Tricycle ran a short excerpt, here, drawn from my April public dialogue with Stephen Batchelor. They ran it under the title, “The Sign of the Renunciant,” a reference to my comments during the event on samaṇa saññā (“the perception of the renunciant”). This concept, samaṇa saññā, encompasses the image of the monk with her robes, sandals, and shaven head as well as the effects of that image both on those who encounter her and on the monk herself. I thought the Tricycle editor chose the best of the reflections I offered that day. Hope you find the piece worthwhile.

Samaṇa is a useful Pali word to think about, by the way. It refers in the Pali scriptures to those who have given up house and home (and family, sex, and possessions) to wander in robes in search of spiritual insight and ultimate peace. The translation of samaṇa as “ascetic,” popularized by the Wisdom Publications editions of the suttas, is an unfortunate one, I think, for Buddhist samaṇas. It links them too closely to “wanderers of other sects” who pursued enlightenment through self-mortification (as opposed to the middle way).

In contrast, Ajahn Liem’s translators render his usage of samaṇa as “peaceful ones.” This reflects both the samaṇa‘s practice and aspiration well, but isn’t really legible to those unfamiliar with the topic.

Richard Gombrich uses “renouncers,” which gets at the samaṇa‘s central commitment, but which I find awkward in everyday usage. Still, as I understand it, renunciation is the defining quality of Buddhist monasticism, and the unifying thread between inner development and spiritual life in relation to others. “Renunciant” carries the same connotations, but seems more natural to me in ordinary English usage.