by Pema Chodron

“You start looking for answers, but none of the usual things work. And so you start looking for spiritual answers, but you’re still hoping that the spiritual answer will bring the bubble back for you.

To the degree that the old ways aren’t working… to that degree you start to look for answers of a different kind.”

Pema Chödrön is a leading exponent of teachings on meditation and how they apply to everyday life. She is widely known for her charming and down-to-earth interpretation of Tibetan Buddhism for Western audiences.

Recordings of Pema’s teachings are available through Great Path Tapes. The video clip below is from The Doorway to Freedom program in Berkley, California.

How we think about efficiency depends on the paradigm in which we live. In the machine age, we think of economies of scale, lean operations, tightly controlled strategies, long hours, and hard work. All of these have virtue, but I am also reminded of the elegance of an almost-invisible aikido move that sends a much larger opponent hurtling to the mat. Or images from the Art of War, or from the tipping-point paradigm, where a well-timed intervention releases accumulated energy toward a desired direction or result.

In the paradigm of living systems, we are learning our way back to elegant economies. Nature wastes nothing. Systems are themselves intelligent, constantly adapting and evolving, whether at the cellular or the planetary level. How can we, as humans, remember this intelligence? Now that our human-made financial, social, and environmental systems are mirroring back our lack of synchronization, how can we reclaim the systems intelligence that is all around us, and in us, so that we can continue to evolve our way into a bright future?

Last week I attended a workshop on innovation in primary care (doctor-patient relationships), sponsored by CIMIT, Plexus Institute, and Kingbridge Centre and facilitated by Keith McCandless. The theme of the day was the potential for “liberating structures” to release the latent intelligence in our healthcare systems. These “structures” were defined as the minimal rules and methods needed for groups to solve their own problems. So, for example, one small-group exercise was to identify the invisible “rules” that perpetuate unwanted results in primary care and then to ask, What does this tell us about what we need to stop doing right now? And what new rules do we want to test? In another exercise, the group followed the simple rule responsible for flocking behavior in birds—and soon we were swarming as a mass, without anyone taking the lead or telling us where to go.

“Liberating structures” come out of research into complex adaptive systems (or complexity science) and are rooted in the study of ecosystems. Unlike the prevalent business paradigm, “creative destruction” is seen as equally important as growth. Without death in the system, there can be no renewal. The S-curve is replaced with the infinity loop, which is ultimately much more robust and resilient.

From my vantage point at the ALIA Institute, I see how the green shoots of new-paradigm problem solving are all emerging from similar soil. They all provide “just enough” structure to clear a space for creative emergence. There are things we must stop doing—momentum we must interrupt—so that something can begin to show up that is fresh, intelligent, right for this time and place, and in sync with the future that is emerging. The World Cafe and Open Space have simple rules that make it possible to listen to oneself, to the other, and to the intelligence “in the room.” Theory U stresses the importance of “letting go” of preconceptions and also the source of preconceptions, so that “profound innovation” is possible. Chaordic processes focus on the structures that lead to coherence of intention, so that top-down control can be let go without losing forward movement. Deep Democracy uses simple rules of engagement that begin to surface the undercurrents and blockages that get in the way of healthy group functioning.

At the ALIA Institute, we also stress the importance of a personal “liberating structure” as an inner foundation for fostering an “outer” culture of collaboration and innovation. For example, mindfulness meditation provides simple rules that interrupt the momentum of habitual thinking so that it is possible to simply pay attention and be present. From there, we are ready to see clearly, listen deeply, and ask the real questions that will lead us forward. We have increased tolerance for ambiguity and paradox—two hallmarks of complexity. In a way, meditation is like Theory U or Open Space for one. Conversely, you could also say that engaging in collective “liberating structures” is a group meditation. One of the Institute’s founding beliefs is that such a personal practice is a natural and powerful foundation for new-paradigm problem-solving and leadership.

As external restraints demand that we “do more with less,” how will we respond? In these times, the inherent ability of organizations and communities to learn, innovate, collaborate, and adapt is more important than ever. At the same time, the impulse to contract into fear, rush into ill-informed decisions, and revert to old patterns of command and control is stronger than ever.

As leaders who have glimpsed the possibility of another way, how can we support our organizations and communities to navigate successfully through these times? How can we help ensure that the dissolution of past reference points becomes an opportunity for an upward spiral of learning, innovation, and evolution rather than a self-defeating downward spiral driven by insecurity and fear?

One way to “do more with less” is to join forces. Perhaps this will be a time of new collaborations, where we begin to focus on the common ground that nourishes new-paradigm methodologies, so that we can begin to speak with a clear and coherent voice about the critical choices that are now appearing before us all.

It is indeed my opinion now that evil is never “radical,” that it is only extreme, and that it possesses neither depth nor any demonic dimension. It can overgrow and lay waste the whole world precisely because it spreads like a fungus on the surface. It is “thought-defying,” because thought tries to reach some depth, to go to the roots, and the moment it concerns itself with evil, it is frustrated because there is nothing. That is its “banality.” Only the good has depth and can be radical. – Hannah Arendt

This was Jewish author and philosopher Hannah Arendt’s conclusion after contemplating the Holocaust and those who engineered its massive display of human destruction. In her search she could find no profound evil behind the curtain of genocide, only small men, false wizards of oz.

I have been watching the CNN commentaries of the Wall Street mess and seeing a similar search for answers. Most notable is the outpouring of public outrage at the robber barons that gambled and profited from other people’s money and at the government that sat back and even cleared their path. Nobody yet knows how far-reaching the financial damage will be. The characters in this drama loom large because of the real and potential scale of impact. Might they too be small men, caught up in a system of banal greed and ignorance?

On the other side of outrage is helplessness. This type of shallow evil, of systemic ignorance, is like a fire out of control. What can anyone do to stop it? What use are the high ideals and efforts of  “authentic leadership” in the face of such forces? After we’ve pointed fingers of blame, what else can we possibly do?

Over the past days I have been nearly paralyzed by this sense of helplessness and uncertainty about the future, personally and on behalf of the Shambhala Institute. How can we rise to new challenges, step out into a new phase, when there is no solid ground?

When chaos hits, phrases like “radical good” offer little solace. What does it feel like, the radical good, and where do we find it?

And then I remember…. It is like this, said my Buddhist teacher, lifting open one side of his jacket. It’s as if you could reach through your rib cage, he gestured, and hold your naked, beating heart. He said it so sweetly, peering down over his glasses to where I sat in one of the front rows. When he withdrew his hand, I half-imagined it red with blood.

Through meditation I learned that thought, or awareness, when given the room and freed from distraction, naturally returns to this place, to the root, which is a different kind of nothing. It is beating, longing, almost something, tenuous yet strong, like a newborn or a small bird. It is vulnerable but fierce, and it is nakedly good.

Real questions, real conversations, lift the jacket. Being present in the company of others. Being present in the company of oneself. You could call this being authentic. It is a deeper good than light versus dark or happy versus sad. It is a sweetness and depth of being that brings dignity and poignancy to whatever is happening, even loss or death.

Distraction and overlapping answers are the banal enemy. Without noticing it, we provide places for fungus to grow. Then we become mesmerized by large forces and movements that are beyond us, that are spun and amplified and fed to us, with commercials in between. In our living rooms and solitudes we can become fearful and small. In offices and boardrooms the conversations that should happen never do.

In these days of shock and awe, I believe the work of authentic leadership is to hold open those spaces of radical good, inside and out. Refusing easy escapes from the discomfort of uncertainty, from that tender nerve of being, keeps the root exposed. That is where life comes from, and chaos and humor. We can come together to open that space, to be human and kind and fierce. In these times our best protection is to let our own minds return home, to reach into the depths, and to taste the bittersweet beauty of our own beating hearts.

What I find is that outrage doesn’t diminish in this space of radical good, but blame loses its relevance. When I am less fearful, genuine compassion arises   for the families who have lost their homes and for those who may now lose their incomes and savings, for the stockbrokers and board members who felt entitled by the gods of capitalism, for the decision makers now trapped in a no-win vice, and for all of us now experiencing the backlash of dysfunctional systems of our own making.

Susan Szpakowski is executive director of the Shambhala Institute.

Reflections on the plenary session “Strategy at the Edge” led by Adam Kahane, Margaret Wheatley, and Jim Gimian,
June 26, 2008, by Susan Szpakowski.

Comments in the aftermath of this year’s Thursday plenary ranged from “very provocative and brave” to “manipulative” to “What was that?!” Thursday evening and the following day there were a few conversations, some jokes, and then everyone left for home. Although much time has now passed, I’d like to offer my own reflections and open a space to continue the conversation.

There are two lenses for reflecting on that session: the process and the content (the actual messages conveyed). Here I propose focusing on the second lens, as I suspect this will have more enduring value.

The key messages in that plenary, as I recall them: It is possible that our most cherished beliefs are false. If we are not open to this possibility, we become blind and deaf to disconfirming data (to what is actually going on). It is possible that our best efforts will not succeed. We must therefore transcend hope as well as fear. The opposite of hope is not fear, but fearlessness.

These sentences may be easy to read here, but when contemplated deeply, personally, and unexpectedly in a hot room near the end of an intense week, they can elicit shock, relief, despair, anger… all of which were “in the room.”

I would like to bring in some further background. The theme of hope and fear, and the need to transcend both, is not new to the Institute. Fourteen years before Institute programs began, Trungpa Rinpoche brought a particular message and lineage stream into the Western world that gave rise to the Shambhala Institute community, among others. He brought both the essence of the Buddhist teachings and the vision of Shambhala as an enlightened society that can withstand the forces of a dark age. Having escaped from Tibet as a young meditation master, and having seen the devastation of the spiritual and cultural traditions of his country, he arrived in North America in the early 1970s. Over the next 17 years he showed up in many forms – meditation teacher, trickster, revolutionary, poet, flower arranger, military general, prophet, king. He saw the gathering clouds of darker times and conveyed a sense of urgency, yet he was always contagiously cheerful and down to earth.

Although he died in 1987, the spirit of Trungpa Rinpoche continues to haunt those of us who studied with him. It is a spirit of truth-telling and shape shifting, of not becoming seduced by hope or habit, or paralyzed by fear. Of discovering joy and freedom within disciplines of mindfulness and nowness. Of discovering delight in elegance and simplicity, and tapping into the power of “ordinary magic.” Of celebrating human goodness and dignity. In Colorado, Trungpa Rinpoche founded Naropa Institute with the slogan “When East meets West, sparks will fly.” He would have loved the Shambhala Institute.

At a time of spiritual seeking and new age rebellion and romanticism, Trungpa Rinpoche warned about the seduction of goal-oriented “spiritual materialism” and the “myth of freedom.” He talked about the wisdom of hopelessness—of giving up the continual and often subtle strivings of ego, no matter how seemingly noble or spiritual, because these strivings are ultimately a source of deception and suffering. They leave us smaller than who we truly are.

Trungpa Rinpoche talked about hopelessness as the foundation of the spiritual journey. Does this message also apply to the context of leadership? As agents of positive social change, many of us depend on hope. Isn’t hope the antidote to apathy and despair? Isn’t hopelessness the real enemy?

So far we have not said much about this topic at the Shambhala Institute. It seems that the conversation could easily become philosophical or righteous, especially when led by people who are comfortably distant from those living and working closer to the burning fires of the world. But at this year’s summer institute some of us were feeling that heat. One of the presenters, a resident of South Africa, described that country as “ready to explode.” We were also receiving emails from friends in Zimbabwe, which was increasingly tense and dangerous in the lead-up to the elections, when opposition or even non-compliance was being punished and crushed.

These situations illuminate the real and practical danger in clinging to hope. If South Africa falls into chaos, if Kufunda Village in Zimbabwe does not survive, if U.S. politics go the wrong way, if our project fails, will we go on? And what if our core beliefs don’t hold? Will we plunge into despair? Or will we resist despair by tightening our grip—by holding onto our beliefs so fervently that we are unable to really listen and see? Will we become ever more dogmatic about our truths, our community, our methodology, our way?

All of these threads were present in the plenary session. The challenge was given from the front of the room in a way that made it difficult to hear for some. But I think it is an important challenge for our time.

At the final banquet, I asked a question that was very alive for me at the time: What do we come back to? If it isn’t our hope and our core beliefs, what can we depend on?

I think there were many clues about this during the week’s meditation talks, Aikido lessons, and arts exercises. It is not just about cultivating a state of mind; it is also about posture. When we are rooted in the earth below and connected to an expansive space of vision and possibility above, we are like a willow tree, both open and resilient. We have a strong back of engagement and courage, and an open front of accommodation and tenderness. Our experience, our intention, and our humanity are continually arising. We are not being pulled forward by hope or pushed from behind by habit and fear. Through practicing in this way, a natural knowing and compassion begins to strengthen and radiate. In my opinion it doesn’t matter if we call this posture hopeful or hopeless. It is grounded and it is real.

I am realizing that coming back to the simplicity of this posture is a core leadership practice, and a way to discover fearlessness that is beyond hope and fear. I have heard this from my teacher and I am gradually discovering it to be true. After this year’s Summer Institute, I have a heightened sense of the need to use the privilege of my own circumstances to strengthen this posture.

As the Art of Hosting and Berkana folks remind us, we can also come back to community – to loving relationships among people who are working together for a common purpose. This is also a core leadership practice for our time – building networks of trust and commitment.

A month later, the voice that has stood out most vividly for me is that of Marianne Knuth, whose mid-program email reminded us that renouncing hope is not necessarily existential or heavy, and in fact is a source of strength and joy:

“When we have no hope left we have let go of attachment to outcome. It does not mean that we no longer do the work that we are called to do, or that needs doing, but that we do it without being caught up in how it is all meant to turn out. I feel that in many ways we have been working from this place at Kufunda for many years now. Not a place of despair, but a place of simply doing, not dampened by any external negative contexts – and in that we have found so much joy and gratitude for small yet enormously meaningful shifts in ourselves, in the people we work with, and in their communities.”

Marianne also relates that “simply doing” may not be enough to keep despair at bay when external pressures become overwhelming:

“These days, I am realising that as the situation has worsened – significantly, in Zimbabwe, it is ever harder to stay in this place of no hope, or perhaps I should speak of it as the place of not needing hope…. We need to find ways of continuously returning to the energy and practices of turning on the light. When everyone is crying over what is being lost, or rallying in anger against the injustice, generating a stronger field of despair, we have seen that we need to stay in the light. Stay with the beauty of what is right now, stay in community, stay present, stay open hearted.

“It doesn’t mean we wish to pretend that we are good and happy. Sadness and grief can be a part of that too, but when we come together in circle – even in our grief, we find a sweetness – and a different power – of being simply together in a place of love and appreciation. Steven, a young father at Kufunda, spoke to what faith is in his church – it is the appreciation of what is not yet, believing it, and what’s more, appreciating it, and through this calling it into being…. In the midst of the deepest darkness that we are living through right now, we are learning to appreciate a different way of being with each other; and believing that this light will one day be the way of our land. (But of course it will!) And so our most important task is to stay with that. With a field of light, of companionship, of open heartedness.”

I personally don’t see any contradiction here. When we come together for a week at the Shambhala Institute, when we sit in circle with trusted colleagues, when we prepare a good meal for family or friends, we are “turning on the light” of a tangible current reality and also a possible future. In this case “hope” is a raising of our spirits, not a dependence on outcome. It seems that the practice of authentic leadership is to create these spaces for ourselves and others—to create new social realities that are beyond the distortions of naïve hope and fear. Although we don’t know the outcome of our efforts, or how the story will end, we do know that it is good to be together this way—with dignity, compassion, and courage.