The Ezra Klein Show - This Question Can Change Your Life

Episode Date: January 2, 2026

I like to start the year with a few episodes on things I’m personally working on. Not resolutions, exactly. More like intentions. Or, even better, practices.One of those practices, strange as it sounds, is repeatedly asking the question: “What is this?” It’s a question I got from a book of the same name, by Stephen and Martine Batchelor. In that book, they are describing an approach to Buddhist meditation built on the cultivation of doubt and wonder. You can see that as a spiritual practice, but it’s also an intellectual and ethical one. It is, for me, a practice that has a lot of bearing on politics and journalism.Stephen Batchelor’s latest book, “Buddha, Socrates, and Us: Ethical Living in Uncertain Times,” explores those dimensions of doubt more fully. And so I wanted to have him on the show to discuss the virtues of both certainty and uncertainty, the difficulty of living both ethically and openly. You can see this as a conversation about our inner lives or our outer lives, but of course they are one. And Batchelor, as you’ll hear, is just lovely to listen to.Mentioned:Buddha, Socrates, and Us by Stephen BatchelorWhat Is This? by Martine Batchelor and Stephen BatchelorEthics of Care by Carol GilliganBook Recommendations:Children of a Modest Star by Jonathan S. Blake and Nils GilmanWork Like a Monk by Shoukei MatsumotoThe Second Body by Daisy HildyardThoughts? Guest suggestions? Email us at [e-mail] can find transcripts (posted midday) and more episodes of “The Ezra Klein Show” at nytimes.com/ezra-klein-podcast, and you can find Ezra on Twitter @ezraklein. Book recommendations from all our guests are listed at https://www.nytimes.com/article/ezra-klein-show-book-recs.This episode of “The Ezra Klein Show” was produced by Kristin Lin. Fact-checking by Michelle Harris. Our senior engineer is Jeff Geld, with additional mixing by Isaac Jones. Our executive producer is Claire Gordon. The show’s production team also includes Marie Cascione, Annie Galvin, Rollin Hu, Emma Kehlbeck, Jack McCordick, Marina King and Jan Kobal. Original music by Pat McCusker. Audience strategy by Kristina Samulewski and Shannon Busta. The director of New York Times Opinion Audio is Annie-Rose Strasser. Subscribe today at nytimes.com/podcasts or on Apple Podcasts and Spotify. You can also subscribe via your favorite podcast app here https://www.nytimes.com/activate-access/audio?source=podcatcher. For more podcasts and narrated articles, download The New York Times app at nytimes.com/app.

So I was like at the beginning of the beginning of, of the year to do a couple of episodes that are around things that I am working on in my own life. Resolutions episodes, you might say. And something I've been working on over these past months, years, is being able to sit with doubt. Not just doubt, being able to sit in the wonder of uncertainty. Because the first person we believe our own easiest marks are ourselves, the stories we tell, the things we think we already know. So maintaining an openness, a curiosity,

I think it's important politically. I think it's very important in my work as a podcast host, but it is, as much as it is anything, a spiritual practice, a practice of remaining present in the fundamental unknowability of this life and this earth. And my guest today has helped me with those practices

in ways that maybe he would not have known. Stephen Batchelor is the author of many books on Buddhism and Meditation, including this book he wrote with his wife Martine Bachelor called What Is This? Which is from a meditation retreat, a Saan meditation retreat that they held some time ago. And Saan meditation works around the question of what is this, just asking it again and again and allowing it to arise in you, this feeling of doubt, and then to sit with that and see what that might reveal. Boucher's the latest book is Buddha, Socrates, and Us, ethical living in uncertain times. There he draws on a different tradition of doubt, secretic questioning,

and explores kind of the wisdom that Buddhist and Hellenistic philosophy might offer us today. So I want to invite him on the show to talk about doubt as a practice and what it could open for us personally and even politically right now. As always my email, Ezra Client Show at NYUTimes.com. Stephen Batchelor, welcome to the show. Thank you, Ezra. So, from the age of 27 to 31, you say you sat facing a wall for 10 to 12 hours a day,

asking the question, what is this repeatedly? So I guess the obvious first question is, why did you do that? Well, I became a Buddhist monk when I was 21 years old, and I was involved with a Tibetan tradition that put a great deal of emphasis on studying the texts, studying logic, epistemology, and really trying to get a clear conceptual understanding of what Buddhist philosophy was really about. At a certain point, I found that this kind of inquiry, as fulfilling as it was,

did not really delve deep enough into my existential experience, as it were. And I felt an increasing longing to be able to actually put all the books aside, all the things I'd learned, all of my knowledge about Buddhism, and go to a place where I could just go back to the primary questions of what it means to be human, basically. And I went to South Korea, and there I entered a Zen monastery. The teacher had one simple instruction. Ask yourself this question, what is the? this and nothing else. Just get to grips with that primary question of your life. And initially, of course, the mind comes up with all kinds of clever answers. But after a while, you know, hour after hour after hour after hour, the mind kind of gives up. And you find yourself actually in a state of puzzlement, curiosity, wonder, perplexity, in which a lot of my knowledge of Buddhism was just gently put to one side.

A very good way of summing this all up is an aphorism that we find in Zen Buddhism. Great doubt, great awakening, little doubt, little awakening, no doubt, no awakening. So drop me then more into the existential experience of doing that. What is it like to sit staring at a wall for 10 to 12 hours a day,

asking the question, what is this? Well, initially when you start, then these retreats are three months, right? 90 days. In the summer, 90 days in the winter. It's a long period of time. But what happens is that in the first couple of weeks,

the mind still keeps coming up with all these clever answers and theories and maybe even little enigmatic little, zenish kind of poetry or whatever comes up. But at a certain point, that sort of quietens down and you just come to rest in that quality of amazement, astonishment, that you're here at all and you're in this moment. It's not that the wonder or the questioning is just going on between your ears. It's not an intellectual question. It might start out in that way. But at a certain point, you can actually let go the words altogether. You don't need to keep repeating,

what is this, what is this, but you begin to discover what they call the sensation of doubt, an actual physical feeling, as it were, that extends right down into your belly. And that quality, that embodied quality of wonder or questioning, then begins to actually infuse your day-to-day consciousness more and more. It becomes part and parcel of your fundamental experience, of being conscious. The world is not something you just take for granted so much anymore, or meeting another person is not just a sort of social interaction, but underlying that encounter with the nature or people or animals, you begin to be more and more attuned to the

sheer strangeness that this is all going on at all. The world, other people, my cat, whatever it is. And that opens up a quality of relationship with life itself that I found deeply nurturing. It somehow reconnected me with the organic foundations of my life. But not in a way that they, you know, I just let go or stop thinking. I mean, as a human being, you're always thinking in a way. But this provides a framework, an embodied frame in which to maybe think from your belly rather than think from your head. I worry that somebody listening can think I'm asking this from a point of gentle making fun. So I want to say that what is this, the book that

tracks a retreat you and your wife, Martin, did, is one of my very favorite books on meditation. And I reread it every couple of years. And so I've spent a lot of time doing this practice. And one of the reason I want to have you on is that I've been doing it a lot lately my experience of it is right at the beginning when i start doing it again i get that sensation of doubt that sensation of freshness in looking at the world and then fairly quickly my mind becomes dulled to the question so i guess i'm curious if you're talking to somebody who's experience of meditation is, you know, counting their breath, you know, restarting every time they lose track. What is the actual instruction of this? How do you do it, but also how do you

keep it from... Just becoming a repetitive. Yeah, just becoming a chant. What is important is to drop the question in to the meditation at the point where the mind has already stabilized either through observing the breath or just through the silent sitting practice itself, once you sort of find yourself and you feel it in your body, a kind of a groundedness, a kind of a harmony, a balance, a calm, then you very gently ask yourself, but what is this? What's going on? And allowing yourself to not repeat the question, but somehow settle into the silence in which the question is asked, and to... Let yourself just listen, as it were, to whatever responses might come up, listen to your body, listen to the world.

And at a certain point, I think you become rather disinterested in finding an answer, to be honest, because there is no answer. In the end, that's the secret, which I shouldn't perhaps have told you. As if we don't have to do it now. The point is not to come up with an answer that the teachers are, oh, very clever, you pass. no it's actually about making that quality of inquiry questioning wonder curiosity more and more permeate into your consciousness as a whole whether you're meditating whether you're working whether you're doing whatever you do i find out to be a very healthy and very difficult emotion to cultivate in my meditation practice in my politics i think people often

and here it is skepticism, which can also be good, but can also be negative, particularly only externally directed, right? You're skeptical of what everybody else believes, but you're quite certain of what you believe. And so I think I've latched onto this because I think the strengthening of a muscle of internal doubt is an important virtue, actually. Doubt has really been structured across your books. It's been very present for you. What is, I guess, the definition of doubt to you, and what is the use of it? Well, I mean, doubt, even in Zen Buddhism, is understood to have two quite separate meanings. There's the doubt that actually inhibits you from doing anything.

For example, you know, I'm not sure if this practice is really going to work. I'm not sure if I really believe all this stuff about Buddhism. So we're not talking about that kind of doubt, that vacillation, that uncertainty, which is kind of inhibiting. but rather a quality of doubt that somehow lies at a much deeper place within your experience. I might call it an existential doubt. One way in which we might think of it, it's being uncertain about the great matter of birth and death. So it's a kind of existential uncertainty, the capacity to make your life into a question for yourself.

rather than relying upon the certainties or quasi-certainties about, well, I know who I am, I'm this person, I've done that, I'm this important, you know, Buddhist or whatever, and to just let that go and recognize that although certainties can be comforting and uncertainty can be discomforting, as in think Voltaire said at one point, he said uncertainty or doubt is uncomfortable, But certainty or not doubt is stupid. I find that in your books and in that answer sometimes there are two things that feel different to me that you're describing cultivating.

One is doubt about, as you put it, the great matter of life and death. What is the nature of being here? And then there is also the reminding yourself that you are here. Sci-fi writer Kim Stanley Robinson turned me under this idea. if I have cognitive estrangement. That one thing science fiction does is estrange you a little bit from the world, as you know it, by shifting something.

And I find sometimes this practice can give me a useful kind of estrangement. Oh, it's strange that I'm here. But then sometimes what it's doing as like, what is this runs through my head during the day, is remembering, oh, this is my children are playing and it's a sunny day,

not this other set of thoughts and worries and stories running through my, head or you know this is a moment in politics that I don't actually understand where it goes it's not certain in the way that it can feel to me as dreadful

or promising or whatever my interpretation might have been how do you think about that difference between I don't know maybe it's existential doubt and then this is a kind of support of a more tangible almost literal awareness well I think

they're not too separate things. So uncertainty gives you space. It gives you the time to ponder, to reflect, to think, to not just believe in what your mind is telling you. I think it's helpful perhaps to think of doubt as operating along a spectrum, maybe with the sort of, you know, practical doubts that we have all the time. Practical questions, where are my kids or what is that person up to it on that building, whatever. And that could be quite necessary and useful to sort of work with that. But But when we get into, say, the realm of, say, politics or in a really difficult emotional situation you have in a relationship, what you might notice is that when you're confronted

with those sorts of challenges, your immediate reaction is to come up with some fixed view, some idea. This is terrible. These people are awful. It's all my wife's fault. And it's interesting to notice how automatically we latch on to these convictions. and that I think actually is an inhibitor, not only in meditation, but I think also in negotiating the social and political world in which we live, we perhaps would arrive at more appropriate

judgments if we were able to pause, if we were able to notice what is rising up in us is just a reactive habit, or what is rising up and this is something that is really emerging as an authentic response to the actuality of the situation at the time, to get a bit of space, to get a bit of distance, and also groundedness in your own bodily sensations, what you're really feeling in your gut. It's a very similar, in fact, to what you go through in the process of meditation. You need to quieten down in order to hear the question, and the question might be an issue in our political life, for example, to be able to hear it rather than just react to it.

You brought up the word reactivity there, and another idea that has threaded through your books, which is building on a famed idea in Buddhism, but is the idea of the four tasks. Talk me through them. Okay. Well, the four tasks are a way of understanding the primary logic of the Buddhist teaching or the Dharma, as we call it. And it derives from the Buddha's very first discourse. And these tasks are first to embrace life, to embrace suffering. In other words, to resist the tendency whenever something disagreeable is happening to sort of recoil away, but be able to say yes to life.

It's very much an affirmation of the reality you find yourself in that given moment. That's the first task. The second task is to let our reactivity be. so if you're in a difficult situation and maybe it causes you a lot of anger, that's your initial reaction, to notice the anger, to be mindful of the anger, and to watch the anger arise and also if you leave it alone to let the anger fade away. That's the second task of letting reactivity be or letting reactivity go. The third task is when your mind is beginning to calm down and not be so reactive that you come to appreciate a non-reactive space within you.

And the third task is to dwell in that non-reactive space. And in the Zen practice I've just been talking about, this means to dwell in that sense of not knowing, of questioning. Because questioning itself is a non-reactive state of mind, at least in the context of say wonder or whatever. to dwell in that, to really get to feel it in your body, to become intimate, in a sense, with your own non-reactive potential. And that non-reactivity is really, in classical Buddhist language, nirvana itself.

What's that like, man? Well, it sounds of it grandiose, perhaps. But I think it's something we already all know. It's odd, I find, that even if I haven't been meditating or people I know who have no interest in meditating. They have had experiences where all of their models and worrying thoughts, for some reason, just die down. People might find this in doing sport, for example, running every day or jogging.

They might find it by going for hikes in the countryside or just working in their gardens. There's all manner of activities we do. They have nothing to do with meditation in a formal sense, but are moments whereby suddenly we find ourselves, at peace with ourselves. That, to me, is the non-reactive space. I think it's dangerous to present it to something exotic and spiritual. I feel nirvana, these moments of stopping. And in that stopping, suddenly feeling at peace with ourselves, at harmony with our world, it may only last a few seconds,

maybe longer, but that's non-reactivity. It's not something we just get from meditation. We already know that. And when we find ourselves in those moments, and sometimes they come upon us out of the blue. You know, one day you're just leading your everyday life and you sit down on a park bench. And for some reason that you cannot explain, you find yourself still and quiet. The mind's chatter has died down. And in that moment, and this is the other side of non-reactivity, the world reveals itself more luminously. The problem with reactivity is not that it causes you suffering, although it often does,

but it actually inhibits you from experiencing the wonder of life itself. So in moments of medit, when you're on a meditation retreat, I'm sure you've had this experience, you sit for a few hours during the day, and then you go out into the garden and the colors are brighter, the sounds are more engaging and there's something about the sheer joy in a way and mystery that we're able to encounter which is a render, the world is rendered more vivid and bright

so non-reactivity feels like a sort of an inner peace if you wish, a quietening down and in the doing of that the world is suddenly transformed in a way that brings forth its richness and its wonder, but that is not the end of the path. That is actually, in my understanding, where the path begins. So the fourth task is to cultivate a way of life, to cultivate a path. And that means that this non-reactive space is not nirvana in the sense of the enlightenment or

the goal of the path, but it's actually the most appropriate space for being able to make more more useful and effective judgments. In other words, choices, a way of life that is not driven and inflected by these instinctive reactive patterns, these conditioned responses of our society, but rather to be able to respond to life in a way that is according in alignment with my basic values. Let me try to go through those in pieces. Let me try to go through those in pieces. Okay.

So the first one you walked through, which you're describing here is saying yes to life, to the extent people have heard it is something like life is suffering or, you know, there will always be suffering. And so what I hear you saying on some level is accepting life as it is. That's correct, but not accepting as resignation. acceptance could be seen as a sort of rather passive, non-involved kind of relationship to things. But I don't see it that way at all. And particularly in the framework of these four tasks, acceptance of life, being able to say, yes, this is the situation I'm in. That doesn't mean that that situation is good or has to be somehow not responded to at all.

It's just the way the world is. but it's that capacity to actually own up, not only to the external situation you're in, but also very much to how you habitually react to those external situations. You get locked into a certain pattern of, and your mind goes round and round and around and the same old thoughts. It's very circular. It's very repetitive. So to say yes is to establish a basis from which one can then make a more appropriate response,

And I don't think this is just to do with Buddhist practice. It's got nothing really to do with Buddhism. It has to do with how to lead a fully flourishing life. I always want to zoom in on the verbs here. Okay. Which I think a lot of mischief hides in them for people. Or confusion for me, specifically. You'll hear, accept, this is the situation you were in.

I often am in a situation I think time to accept it then I think okay accept it and nothing happens that's right no that's true what is supposed to be

happening there the verb accept is doing what for you what action is taking place if any well it's a bit like questioning in a way like what is this ask the question

what is this it can be what in Zen they call a dead word, or it can be a live word. I mean, what is this repeated as a mantra is a dead word, but what is this asked from your guts is a living word? So I think we can make the same distinction between acceptance, accept things as they are, could be a kind of encouragement not to do anything, and just to sort of be a passive recipient of whatever life is throwing at you with no recourse to do anything else. That would be a dead one. word, accept or embrace, but what would be the living version of accept? And that, to me, would be an

embrace or a willingness to be in this world, despite all of its problems and difficulties and things you don't like, and to be able to encompass that, to comprehend it in a way that you somehow acknowledge that this, at this moment, is your total experience. And this is where any answer or response to the situation will have to come. It sometimes feels to me like the distinction here is between, you can be in a situation, you can face up to it or not. Yes, that's right. There is a famous meditation that has a structure of, I'm of the nature to grow old, I'm of the nature to grow sick. I'm of the nature to lose people I love. I'm of the nature to die. And I understood that as simply, I mean, I know that's true, but I don't know that's true.

Or I don't face up to that being true all that often. That's exactly the point. We all know we're going to die, you know, in theory, and we might even worry about it sometimes, but I don't think we really know. And another meditation that has been very, very effective in my life, which I learned from my Tibetan teachers was the contemplation of death. You know, death is certain, but the time of death is uncertain. So once again, you have this tension, certainty, uncertainty. The one certain thing is totally uncertain as to when it's going to occur. In other words, when you start thinking about death in a more contemplative way, as in that little exercise the Tibetans have, over time, your relationship to death becomes much more paradoxically.

alive. With each breath, you are taking one breath less. So to experience something like death or old age, from that kind of contemplative perspective gives it a whole different meaning, really. It forces you to think, well, how do I want to live? If I could die at any moment, I'm beginning to really feel that. And I think Buddhist meditation has helped me learn to live on that cusp, it very much inevitably, I feel, forces me into a deeper ethical relationship as to how I want to flourish as a person, what kind of world, what kind of society, I would wish my, I don't have children, I would wish future generations to be able to enjoy. Meditation at that point becomes a kind of a bridge to allowing us to engage in our world.

in allowing us to engage in our lives with a greater sense of depth and less of a sense of just jumping from one topic to the other in a superficial way. So the next, as I had written it down when you were speaking, was let reactivity be. You'd also used another term in there, which is let go. Yes, yeah. Let go is maybe the verb structure. There's more complicated grammatical names for it, I'm sure, that I find the most frustrating across Buddhist.

literature, because I'll have those feelings back. Time to let them go, then nothing will happen. Exactly. But you also said it is let it be. I'd like to dwell in that difference a little bit for a minute, between let go feels like one thing, and we hear it all the time. Let go of these things that are not serving you. I don't find that that is a tool in my toolkit.

Letting be, maybe a bit more so. Yeah. Well, you have to remember that traditionally in 99% of Buddhist books you read, the word I'm translating is usually translated as abandon. It's much stronger. It's actually reject, get rid of greed, hatred, these things, abandon them, abandon them. I found that way too aggressive. I think in Western pop Buddhism, they don't use that as much. No, they don't. Western pop Buddhism has tended to pick up on the idea of letting go. Of letting go, yes. Letting be, I find works way, way better. This is, I think, at the core of mindfulness practice that all of the mindfulness approaches. It's learning to, you know,

if you feel a feeling of jealousy or anxiety arise in your mind, you just notice it. You don't believe it and get caught up in its narrative, and you don't try to repress it or deny it either. You just let it be. Let it be works really well. And it works well also because the whole heart, of any mindfulness intervention is to actually see things for what they are, which are transient,

contingent, and just let them to follow their own natural course. And they will slowly, not immediately, but over time they slowly diminish. And even if they don't diminish, you become more and more centered in the non-reactive quality of mindfulness. As soon as you are mindful, you're already being non-reactive. You're not non-reactive. You're not. noticing rather than reactus, and you're observing. And that's what frees you from entanglement in these often very powerful thoughts and emotions that surge up within us. In my very unawakened, amateurish attempts to work with all this, I have found it helpful for me to think about the thing you're not supposed to be doing. I sometimes think of it as trying not to act from it.

that's right exactly i had a experience it's i think it's useful because it's a small one the other night where i'm on a bunch of group chats and the this particular group chat had gotten into an argument including with me at like 11 p.m and i'd already meditated uh that night and i found myself getting upset and feel like i need to defend myself and uh you know my chest getting tight and, you know, feeling hotter and thinking, well, I should let this go. I should be non-reactive. And then nothing happened.

The best I was able to do was actually to not be non-reactive. It was to not react. And in not reacting, I didn't make things worse. I learned some things. I found the experience of trying to watch the way my body was reacting, at least somewhat interesting. but it was unpleasant. And it led me to this inquiry,

in some ways it's one of the things that led me to this conversation, about what it actually meant to be non-reactive. Was it to have negative feelings but not feel negatively while having them because that didn't seem to be working? Or was it to just be feeling negatively and not doing anything, like white-knuckling your way through your feelings? Which I'm able to do. I'm able to white-knuckle my way into not reacting,

certain things, or something else. How do you actually understand the experience of non-reactivity? Well, I think what you said also is part of it. I mean, at times, you know, if you're practicing being non-reactive, then at times it will be a white-knuckling thing. You find you don't have the inner capacity to just sort of remain calm and joyful and so on at all. It overwhelms you.

But what I think meditation allows over time, is you slowly start to cultivate a more embedded sense of the feel of non-reactivity. And this is when we come to task number three. It's learning to dwell and to feel and to sense in the body what non-reactivity feels like. It's to become somehow intimate with that quality of your embodied experience.

So it's not non-reactivity as an idea of something you may or may not do. You start to begin to feel this non-reactive quality. kind of infusing your body. But let me hold, before you get to the place where you could feel that, there are these times when you're not feeling that. And I think this is actually an important place for people, right? This is on one level a conversation about meditation and Buddhism and what is this.

And this is a podcast that spends its time in politics. And I have been thinking about how you maintain some clarity and some internal space if only to think well and make good decisions at a time that is very overwhelming and I guess one thing I noticed or I've noticed across

you know many years of meditating doing these practices is that I'm often reacting to a sensation in my body I think I'm reacting to a situation but I'm not I'm reacting to how I'm feeling feeling yeah so like with that text message thread that i'm using as my example here i was reacting to try to release pressure in my chest and it wasn't going to do that it was going to increase it because nobody was going to chill out at 11 15 p.m. furiously texting each other and i feel like this is

one of the interesting realizations of meditation over long periods of time just that you know when you go into it, how much of a situation is just pretty modest sensations, like a bit of tightness in the chest, a feeling of buzzing in the extremities. And you're like, that's the whole thing that's driving me right now. I just feel a little bit weird. Well, that is, I think, one of the great insights that we find in the Buddhist tradition is the Buddha realized precisely that. So we don't react to, you know, the external object. We react to how the external object or person makes us feel. Feeling tone, it's sometimes translated as to pay more attention to how the environment and also your own inner stuff is actually affecting your underlying tonality, whether that's pleasant or

unpleasant or neutral or whatever, and that's something that is understood as simply a given, that whether you're the Buddha or whether you're me, the reality is if you are threatened, let's say, by someone with a knife, that that will trigger a survival reaction, which is entirely necessary and valuable. There's no problem with that. But there's lots of other reactive patterns that come up, which are not helpful. They're often loop tapes or fears that you might have inherited from your family or your past experience or whatever.

And these things surge into your mind, as I'm sure you've probably noticed. And you get trapped in these little looptapes of worrying about something or feeling angry about something. And so it's a question really of learning how to, first of all, recognize these patterns, these conditions that keep repeating. That's very important. But also to begin to open up a space within that noticing in which you realize that the mindfulness, let's say, your attention to, that reactivity itself is not reacting. Over time, you learn to somehow strengthen that non-reactive dimension over tension or mindfulness, so that that becomes more and more a stabilized point from which you can then deal with these difficulties, whether it's personal, whether it's

political. And in that way, I feel you open up more and more a capacity to be with it. And also, as we would say, in stoicism, for example, to recognize what it is about your situation that you cannot change, and what is it about your situation that you can change? I cannot change the fact that I feel angry, for example. Why are I saying, don't be angry? It's not going to work. But I can notice that that is a given in my life at that point. I can let it be. I don't need to get entangled with it or believe its narrative.

And it's within that non-reactive space. I think that you can exercise those judgments. Can I change this? Or do I have to accept it for what it is? That, I think, is the challenge of what we call the practice, really. How do you think about the places where being, what I'd call,

too regulated or judicious, or letting the emotions pass by and only speaking from a grounded place can actually make it harder or more unlikely to deal with things that are difficult. I think about many relationships in my life and how often

it has been important in them to lose my emotional self-control, not in a sense of getting incredibly angry or anything in that direction, but there are things normal me doesn't deal with and things that people can't see in me forms of hurt or upset or need that the part of me that tries to meditate 30 or 40 minutes a day it's like we're keeping things stable here right we're keeping things level and levelness is good but there's much that levelness doesn't address you know when people go to therapy the therapist is

not trying to keep them incredibly solid. I find that the best therapist I've had often are in certain ways trying to push me out of my window of emotional regulation so that I am reacting to an emotion that I find very unpleasant.

And that to the extent I let things be, I tend to let it go away. So I don't have to deal with any of that. I think it is a quite valid criticism of Buddhism and meditation in general, that it can be used as a strategy of avoidance, like the business of using meditation

as a way to, in a way, numb yourself to the world. And I'm sure that happens. Why not? You come to dwell in your own kind of spiritual bubble. And that, to me, is not an appropriate response to the situation. The goal of this four-task practice is not to come to rest in some blissful nivarnic state at all, but it's actually to be able to respond more effectively to the world in which we find ourselves and the suffering and the confusion and so on that's going on. So you understand from the outset that this is a practice that is not giving absolute value to stillness and emotional equilibrium and so on. It's getting you into a space where you can then make the judgment to respond, and it could be that you need anger. I mean, I don't think anger

is necessarily a bad thing. For example, you might have a mother with a little child, and the little child keeps running out into the road. And she says, come back, come back, come back, come back. Kids start running into the road. And then the mother loses it, we might say, and gets really angry with the child. But that's the appropriate thing to do. It's perfectly good for the welfare of the child. So I think one has to get out of this idea that's a kind of a priori set of good reactions or good responses that Buddhism approves of or other religion approves of. I think we have to find an ethic in which we're much more situational, that what counts in an ethical situation is not following the Buddhist rulebook or the Jewish rulebook

or the Christian rule book, but actually finding your own voice, finding your own way of being with that situation in an authentic, hopefully in an effective way, that is both in tune with your own deepest values and also responds as optimally as you can to the situation at hand. But being fallible human, more creatures, we very often get it wrong, because you can spend all the time you like trying to make the appropriate judgment as to what to do in a difficult situation. But we all know from experience. no matter what your motives are, you can end up making the situation worse. In other words, we don't know the future. We cannot actually tell what is, in fact, the response that would

lead to, you know, a resolution or greater happiness all round for those involved or whatever it might be. So it's also, therefore, recognizing that any kind of judgment or choice you make in your response is going to be a risk. I think of this as an ethics of risk. and accepting the fact that it's a risk, but it's important to learn from the mistakes you make, from the over, you know, it's naive or whether or, you know, we make mistakes. We're fallible.

I make mistakes. I'm fallible. I can get really worked up about things. I've done all this meditation for years, but I still get really fed up with some sort of events in my life. And I'm not particularly proud of that, but I recognize that's simply the way I've been, conditioned, as it were. It's my biological, social, whatever conditions that have led me that way.

So I don't judge the quality of my meditation or my Buddhist practice in such a way that certain things just don't happen anymore. As a human being, evolved in the way we have, greed and hatred and violence and so forth, these are built into our makeup. We have to accept these things for what they are, not to demonize them, not to think of them. them as evil or anything like that, but simply the way that we have evolved. But we have the capacity to live with that, to make better choices, to have disciplines that can stabilize a part of our attention, but for the express purpose of being able to make more appropriate responses, judgments, statements, acts. And then we learn from the consequences of what

we've said and done and we may find that that shows us something in, you know, that we haven't done particularly well or, you know, it shows a certain weakness in ourselves or whatever. So it's an ongoing practice, this idea of enlightenment that Buddhists have, I think, it's not, it's often not very helpful because it gives you this idea that if you do this enough, you'll get to some point and suddenly all your problems will be over and you'll be, it doesn't work like that. I think what the Buddha describes as a process of waking up and that's something that will go on until our last breath. So I want to turn a bit more directly into politics here, because if the fourth task is to live out your values,

politics is one of the places where people try to do that, and it's not, I will say for me, it's not exactly a zone of blissful non-reactivity. So you talk in your new book, Buddha, Socrates, and us, you call our political culture highly opinionated. And you say that being opinionated is a reactive state. What do you mean by that? Well, I think it's helpful to think that the opinions and views we hold are not isolated, reified beliefs, but they are points within a spectrum from certainty to uncertainty in which I live the whole of my life. I'm a writer, I'm a thinker, and I'm very concerned about holding a view, a position that makes sense to me in terms of my values. It's rationally defensible in terms of my overall philosophy of life. But at the same time, I'm also aware that over the years and maybe even from year to year, those opinions can become more nuanced, more refined, and I might even let go of some of them altogether.

So I see our journey through life is really about learning to negotiate and learning to continuously put into question some of the views and opinions that we hold, in such a way that we don't let them become things in which we get trapped. And opinions can very often just keep us completely blocked, and we feel this feeling of stuckness, I find. When we talk of reactivity, we normally speak of either wanting something

or craving something or being averse and hating something. But Buddhism also includes this other thing called confusion, which is very difficult to really understand what that means. What I understand that now to mean is one of the principal forms of reactivity that we experience as human beings is in fact our opinions and our views. And so when, for example, we're having a conversation, let's say someone who doesn't share our political perspective or so, very quickly, once the conversation has gone past the polite stage, we find ourselves reacting.

incredibly, not because of something that is desirable or undesirable, but simply because we are so convinced of the rightness of our own opinions and views. And so opinionatedness to me is on an equal stance with hatred and with greed. It's a space in which we cling quite desperately at times to the rightness of our political views, our religious views. And so reactivity is not just a personal thing. I think there is a collective reactivity, which is, let's say, the culture to which we belong that holds certain values. And so if we are with Buddhists, for example, they'll collectively react against, say, killing animals, let's say. So in other words, we internalize also the reactive behaviors of our ancestors, of those we are, our educators and so forth

and so on. Now, that doesn't mean that we shouldn't think or we shouldn't have views about anything, obviously not, but we should perhaps learn to live more lightly with our convictions and to notice when the conviction turns into a kind of sclerotic, you know, hold on things that we just take to be normative. But so this, I think, is such an interesting tension, speaking as an opinion journalist. And it's one I struggle with all the time, which is too many of us who are politically engaged,

ethically engaged, you have this question of, well, is that my opinion, or is that my ethical perspective? is there even a difference that it seems, feels that acting ethically often requires acting from a point of view. They are doing this, this is bad, it will hurt people, I am trying to stop them from doing that. On the other hand, there is a tension between that and uncertainty and doubt, a tension between believing you have come to the right moral answer and being open and non-reactive to people having answers that are different

than when you came to. And you're trying to balance this in the book, and you're balancing it in Buddhist ways and in ways that reflect the Socratic approach. But talk to me a bit about that tension. Well, there are times when those opinions, when the rubber hits the road, when I meet someone, let's say, with an opinion that conflicts with my own, I notice in myself a kind of withdrawing from the engagement, a kind of, in a sense, sort of barricading myself into my own particular view. And that's where it becomes problematic. Often I form judgments about people on the basis of just one or two things they say. And that's an extremely, I think, a disrespectful way to deal with another person, to treat them simply as the incarnation of their

own opinions and views and their political stance or their religious beliefs. I think as soon as you make that sort of fixed separation, you've basically abandoned any genuine dialogue or conversation or inquiry. And I found that this capacity to be alert to my own tendency to freeze and hold on a fixed opinion and feel somehow angry immediately if someone contradicts it. By opening up that space, it also opens up a kind of humility in which I recognize I need to know more about what this person believes. You create a very interesting distinction in the book between justice, which you say treasured certainty and care, which treasures uncertainty. Talk me through that. Well, that's an idea that I picked up very much from the feminist ethicist Carol Gilligan, and it's sometimes called

a feminist ethics of care. And she draws that distinction in a way that I've found to be very helpful. Justice and care seem to be, again, poles of a spectrum rather than two totally separate things. And Gilligan recognizes that an ethics of justice tends to be what she talks of as a male. You know, you have a system of law, you have rules, and you make your ethical judgments in terms of whether that's in accordance with the law, whether it's in accordance with the rules of your religious society or so on. And so you're more concerned with a kind of abstract model of what is right and wrong that you seek to then use to guide you to make real world decisions. Now, we often find that justice alone can be cruel.

I mean, you may believe, for example, that abortion is wrong under all circumstances without paying any particular attention to the plight of that particular woman and her unborn child. It's just wrong, by definition, it's never to be allowed. On the other hand of the ethical spectrum, you have an ethics of care, which we could also call a situational ethics. In other words, what drives my response, my ethical response to a particular instance of human suffering is to understand as best I can the uniqueness of the moral dilemma, let's say for the woman who has a pregnancy and wishes to terminate it or may risk dying or whatever it might be.

And so to try to respond, not by trying to find out what is the right thing to do, but to respond to that situation in a way that is the most loving thing to do, the most caring thing to do. How can I respond to this situation that can minimize the suffering of this person, optimize their capacity to find a resolution, to live a better life.

But it may not fit neatly into some categories of justice, of right, wrong, good, fair, unfair. But it is responding to the actual deep experience of that suffering person at that moment. And I seek to respond to that as caringly and as lovingly, which might include, for example, recognizing that in her case to proceed with an abortion would be the appropriate thing to do in that situation. This, I think, loops back

to the conversation we're having about doubt. Yeah. One way I've come to think about doubt as a political emotion, not speaking here primarily of it as a spiritual orientation, is that it's like an

inch of light or space between you and your certainty in your own views and it's like that inch of space into which other people in their views can come in

because one just reality of the age to me like speaking from where I have to sit is as we you know as politics becomes more high stakes the parties become more different

as people become more in conflict with each other it's easier to feel quite sure. Yeah. And I think that that sense of certainty is really the enemy of curiosity.

Yeah. And curiosity is a very essential democratic emotion. And doubt of oneself, right, a little bit of doubt just sitting at the base of your own. Am I sure? What is this really,

right? Am I sure of how this will all turn out? Am I sure I understand? this position, this moment, this situation is just enough to maintain a conversation. But if you have certainty, then there's no reason for a conversation. That's right. And I think that's become, for me, a very important branching path in politics. It's a reason I found myself doing these, what is this, meditations right now, that the work of maintaining enough self-doubt to maintain a little bit of curiosity about others.

So you can maintain a, like, it just, and I'm not saying I do it well or do it all the time, but it feels very important. And maybe it gets to the other side of your book, which is about Socrates, who's much more of an explicit political actor and talking about high stakes political topics of people in his time. But always from this place of probing. Yeah, exactly. Why in your, you know, however many books you've now written, why turn to Socrates, why turn to, why turn to, why? turn to that kind of more philosophical, almost gleefully undogmatic approach to questions. As you're suggesting, what Socrates is famous for is this relentless probing of the interlocutor's mind and understanding, and also the relentless probing of his own mind, his own understanding of

what the virtues are. And his analysis of the virtues, very often ends up in what he calls an aporea, which is a sort of a suspension of opinion and views. So Socrates will often say, actually, I don't know what justice is, for example. I don't know what wisdom is. But on the other hand, I never will cease inquiring about them. And this I found very, very helpful. Just a clear definition of justice may always elude us, but that doesn't mean that we cannot benefit by constant.

asking ourselves what justice is. And I think what Socrates, in a way, comes to, in the end, is recognizing that justice, for example, or wisdom are not things that you can define abstractly, but they are qualities of human life that are enacted in real world situation. So when we see a person in a situation acting justly, we intuitively know that that was a just or a wise or a courageous thing to do. But that doesn't require us to have some a priori definition of what that virtue is. And that's very similar to when the Buddha describes the, what he calls Samaditi, which could be translated as the right view, it often is, the right or the complete or the, you know, authentic view perhaps. So the authentic view is one in which you do.

not reduce your understanding to a definition about which you then claim certainty. That is what it is. We've pinned it down. But rather, a constant ongoing quest into what the virtues are, what it is to be good, for example, with an understanding that you're probably always going to be asking that question as long as you are a living ethical being. After all of the reading I did of Plato and Xenophon and others, I really arrived at this sense that what united the Buddha and Socrates is that they both embodied an ethics of uncertainty, an ethics that is not founded on some metaphysical certainty, the belief in God or the belief in the law of karma, for example, but is very much about responding appropriately to the particular situations in life we have

in a way that is acknowledging the centrality in our life of certain values or virtues, and yet values and virtues which we cannot actually define. Is there comfort in all this or only discomfort? And what I mean by that is that something we so want and seek a certainty from religion, from spirituality. Like tell me there is life after this. tell me there is meaning to all this from politics tell me i have the right answers tell me this person will do the right thing that this sort of radical ethic spirituality of uncertainty

that you're offering here that you offer throughout your books there's a beauty to it i think but also uh where does it leave you standing what is this Well, I have found, and I continue to find, that this sort of understanding life as a work in progress, as an open-ended journey to some final goal, which we do not perhaps even know, to put it bluntly, really, this approach makes me feel more fully alive. It enlivens me. It keeps me on my toes. And I feel in our world today, which is so caught up in these binary conflicts that seem sometimes overwhelming politically or religiously, that there must be another way. And I think Socrates is a very, very good guide to help us perhaps let go of some of our certainties, or at least release our grip on them to allow the openness that there may be other ways of seeing these things that we may not agree with, but they have their validity. They have their role in this world too. And really to

try to establish some kind of culture in which there's far greater tolerance of difference amongst different communities, amongst different individuals, different religious groups, political groups. And I think we are witnessing in our world extreme polarization at the moment. And this may be one approach to perhaps overcome that polarization or at least to lessen its power over us

but in the end I don't know I mean in the end all I can do is trust what I believe I have a view obviously and to somehow try to live that then always our final question what are three books you'd recommend to the audience one book I'd recommend is a book called

Children of a Modest Star subtitled planetary thinking for an age of crises by Jonathan Blake and Niels Gilman, which is a wonderful reflection on how we need to imagine a form of governance that has executive authority beyond the nation state itself. And they're struggling to find a way effectively where different nations can come together to address issues like climate change and these issues. that really are not the unique, you know, cannot be managed by national governments alone. They're not promoting a world government, but they are suggesting a form of subsidiarity,

which is the sort of political concept where different areas of responsibility are nested in larger and larger ones. So I found that book extremely inspiring. Another book, and this is a Buddhist one, called Work Like a Monk, How to Connect, Lead, and grow in a noisy world by my friend Shoke Matsumoto, who is a Pure Land priest in Japan, who I've got to know recently. And it's simple, it's down to earth,

and it's basically based around a hypothetical conversation between a business person living in the world and a priest living in a temple in Japan. It's really good. And finally, a book called The Second Body by an English woman novelist called Daisy Hildyard. It's not a piece of fiction.

It's an essay on what she calls the second body, which is a highly imaginative way of understanding that our physical body, which is sitting on this chair right here, is actually only a relatively small part of my wider body, which extends across the world in, let's say, the waste that I produce, the plastic bottles and so on that end up in the stomachs of whales

or the working conditions of a garment factory worker in Bangladesh. This is an extension of my own body. And this is a short essay, and I found it was really, really brilliant. I've read it a couple of times. It's not making an argument so much as presenting a picture of our world in which we begin to feel that our own flesh and blood body is not all the body we have, but it is actually far more extended, and by recognizing the impact of our own particular physical life on this

earth, we can perhaps have a greater empathy for the worldwide suffering that, both economically, climactically, and so forth and so on. So they would be my three books. Stephen Batchelor, thank you very much. Ezra, thank you very much indeed. It was a wonderful conversation. This episode of Vezer Clancho is produced by Kristen Lynn. Fact-checking by Michelle Harris. Our senior audio engineer is Jeff Geld. Our executive producer is Claire Gordon.

The show's production team also includes Annie Galvin, Marie Cassione, Roland Hu, Marina King, Jack McCordick, Emma Keldek, and Jan Koppel. Original music by Dan Powell and Pat McCusker. Audience Strategy by Christina Samaluski and Shannon Busta. The director of New York Times-pending audio is Annie Rose Strasser.