Beyond Us, Yet Ourselves by Vidyadevi

Beyond Us, Yet Ourselves Vidyadevi's Talk about the Complete Works of Sangharakshita at Adhisthana for Triratna's Fiftieth Anniversary Happy birthday! Today we can celebrate the first fifty years of Triratna through the publication of Sangharakshita’s Complete Works, three volumes of which are being published today. That makes four volumes so far. There was the volume of lectures given in India, put together by my co-editor Kalyanaprabha and published last autumn, and now there’s Bhante’s volume of memoirs, The Rainbow Road from Tooting Broadway to Kalimpong, and a volume containing Who is the Buddha?, What is the Dharma? and What is the Sangha?, and a volume containing the commentaries on the White Lotus Sutra, the Sutra of Golden Light and the Vimalakirti-nirdesa.

Bhante’s writings, and books based on his talks and seminars, have appeared in all kinds of forms over the past fifty years, and for twenty years before that – in magazines and booklets and books – and if you’re newly arrived in Triratna the array may seem bewildering. There are memoirs and commentaries, reviews and poems, polemics and satire – and of course above all Dharma. To set us up for the next fifty years, it seems an excellent time to gather it all together. In all there will be twenty-seven volumes, produced over the next five years. They are organised into six themes or ‘baskets’, and we want to present a selection each year, which is why the crop so far consists of volumes three, nine, sixteen and twenty! Each has a foreword to explain the context in which the work first appeared. So far, Subhuti has written a wonderful account of Bhante’s connection with Dr Ambedkar and India for volume nine, Ratnaguna an inspiring introduction to the Mahayana sutras for volume sixteen; in volume twenty Kalyanaprabha beautifully introduces the new vistas opened up by Bhante’s memoirs; and in volume three I attempt to set the scene forty-nine years ago, when on a retreat the talks at the heart of that book were given.

Saddhanandi said the other day that publishing the Complete Works is like building a cathedral. It’s certainly a project whose intention stretches into the future, beyond the lifetimes of any of us. The complete works have already been seventy years in the creating, and our aim is that their life will continue long into the future. The cathedrals of England were originally built of wood, and then – in a remarkable phase of building that began nearly a thousand years ago – were rebuilt in stone, built to last.

Our local cathedral in Hereford has a great treasure in the form of the Mappa Mundi, a map of the world depicted from a particular point of view, and made about 700 years ago. It’s rather like a mandala. In the centre is the holy city of Jerusalem, and around that central point are depicted the lands of the known world, the unknown world, and the biblical world. Some geographical features can be discerned, but the map also depicts many myths and stories, as well as both real and mythical beasts, and also monsters, even cannibals. At the edge of the Mappa Mundi is a horseman pointing away, beyond the map.

Similarly, the Complete Works lay out a map of our Triratna territory. In the centre is the historical Buddha, and around him are arranged many things, historical, mythical, and ontologically uncertain. Here are the Mahayana sutras – there is the vajra guru – there is the grove of Tara, the pure land of Amitabha, and isn’t that Dr Johnson tucked away in that corner, next to William Blake?

Never before in our history have we had the whole ground laid out before us. Ideas that had perhaps seemed monstrous by hearsay or when glimpsed in the distance may assume their true proportions. Perhaps some ideas just aren’t there at all! And the last volume, volume twenty-seven, is a concordance, that is, an index of all the volumes, with annotations as to different uses of terms and so on – like a gazetteer to help you find your way around the world.

When I was compiling the Essential Sangharakshita, I realised that Bhante’s works could be organised according to the form of the mandala of the five Buddhas. That’s another way of seeing our Mappa Mundi. You can find yourself in the clear, mirror-like realm of Akshobhya, the realm of clear thought and thorough analysis, or the beautiful, refined, artistic realm of Ratnasambhava, the kindly, meditative Pure Land of Amitabha, or the heroic, mysterious, active world of Amoghasiddhi,

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and connecting them all, the realm of Vairocana, the realm of pure Dharma and perfect Enlightenment. Bhante seems quite at home in all these very different realms, and able to act as our guide to them all.

The mysterious figure pointing away from the Hereford Mappa Mundi reminds me of the Buddha who points beyond the wheel of life. In the case of the Complete Works, though, we could think of the finger pointing to the moon, a reminder that although these are Bhante’s Complete Works, they are not about him, but always point beyond him, to the Buddha, to the Dharma.

One of my favourite bits of Hereford cathedral is a tiny chapel at the far end, through a little door in a painted medieval screen in the Lady Chapel. There are to be seen four small stained glass windows, each depicting an aspect of the writings of the Herefordshire mystic Thomas Traherne.

That tiny space is suffused with rich light. My favourite window depicts a glowing red figure, illustrating the text ‘You are as prone to love as the sun is to shine’. Those windows were recently commissioned, so even after hundreds of years, there are still new ways to add beauty to the old structure. In the Complete Works, as well as the joy of finding our favourite bits, the ones to which we gravitate again and again, there’s their beauty – both the text and the design, so beautifully conceived by Dhammarati and Ruth Rudd; and there is also an elegant eBook version.

But why bother with physical books at all? Why isn’t the eBook enough? Well, while some people are convinced that the world will become ever more technological, others foresee instead a world after technology. But whatever the future, how many times will the technology change even in the next ten years, let alone the next fifty? Could the people in that little basement below a shop in Monmouth Street fifty years ago have imagined the world we find ourselves in now? How will those gathering to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the founding of Triratna be accessing these Complete Works? We don’t know – and as I would then be 104, perhaps I won’t find out – though some of you will. Perhaps it will turn out that it was wise to cover ourselves by also using old technology, as well as pleasing to those of us who still enjoy the deeply symbolic form of the physical book.

Hereford cathedral has what is called a ‘chained library’, where books in medieval times, when books were rare and precious indeed, could be consulted by visitors to the cathedral. Its oldest book dates back to the 8th century. That’s really standing the test of time.

The Complete Works have an important connection with the library here at Adhisthana. This library of Bhante’s books began with the small collection he brought back from India. The library used to be housed at Padmaloka in Norfolk, and when I lived in Norwich, I used to cycle out to Padmaloka to research notes, including, some twenty-five years ago, notes for Who is the Buddha?, now here in volume three. And now the library is housed in splendour here at Adhisthana, and we are using it to research new notes for these new editions. We’ve been making a lot of effort to trace the references Bhante makes, so the reader can see how the work is underpinned by its thousands of connections to specific parts of the Buddhist tradition. In terms of cathedral architecture, these are rather like the flying buttresses, as they’re called – new technology back in medieval times, which made it possible to build such immense spaces. Bhante himself has sometimes been able to help us with our research. For example, for twenty-five years I’ve been wondering where to find the very striking saying of the Buddha, ‘Test my words as the goldsmith tests gold in the fire.’ I hunted and hunted for it when I was first researching this book, and I picked up the trail when I was researching for this new volume. It was Bhante who gave me the clue: ‘Try the Tattvasangraha’ – and sure enough, there it was, in the very copy in which Bhante himself first read it. It’s a Vajrayana tantra, and I’d always assumed that the words would be in the Pali canon – an elementary mistake! It’s great to do this research using Bhante’s own books, the original source of his understanding of Buddhism. The physical presence of his library at the heart of Adhisthana I think symbolises the strong connection of this place with the heart of Bhante’s work.

That quotation, ‘Test my words as the goldsmith tests gold in the fire’, is clearly important to Bhante – he quotes it many times – and we could see it as an invitation and a challenge when it comes to testing out these Complete Works. But can we possibly test all of them, even once they

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are so invitingly spread before us? A rough calculation suggests that the number of words may be as many as seven million.

Hopefully in a year’s time I will be standing here extolling the virtues of the next group of volumes to be published. Two of these will contain a commentary on the songs of Milarepa, based on twelve seminars, eight of which haven’t appeared in book form before. I’ve just finished the editorial aspect of these, and the text is now in the capable hands of Shantavira, who has worked on Bhante’s books longer than any of us, and can definitely be regarded as the master craftsman of this particular cathedral. A recurring theme in the Milarepa commentaries is the distinction between general Dharma teachings and what the Vajrayana calls ‘pith instructions’. A pith instruction is not a sort of summary of the Buddha’s teachings. It is a specific teaching, drawn from the tradition as a whole and given to you by a teacher or spiritual friend who sees that that teaching is what you personally need to practise at the moment.

A great many of the Complete Works are co-created. They originate in talks and seminars given in particular circumstances to particular people, in response to the needs Bhante perceived at the time. In a sense, then, we are overhearing teachings given to other people, or general overviews of the Buddhist tradition. This is of course true also of the Buddha’s own teachings. There’s a difference between method and doctrine. This is why the Vajrayana would say that the pith instruction is necessary to show us what specific approach we personally need to take right now.

This may be a key reason why kalyana mitrata, spiritual friendship, is the whole of the spiritual life.

We can’t always see for ourselves what we need; we may need help. When I was telling Bhante about this talk, he said that all Order members need to know their way around the whole cathedral, to be able to point out to others the particular features that they need to see. Not that that is an easy thing to do. Another theme that crops up a lot in the Milarepa volumes is the difficulty of truly knowing another human being and how careful one needs to be, therefore, if in a position of advising them what to do.

Hereford cathedral is the home of what is called the Herefordshire School of Romanesque Sculpture. This distinctive style is to be found not only in the cathedral but in churches throughout this area. Curiously, it resembles stonework to be seen in southern France – but it’s not really surprising given that that was the route to Santiago de Compostela. People who went on the pilgrimage and made it back – it was a dangerous thing to do in those days – brought back sketches which were replicated here in Herefordshire. But it wasn’t replicated exactly. Craftsmen found their own methods and their own style. They carved all manner of designs and faces and strange beasts. Sometimes they were clearly making a portrait, or a caricature, of a particular person. But it’s all recognisably of the same school.

This gives us a metaphor for the development of a tradition. A lot of Bhante’s teachings were given to introduce the Dharma to people who were new to it. They’re a measure not of what Bhante knew, but of what those he was teaching did not yet know. They also show what’s possible. For example, volume sixteen introduces us to three Mahayana sutras. I’m sure that’s not so that we can religiously stick to those three, but to give us an idea of the approach one might take. Bhante has always been keen that other order members should write, and I’m sure was delighted to see, for example, the recent publication of Ratnaguna’s commentary on the Pure Land sutras, Great Faith, Great Wisdom, which brings the text to life and shows how we can use it in our practice. This also relates to Bhante’s recent statement: ‘I being its founder, Triratna sometimes bears the mark not of the Dharma but of my own particular personality.’ I gather that some people have thought that this was an expression of regret, as the second half of the statement is. But I had the opportunity recently to ask Bhante about this, and he said that he was simply referring to limitations such as his interest in the humanities rather than in science. That was just what he said in his 1990 paper, ‘My relation to the Order’. To quote a bit of that, ‘The Order should not be simply Sangharakshita writ large. Avalokiteshvara has a thousand hands, and each of the thousand hands holds a different object. Similarly, Order members of particular temperaments have different talents, aptitudes and capacities, and in making their respective contributions to the life and work of the Order they should allow – you should allow – those talents, attitudes and capacities full scope.’

If you’re interested to read the whole talk, it will appear in the Complete Works, volume two (to be

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published in 2019). Another theme from the Milarepa commentaries is that each generation of disciples must themselves become teachers, must even surpass their teacher, otherwise, how will a tradition survive? These Complete Works are not just about what they contain in themselves, but what they inspire in others. They go beyond themselves.

The metaphor of the cathedral certainly offers us a way of seeing the Complete Works. We can climb the winding stairs of the Perfection of Wisdom, feeling dizzy as we peer over the narrow balcony to the nave far below, and keep climbing to the tower, from which we can look out to the world beyond, in a gesture of compassion. Or we can go down to the crypt, to the roots of the tradition. We can spend hours poring over a tiny detail of woodcarving or stained glass – one person’s saint will be another person’s gargoyle – or just sit in the main space, amazed by the sheer height of space above us. Hereford cathedral is still free to enter, so anyone, whatever their views, whoever they are, can go and sit and be with their thoughts; and likewise the Dharma is free for all to enter, ehipassiko.

But in some ways the Complete Works do not at all resemble a cathedral. Some years ago, I walked all the way from Herefordshire to Rome – not on a pilgrimage, just on a walk. It took 3 months. Our second night was spent very near here, as it happens. And near journey’s end, we arrived in the Italian city of Siena, which has its own ancient cathedral. On our visit, I was given a ridiculous paper apron-type thing to cover my walking shorts, in case my knees were offensive to the Lord. Overwhelmed in the hubbub of tourists, I sat down and closed my eyes. The sounds faded away, and I imagined the very stones melting and vanishing, until all that was there in front of me was just a man sitting under a tree. And I felt so glad of the simplicity of the Buddhist tradition, which emerges shining and clear from all its accretions.

Likewise, we need not think of Bhante’s Complete Works as something monumental and built of stone, or a relic of the past, an archive to gather dust. So let’s let the cathedral I have just constructed melt away, until we are left simply sitting under a tree. Another experience of mine in recent years has been planting a wood. Six and a half years ago we planted hundreds of trees on the land next to our house. For three days, from dawn till dusk, we laboured, planting tiny sticks, just a couple of feet high. At dusk on the third day a deep frost descended, and for the next month the temperature never rose above zero. After that, there was a very dry spring and summer, and we kept the little trees going with buckets of water. It was surprising that they survived at all after such a start. I thought we were doing something for the future, that we ourselves would never see the wood we imagined. There was something poetic about that. But the land on which they were planted had been orchard or pasture for centuries. In that rich soil they thrived, and now – each growing according to its own nature, just like the parable of the plants in the White Lotus Sutra – some of them are already thirty feet tall. Every day we walk through the winding paths of our wood, seeing something new. Trees mature and begin to bear flowers and fruit; wild flowers appear beneath; animals and birds make the wood their home.

Likewise with the Complete Works, we are planting a wood, a forest, for the long term, for the ages, so it can flower and bear fruit, and provide shelter and shade, and the song of the wind in the trees, and attract living beings of every kind. We are doing our best to organise the material systematically, but perhaps it is not really an orderly parkland, but more like the wildwood or even the jungle, though there are paths through it if we read the signs carefully. Books have a life of their own, like forests. And even though we’re planting our wood thinking of the generations to come, we ourselves can already see it growing – well, we are it growing. This project, in the words of Wallace Stevens’ poem, is ‘beyond us, yet ourselves’.

As a sangha we’ve already been working on it for a long time. Transcribers, editors, publishers and translators have all been busy for many years now. The Complete Works project is in need of various kinds of literary help, so please contact us if you can offer that. Priyananda and his team at Windhorse Publications have worked very hard to bring out these books in all their glory. But any great project needs patrons, and this is where everyone can help. The first phase was the wonderful collection made for Bhante’s ninetieth birthday – many thanks to everyone who contributed. And for the second phase, what would help most of all would be if you would

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subscribe to the series. For a modest sum per year, you could be the modest owner of the entire set of handsome volumes, or nifty eBooks, or both. Even the Rolls Royce option of hardback plus eBook costs just £139 per year. If you’re an old lag like me and already have a whole shelf of books and believe you don’t need any more, can I submit that a) the Complete Works will include a lot of previously unpublished work, plus a whole lot of new endnotes, and a concordance so that you’ll never again have to hunt through book after book for that elusive reference, and b) the best thing you can do to support this project and help it thrive is to buy the books. If you don’t want them yourself you could give them away. So please subscribe, via the Windhorse website.

As we know, books are not the same as knowledge. To give you another preview of the Milarepa volumes, you may know the story in which Rechungpa, Milarepa’s endearingly stubborn and endlessly distracted disciple, is away so long, distracted by the play of wild goats, that in the meantime, Milarepa burns the books which Rechungpa went specially to India to obtain (against Milarepa’s advice). In the commentary Bhante quotes John Milton, ‘A good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life’ – a reminder that a book is really a person speaking to us, and that the Complete Works are indeed the precious life-blood of a master-spirit who is very dear to us. At the same time, what happens to Rechungpa in the story suggests that, to quote Bhante’s commentary, ‘mere physical possession of the books is of no value at all. What you need is the spirit of the teachings written in the books.

You haven't really got the books until you've got that spirit. When Rechungpa developed the right spirit, when he prayed to the dakinis, when he put himself in touch with the forces of inspiration, with those very spiritual forces from which the books came, then the books really did come into his possession, and he became the master of those teachings. You don't really possess books unless you understand what they're all about. Otherwise you just own so much waste paper. You could have all the Buddhist scriptures on your shelves but if you haven't read them, or if you've read them but misunderstood them, strictly speaking the scriptures are not there on your shelves. It’s only when you've penetrated the real meaning of those scriptures, when you've gained some realization of them, that you've really got those books.’

So there’s that consideration. But in order to really get these books, a good starting point is to really get these books! And on this foundation we can build whatever we are going to build, we can plant whatever we are going to plant, in the next fifty years and beyond.

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