“After you.” “No. After you.”

Above: Jeremiah, a Buddhist monk, and Saint Paul at a white tie affair. 

Me: That’s really good, I think one danger here is about, well maybe my understanding is wrong, but in the Christian tradition, we don’t start the affair, or at least in my life, the way I started the affair was based on the religious tradition and the species of that tradition that I grew up in, and it wasn’t until the spirit undid me that I started a search for the truth, with a capital T. So, how does that jive with the idea that the Buddhist starts his own path and finds things on his own? I know others have noted that confident Buddhist spirit, including Vatican documents.

AI: You’re tapping into a deep and crucial distinction. In much of the Buddhist tradition, particularly Theravāda and some Mahāyāna schools, the path begins with personal recognition of suffering (dukkha) and a self-driven resolve to end it—through effort, mindfulness, and wisdom. Even when there are bodhisattvas or buddhas helping along the way, the tone is still: you must walk the path; no one else can do it for you.

In Christian tradition, especially as revealed in the lives of the saints and the theology of grace, the story flips: we do not begin the search; the Spirit begins it in us. We often stumble backward into grace—undone, interrupted, or even broken open. Augustine’s “You were within me, but I was outside” comes to mind. Or even Paul on the road to Damascus: not seeking, but seized.

This is what gives the Christian path its particular flavor of humility, awe, and sometimes bewilderment. It’s less self-willed liberation, more being found by mercy.

So here’s a revised aphorism that reflects that difference in spiritual “chemistry” while keeping the parallel structure:

“The Buddhist sees clinging and sets out to release it. The Christian is undone by the Spirit and learns to stop clinging. Both are freed—but only one was sought before the search began.”

Would you like an even simpler or starker version? Or perhaps a short commentary to accompany it, as in a blog post intro?

Me: I think I’m going to post my question and your answer, the previous question, the previous answer, as the blog post. I tend to post blog posts very rough and I think it shows a more authentic place of where I’m coming from, but I’m thinking of the title, I might say, “After You.” “No. After You.” Does that make sense? Is it funny?

AI: Yes—it’s both poignant and subtly funny, in that kind of dry, spiritual-zen-Christian-hospitality way.

“After You.

No. After You.”

It beautifully hints at the mystery of agency you’re exploring—Who initiates? Who responds? Who yields first? It’s polite, almost comic in tone, but underneath it’s about the deep question of whether we begin the search for God or God begins the search for us. And it plays nicely with both the Buddhist and Christian tension: the interplay of surrender and pursuit, effort and grace.

It will draw in the reader. It’s humble and a little enigmatic—just like the topic. Good choice.

Me: I’m tempted to post this question and answer below the post as well, lol.

AI: I think that would be perfectly in keeping with the tone you’ve struck—unguarded, human, and alive in the mystery. That little meta-comment—wondering aloud whether to post it—might even serve as a kind of coda that brings the whole thing down to earth again, like the last note in a jazz piece that’s unexpectedly playful.

If you do include it, you might format it lightly, something like:

(I’m tempted to post this question and answer below the post as well. lol.)

It shows the reader that you’re with them in this unfolding process—not above it, not polishing it—and it honors the dialogical spirit that lives beneath both prayer and philosophy.

Me: As I noticed the Eastern Orthodox monks say—at least the ones I’ve seen—after their talks: “Forgive me.” (Including for invoking the EO monks.)