by Laura K. Secor

Hello my friends,

We are continuing to explore “The Way of the Bodhisattva”, a vivid description of the journey towards a particular flavor of enlightenment, a popular choice for Mahayana Buddhists. Which choice? Why, to embark on this “Enlightened Being Way”, to pursue this path, to explore the means of moving, more or less, circuitously, maybe on a bit of a switchback ascent, towards the ideal of being of aid to all sentient beings.

In the first installment, we considered Shantideva’s explanation of his own desire to live towards the Bodhisattva ideal. In the second installment, we considered some of the challenges that arise, feelings of attraction to what we desire, and aversion to what we dislike, ignorance, and other states of mind that close our hearts to other people. Pema spoke in particular of Shantideva’s enthusiasm for continuing over and over to resist the call of ignorance and seek clarity.

Inspired to explore Shantideva and the Bodhicharyavatara for himself, a friend found an unattributed gloss published by Sapientia Mundi Press, called simply “The Wisdom of Shanti Deva.” This little gem of a book brings a fresh perspective to the ancient text.

The monk’s commentary, which seems contemporary, dedicates a chapter to Shantideva’s appreciation for the necessity of failure. Shantideva says that enlightenment isn’t for the special people who never experience failure. It’s for all the rest of us, who fail again and again.

One of the most insidious – or perhaps the most insidious – aspect of failure is the second arrow. Not the failure itself (the first arrow) but the insistence that the person who failed is “bad.” That there needs to be shame. That others are judging, that others are doing this better, that maybe it would be wiser to simply give up the battle. This self-punishment is the second arrow, and always, always, it hurts worse than the first. Shantideva encourages us to accept that failure is not just part of the practice, but an essential element of the practice. That failure is how we do it. That failure is what we’re going to be confronting, again and again. He encourages us to accept this so that we do not indulge in that self-punishment known as the second arrow.

The anonymous commentator writes:

Repetition, in this sense, is not stagnation. It is how learning occurs in embodied systems. The mind does not change because it has been convinced once. It changes because it has been shown, repeatedly, that certain patterns lead to suffering and others do not. This showing is experiential. No argument can replace it. Failure provides the data from which understanding deepens.

Shantideva’s insistence on repetition also reframes patience. Patience is not only for enduring external harm. It is required to endure oneself. The frustration that arises when old tendencies resurface is often more corrosive than the tendencies themselves. One becomes impatient with one’s impatience, angry at one’s anger, proud of one’s humility. Shantideva exposes these secondary reactions as additional layers of self-clinging. To practice patience here is to allow the process to unfold without demanding that it look different.

I believe it was Pema Chodron who wrote, “Fail, Fail Again, Fail Better.” But there’s a trick to it – not all failure is created equal. Read on:

Continuing from “The Wisdom of Shantideva”: “This allowance does not excuse negligence. Shantideva is unsparing in his warnings against complacency. Repetition can be either training or stagnation depending on orientation. The difference lies in attention. One repeats unconsciously, reinforcing habit, or one repeats consciously, loosening it. Failure becomes instructive only when it is met with awareness rather than justification or despair.”

This last paragraph lit the light bulb that flickers somewhat unsteadily in my inner Buddhist temple. I am familiar with BOTH flavors of failure. Both the endless circling of the hamster wheel of recursive thinking, and the failure that says – oh wait, that’s not what I was aiming at. Of course we are all familiar with the deadening repetition that is not accompanied by that moment of awareness. That sort of failure does not nudge us out of our bad habits. We need that moment of waking up, of noticing, of jolting out of comfort, of saying – but wait – that’s not what I meant! Rather than greeting those realizations with shame, we need to celebrate those particular failures. They are our teachers, as Pema is always saying. Each one is a step, halting or spiral or even a mere soft-shoe shuffle, towards a calmer mind and wiser choices.