosexual inclination; but it is very hard to be sure. The least one can say is that the majority of people, under certain conditions, would be able to find at least some sexual satisfaction with members of their own sex.

But, you see, we've made it all into such a big deal; we've classified and labeled people as 'heterosexual' and 'homosexual'. You can speak of certain actions as homosexual actions, or others as heterosexual, but can you speak of individuals as either 'homosexual' or 'heterosexual'?

I don't like people being spoken of as 'gay', or speaking of themselves as 'gay', as though their sexual identity is the most important thing about them. I don't blame them too much, because that attitude is a reaction against years - even centuries - of oppression of people engaged in homosexual activities by people who did not engage in homosexual activities, but it is nevertheless unfortunate.

This raises an issue which is, I think, quite a serious problem for Western men, and especially perhaps for those involved in Buddhism. Spiritual friendship is important, and it can only arise on a basis of ordinary friendship. Friendship implies closeness, mutual confidence, intimacy, and even physical contact.

For most people in the West it would seem that physical contact occurs in association with sex. We consequently seem to confuse the two, or to regard the two as being inseparable. Purely physical contact is therefore quite difficult for people to obtain, especially, I think, for men to obtain from other men. Normally, in the case of other men, there's no 'danger' of sexual involvement. Even so, men find it quite difficult to experience physical contact with other men because of their fear of homosexuality.

I've observed cases where men are even afraid to give each other a brotherly hug! It may take them years to get through that. And when they succeed in doing it, they are quite overwhelmed and overjoyed, as if they've had a real breakthrough! This illustrates the terrible mess we've got ourselves into; such a simple thing has become an enormous problem.

During the time when I was living at the Hampstead Buddhist Vihara, I was quite celibate. Even so, I remember how bothered some people were by my close friendship with Terry Delamare. Actually, as they really ought to have taken for granted, that was a completely Platonic relationship,- in fact it wasn't a relationship in the ordinary sense at all, and certainly not a sexual relationship. The crux of the matter seemed to be people's inability to believe that there could be a close friendship between two men without their being a sexual element.

Women, generally, seem much less inhibited in this respect. They don't hesitate to put their arms round each other's waists or hug each other; they even kiss each other quite freely. Men normally would not dream of doing such things, and limit their contact. Because of that, they very often limit the possibilities of friendship with other men. And so, because they don't develop friendship with other men, they don't develop SPIRITUAL friendship with other men. And because they don't develop spiritual friendship with other men, they're not able to develop what the Buddha declared to be the most important element in the spiritual life.

Nagabodhi: So what can Western men do about this?

Bhante: They must break down their fear of homosexuality, by facing it, and by not being afraid of sexual contact with other men.

This is not necessarily to say that they should have sexual contact with men, but at least that they should not be afraid of the idea. They have to realise that physical, and even sexual, contact between men is JUST physical or sexual contact between men. It is a quite ordinary thing, and one's fear of that should not be allowed to get in the way of one's friendships.

Nagabodhi: Some while ago, I believe you did engage in some sexual 'experimentation' yourself. Could you say something about that?

Bhante: In 1967, when I returned from India to start the FWBO, there was a lot of talk about the place of sex in communication. I therefore thought I should perhaps experiment a little in this field.

In those days, everything seemed to be in the melting pot. I was, in a sense, free to do what I wanted, free to do whatever I felt was best. It was a very important period, a creative period: I was giving all those classes, all those lectures. This was also the period of my experimentation with psychedelic drugs, the period when I let my hair grow. . . You could say I was feeling my way, feeling my way around.

I think I've always been guided by instinct or intuition. I very much tend to DO, and then worry about the implications afterwards. I'm sure that appetite did play some part in the 'experimentation', but it was all definitely more to do with intuition than appetite.

Nagabodhi: The ancient Greeks encouraged 'educative', erotically charged, friendships, especially between older and younger men. Did you have something like this in mind?

Bhante: No, I don't think it was from this point of view at all. I have had hundreds of pupils and disciples without there being any sexual element entering into the relationship. When I engaged in my period of 'experimentation', it wasn't so much within a pedagogic context, as just in a context of ordinary friendship. Of course one can learn from friends, but the experimentation wasn't part of the education of some other person. I was just exploring certain things for my own benefit, for the satisfaction of my own curiosity.

But even now, I don't think I could really explain what it was that I was intuitively reaching for - without setting myself to write about it seriously, when I can really 'dig around' and ask myself what I really felt about things. I do in fact intend to describe this period in a volume of memoirs, which I hope to write in the next few years.

Nagabodhi: Did you come away from that period of experimentation with any conclusions?

Bhante: One of my conclusions was that sex didn't really play much of a part in human communication. Bodily contact sometimes functioned as a MEANS of breakthrough in communication, but it didn't result in a permanent breakthrough: it only gave one a certain opportunity, which one then had to develop. Sometimes the breakthrough came to an end and things were as they were before. In fact, that was almost always the came. So I came to the conclusion that sexual contact wasn't really much help in developing human communication, and again I ended up celibate.

At the same time, I CAN definitely say that, in the case of certain people, I found that having physical contact with them (and I'm speaking now of physical, not sexual contact) certainly did release them from their fear of homosexuality, and enabled them to develop friendships - by which I mean non-sexual friendships - with other men more easily.

Nagabodhi: In the early days of the FWBO you seemed to be very patient with our tendencies to sexual distraction and sexual indulgence. Were you as tolerant and patient as you seemed?

Bhante: I had no choice but to be patient! I was starting out - in the 'permissive' Sixties - with people who were, on the whole, completely fresh to Buddhism. I was more concerned that people should develop some sympathy for Buddhist ideals, and gradually bring their conduct into line with those ideals. I didn't take the view that, 'Well, you've got to give up all your present unskillful actions and mental attitudes, and THEN we can start thinking about Buddhism.' That would simply not have worked. So I mainly followed what I afterwards called the 'path of irregular steps'.

Nagabodhi: Were you ever afraid that the FWBO might disappear in a cloud of sexual permissiveness?

Bhante: Well, sexual permissiveness is not the only danger. We mustn't dwell too much upon that, even though we are at present dealing with the subject of sex. The FWBO could dissolve for all sorts of reasons, and there will always be the danger of it dissolving so long as, within the FWBO, and within the Order especially, we don't have a sufficient number of Stream Entrants. If you're not a Stream Entrant you can resile from the spiritual life, you can resile from your commitment to the Three Jewels; you can become anything, do anything.

Nagabodhi: But do you think that we in the West need to work harder at our understanding of the third precept than those from a more traditional, Eastern culture?

Bhante: I think we have to fight against a cultural message that overvalues sex and regards sex as an unqualified good. A lot of people still think that so long as you don't actually harm people you can have - should have - as much sex as you please. Because of this attitude, there's no understanding of the fact that if you want to develop spiritually, then sex has to take a peripheral place.

We're living in a transitional period. Formerly the great disincentive, particularly for the woman, was the fear of pregnancy. That fear has been largely removed, and people find themselves (or, at least until the advent of AIDS, found themselves) free to engage in sexual activity without the fear of consequences. This has certainly altered attitudes towards sex. But there have been side-effects: the contraceptive pill does have certain physical dangers for some women; then, it may be doubted whether promiscuous sex is necessarily very psychologically satisfying, or even healthy. Perhaps the freedom with which people can now have sex has resulted in an altogether disproportionate amount of attention being given to it.

Nagabodhi: More recently, you have been encouraging us to think more seriously about, and to aim ourselves more decidedly towards, celibacy.

Bhante: Well, in the early days, most of our early members were in their twenties or even in their late teens. One could not really expect or demand celibacy of people of that age. But those who were twenty-five or even younger when they joined us are now in their forties. People of that age can certainly start thinking seriously about celibacy,- and I have asked people to do no more than that: just to think about it seriously.

Nagabodhi: Though you do seem content that a few people are taking the Anagarika precepts - which include a 'vow' of celibacy.

Bhante: I'm not only content: I'm very pleased that they are. They are really nailing their colours, their saffron colours if you like, to the mast. But I never urge anyone to take the vow of celibacy. When people tell me they want to take such a vow, I almost invariably ask them to think about it for a while longer.

One can be a member of the Western Buddhist Order without being celibate. One is only asked to keep one's sex life at the periphery, or towards the periphery, of one's personal mandala,- or at the very least not too near the centre. But if one can be celibate in a non-neurotic way, in a positive and healthy way, I'm sure that will enable one - other factors being equal - to develop spiritually more rapidly, and enable one to be more free to be of use to the Dharma and of use to other human beings.

Nagabodhi: What would be the distinction between a 'neurotic' and a healthy, 'non-neurotic' celibacy

Bhante: You could be celibate because you were so absorbed by the beauty and attractiveness of the spiritual ideal, that sex just didn't interest you. That would be a very healthy sexual mode. But then you could be celibate out of guilt, or for the sake of some material advantage. You could be celibate for all sorts of quite negative reasons, which would be neurotic.

It certainly isn't just a question of being celibate. Being physically celibate by itself probably has very little value. What is more valuable is being RELATIVELY celibate because the main object of one's emotional energies is something of a higher order. You can't be healthily and happily celibate unless you are celibate for the sake of a higher cultural, artistic,, humanitarian, or spiritual interest. You could even say that sexual frustration takes place when you don't have at the centre of your mandala an interest or an ideal which absorbs your emotional energies.

Nagabodhi: In the Udana, Sundarananda complains that his mind is always dwelling on the beautiful girl he left behind when he became a monk. The Buddha takes him to a heavenly realm, and shows him goddesses of even greater beauty. What is the teaching there for us?

Bhante: Sundarananda's experience represents an experience of beauty more refined that ordinary human beauty. So he becomes less attracted, less attached, to lower, human beauty.

I don't think that while still remaining on the level of ordinary human beauty you can simply put it all behind you. You only have a reason for doing that if you have a glimpse of a higher, heavenly beauty.

Nagabodhi: So what are we to do? Pay more visits to the art gallery?

Bhante: A visit to the local art gallery is not to be despised. Then there is refined music, or engaging in a creative activity. This can certainly absorb one's energies.

Then of course there is meditation. So long as you haven't developed Insight you will be swaying between engaging in sex and experiencing sexual craving, and being free from that craving. So, in order to make spiritual progress while continuing to have sex, you have to ensure that the sex is peripheral, and that you are mentally free from the hindrance of sexual desire for sufficient periods, from time to time, to be able to achieve higher states of consciousness, and on that basis develop Insight. Once Insight starts being developed, then of course you are attacking the craving at the source. The more you do of that, then the weaker any craving will become.

Nagabodhi: So there is a sort of gradual path to celibacy: taking some of these things on, developing Insight, adding these refined elements to our lives?

Bhante: Yes indeed! - Like a caterpillar passing from leaf to leaf. While with his rear legs he is still adhering to one leaf, with his front legs he is grasping hold of another. And he doesn't pull his rear legs forward onto the new leaf until he has planted his front legs very securely on the front leaf.

It is quite impossible to give up everything all at once, though some spiritual disciplines seem to demand that: 'Give up everything to God: give up everything to the Guru...' I don't think that is humanly possible; you may have a nervous breakdown if you try. But at least seize hold of the spiritual, just like the caterpillar seizing hold of that leaf with his front legs. In a sense, it doesn't matter if you've got two front legs on that new leaf and twenty legs back on the old leaf: at least you've grasped hold of that new leaf. Then you can proceed to haul yourself slowly forward.

Psychologically and spiritually speaking, it's not so much a question of just giving up the old, but of seizing hold of the new while you are still, to some extent, involved with the old, even trapped in the old. Just make sure you do seize hold of the new, and try to seize hold of it more and more. Don't think there's no point in seizing hold of the new because you haven't yet completely relaxed your hold on the old. There are degrees of celibacy. Everybody is celibate to some extent, and everybody is non-celibate to some extent. No one is engaging in sexual activity all the time (I'm speaking here about physical celibacy), and nobody, except for Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, is celibate in body, speech, and mind all the time.

One should therefore understand the PRINCIPLE of celibacy, which in Buddhism is called Brahmacharya. This can be translated as the 'divine life', or even the 'angelic life'. It represents a transition from a lower to a higher sphere, from the kamaloka to the rupaloka, from the rupaloka to the Brahmaloka. Brahmacharya means, literally, walking with, or 'faring' with Brahma - Brahma meaning a very lofty, spiritual state. When you are celibate in body, speech, and mind, well, you dwell in that state. But you're TRYING to dwell in that state all the time. Some people make a nearer approach to it, others don't succeed in approaching so near. But everybody, one might say, is to some extent on their way - even if only by accident.

Of course, If you're leading a specifically spiritual life, if you've taken up the Brahmacharya, you can try to be more and more celibate. If, for instance, you normally engage in sexual intercourse once a week, then try to make it once a fortnight, or once a month, or even once a year, as some of our friends do. In that way you gradually detach yourself from attachment to the material world, from the senses, from unskillful pleasures, and you experience skilful pleasures more and more intensely, and pursue them.

I see the FWBO - and the Order especially - as never standing still. I would like too see everybody involved with the Movement, everybody involved with the Order, becoming more and more celibate, every day if you like.

I'm not asking anyone to give up sex all at once; I'm not expecting them to do that. But inasmuch as I expect people to progress a little every day, then I expect them, in a way, to give up a little bit of sex every day, so that over the years there is an appreciable difference - so that overt sexual activity plays a smaller and smaller part in their lives.

Nagabodhi: You've said from time to time that, so far as you can see, the monk's life is the happiest life you can imagine. To what extent is their celibacy a factor in that?

Bhante: Well, I must first define what I mean by 'the monk's life'. I don't mean a formally monastic life; I don't mean simply wearing yellow robes and shaving one's head; and I certainly don't mean being celibate in a neurotic way. By the monk's life I mean a life totally devoted to the Dharma, in one way or another, a life which is, so to speak, wedded to the Dharma. I certainly see THAT as the happiest life, and I've certainly seen many, many very happy monks - in the formal sense - in the East. Very often they did seem to be much happier than the lay people who were presumably indulging in the enjoyment of all the worldly pleasures. I won't say that the monks were always strictly celibate; sometimes they weren't. But they were certainly much more celibate than the lay people! And, at the very least, they were to that extent happier.

Monday, 9 April 2007

Vipassi - Crisis or Critical Moment?

This article was first published in the WBO’s ‘Articles Shabda’ in May 2003. It was written shortly after Yashomitra’s ‘letter’ was published, also in Shabda, and contains Vipassi’s reminiscences of his early meetings with Sangharakshita, plus his reflections on those times and on the more general question of sexual ethics, especially between teacher and disciple.

Vipassi is a lecturer in Philosophy at the University of Liverpool.

Polonius: My Lord, I will use them according to their desert.
Hamlet: God's bodkin, man, much better. Use every man according to his desert, and who will ’scape whipping?


Writing these reflections, and revising them, sometimes in the light of comments, comments that have reminded me of the need for friends, has been a salutary experience, since the demands of justice apply as much to writing as elsewhere, and I have realised, once again realised, that I am not immune to the rush to impetuous judgment. When we read Yashomitra's words, we no doubt imagine the scene or scenes, but imagination too must be just, just and faithful to the known characters of those involved: imagination here cannot be immediate, but has instead to be reflective, and we have to pass between them, reaction and imagination, in a measured, reflective way, so that we can see how reaction can drive and determine imagination, and imagination therefore mirror reaction-but imaginative attention to the minute particulars can, by contrast, change or qualify the nature of our reactions. I have come to the conclusion that we are dealing here with morally regrettable, but not wicked, conduct, conduct that nevertheless has had painful and harmful consequences, sufficient for anyone to have reason to be angry at the taking of the not given, even if, as it seems to me here, there was culpable unawareness that the taken was not given. On the other hand, though it may not be just to call the conduct wicked, the behaviour we are considering remains inexcusable and must cause us to adjust our perception of those involved. However, the need for that adjustment is in part a product of a collective illusion from which we need to withdraw. And I wonder how much the pain of that adjustment is reflected in the pain and distress that some of us have been feeling.

Many of us are capable of the behaviour that Yashomitra has described, and if, as Hamlet said, we were used according to our deserts-who would 'scape whipping? But these adjustments will be liberating, and will allow us to make progress to the necessary next stage of the Order's development. I cannot see anything new in this.

I came to know the FWBO in the mid-seventies in Norwich when I was thirty. I still remember clearly from those early days the enthusiasm with which the young and wealthy Vajrakumara invited me to come with him to look over Lesingham House in the village of Surlingham, a house he proposed to buy because it seemed an ideal place for a major centre for the movement.

We walked around the grounds and through the house and outbuildings, and it looked impressive, full of potential as a retreat centre. It was a few weeks later that I first met Sangharakshita, and it was there that I met him. He would have been about fifty. I was living in a terraced house in Norwich at the time, and had already met a fair number of Order Members as they passed through and stayed over.

I met Bhante with some considerable trepidation, mostly, I think, because of the awe in which he was regarded by his disciples, an attitude that was overwhelmingly present in everything they said about him, in the way they talked about him to each other in my presence, in the occasional throwaway remarks hinting at personal intimacy. The adulation and projection were massive. People breathed in and spoke Bhante's every word, and spoke no other, they pored over every syllable, every remark, every action. It was difficult not to believe that I was about to meet a living god, and I struggled between my own rational curiosity about what sort of man he really was, and the trepidation produced by the projections of others, mostly young men in their twenties, some of whom seemed to live in an homoerotic world impatient of women. It dawned on me fairly soon that this impatience was actively encouraged by Bhante, and I construed it as a means to keep control of a youthful male vigour he wanted to be dedicated to the setting up of Centres across the country and around the world. My first visit to the Sukhavati 'building-site' showed me that enormous energy in action. But the culture that grew up around this perceived necessity was not a comfortable one for women, perhaps especially older women: the spiritual testosterone could be over-heated and claustrophobic. On the other hand, there was no doubt in my mind that these people were onto something important.

Perhaps it was an unavoidable phase, I thought, and the culture would change over time, it was certainly not going to be a permanent condition of the Order. I recall that I compared the situation in my own mind to that of the American Frontier. After the infrastructure was in place, maybe civilisation would enter in, but there was not much use for that just yet. However, I also recall that when I first reported in to Shabda in early 1989, thirteen years later, I wondered aloud about the concept of a men's wing and a women's wing of the movement: so where was the body? I asked. I'm not persuaded that this was a foolish question.

There was much talk in the old days about women getting in touch with their masculine side and men with their feminine, of withdrawing from projections and traditional roles, all good sense up to a point, but: it avoided, evaded, indeed, the political issue of the real relations between males and females, which can only be transformed by contact, negotiation and hard work, not by separate development and a healthy relation to one's anima or animus, which, of course, is not to say that there is no role for single-sex activities, or communities. I still think that this political issue between men and women needs to be addressed.

But isn't this early complex reality-a sense of something important, the dominance of young men impatient of women and, in the middle, the Janus figure of a powerful guru-somehow at the heart of what confronts us now? We are forced to sift between these complex phenomena to discover what was gold and what was dross, what we should retain and what reject, and we shall surely find that the dross and the gold cannot easily be separated. Indeed this is just what has now been brought home to us in a telling and a timely way as we revisit our collective past.

I was to stay over for a couple of nights and have supper with Bhante the next evening, followed by a chat. I recall Vajrakumara sitting silently listening to our conversation, which was mostly about Kant and Spinoza. He seemed relaxed and happy, and had been kind, and sensitive to my uneasiness. My anxiety at the prospect of meeting Sangharakshita was increased by my first, chance, encounter with him. As Vajrakumara was showing me the new shrine room, then upstairs, Bhante was emerging. Vajrakumara introduced me, and I received a cool, limp handshake and off he went, without a word and without eye contact. Rather than thinking that this was merely rude and off-hand, it rather seemed a kind of teaching, and enhanced my sense of his greatness and the difficulty of my forthcoming encounter. In any event, when I did meet him I found him kind, friendly and interesting, with a sharp and encyclopaedic mind. But one part of me remained astonished at any human characteristics, such as the suggestion that maybe we should have another cup of tea. For years I remained uneasy about these oscillations in my perceptions and those of others, between this man, the imperfect, mortal being, and the projected Bodhisattva figure who walked on water. My greatest discomfort in the Order was always that moment when Bhante walked into a meeting and there was a profound hush followed by the movement of people standing up to pay their respects. And then the enormous and prolonged applause. It did not help that I had been reading Solzhenitsyn. I asked myself whether I had made a mistake. But the rudeness and the kindness, is this not also an image of what we are presently confronted by, the recognition in miniature of the dual nature that afflicts us all? This is what we have to deal with and
move on, in Bhante, and in ourselves.

That he was sexually active was intimated to me before I met him, I think, though it may have been after, I cannot now recall. Many people must be familiar with this procedure, this staging post ('when should I tell him/her about Bhante?'). It was done in my case in the form of a subtle challenge, though it was clearly also a hurdle to be crossed by Order members initiating new people into the movement. Obviously it was okay to feel okay about it and a kind of failure not to. I did feel okay about it, so that was okay, a test had been passed. On the other hand, I was curious that a bhikkhu should not be celibate, or a man of advanced spirituality not naturally chaste, as a Buddha was meant to be (so he's not a Buddha, then, I thought). But I found it easy enough to accept his sexual activity without disapproval at a time when everything was in the melting-pot and we were all involved in what John Stuart Mill called 'experiments in living'. Yashomitra was surely right, though, to view with a sceptical eye those remarks in the well-known interview in Golden Drum about 'experimenting with sex'. It was clearly more than an experiment, more a long-term research project with a team of research assistants. Bhante mangled the language by referring to it all as an 'experiment'. I happen to know that he was not entirely happy with what he had said in the interview, and I regret that I didn't ask him what he had in mind when he expressed his dissatisfaction. It occurs to me now, as I look back, that in a way this was one of his earliest public relations exercises about a sensitive issue, and in effect it was a cautious first admission in public of something that was widely known in private, and was never a secret.

That Bhante was gay and had sexual relationships with some of his companions and other volunteers did not seem problematic to me, and it was, I think, the driving force behind something very positive about the movement that contrasted vividly with the bigotry and discomfort of the Christian Churches: homosexuality was not a moral issue. The moral issues that arose in relation to sexual life were issues about the nature of the relationship between sexual partners and had to do with coercion, power, cruelty, etc. The sexual promiscuity that I discovered within the Order was also okay by me, as was the idea of homosexual experiment, within the limits, though, surely, of prior ethical commitments to others.

But surely, now, we already have to pause to reflect. Yashomitra's article gives us an insight into the darker side of the realities that lay behind these official thoughts, just as Jnanavira's gives us insight into how liberating it could also be, as well as how devastating in a different way. The sexual history of Padmaloka still remains to be written, and I for one am in no position to identify who was where when, and during what period it became notorious as a hotbed of sexual activity and when it cooled down. My own view is that sexual activity should be strictly off the menu during retreats, especially Going for Refuge retreats, and particularly there should be no sexual activity between aspirant order members and those who are involved in the decision process at Padmaloka. I probably don't need to say this, but I say it just in case, even though, as I recall, chastity on retreat was always strongly advised. My real point, obviously, is not about sex but about the power relations that surround it.

But let us get back to the way in which morality enters into our sexual life. Yashomitra's article did not merely provide us with an example of a negative experience of the sexual culture of Padmaloka. He has revealed something worse than that. First, the Order member. That a seventeen-year-old youth should arrive at a Buddhist Retreat Centre and . I pause because the nature of the situation needs to be properly reflected in the description: was he the unwilling victim of a sexual assault by an Order member? . I cannot believe that it was this: unwilling, yes, but an unwillingness he was unable to express . assault implies the use of force to overcome resistance; . was he at the receiving end of a rough, peremptory seduction expectant of quick compliance, accepting of vigorous rejection? That seems the most likely. Come on, it's only fun, relax and enjoy it . an attitude our estimate of whose nature would change with the degree of protest and struggle, including inner protest. But this is a youth of seventeen who has just arrived at a Buddhist Retreat Centre, full of idealism, paralysed by something entirely unexpected, a paralysis and, perhaps, an inner horror, that remained .unnoticed. To that extent it was a coercive act even if the coercion was undiscerned. When Yashomitra tells us that the said Order member, presumably as a result of pressure from Bhante, apologised, he did so, apparently, 'smilingly' and then propositioned him.

This is revealing, and probably the key to all this; it is as though this Order member's cheerful perception of the situation was that the original act had been merely bad manners, and he was apologising because he ought to have asked first. He couldn't quite take it seriously as an issue.

Such an attitude tends to result in formal rather than contrite apologies. They start with an 'if' clause: 'if I have done anything to hurt you, then I apologise most sincerely', where the 'if' clause reveals that the apologiser does not believe the content of the antecedent.

What is revealing here is precisely a failure of empathy and awareness, an absence that causes harm, a failure of that imaginative identification with the other that is supposed to be developed by metta bhavana. Actually I think there is a resident danger associated with this excellent practice, viz. that it may develop in a high degree a kind of impersonal friendliness, often quite strong and satisfying, which can nevertheless form a barrier to human contact and can co-exist with insensitivity to the reality of the other person.

When I am at the receiving end of metta I prefer it to be directed to my own acknowledged self, not to me as a generalised other. In a promiscuous culture of consenting adults, where one knows in advance that prospective partners have already consented by their presence in the club or bar or sauna or steam baths, then maybe it is okay not to have asked first. I am willing to believe that this Order member really didn't have a clue about the coercion implicit in the situation and the real impact on the youth. They did not register, and if they had I can imagine nothing but genuine contrition. But don't for a moment imagine that this is a kind of exculpation. The fault lies first in the unawareness, and then in the unperceived harm. Why might he not have had a clue? Because he projected his own comfort about his own sexuality on to someone else without that imaginative identification or empathy that might have told him that this was wrong, as though since it was 'only sex' for him it must or ought to be 'only sex' for anyone else, or could easily be made so by manly up-front preliminaries; -and wrong not because it offended against the canons of 'conventional morality', but precisely because it caused harm. A culture of casual sex can dull the sense of difference, can dull discernment and cause casualties. This is also relevant to Jnanavira's remarks about his falling in love at Padmaloka, and his later suicidal feelings: in reality sex is rarely 'only sex'.

This is not, to my mind, an issue of sexual orientation or preference; it is an issue about a person's relation to their own emerging sexuality per se and the harm that can be done to that person. Seventeen-year-olds are mostly vulnerable in the areas of their emotional and sexual lives. Some of us have taught them or been their parents. They are more than objects of desire, but have an inner life not necessarily written clearly on their bodies. One needs to be able to make judgments about where people stand in relation to their sexuality and emotional growth. The vigorous exponent of Greek love, the ardent erastes, has to be sensitive to the needs of their eromenos, and one form of this sensitivity involves a self-restraint that comes from informed judgment about what is appropriate to this particular person, and what not. But it is easy not to notice the reality of the human being in front of you if you are
in the grip of a doctrine or a theory or even an ideal that is convenient to the state of desire that also has you in its grip. I know from my own experience how easily one can be deluded into the assumption that others will share one's attitudes, or will soon. In any event, the youth did not consent, and the absence of consent was not noticed, or regarded as negligible and of little consequence.

Eighteen months later or so, it turns out, the young man, now nineteen, and a consenting adult, finds himself assigned to Bhante's room, a room in which there is only a double bed, with Bhante already in it: -found himself cornered by the situation one might want to say. Some people would find Subhuti's word 'uncondonable' a little weak in this context, since they are angry and upset, feeling not only disappointed but also in some way betrayed and deceived.

However, even these reactions need to be subjected to critical review, as part of that withdrawal from a collective illusion I have already mentioned. An illusion, by the way, is a motivated belief. The belief could be true, but the reasons for holding it are to do with psychology rather than rational grounds, we want it to be true but are not entitled to it even if it turns out after all to be true. It is our psychology we have to deal with here.

In my first draft of these reflections I assumed that there must have been collusion on the part of others. On the basis of what people have since said I no longer think this. On weekend retreats and Order events the community had to double up because of the shortage of space, and, it appears, individuals, including Bhante, would express a preference about who they would like to share with them. It seems, then, that Bhante made sexual advances to some of those who were assigned to his room. What is one to think of this? The situation is no different from the case of the Order member. It is a matter of a man's judgment and discernment. Some would surely feel entirely relaxed and unthreatened, maybe say thanks, or thanks but no thanks, and regret the absence of a spare mattress as the floor beckoned. But these would be sexually experienced people, on the whole, capable of making their wishes clear. Different people will offer different reports about what happened in their own case, and it seems clear that some at least felt able to refuse, and that some were willing enough to comply.

But if there was no collusion about providing Bhante with suitable partners, I cannot believe that word did not come out on occasion about his habit of making advances, that there were no knowing looks, eventually, about who was in and who was out. But that there was real distress and unacknowledged coercion-I am sure no one was aware of this, including, I think, Bhante: but again, on his part, this is not an exculpation, it marks a failure of discernment and judgment, not just about the person concerned, but about the structure of the situation. As I said at the beginning of this, Bhante was unfailingly kind and considerate in his dealings, as everyone testifies. So it is hard to imagine him unkind or difficult even if his advances were rejected. My main impression had been that his young partners were all sufficiently adult to say no if they wanted to, and that Bhante was able to live with such rejection/refusal without hard feelings. However, how many young men went along with him because they felt unable to refuse we do not yet know, though even here this would be less damaging to some than to others, and this, I suppose, is the heart of the matter that is troubling so many people. You are, to put it mildly, put on the spot if, in your late teens, you are sent off to share a room with a formidable man in early middle age, one universally regarded with huge respect, who pats the bed to indicate where you are to sleep. I can imagine that Bhante would have expected and accepted either consent or refusal, but could not recognise what we might call false consent, but he had put himself and others, structurally, into a situation where precisely this might arise.

You might say that Yashomitra was in a position to say no. He seems himself to half believe that this is so. But he was probably not psychologically in a position to say no, and so what he does is passively to accept the role assigned to him, a familiar enough unconscious defensive strategy of 'false consent'. Then, later, he is flattered, thinks maybe he will become 'Bhante's companion', and so on and so forth. The real felt rejection/refusal may take years to emerge. In a sense he is 'in bad faith' in that role, in the Sartrean sense of that term, though, unlike Sartre, I would not think it appropriate to blame someone who in such a situation acted inauthentically, precisely because of the paralysing imbalance of the power relation. One of the tests of the coercion or the non-consent is the feeling after the event of being soiled or dirty or used, and again, this has nothing to do with orientation or preference.

Famously, now, Vajrakumara reported such feelings when he reflected on his time with Bhante, even though it is difficult to make a case that he was 'abused'. He had always seemed contented enough. But his case is worth reflecting on too. I suspect that what happened to him was 'engulfment', a passionate identification with the goals and ends of another, older person, that one only very slowly comes to see were never one's own goals or ends. This realisation usually ends in anger and hostility. This too is something I know about all too well. In the enthusiasm of one's own ideals one fails to see that deep down they are not shared or assented to by a younger lover who seems so readily, even eagerly, to accept them. It happens all the time and reveals our moral blindness.

The reason that people believe that Bhante behaved disgracefully with Yashomitra is that it appears that he ignored or did not comprehend the real nature of the situation, the advantage he was taking, the difficulty that some young men would have with what was happening, the syndrome of passive compliance, the difference in age and experience. Was he incurious about their real attitude, was he alert to it? I cannot imagine that he didn't care, but I can imagine that he couldn't see. It was a human failure of judgment that discerned neither coercion nor harm. We do not know how many times this kind of thing occurred, perhaps only once or twice, and the point is not the sex but the structural coercion and the failure to discern the reality of the other. Why am I writing this? In part because I was in private challenged by an Order member who wanted to know what I thought, and also because I saw that people were talking about a crisis. I wanted to be clear in my own mind about what I did think, which clarity often only comes when you start to try to articulate. Am I criticising fellow Order members? Well yes, but not from a position of moral superiority, I assure you, but the criticism is also of the limitations and defects of particular cultural attitudes, and I do so only for the sake of contributing to a discussion of where we now stand, about which my conclusion is simply that we stand more or less where we should be standing at this point in our history, acknowledging human failure in the light of our ideals, ready to take care to avoid these things in the future, ready not to conceal or retreat into hypocrisy, adult in other words, no better than we should be, but striving nonetheless.

In those days Bhante was at the height of his ascendancy, an ascendancy which had, as one of its consequences, an extreme isolation. Maybe, though, his sexual experience had been formed in a culture of sexual freedom which made it all too easy to overlook the absence of consent, too easy to confuse the failure of moral insight with a virtuous contempt of conventional morality.

Isolated and surely also insulated, without the gift to see himself, not just as others might see him, but as they should: could he not see how dubious his conduct would appear? But though there was no collusion or 'procurement' this easy sexual culture was surely transmitted and reinforced elsewhere, and surely fed that less subtly coercive environment of Croydon. Maybe the shock of Croydon was a shock not merely about a misunderstanding of his own teaching, but the shock of self-insight. But because Bhante was the guru it was difficult for many people to see him as a man of flesh and blood and imperfect judgment: everything he did was a skilful means, must be a skilful means. This was a collective illusion from which many of us have still to be weaned. Perhaps Bhante himself was trying to tell us and himself as much when he eventually rejected the title of guru, when he made it clear to those that knew he was sexually active that there was a quantum of craving in the sexual act, and reflected publicly on his sense of personal unworthiness.

The talk is of crisis, but that is surely too strong. The truth is that we are at a critical moment, which is to say, a moment at which the possibility of important change announces itself. What has to be changed is our view of ourselves and our view of Bhante. Bhante is a human being as we are human beings, he is capable, as we are, of moral failure and lack of insight. But on the other hand he is not, surely, to be defined entirely in terms of the troubling truth that has now been uncovered; we have to recall the whole picture, see him in the round, see him, indeed, justly, so that if we are inclined to condemn and reject him, then we should remember his good qualities, and if we are inclined to adulation and too much deference, we should recall what is less wholesome. For years he patiently taught the dharma and we saw more of its embodiment in him than was there, even though much was there, but that was
a matter of our illusion. One test of the truth of the dharma is to be found in the life of its exponent: but there are degrees of perfection, and degrees of imperfection, and we have to judge whether the dharma has saving power by seeing it in its effects, ultimately within ourselves and those we know whom we have seen to change. We have to withdraw our projections yet again, to recognise that the process of following the dharma is in our own hands, as it always was, and that we need friends, need undeluded friendships that help us overcome our delusions and our illusions. The image of perfection beckons, sometimes it is close and sometimes distant, but it will only ever be imperfectly realised in our lives, and we must realise what we can, and move on. Sometimes we superimpose the image of the enlightened one onto those whose realisation of the truth is more advanced than our own, and we should not do so. We are pilgrims, always almost running out of rations in our scrip, all the old triumphalism has to be discarded as unnecessary baggage, we have to learn what we can from whomever we can.

Our fidelity and our loyalty are not to Bhante, but to the truth, and to Bhante's vision to the extent that it seems to us to reflect that truth. 'My country right or wrong' was once thought to reflect an unexamined jingoism until someone suggested that it has the same form as 'my mother drunk or sober'. We owe Bhante a great deal, what we owe him is the mediation of the teachings of Buddhism, what we owe him in particular now is care in his old age, and gratitude or metta, something we may all hope to have despite our faults, because it is not deflected away by the presence of faults, but generously takes the form of compassion, and, since none of us if treated according to our deserts will scape whipping, let us hope that we shall also be the recipients of someone's metta. We go into the world no better than we should be, but we try to change, we are a human institution and our task is to strive to embody, without concealment or hypocrisy, the ideals we all share: so what is different?

My impression is that Bhante was not often challenged and rarely challenged effectively. The force of his personality and the comparative strength of his intellect meant that he rarely encountered peers, and was therefore forced to keep his own counsel when he should have consulted others, or found others to consult. To some extent he lived in his own world, to some extent a world of superior knowledge, and residence in such worlds can corrupt us or make us complacent without our even noticing.

I suppose that one has to say that a similar lonely failure of judgment attended Bhante's decision to return to India as a bhikkhu and in robes. This was a major strategic decision which had as it turns out major consequences which, if we are calculating in a certain way, might need to be balanced against the consequences of returning in lay dress.

Bhante faced a real dilemma here, and many of us were critical, many of us accepting, many of us just wondered, and none of us, clearly, had any role in the decision process. Again he could have sought out peers: these are matters of judgment, moral and political, and the grounds of such judgments are available to more than those of advanced spirituality, they are human issues. But again his ascendancy probably made it hard for him to consult others.

This raises a more general issue for the post-Bhante Order, but it is one that has already been dealt with. The Order cannot in the future be formed by autocratic decision-making, even if this was unavoidable in its creation and its early days. I think this is a point that hardly needs to be made, and it does not need to be made thanks in large part to Bhante's own foresight, and none of the criticisms made above can detract from Bhante's brilliant strategic thinking about the formation and the future of the Order. What we have to do now is acknowledge Bhante's frailties as well as his egregious virtues. We have to accept them without illusion as part of a mature assessment of what we owe him despite his frailties, and we have to see where those frailties have entered his teaching, if indeed they have. Opinions will differ about this, but these opinions need to be aired and resolved.

It may be special pleading on my part as an academic, and it is hardly central to our current concerns, but I think about his sustained and adverse criticism of the universities, and wonder about the alienation of some of those who went into higher and graduate education. Surely some of his concerns were well founded, but what we need is dialogue and critique, not ex cathedra rejection of contemporary thinking. Maybe that dialogue is for the future, as a new generation of Western Buddhists seeks to relate the current state of their western culture to their Buddhism, a process that will have to be taken up again with every revolution of thought, and this will require creative thinking, not fundamentalist opposition frozen in time. Sometimes this will involve the tradition of the university as an essential independent resource: when creative thinking is most needed it is most in need of protection from the inherent conservatism of hierarchies. We shall in the future stand in need of turbulent scholars and thinkers responding to, even helping to form shifts in the Zeitgeist.

But as the Order progresses it must also reflect upon and learn from its own history, and it is not finally constrained or determined or judged by this, but by how it responds to it and transforms itself, by how it seeks to renew itself and address difficulties. Indeed the Order must surely engage in such acts of renewal and reflection at regular intervals, it must constantly scrutinise and re-examine its own premises and the sources of those premises. A tradition develops to the extent only that it changes and overcomes itself. Otherwise it ossifies, becomes a merely traditional repository of someone's teachings. I have been heartened by the extent and scope of the public criticism in the movement of Subhuti's little book on angels. This is not to state a position here, but to point out that it is healthy that there can be vigorous controversy publicly aired, without a breakdown of communication or metta. Let us hope that in the future we shall continue to have vigorous but irenic debate. I also hope that in the future, if a book of that kind has the imprimatur of the Order through Windhorse, that Windhorse will see fit to publish any suitably irenic reply that might be forthcoming. We have not always been fortunate in our self-presentation, and it is an essential part of our public self-reflection that we consider with critical care all aspects of the tradition that has been passed to us by our teacher. Bhante once talked of handing over various responsibilities that previously and perforce he had carried out himself. He had in mind not just his own role as president and preceptor, but also as scholar. I must say that at the time of these announcements I felt some unease because what was never made clear was that there was also an intellectual role that also had to be taken over, and I was reflecting about the extent of the creative intellectual powers of the current College. But an intellectual role, the place of the intellectuals, has also to be considered as we reflect on the future. This is not something negligible. Bhante's conception of the Dharma and the place of the Order is an intellectual as well as a spiritual achievement. But intellectual achievements are also impermanent and need to be superseded when reasons for change become apparent, if indeed they do. There will always be an issue of how to articulate Buddhist teaching. Many will already be acutely aware that those who have become scholars and thinkers within the movement have had a prickly, not to say alienated and semi-detached relation to the Order. But there are two sides to such alienation, and it is one of the many things that must be resolved in the future. I am myself confident about this future, as an Order member, despite my current excessively 'outlying' status. Despite some writings from a less mature period, that many of us have questioned, I find that Subhuti's frankness and openness, his shrewd executive intelligence, his eloquence and his readiness to take on many burdens, inspire me with the hope that the Order will be led well in the future. We are not Perfecti or Illuminati, we need to guard against excessive adulation. We have seen it with Bhante, others report that younger members of the Order have a similar view of senior Order members, projecting their illusions, what they want to be true, not what is. My impression is that the latter have largely resisted the temptation to take advantage of this, flattering though it is: indeed I have been struck by the personal humility of some of them, though that too can become a kind of style. However, we still live too much in an enclosed and somewhat solipsistic world, and this makes it difficult to make comparative judgments of a kind that might throw light on our own conduct. A humbler, less triumphalist future awaits us even now. And I personally venerate my teacher, a great but flawed human being, but all greatness is flawed and a teacher is such only to the extent that they have something to teach. Bhante has had much to teach, and though he was a wounded surgeon he was also a spiritual friend who plied the steel.