I look at the different schools of Buddhism and differentiate them partly by lines of accountability for stewardship of the dharma. The traditional schools rely heavily on the authority of institutional weight, the monastic code (vinaya) and lineage. The practitioner is accountable to thousands of years of precedent, and an honest enquirer can easily feel crushed under its weight. If little has changed in the tradition despite huge shifts in society, it may be because the human condition hasn’t changed much either. The middle market of the modernists is a presentational red herring. More of the same, but without the robes and now clothed in a cheap modern suit.
The secularisers insist they are ‘recovering’ an original, pre‑sectarian Buddhism — a pure, rational core, supposedly buried under centuries of metaphysics and monasticism. In practice, this recovery seems to be a selective pruning of anything that doesn’t fit a modern therapeutic worldview. Ethics are softened, karma becomes psychology, and the sangha is dissolved. Meditation is reframed as a stress‑reduction technique for people who want to function more smoothly, but inside the very system that generates their suffering. The vocabulary of Buddhism is retained, but the substance is reconstructed. It is a radical revision presented as a return to origins, and that, to my mind, is a kind of misrepresentation. Secular Buddhism seems accountable only to consumer demand. This isn’t my path.
I’m not ‘between’ because I’m indecisive. The schools represent different flavours of ‘skilful means’ (upaya). I hover between them, not to cherry-pick or seek an easy path, but to find the scaffolding that allows me to practice. I’m ‘between’ because neither pole feels honest for me. The middle seat is fertile, not empty.
Buddhism’s ‘Middle Way’ (usually framed with the extremes of asceticism and hedonism on either side) has more than one middle. Mine leaves me as my own ‘pope’ — though without any sense of infallibility. That carries an overhead and risks. The question is how best to navigate this aspect of the (eightfold) path. In my own practice, I aim to sit quietly and attentively, and see what arises without judgment.
My practice is informed by three distinct but linked modes of inquiry that provide checks and balances as I reflect on my experiences.
- Not Knowing: Rooted in the Zen of Bodhidharma and Joshu, ‘Not Knowing’ is a refusal to fixate on concepts. It is not an admission of ignorance, but a return to ‘beginner’s mind,’ ensuring my practice remains an open encounter with reality rather than projections of Buddhist orthodoxy.
- Great Doubt: Distinct from the ‘skeptical doubt’ identified as the fifth hindrance (vicikiccha), which paralyses and obscures — Great Doubt (daigo) is a high-pressure, generative state. It is the existential ‘Why?‘ that prevents my practice from becoming mere relaxation. It pushes against the walls of the ego until they give way.
- Huxleyan Agnosticism: I integrate Thomas Huxley’s agnostic principles to provide intellectual rigour. They act as a corrective against the ‘hollowed-out’ premises of secularism by refusing to settle for easy denials, just as they refuse easy affirmations, demanding that I not pretend to have certain knowledge of things for which I have no evidence.
In operation, these three strands help create stability for a scattered mind. Not Knowing keeps me humble and present; Great Doubt provides the energetic drive to penetrate the surface of experience; and Agnosticism ensures that I do not mistake a meditative state for a metaphysical proof. Together, they allow me to sit with metaphysical claims ‘lightly’ — treating them as working hypotheses rather than dogmas — while preserving the mystery of tradition without sacrificing intellectual honesty.
I frame my independence not as a better way, but as a more difficult one. I lack the faith to be a traditionalist and am unconvinced by the easy certainties of the secularists. I’m ‘between’ because that is the only place I can stand without lying to myself. I’m not lost; I’m waiting for my own path to become plain, bit by bit. I don’t practise alone — my household sangha is real enough — but I’m not part of any institutional lineage, and that shapes the way I navigate this middle ground.
Two – Reflections
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