Some thoughts on trust and org growth from a different context: the Zen center. (Note that if you’ve regularly attended any kind of church this will feel very familiar, just with different flavors.)
In Zen, we all come to learn a lot about trust. It starts with learning to trust our experiences. We often don’t trust them at first because we’re identified with the idea of what we should be experiencing rather than what we’re actually experiencing, but over time we settle down and stop trying to fight reality so that we can learn to dance with it.
But the reality of a Zen sangha is that it’s not just about individual practice, but about creating something together with the varied people that show up.
First, you’ve got the drop-ins & newcomers who aren’t members or even regular attendees. They don’t know the forms and customs, so they require instruction, but also leeway, because we want them to like the Zen center enough to come back and learn the forms! These are folks who can’t really be trusted, other than you can trust that they’ll do several norm-violating things while in the center. Most places deal with this by having one or more of the senior students assigned to help newcomers get oriented.
Next, you’ve got the less-committed regulars. People who show up all the time, definitely know what they are supposed to do, but also don’t take things too seriously. Most of them aren’t trained to preform rituals or hold complex positions, but they are reliably able to do simpler things, like follow the basic forms, know where the brooms are the sweep the porch, and even be able to instruct newcomers in some simple tasks like finding the bathroom or how to dust the moulding.
Among the regulars, some are committed and serious. This includes all the senior students, but also most of the junior students and occasionally people who aren’t very dedicated to practice but are dedicated to showing up. These are the people who get trusted to take on formal positions, like ringing bells, caring for the alter, leading chants, and instructing newcomers. They can all be trusted to follow the forms, know what they are supposed to do, and may be asked to correct others. This is not to say they never make mistakes, but they are all known quantities. If someone has no rhythm or can’t sing, you don’t ask them to play the mokugyo or to lead chants, but maybe you do train them in alter care or some other tasks they are better suited for.
And then there’s the teacher (and sometimes separately an abbot), who sits as the source of trust in the running of the center. Trust is extended from the teacher to the senior students and then on down in a hierarchy (and the hierarchy in the running of a center is explicit and expected to be upheld). So the teacher, say, trusts a student to run work period, and that student then extends trust to each person within the task they’ve been asked to do. If they can’t trust a person to do what they want, they have to train them, and the teacher trusts the student will oversee their training or successfully delegate the training.
In reverse, the students extend trust to the teacher. This is different sort of trust because it’s not about following norms so much as it is about students trusting that the teacher will use their position of authority ethically and for the benefit of their students. The teacher is there to be an authority on the dharma and to help students learn it and ultimately to help them wake up. If the students lose trust in their teacher, they’ll wander off to another teacher or maybe leave Zen all together.
To me the analogies with a business are obvious. Bosses, managers, and supervisors extend trust to their subordinates, and doing so requires an understanding of what they can trust (expect with high confidence) each person to do. In reverse, subordinates must trust their leaders to have their best interests and the interests of the company in mind, and people often quit when they lose trust in their boss.
As a final note, I think of trust as one of the key building blocks of civilized life, and the more trust we can extend to each other, the more civilized life becomes. High trust requires that everyone actually do what they are trusted to do, and this applies not just on the scale of Zen centers and businesses, but also to countries and even the whole planet.
Some thoughts on trust and org growth from a different context: the Zen center. (Note that if you’ve regularly attended any kind of church this will feel very familiar, just with different flavors.)
In Zen, we all come to learn a lot about trust. It starts with learning to trust our experiences. We often don’t trust them at first because we’re identified with the idea of what we should be experiencing rather than what we’re actually experiencing, but over time we settle down and stop trying to fight reality so that we can learn to dance with it.
But the reality of a Zen sangha is that it’s not just about individual practice, but about creating something together with the varied people that show up.
First, you’ve got the drop-ins & newcomers who aren’t members or even regular attendees. They don’t know the forms and customs, so they require instruction, but also leeway, because we want them to like the Zen center enough to come back and learn the forms! These are folks who can’t really be trusted, other than you can trust that they’ll do several norm-violating things while in the center. Most places deal with this by having one or more of the senior students assigned to help newcomers get oriented.
Next, you’ve got the less-committed regulars. People who show up all the time, definitely know what they are supposed to do, but also don’t take things too seriously. Most of them aren’t trained to preform rituals or hold complex positions, but they are reliably able to do simpler things, like follow the basic forms, know where the brooms are the sweep the porch, and even be able to instruct newcomers in some simple tasks like finding the bathroom or how to dust the moulding.
Among the regulars, some are committed and serious. This includes all the senior students, but also most of the junior students and occasionally people who aren’t very dedicated to practice but are dedicated to showing up. These are the people who get trusted to take on formal positions, like ringing bells, caring for the alter, leading chants, and instructing newcomers. They can all be trusted to follow the forms, know what they are supposed to do, and may be asked to correct others. This is not to say they never make mistakes, but they are all known quantities. If someone has no rhythm or can’t sing, you don’t ask them to play the mokugyo or to lead chants, but maybe you do train them in alter care or some other tasks they are better suited for.
And then there’s the teacher (and sometimes separately an abbot), who sits as the source of trust in the running of the center. Trust is extended from the teacher to the senior students and then on down in a hierarchy (and the hierarchy in the running of a center is explicit and expected to be upheld). So the teacher, say, trusts a student to run work period, and that student then extends trust to each person within the task they’ve been asked to do. If they can’t trust a person to do what they want, they have to train them, and the teacher trusts the student will oversee their training or successfully delegate the training.
In reverse, the students extend trust to the teacher. This is different sort of trust because it’s not about following norms so much as it is about students trusting that the teacher will use their position of authority ethically and for the benefit of their students. The teacher is there to be an authority on the dharma and to help students learn it and ultimately to help them wake up. If the students lose trust in their teacher, they’ll wander off to another teacher or maybe leave Zen all together.
To me the analogies with a business are obvious. Bosses, managers, and supervisors extend trust to their subordinates, and doing so requires an understanding of what they can trust (expect with high confidence) each person to do. In reverse, subordinates must trust their leaders to have their best interests and the interests of the company in mind, and people often quit when they lose trust in their boss.
As a final note, I think of trust as one of the key building blocks of civilized life, and the more trust we can extend to each other, the more civilized life becomes. High trust requires that everyone actually do what they are trusted to do, and this applies not just on the scale of Zen centers and businesses, but also to countries and even the whole planet.