Book Reflections: I and Thou by Martin Buber

Yoav Ben-Yosef

Continued from the Newsletter . . .


Another characterization, therefore, tentatively suggested by the book’s English translator, puts Buber with the mystics, since he talks about “a direct or immediate relation with God.”

For all those reasons, I and Thou found its way into my morning ritual. It became a part of my book & coffee meditation, preceding formal meditation and (on good days) Lazy Yoga. Indeed, there was no need in my mind to rush through it, to capture its essence; each paragraph is one facet of a single vision, reflecting the whole, intricate enough to keep the imagination engaged for the day. This in fact embodies Buber’s teaching: our purpose in this life is to learn to relate to our environment, not to “consume” it.

When we approach the world as an It, we wish to somehow utilize, capture or grasp it. “We are merely following the uneternal division that springs from the lust of the human race to whittle away the secret of death.” But the constant pursuit of this secret paradoxically renders us ignorant of life itself. Approaching something or someone as Thou, on the other hand, has no purpose other than the meeting itself. “No content can be secured” from the encounter. There is nothing to be gained, no insight to reach. And yet, in the act of meeting, we fulfill our potential as human beings.

Although Buber was not in complete agreement with Buddhist thought (it’s complicated…) I couldn’t help but hear the Dharma echoing in almost every page of his book. Take emptiness, for example. The I in the realm of It (different from the I of the I-Thou relationship) wishes to augment itself, accumulate knowledge, and utilize the other. This I wishes to develop a foolproof method of understanding God. But for Buber, knowing God can only happen through the willingness to come to the meeting without any past assurances, with the acceptance that failure is as likely as success. The I of the I-Thou “has nothing,” and is bravely unformed: “I become through my relation to the Thou; as I become I, I say Thou.” This I reincarnates over and over with each relational moment. You can say that it is empty of a stable, permanent identity. In this realm, the only thing that carries through from one moment to the next—as far as I understand—is the growing skill to lose everything in order to become. The more time I spend with Thou, the more comfortable I am with bringing nothing to the encounter.

This may sound abstract, but it is probably only because Buber’s language seems to precede any one religion and any one application—the text itself waits to meet its Thou, the reader, so it may come into full being. And indeed readers have found numerous practical applications to Buber’s ideas, most notably in the helping professions and in the education field. 

For me, there was hardly any aspect of life that did not change when seen through the lens of Buber’s vision. In meditation, for example, I often tend to “take notes” of whatever experience or insight I encounter in each session. The thought that “no content can be secured” was a great relief. It was like going on a trip and realizing that the camera was out of film; I couldn’t take any pictures and all I could do was look at the scenery. And yet, with each meditation I was able to meet Thou—or switching back to Dharma talk--my Buddha nature, more easily. Knowing I cannot force it to come, it seems to be approaching me a bit more willingly.

As an artist, I also began thinking of coming to the page as coming to a Thou. When a story is an It, I care only about the product—the act of writing is a burden, something to be feared and avoided. When the story is a Thou, however, I can approach it less anxiously because I know that its creation, though dependent on my presence, is not entirely up to me; I cannot will it to happen. I give my characters, then, a little bit more room to play in my head. We all seem to enjoy the process more than before, the “boss” having loosened up a little. The story thus becomes a little project, something I tend to, humbly, on a daily basis, like a garden in the back yard, or a model plane in the garage. It doesn’t always work: encapsulated, this wonderful insight quickly turns into an It. “But that which has been changed to an It,” Buber assures us, “hardened into a thing among things, has had the nature and disposition put into it to change again and again.” The only thing to be done is come again tomorrow for our next meeting.