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THE PATH of the bodhisattva is often considered the most profound within the Buddhist tradition. From a psychological perspective the bodhisattva could be seen as the figure that resolves the contradictions of spiritual and material life as expressed in the Puer/Senex or Puella/Seneca paradox. On the bodhisattva’s path, one seeks not to transcend the reality of the material world but rather to remain within it to serve others. This is therefore not a path that seeks ascendance or assumption away from matter—the normal demands of the body and the trials of everyday life—into spirit. In Buddhism, insight into our essential nature is incarnated in the world with every creative act.
The bodhisattva may be said to hold a tension between two worlds: the world of spiritual aspiration and that of the demands of normal material life. By virtue of insight into the depth of his or her creative essence, or Buddha nature, the bodhisattva taps a potent source of vision and vital energy. The bodhisattva’s Puer/Puella side, if one were to call it such, is the vision and ideal of our enlightened potential. Without a determination to ground this vision in the world, however, it would be possible to become absorbed in this vision alone and effectively disengage from the world. The bodhisattva’s Senex/Seneca side, however, brings a deep sense of responsibility and commitment to the welfare of others. It is said that the bodhisattva renounces the bliss of nirvana’s release as well as any attachment or aversion to samsara.11
This is a paradox that is no easy position to hold. On the one hand, the bodhisattva’s renunciation recognizes that so much of our lives are absorbed in things that are ultimately hollow, lacking in meaning, and illusory. On the other, there is the necessity of engaging with life and materiality and giving it some level of meaning.
I recall a conversation with a male client who struggled with a deep feeling that much of what he was surrounded by in his life was shallow, hollow, and futile. He also saw so much distress and confusion around that he began to feel a kind of aversion for life. When he tried to engage in things that might interest him, they felt dead and uninspiring. This was leading him to wish that he could just get out of it all: disengage and remain cynical and disillusioned. He was often told by people that this negative view was doing him harm, so he was greatly relieved when I said that perhaps his sense of pointlessness and futility was accurate. Rather than veering to a nihilistic extreme on one hand or trying to be positive on the other, the challenge he seemed to face was to remain open, present, and engaged. Could he act in the world while knowing, on one level, that things are illusory and lack inherent meaning or depth as a source of happiness? Gradually he came to see that attributing meaning and value to things could sit alongside the knowledge that ultimately they are all illusory and transitory. He began to live with the paradox.
A bodhisattva chooses to live within this paradox of knowing deeply the illusory nature of the world he or she inhabits while still being willing to remain within it. A bodhisattva’s vision of awakening remains embodied and, therefore, has consequences that reach far beyond the limitations of our normal human capacity. Opening fully to one’s innate luminosity and clarity has an extraordinary effect on the mind. It can generate a quality of intention that has immense power and inspiration behind it, radically changing the nature of intention. The bodhisattva by remaining at this paradoxical threshold between form and emptiness, opens to a source of creative vitality that is channeled through intention. This quality of intention, known as bodhichitta or “the awakening mind,” is a quality of archetypal intent that transforms the will.
Bodhichitta has certain key attributes. Firstly, there is a deeply realized vision of wholeness that generates a supreme confidence in the innate potential of our human condition. This is a profound knowing—a knowledge of and awakening to our innate nature. The practitioner on the bodhisattva’s path recognizes that the source of our enlightenment is not bestowed by some outer god that will save us, but rather is something present within our own nature that emerges through personal transformation. The bodhisattva’s path is a path of self–realization or self-actualization that comes through a deep insight into the mind’s true nature.
Secondly, the awakening of this vision requires a sense of responsibility. From a place of profound insight and compassion, the bodhisattva makes a deep commitment to the welfare of others. This commitment does not arise from the harsh, duty bound, dogmatic aspect of Senex however, but from an openness and sensitivity to the reality of the suffering of all sentient beings. From this standpoint, it would be unacceptable to use our potential for anything other than an altruistic purpose.
Thirdly, bodhichitta is a quality of intention that is like a powerful river that runs deeply beneath the surface of the bodhisattva’s life. Once he or she steps into this river, it is an act of surrender of the normal ego intention to the unfolding of a process that leads to buddhahood. In other words, when we align ourselves with the current of this river, it generates a sense of direction that does not require selfconscious trying or interference from the ego. We may not know where it will take us. As Shantideva says in his Guide to the Bodhisattva’s Way of Life, “even while [we are] asleep or unconcerned”12 this intention is unfolding.
Bodhichitta grows as we release the grip on our ego-identity with all its self-preoccupation and begin to open our hearts to the world around. As we do so we can begin to awaken the innate qualities of compassion, love, joy, and equanimity known as the “four immeasurable thoughts.” These qualities do not have to be focused on an individual but can be when a relationship is there. They comprise an attitude of care and sensitivity towards others that will be able to respond when needed. As attributes of the heart, they bring an openness and compassion for others that is not bound by the disposition to be conditional, selective, and judgmental.
Bodhichitta brings a source of vitality that has creative, inspirational, and healing potential. I have seen this among certain Tibetan lamas. Of these, I would consider one of my own teachers, Lama Thubten Yeshe, to be a shining example. His vitality seemed inexhaustible even though he was a very sick man, suffering from a chronic heart condition. He seemed to have accessed a source of energy that restored and revitalized him, even though his constant generosity to his students took a significant toll on his physical strength.
In the Guide to the Bodhisattva’s Way of Life, Shantideva describes the extraordinary quality of bodhichitta through a variety of metaphors:13
It is the supreme ambrosia
That overcomes the sovereignty of death,
It is the inexhaustible treasure
That eliminates all poverty in the world.
It is the supreme medicine
That quells the world’s disease,
It is the tree that shelters all beings
Wandering and tired on the path of conditioned existence.
It is a universal bridge
That leads to freedom from unhappy states of birth,
It is the dawning moon of the mind
That dispels the torment of disturbing conceptions.
It is the great sun that finally removes
The misty ignorance of the world,
It is the quintessential butter
From the churning of the milk of Dharma.
Shantideva also draws an alchemical parallel when he describes bodhichitta as being:14
. . . like the supreme gold-making elixir,
For it transforms the unclean body we have taken
Into the priceless jewel of a Buddha-Form.
As a quality of mind, bodhichitta is an expansive perspective on reality, one not caught up in narrow, limited conceptions and beliefs. As an intention, it is not bound by contracted, limiting ego fears and attachments. As a felt experience, it has a depth of compassion, love, and joy that is open to all beings without prejudice. A bodhisattva possessed of this disposition becomes an “awakening warrior,” which is the literal translation of the term. This is one who courageously surrenders self-will to a profound sense of purpose, an experience that might be described, in Jungian terms, as a deep inner shift from “I will” to “thy will be done.” One who has embarked upon this path towards the awakening of buddhahood becomes known as a “son or daughter of the victorious ones” and will, it is said, receive the blessings of the Buddhas.
Once this intention of bodhicitta begins to grow, it generates an undercurrent through our lives that informs all that we do. At first, this intention may need to be consciously recalled, but once we have developed trust in this deep sense of purpose, it will be like a powerful river that is drawing us irresistibly towards the ocean. Initially the flow of this river may seem turbulent and erratic. In time, it becomes a steadily flowing current that is deep and broad, eventually uniting with dharmakaya, the wisdom of all the Buddhas.
The figure of the bodhisattva may be seen as a model of individuation and the resolution of the duality of spiritual and material life. Traditionally, the qualities of the bodhisattva develop through the practice of what are known as the six perfections—of generosity, patience, morality, perseverance, concentration, and wisdom. To understand the bodhisattva’s path as a psychological journey of individuation, one may see it as having much in common with aspects of the heroic quest. The bodhisattva may be seen as the awakening warrior but, within the psychological journey, can equally embody aspects of the wanderer, the servant, and the magician or alchemist—figures that symbolize stages one may pass through on the heroic quest. Each stage or path will bring particular challenges and enable qualities to mature that are important in the process of individuation. They will equally have their hazards and perhaps their Shadow side, when followed without awareness. While they may be seen as discrete journeys with the goal of manifesting the psychological maturity of the bodhisattva, it may be necessary to experience all of them. We may find that we have a natural disposition to engage in one in particular and that we enter the others at different times in our lives when we need to grow. Ultimately, they each enable particular qualities to develop as an expression of the process of individuation.
The first lessons of individuation may arise through the path of the wanderer. The wanderer embodies the move to individuality away from family and collective values. This journey we must undertake alone in order to gain confidence in our sense of self. What the bodhisattva as wanderer gains is the capacity to engage in the quest alone and seek independence and self-reliance. The wanderer therefore discovers that he or she can stand alone, separate psychologically from parents and other collective groups, and can follow his or her own truth.
In this process we must face our parental dragons. These are the fears and feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt that keep us ensnared in our limitations and prevent us from stepping out onto the journey. The Buddha’s life demonstrates the hazard of becoming trapped in the security and comfort that hinder the capacity to set off on the journey. His need to leave home grew and, finally, he stepped out into the life of a wandering ascetic.
In my early twenties, a strong yearning arose in me to travel. This is not uncommon in young people of a similar age and suggests that the symbolic significance of the journey or traveling is far deeper than we often acknowledge. When reading Jung’s Man and His Symbols around this time, I found a valuable affirmation of the archetypal significance of this process at crucial times of life. The fact that many of us travel in youth probably owes much to the nature of the wanderer’s lessons rather than to the difficulties of traveling in later life.
The urge to wander is an impulse that cannot easily be ignored. Feeling stuck, frustrated, and restless and needing to break free often signifies that it is time to move on, either externally or internally. To enter the path of the wanderer in one’s early twenties can particularly signify the need to break free of the web of dependency. Striking out on our own and discovering our capacity to survive in the world independently is a powerful lesson.
In a text called the Thirty-Seven Practices of All Buddha’s Sons Thogme Zangpo considers the hazards of a life in which we are caught up in friendships and circumstances that hinder growth. He describes the way in which our relationships can so often become a source of conflict and attachment that lead us into deeper and deeper confusion:15
Remaining too long in one place our attraction
To loved ones upsets us, we’re tossed in its wake.
The flames of our anger towards those who annoy us
Consume what good merit we’ve gained in the past.
The darkness of closed-minded thought dims our outlook
We lose vivid sight of what’s right and what’s wrong.
We must give up our home and set forth from our country
The sons of the Buddhas all practice this way.
From staying together with friends who misguide us,
Our hatred, desires and ignorance grow.
With little time left to continue our studies,
We don’t think of Dharma; we meditate less.
Our love and compassion for all sentient beings
Are lost and forgotten while under their sway.
Sever such ties with misleading companions,
The sons of the Buddhas all practice this way.
These verses clearly define the kinds of problems encountered in relationships that become destructive and misleading. This is often a particular problem of early adulthood, when we are much more influenced by others. The wanderer may need to sever ties to old relationships that have a destructive side to them. We can become caught in views and attitudes of others that are misleading and cause us to lose sight of our own inner truth. To grow, we may need to move on in order to find relationships to those who support who we are in a healthy way. This can be particularly true if we are attempting to practice a spiritual path that many will misunderstand. We may need to keep relatively quiet and contain things that could be mocked or belittled. I have found in my own life that there are very few people to whom I can divulge the nature of my Buddhist practice. This is principally because it could be so easily misunderstood by those who have little connection to that world. On the inside, so to speak, I may be a tantric practitioner, but on the outside I choose to be relatively conventional. This does mean that as a practitioner I have had to learn to be alone when there is no community around that shares this same understanding.
The wanderer leaves the familiar world and wanders alone so that he or she can be free of both outer constraints and inner confusion. So long as we are still caught up in demanding aspects of social and material life, we will continue to be ensnared in the causes of much suffering and confusion. At times on the journey these influences, distractions, and dependencies are a particular disturbance to deepening meditation. There is also greater peace and inner freedom when we are not bound in the conventions of a world of social and material expectations. This became absurdly apparent when I returned from India. While in the East I had little regard for how I dressed or looked and never looked in mirrors. When I was back in England, within a relatively short space of time a kind of self-consciousness returned about how scruffy and ill-dressed I felt in the Yuppie world of London in the mid-eighties.
From a psychological perspective, the wanderer’s life could be seen as a time when we clear away the history of unhealthy relationships and emotional baggage that limit us. While we are still mired in traumatic aspects of our past, we will lack emotional stability. Once we have begun to emerge from our history, our mind is freer to rest quietly in meditation.
An important quality of the wanderer is the ability to be alone with oneself. For a meditator, this is very important. Being alone for long periods without the distraction of people can be terrifying to someone who is uncomfortable with him- or herself. In psychotherapy I have encountered many people who struggle with this aspect of their lives. Those who have never wandered may never have learned the capacity to be alone, silent, and present with themselves without the need to fill the space with activity. Shantideva’s Guide proclaims the benefits of this discovery:16
When shall I come to dwell in forests
Amongst the deer, the birds and the trees,
That say nothing unpleasant,
And are a delight to associate with?
When dwelling in caves,
In empty shrines and at the feet of trees,
Never look back—
Cultivate detachment.
When shall I come to dwell
In places not clung to as “mine,”
Which are by nature open,
And where I may behave as I wish, without attachment?
To live in solitude may sound extreme to many Westerners. Yet one may see “solitude” either literally or metaphorically. Periods of isolation and retreat to stabilize the mind in meditation are extremely useful. They enable us to later “return to the marketplace” and retain a quality of awareness that is not easy to develop otherwise. These times also enable us to develop the capacity to stay relatively contained and present within ourselves so that we are not so shaken by external conditions. People and circumstances often pull us out of relationship to ourselves. We then lose the inner resource of clarity and awareness and can easily be affected by external conditions such that if all is well, we are happy, but when things are difficult, we become depressed and unhappy. The capacity to remain equanimous and not be so changeable comes through gaining a degree of separation and non-attachment.
Inevitably, there will be a shadowy side to the wanderer’s disposition. Because the wanderer’s path is often embarked upon in early adulthood, some of the needs of the wanderer can seem inappropriate at other times of life.
The shadowy side of the wanderer’s disposition is that sometimes it is hard to stop. It is not uncommon to meet people who have spent much of their life traveling, avoiding attachment to relationships and situations. The need to move on, however, can become a habit that is no longer healthy. Those who become stuck in the archetype of the wanderer fail eventually to establish intimacy in relationships and commitment to work or to living in one place. The perpetual or compulsive wanderer often cannot stop because he or she fears that the consequence of doing so is becoming trapped. Detachment has become a form of avoidance. Such a person will fear commitment, and the prospect of “settling down” may feel horrifying.
Non-attachment and independent self-sufficiency are valuable qualities. If they become compulsive, however, we will disconnect and disengage from other important aspects of our lives. Those who perpetually travel often begin to recognize that their wandering is leaving some part of themselves dissatisfied. Constant movement also becomes a trap.
Knowing when to stop and remain in one place or commit to something that creates a sense of roots may be an important change. Odysseus was told, at the end of his travels, to carry an oar inland to a place where no one knew what it was. He should then firmly plant it in the ground.17 Once we have learned the lessons of the wanderer, it may be time to move on to other paths.
The term bodhisattva is often translated as “awakening warrior.” According to Shantideva, the bodhisattva needs a great sense of selfconfident self-will that enables him or her to face the challenges of the path and overcome them. Although these may be initiated by some external event, the real challenge is the inner one. If we suffer a lack of confidence and inner strength, we may be daunted by the demands and challenges that arise on our path. It is often hard to admit that life and its problems frighten us and that we fear that things may go wrong and even panic when they do. This may not be something we wish the world to know about because it would be too humiliating, but inside we may suffer its limitation. We may develop a habit of avoidance and find that we do not engage in our lives because we lack the courage to do so. We can feel impotent and disappointed because we limit ourselves by our fear and are not really fulfilling our potential. We may always take the safe option even though we know we are copping out.
The bodhisattva is one who, according to Shantideva, will face this challenge and not allow inner fears to hold him or her back. It is this inner “disturbing conception” that is the real challenge and requires great strength of mind to conquer. It also requires a level of compassion for ourselves because we may not always succeed. As Shantideva writes in the Guide:18
First of all, I should examine well what is to be done,
To see whether I can pursue it or cannot undertake it.
If I am unable, it is best to leave it,
But once I have started I must not withdraw.
If I do, then this habit will continue in other lives
And wrongdoing and misery will increase;
Also, other actions done at the time of its fruition
Will be weak and will not be accomplished.
Self-confidence should be applied to wholesome actions,
The overcoming of disturbing conceptions and my ability to do this.
Thinking, “I alone shall do it,”
Is the self-confidence of action.
Laziness and lack of engagement are an anathema to the warrior who seeks to apply him- or herself to every task. Self-confidence is not gained instantaneously, however, but through engaging in those things that we feel we are able to accomplish and building upon them. When we take up small challenges and are able to accomplish them, our confidence will grow. Perhaps one of the greatest mistakes for those of us who lack self-confidence is to take on some huge challenge because we feel it will really prove we are worthwhile. Our self-doubt will be made even worse if we are then unable to complete what we start.
When I was in my twenties, this was a difficult challenge. My lack of self-confidence led me to have many “big ideas” that I hoped would finally show that I was worthwhile and give me a sense of self-value. Unfortunately, these ideas remained dreams and, rather than helping me, tended to make me feel even more inadequate. It was only after giving up grandiose dreams that I was able to take on small things and begin to grow in confidence and capacity. I found this both in the material sense and also in my meditation practice. Only by completing short retreats was I gradually to have the confidence to enter longer and longer periods of isolation.
There are those who seem to have an immense capacity to engage in what could seem to be daunting tasks. My retreat teacher, Gen Jhampa Wangdu, was one such man. He had immense courage and strength of will, having spent about twenty-five years in isolated retreat. He finally died after a particular nine-month retreat which, he said, had been successful. I was not aware at the time that he had embarked upon a practice specifically intended to help avert a hindrance to H. H. the Dalai Lama’s life. He had chosen to take on some of this hindrance by the power of his realizations, which he must have known could lead to his own death. Gen Jhampa Wangdu was one of the most compassionate, courageous, and determined practitioners I have ever met. He was a simple man with great humility and a wonderful capacity for laughter.
To individuate as a bodhisattva we need to develop the courage and will to endure hardship for the welfare of others. A steadfast mind that faces life’s challenges and overcomes them is the bodhisattva warrior’s greatest weapon. This particularly relates to the ability to remain vigilant to the potential to lose mindfulness and fall into bad habits. To the warrior, the loss of mindfulness may lead to a moment of lapse when some unwholesome inner weakness could take over. The bodhisattva warrior’s primary enemy is an inner one, whether this is an emotional disturbance or the tendency to become egotistical or arrogant. Perhaps one could say that the warrior’s greatest fear is to be dominated by an inner weakness, particularly arrogance, laziness, or selfindulgence.
To maintain clarity and alertness to the inner challenges that can take us over is no easy task. In therapy, a lack of mindfulness plays a significant role in the struggle to resolve emotional problems. We may begin to recognize the nature of our emotional patterns and see the detrimental effect of them taking us over and ruling our lives. Without the capacity to witness the arising of emotions and to begin to free ourselves from their power, we remain helpless. Once we are able to cultivate a quality of mindfulness that can remain aware and present and not drown in our emotional life, it is not such a source of suffering.
Mindfulness enhances the capacity to disidentify from emotional patterns and habits. When we do so, we are no longer taken over by their power. What weakens our ability to disidentify is a fundamental lack of mindfulness. Before we know what has happened, we become caught in emotional reactions that take us over. The warrior’s intention would be to never allow himself or herself to lose that capacity to remain alert.
The warrior’s impeccability, determination, and courage are powerful qualities, which inevitably will have a shadowy side. There is a certain rigor in this attitude that may become extremely unhealthy. A businessman who came to me in therapy particularly reminded me of this. His task was to go into an organization and sort out the managerial problems that were arising. He would relish the challenge and used to say he only really felt alive when he was engaged in this process. He was glad that his managerial skills and his capacity to take up the challenge could be of benefit.
He was, however, becoming increasingly aware of the shadowy side of his warrior-like attitude to life as he began to experience it. The warrior does not readily tolerate weakness, either in himself or in others. The rigor with which the warrior engages with life and the task, be it inner or outer, can become compulsive. The impulse to go into battle and fight the good fight can become so instinctive the warrior does not know when to get off his horse, so to speak. Recognizing limitations is not easy for the warrior, and the need to stop, rest, or change direction may be seen as the greatest weakness.
The warrior may not know when to stop and listen to the inner needs of the body. Many people who become caught in the active willfulness of this way of life can find sickness or physical weakness immensely frustrating. They may drive themselves way beyond what is healthy. In my own life I have experienced this when the combination of work, house renovation, and demanding young children left me exhausted and feeling as though I had nothing left to give. I had driven myself way beyond my capacity by trying to complete building work that required a huge effort. The depletion that this brought about led to a prolonged period of illness during which I had no resistance to endless colds and flu. Eventually, I reluctantly recognized my limitations and the need to slow down and give myself time to recover.
When we enter the warrior’s way of life, we need to be aware of the shadowy side of our nature. To ignore our vulnerability or our weaknesses will lead to a kind of inflation. It can lead to the illusion of infallibility. When this inflation happens, the warrior is set for a fall, and a warrior does not take defeat easily. Nevertheless, this may actually be the instance that wakes him up to his blindness.
Approaching the practice of meditation with this disposition almost always leads to problems. Applying our will to meditation seldom brings the results we may wish. As I have found in retreat, pushing and trying to gain experiences leads to a stressed mind and can even damage the energy-winds in the body. This can lead to symptoms such as headaches, heart pains, and emotional instability, all a reflection of what the Tibetans call lung or “wind” disorder. A young man who came to me for therapy suffered this in the extreme. He had driven himself to meditate with the kind of will he had used to study academically. His intellect was determined to succeed, but meditation cannot be approached with such force without consequences. When he came to me he had suffered chronic pain in his head and body for some time. Psychotherapy was limited in its potential because he really needed to rest and stop anything that was hooking into his trying-to-achieve disposition. Healing was going to be a long process of patient letting go, rest, and acceptance.
The willingness to commit to and engage in the task with will and determination needs to be tempered by the wisdom to recognize what is actually needed. Someone who is compulsively active does not always find it easy to be guided and to genuinely hear what is best. They think they know and want to get on with it, only to discover that they missed the point.
The cultivation of will and the capacity to face and overcome hardships or obstacles are the gift of the warrior’s path. The courage and impeccability of the warrior make the bodhisattva’s life full of dynamism and vitality dedicated to the benefit of others. However, it may eventually be time for those on the warrior path to shift the emphasis and not constantly search for a new challenge, a new cause to fight for, or a new dragon to slay. Becoming stuck in the warrior mode can be another trap. It may become too intense and rigorous, which may then require a willingness to relax and let go of the will as the way of dealing with life—something that a warrior may not find easy.
In the process of individuation we gradually learn to embody the strength of mind to accept the trials of the path and the maturity to transform our relationship to them. Tempering the warrior’s willfulness may require cultivating the qualities that arise on the path of the servant.
There is a time in the process of individuation when it is important to ask ourselves the question, What is my motivation? Even within the world of genuine “spiritual” practitioners, there is a point when we must honestly look at whether our practice is principally in the service of self-interest or is really oriented towards the welfare of others. While I was in India I became conscious that my years of intensive retreat were emerging from a very mixed motivation. Striving for selfrealization or enlightenment does not necessarily mean we are focusing on the welfare of others. I think my own desire for meditation experience may have had a level of dedication to benefiting others, but there was no doubt that I also had a lot of vested self-interest. It was on returning to the West that I began to genuinely embark on a path that involved dedicating my time and energy to others. I could see my struggles and resistances to the path of the servant both in my work as a psychotherapist and, later, in my role as a father.
Within most spiritual traditions, selfless devotion and self-sacrifice are considered great virtues. The object of sacrifice and devotion may vary and may be a cause, an organization, a doctrine, a divinity, a person, or the welfare of other beings in general. From a psychological perspective, placing ourselves in the service of what Jung called the Self is a significant step in the journey. It is expressed in the wish to surrender self-interest to the service of some greater purpose and meaning.
In Mahayana Buddhism great emphasis is placed upon giving up self-preoccupation for the altruistic intention to work for the welfare of others with compassion and love. The bodhisattva cultivates a willingness to undergo great hardship and endure tremendous suffering to achieve full awakening for the welfare of others. The effect of someone who genuinely is able to do this is profound. Perhaps a supreme example of this is H. H. the Dalai Lama, whom I have had the fortune to meet and study with on many occasions. In his presence, one can feel the depth of love and joy that he emanates in his complete devotion to serving the welfare not only of the Tibetans, but of all humankind.
There are those for whom self-sacrifice is a very natural expression of a deep concern for others. Women seem particularly able to respond to this inner call out of empathy and a natural capacity to care for others. For those of us who are not so immediately and spontaneously disposed, the path of the servant becomes an important step in a process of learning to care for others in a way that lets go of selfinterest.
The servant may be seen as one who sacrifices self and surrenders self-interest for the service of others. We may do this from a place of necessity or from a place of choice. We may do so from a place of love or of compassion. However we are motivated, this process of surrender and dedication will challenge us to the limit. It will test us to the core and bring out our resistances and resentments. If we have false motives, these will manifest glaringly at some point. It is extremely hard to follow this path and do so from a hidden self-deceiving motive.
The ability to offer oneself genuinely and deeply to the welfare of others can easily be affected by all manner of subtle motivations that may not be immediately apparent. In time, however, these will come to the surface and we will be confronted by our limitations. However, as I have found in my own journey, this is the point. When I began to work as a psychotherapist and, later, as a parent, I knew it would be challenging. I could not have envisaged just how challenging being a parent in particular would be. It was far easier to remain in isolated retreat and visualize or imagine working for the welfare of others. To be pushed to the edges of my capacity day after day by the demands and needs of children is another matter. If I believed I had a capacity for patience, this illusion has been totally shattered by children who won’t put their socks on or who endlessly empty baskets of toys when I had only a few minutes before tidied them up. If I felt I was able to let go of personal needs and give, this capacity has been pushed to the limit. There have been times when I have been desperate for personal space, knowing that I had to wait.
Some of the greatest lessons of the servant are patience, generosity of heart, and the ability to overcome and let go of resentments and judgments. If we are to serve others we must develop an evenmindedness, an equanimity, that does not project our shadowy prejudices and dislikes. The capacity to open and respond to the needs of others without becoming caught in limiting self-grasping requires practice. In Shantideva’s Guide he expresses the aspiration of the bodhisattva to give:19
May I be the doctor, the medicine
And may I be the nurse
For all sick beings in the world,
Until everyone is healed.
Without any sense of loss,
I shall give up my body and enjoyments
As well as all my virtues of the three times
For the sake of benefiting all.
May I be a protector for those without one,
A guide for all travelers on the way;
May I be a bridge, a boat and a ship
For all who wish to cross the water.
Just like space
And the great elements such as earth
May I always support the life
Of all the boundless creatures.
The ability to give of our time and energy is something that can grow with a willingness to let go and open. I have known people whose capacity to give time to others who needed their attention seemed boundless. Most of us need to have clear boundaries with our time and energy; otherwise, we would exhaust ourselves. As we open through the cultivation of bodhichitta, this capacity for generosity will grow. This does not imply that the servant should have no boundaries and should endlessly give of him- or herself. To do so may be very unwise and damaging both to the welfare of the giver and that of the recipient. From my own experience, when I go beyond those boundaries I become exhausted and feel I have nothing left. This leads me to become increasingly scratchy, irritable, and in need of personal space.
While self-sacrifice is a necessary ingredient of the bodhisattva’s maturation, the cultivation of this kind of giving requires some skillful awareness of where there is self-delusion. There is a difference between a genuine self-sacrifice that comes from a deeply rooted and healthy self-worth and the martyr-like self-negation that arises from unresolved wounds. To distinguish one from the other is not difficult for an observer, but someone trapped in this negative pattern may be resistant to acknowledging it. Someone whose way of relating is based upon self-sacrifice and self-negation may give because it is his or her only way of feeling valued. It may also be the only defense against despair, hopelessness, and self-loathing.
Such people will often be self-effacing and self-denying and compelled to look after others rather than allowing anyone to take care of them. To feel worthwhile they may even unconsciously need people to be in some difficulty so that they can help. They may automatically defer to others’ needs, and it is often very hard to get them to say what they would like. They may adopt the role of passive victim and willingly enter into abusive relationships with both individuals and organizations. Their relationship to boundaries is often poor and they may be incapable of saying no because to do so would be “selfish.”
The wounding that lies beneath unhealthy sacrifice may not at first be apparent but can often be sensed as a deep, underlying pain and despair. Unhealthy self-sacrifice usually has its origins in childhood in the form of some kind of chronic emotional neglect. According to Alice Miller the self-sacrifice tendency is especially prevalent in those who from a very early age have had to “look after” seriously narcissistic and wounded parents, taking care of parental needs at their own expense.20 Wounded parents will often accuse their children of being selfish for having their own needs, so that being “selfish” becomes a terrible sin.
The willingness to sacrifice oneself for others may be born out of a deeply damaged sense of self. Sadly, I have seen a number of people, especially some close women friends, enter spiritual communities and work “selflessly,” sacrificing themselves to circumstances that became increasingly demanding and abusive. The compulsion to neglect self and constantly work for others can easily be supported by spiritual ideals and collective approval. Within this “selfless” spirituality often lies a deep well of pain, grief, and self-destructive masochism that seldom can be resolved through self-sacrifice.
A close woman friend of mine suffered as a child from an abusive, aggressive drunken father and was called on to sacrifice herself to the family as a second mother, doing most of the housework and taking care of her brothers and sisters. As she felt a desperate need to please a punishing father, her only sense of value came from serving. She became involved with the Tibetan Buddhist organization I was connected to and enthusiastically devoted herself to the teacher’s requests for people to work in the center. She found it easy to dedicate her life to his demand for self-sacrifice for the welfare of others. Unconsciously, however, she was re-enacting the relationship with her father in an effort to again serve him dutifully in order to please him and receive the love she yearned so much for. She worked hard in the community and was always willing to provide for others, no matter at what cost to herself.
Regrettably, she was seldom very happy and the demands put upon her exhausted her. She nevertheless gave more and more of herself to serve the teacher. Exhausted and depressed, she asked her teacher for help. He sent her to another center to become a major figure in its organization. Initially she was happy to have received this recognition and acceptance; it was like a blessing. In time, however, she began to again fall into the same despair. She worked constantly, exhausting herself to serve the teacher, who seemed to have no appreciation of the pathology that was being triggered by his own actions.
It took considerable courage and desperation for her to begin to look at what she was doing to herself. To begin to change and trust what she felt she needed seemed to go against the teacher’s wishes. It meant confronting the guilt she felt at not dutifully obeying her father whose love and acknowledgment she so badly wanted. This was compounded by the spiritual values she had adopted, which also demanded dutiful self-sacrifice. Rather than being on a path of liberation, she was constantly being re-wounded. It was difficult turning away from the spiritual authority she had so long devoted herself to and beginning to trust what she needed for herself.
Another form of sacrifice I have seen in a number of very caring women is the tendency to take on a kind of earthy, supportive, motherly role in relationships with relatively immature, Puer-dominated men. They become the grounding principle so seriously needed by some “spiritual” men. One woman I know was prepared to sacrifice much of her own journey and self-determination to support an emotionally weak and immature male partner. Sadly, this was even reinforced by Tibetan teachers. What was particularly disturbing was the degree to which the man would regress into an infantile, abusive, and mildly sadistic treatment of the woman. Her willingness to endure this abuse was due to her capacity to sacrifice herself to another’s needs, partly from some deep sense of duty, partly because of a lack of self worth, and partly because she could not say no to his weakness.
This kind of self-denial and self-sacrifice is not a healthy basis from which to engage in the bodhisattva’s selfless service. There may be a time on the spiritual path when self-sacrifice is a natural next step in the process of our evolution, but not if it is enacted from a place of fundamental wounding.
The path of the servant needs to be based on a healthy sense of self. The lesson of the servant is the active engagement of compassionate bodhichitta in the service of others. As we are able to surrender, we will deepen the sense of meaning and fulfillment this gives to our lives. This surrender requires that we let go of the ego and its selfpreoccupations, but not in a destructive way. So long as our sense of self-worth is still damaged, sacrifice will only compound the hurt. When we are ready, however, the willingness to serve and work for the welfare of others will become a source of great joy and boundless energy.
The fourth path of individuation is not easy to name, as the figure of the magician is part healer, part artist, part shaman, part mystic, and part alchemist. The bodhisattva embodying this dimension of the path is particularly found within the world of the esoteric tradition of Tantra. In ancient India there was a group of practitioners who manifested this capacity as tantric yogis and yoginis. They were known as the eighty-four mahasiddhas, or as Dowman calls them, “masters of enchantment.”21 The term siddha usually refers to those who have accomplished certain powers, or siddhi, some of which are considered worldly powers and others, supreme powers. Worldly siddhi are capacities such as clairvoyance, while supreme siddhi are stages of enlightenment and buddhahood. A particular aspect of the siddha’s path relates to the power of transformation and of manifestation. One could see this as the transformation or manifestation of power.
A bodhisattva’s power of transformation is sometimes described as being like that of a peacock, which is said to have the capacity to eat poisonous plants and transform their toxins into the beautiful colors of its feathers. This simile emphasizes the capacity of the bodhisattva to transform whatever circumstances arise into useful experience; to learn from circumstances that might, for some, be intolerable and even destructive.
There is something fundamentally pragmatic about the bodhisattva’s ability to transform adverse circumstances into the path. Perhaps Nelson Mandela showed the most extraordinary example of this power in recent times. His period of imprisonment on Robin Island, far from harming him, had cultivated an extraordinary quality of compassion and equanimity. His ability to transform such adverse circumstances into a source of wisdom and strength is a testament to the power of the mind.
The bodhisattva recognizes this power and has come to realize that our reality and everything we experience within it is fundamentally based on the mind. To gain control over the mind is therefore to gain control over the process of creation of our reality. There is nothing magical in this; it is a natural reflection of a quality of insight into the true nature of the mind and, therefore, the root of our reality.
The eighty-four mahasiddhas, who lived in India soon after the time of the Buddha, were yogis and yoginis who were recognized masters of transformation. This was in part because they were practitioners of Tantra, through which they developed extraordinary powers of creative transformation, or siddhi. The supreme siddhi of the mahasiddha was the experience of Mahamudra, the unification of form and emptiness that enables a creative manifestation of Buddha activity spontaneously in each moment. Many of the mahasiddhas were craftsmen, and it was through their particular craft that they were able to generate their awakened quality. They exemplify the potential each of us has to utilize our own creative potential in the process of transformation. Through our particular talent we can manifest our true nature and thereby embody the transformation of our innate vitality, our potential power. On the path of the siddha, the bodhisattva’s actions of body, speech, and mind become progressively empowered to create whatever is necessary for the welfare of others.
The bodhisattva siddha stands between worlds: the relative world of appearances and the empty ground of being. One could say that they stand on a threshold of creation. Through the power of concentration and subtle insight gained in meditation, it is possible to become immersed in the process of creation as the reality we experience manifests in each moment. This is the place where relative forms and appearances are experienced as the play of emptiness. To stand in this position requires the capacity to remain utterly present in the natural clarity, luminosity, and openness of the mind itself. The mahasiddhas, as masters of the practice of Mahamudra, were able to act from a place of pristine clarity in a fresh, dynamic way in relation to the creative vitality present in each moment. With the intention to benefit sentient beings, the siddha then creatively engages in a play of manifestation. This manifestation may be the role of a healer, musician, artist, or teacher, or in some cases, behavior that is bizarre and incomprehensible. The purpose is to tame and transform the wildness of sentient beings’ minds in whatever way is most meaningful.
The threshold of awareness between the natural clarity of nonduality and the appearances of our relative world is a place of power—not personal power but the innate power or vitality present in the manifestation of life itself. This vitality is an aspect of Buddha nature that is present for each of us. We may have many different ways of naming it to make sense of it. For some, it may be spirit; for others, it may be some divine energy that lies at the heart of our reality. In the Tantric path of Buddhism this imminent source of vitality is often personified in the forms of deities. These provide a focus or channel for this quality, enabling the siddha to manifest its capacity creatively. The siddha comes to embody a dimension of Buddha nature called sambhogakaya (literally “the complete enjoyment body”) or subtle energy body. This powerful body of extremely subtle energy-wind (Tib. lung) is present even now within our nervous systems and, with practice, can gradually awaken.
As a bodhisattva’s awareness deepens, the capacity to open to this power grows. In Buddhism the root of this power is our own innate Buddha nature. It is our own inner potential, which Lama Thubten Yeshe once described as a source of limitless, blissful energy. As we awaken this inner vitality we become a vehicle for its creative expression in the world. This brings about the power to manifest and thereby deeply affect others and the world around, to influence, to heal, or indeed to harm. It is therefore crucial that we recognize this power rather than fear it. Once it is acknowledged, we must take responsibility for it, which is why the ethical basis of the bodhisattva is so well defined. As our inner power grows, it is vital to skillfully channel it.
The shadow side of the siddha is the desire for power. This leads to the potential to be possessed by it and then abuse it. A state of inflation arises usually because someone is blind to the danger. Jung spoke of the mana-personality as one who had become possessed by the power of the gods and then used this power unskillfully. The figure of Darth Vader in the Star Wars films is a vivid personification of the struggle to embody power without becoming taken over by it. Whether we call this the struggle between good and evil is questionable. From a Buddhist perspective, there is no notion of an absolute evil, although someone possessed by power and lacking any sensitivity of the danger of his or her actions may well seem evil.
To a Buddhist the dichotomy is not between good and evil per se but between ignorance and wisdom. To the bodhisattva as a siddha, ignorance is the greatest danger, as it will lead to frivolous abuses of power. In particular, one can see this ignorance as blindness to the nature of our own Shadow. When we fail to recognize our power, it will be as dangerous as becoming obsessed by it. If we deny our power, we are liable to act irresponsibly. We may be blind to the effect we have and not realize how our power influences others. False humility is as much a fault as being inflated. Unless we take responsibility, we are a danger to ourselves and to others.
The past decade has seen the emergence of countless therapists and healers, people who attend a few workshops and then call themselves masters or experts, hoping to draw people to receive their particular cure, their wisdom, or their path to self-actualization. Where does this need to be seen as a healer or teacher come from? While the motivation of many may be completely genuine, there is a danger that the cultivation of spiritual powers is the reflection of a wounded identity seeking spiritual affirmation, to be seen as special, to be looked up to as spiritually evolved. When there is so much of it about, how do we differentiate what is valuable and what is not?
One thing I appreciated about the Tibetan lamas I have studied with was their desire to keep their spiritual powers secret or private. It was very apparent that they had extraordinary qualities, one could feel it in their presence, but they would never proclaim it. The tradition set up around the lamas tends to contain this power because they are always accountable to their own teachers. There are safeguards in this system that potentially keep the individual in check. Dangers arise when Western teachers, therapists, and healers have no one to answer to, no accountability.
I have seen this in the situation of a Western Buddhist teacher who held a position of great power as the principal teacher in a Buddhist center. As the primary authority, essentially answerable to no one, she could use her power without being aware of its autocratic nature. Unchallenged by her students, who would always defer to her authority, she would easily dismiss any who might question her. Despite being a highly insightful teacher, she remains blind to her Shadow to this day.
The power to manifest has many faces. It may be as artist, musician, writer, healer, or shaman. It may equally be as a carpenter, bricklayer, or gardener. We should not become caught in the grandiosity of thinking that only what are considered sophisticated arts are noble or able to bring transformation. When we awaken the power to manifest, this can be expressed in the most basic experiences, because we understand the vitality and creative potential in each moment. It is not the exotic nature of what we do that is important; rather, it is the quality of mind present in the process of creation.
The mahasiddhas of India understood this in their craft, as do the Zen artists, whether this understanding is expressed through martial arts or the creative arts. Essential to this was their knowledge of the nature of lung or chi, the innate vitality present in reality. They knew how to remain present in this creative vitality and live its power impeccably. Perhaps the bodhisattva’s most challenging task is to take full responsibility for his or her capacity to manifest creatively in the world for the welfare of others.
Whether we learn through the path of the servant, the wanderer, the warrior, or the siddha/magician, the challenges that must be faced and the qualities gained are important aspects of our process of individuation. One thing that each of these paths can do is bring us to a point where our essential identity is challenged to its core, where we are pushed to our limits and beyond. Whether we pass the test, so to speak, will depend upon our capacity to open and go beyond the ego. Only then will we truly be able to bring together both wisdom and skillful means, a union that is at the heart of a bodhisattva’s realization.