One of my Dharma brothers has apparently rescinded a transmission because his successor’s sexual conduct offended him or because his successor failed to show the desired remorse. Reading the announcement of the rescinding in a White Plum announcement, —the White Plum Asanga is an affinity group of teachers in Maezumi Roshi’s lineage — I was horrified. I have no quibble with my brother’s decision to be offended. I have no idea if he was embarrassed or angered. That’s his business, but rescinding transmission, in my opinion, cuts the heart out of the way of Zen.
There was a moment in my transmission ceremony which rocked me. I was standing facing Bernie, my teacher Roshi Bernie Glassman, when I heard him say that he would support me wherever my path took me. I hadn’t expected that. Bernie was reversing our roles. As a student, I had been there to support Bernie wherever he went, and he went to some unexpected places. I went with Bernie to the Street and to Auschwitz. Following Bernie’s example, I plunged into social entrepreneurship. Now Bernie was saying that he would support me wherever my practice took me. His commitment was a huge empowerment. How different it would have felt had Bernie said that he would support me as long as he approved of what I was doing, as long as I didn’t embarrass him as long or as I didn’t marry someone of a different religion or a different race.
I’m not being facetious. When I was growing up, disowning stories were not all that uncommon. The usual occasion was an interfaith marriage. “He’s no longer my son.” “He’s dead to me.” It sounds stranger now than it did then, but it was always horrifying.
What should we as teachers do if our students shock us, embarrass us, disappoint us? That’s a good koan. What should I do in this situation?
I think of calling my Dharma brother, but we were never close. He was one of the senior students of Maezumi Roshi who’d finished up with Bernie after Maezumi’s passing. He’d lived in Yonkers for a few months. I thought he was a nice guy, but I haven’t seen him or spoken to him in almost 30 years.
I think of joining the White Plum conversation. While I’m hesitating, Roshi Eve Marko jumped in. She says so much that needed to be said. I was off the hook. My voice was unnecessary.
But then it seemed that no one had heard Eve. The chorus of support for rescinding transmissions was deafening. Maybe I did need to say something. And then Eve responded with a fuller statement. I was off the hook again.
I called Eve to thank her. She thought I should say something. I always appreciate Eve’s encouragement. So, I did.
Transmission is an empowerment because it is unconditional. What I learned from Bernie and experienced in my own transmission is that transmission is a turning point in which the teacher acknowledges that the student is ready to be released from control. There is no turning back. Face-to-face transmission is the foundation of lineage. Along with zazen, it is, for me, what makes Zen, Zen.
When the question of rescinding transmission came up, Bernie made clear that he didn’t believe it could be done. When we asked him if he worried that he might have made a mistake in transmission — Bernie had so many Dharma successors — Bernie had no worries. That didn’t mean that he was certain he’d made no mistakes. He just wasn’t worried. As Bernie explained it, there was nothing to worry about. If he made a mistake, that line would quickly die out. The Universe would take care of any necessary corrections. Bernie didn’t have to worry.
It can be harder for the student to grok the unconditionality of the transmission than it is for the teacher. This was certainly true for me. Even after transmission, I continued to look to Bernie for approval. Whenever I visited Bernie, usually 3 or 4 times a year, I would update him on the charter school network we were building on Staten Island, always hoping for feedback. After all, what we were doing, while very different in many ways, had been inspired by the wonderful work which Bernie had done with The Greyston Foundation in Yonkers.
Bernie never criticized anything that we were doing. He never said, “Good job,” either, although he was always happy to see me. I wanted his approval still. I did hear from Eve that Bernie talked to others about what we were doing on Staten Island and that he was proud. He did agree to be honored at one of our school galas although by that time he was too weak to attend.
Now as I dig into the “rescinding” question, I am appreciating Bernie’s scrupulousness. He took transmission seriously. He didn’t want to steer me. His “good job” would be direction as much as “you can’t do that.” Even a withholding of “Good work,” would be taken as disapproval. His disapproval would press my pause button. Bernie hadn’t given me transmission in order to become my pause button. Bernie was serious about his “don’t know.” He didn’t know what I should do and shouldn’t do.
Bernie never held his students back. We didn’t have to stay home until he died. He was happy and proud of all the wonderful things his successors were doing. He wanted to learn from us, from the way in which the Dharma manifested in our lives.
Jishu once asked me if I had the courage to be Bernie’s teacher. My answer in the moment was an emphatic “No.” A couple of years later, in the empowerment of my transmission, Bernie made me his teacher, although I still didn’t really get it. He wanted to learn from me, even if I didn’t have the courage to think of myself as his teacher. I was still looking for his guidance. He’s still my teacher. I am still studying with him every day.
Comments