'This Richard is a construct, existing only as much as I give it energy': Richard Gere

Exclusive interview/ Richard Gere, actor

For Richard Gere, the boundary between acting and real life has been deeply revealing. “As an actor, I construct emotions to tell a story,” he says. This response once made the Dalai Lama laugh, as just as “we manufacture emotions in acting, we get caught in the illusion that the emotions of daily life are somehow more real,” he says.

In Buddhism, this illusion is the root of suffering. “We’re like magicians conjuring the universe but forgetting it’s a trick,” Gere recalls the learning.

In his own life, Gere, 75, finds clarity by regularly stepping back from the role of “Richard” itself—a character, he admits, that exists only as long as he gives it energy through his Buddhist teachings, meditation and understanding emotions better. “When emotions like anger or jealousy arise, recognising the self as an illusion softens their grip,” he says. Excerpts from an interview:

Q. How did you receive the teachings of the Buddha when you first encountered them, both philosophically and emotionally?

A. The teachings of the Buddha are incredibly vast, offering in-depth answers and advice for any issue or problem. The core message, particularly emphasised by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, is emptiness—everything lacks inherent existence. This is completely counterintuitive to our habitual belief that things exist solidly on their own. That’s the root of our problems. Even the self is just a subjective experience, not an inherent reality. As a young man, perhaps even as a teenager, I sensed the world wasn’t as solid as it seemed. There was a dissonance between my experience and what I intuitively knew to be true. In my late teens and early twenties, I explored various traditions—Sufism, Hinduism, and others—but the words of the Buddha, especially Zen Buddhism, resonated deeply. That’s when I began meditating in earnest.

Q. Your transition from western philosophy to Tibetan Buddhism seems organic. How did thinkers like Bishop Berkeley or Sartre shape your understanding of emptiness in the Buddhist sense?

A. It’s all part of exploring the nature of the mind, regardless of the system. Buddhism offers a two-winged approach: the wisdom aspect, which examines the mind itself, and the purification of emotions, with the highest being altruism, kindness, love and compassion. Western philosophers like Bishop Berkeley, with his subjective idealism—the idea that the world is a mental projection—align closely with the Buddhist Chittamatra, or “mind only” view. It’s a step towards understanding emptiness, though not the ultimate view. What struck me was the realisation that the world and even the self are mental constructs, unfindable in any solid sense.

Q.    Can you share your experience of meeting His Holiness the Dalai Lama for the first time? What stayed with you?

A. I was a practicing Zen Buddhist and had read works like the Evans-Wentz books, including the biography of Milarepa, which I found as profound as Greek mythology. My impulse to connect with Tibetan Buddhism led me to Dharamsala in 1981 or 1982, during the monsoon. It was a challenging journey—an overnight train from Delhi to Pathankot, then a six-hour drive. Dharamsala was nearly deserted, with few places to stay. I ended up staying with the Dalai Lama’s younger brother Ngari Rinpoche and his wife Rinchen Khandro-la, who were incredibly generous. After two weeks of immersion in the Tibetan community, I had my audience with His Holiness.

I had this romantic notion that he’d wave a hand and I’d be enlightened. Instead, he was down-to-earth, trying to find a connection with me. He asked about my acting, probing whether I was really crying, laughing or feeling pain in my roles. Those questions stuck with me because, as an actor, I construct emotions to tell a story, paralleling how we manufacture emotions in life without realising it. His gentle kindness made the meeting meaningful, and I left with a sense of his vast wisdom.

Q. You’ve mentioned His Holiness laughing during your meeting, especially about emotions in acting. Can you elaborate?

A. He found it amusing that I made my living creating illusory emotions, yet couldn’t see the parallel to life. In Buddhism, we’re like magicians conjuring the universe but forgetting it’s a trick. We’re lost in our own illusions. His laughter came from recognising that my work as an actor—crafting emotions and stories—mirrored this deeper truth about reality.

Q. Were there moments when His Holiness got upset with you?

A. He’s so committed to helping people that if you’re not on the same wavelength, he’ll try to snap you into it. He has vast ideas about disarmament, governments acting differently, and everyone taking responsibility for electing leaders who reflect our truest selves. Anything that obstructs that vision can make him short, as he’s passionate about creating real change.

Q. Working in the emotionally demanding worlds of film and activism, how do you maintain clarity and balance with the Dalai Lama’s teachings?

A. By unravelling the idea of a self, everything transforms. I’m a beginner, but I remind myself that this “Richard” is a construct, existing only as much as I give it energy. Everyone else is doing the same, living in an illusory world. When emotions like anger or jealousy arise, recognising the self as an illusion softens their grip. It helps me see the world as less threatening, not out to hurt me.

Q. You’ve suggested karma, not chance, brought you to Tibetan teachers and their cause. Do you see this as part of a larger responsibility or an unfinished past?

A. I assume there’s a deep connection from a previous lifetime. This life’s connection to Tibetan Buddhism has been so powerful and central that I won’t be thinking about movies on my deathbed—I’ll be thinking of my teachers. It’s an incredible gift, likely earned through some past value, to be close to someone as extraordinary as the Dalai Lama.

Q. What would you say to critics who are cynical about public figures engaging in spiritual practice?

A. Everyone, regardless of their job, is seeking to remove suffering and find happiness. We’re all equal in that pursuit. It doesn’t matter if you’re a public figure or not—spiritual practice is about addressing universal human needs.

Q. As we celebrate His Holiness’s 90th birthday, has your perception of him changed over the years as a student and friend?

A. My perception hasn’t changed, but as I grow softer and perhaps wiser, I better appreciate the vastness of his mind and commitment. His bodhisattva vows are so comprehensive that no one is excluded. His dedication to helping all beings equally becomes more impressive to me over time.

Q. How do you incorporate his teachings into your daily routine, especially in a demanding profession?

A. I’m a householder, like you, with kids. My wife and I get them ready, take them to school, and manage daily life. I try to meditate early in the morning or after dropping the kids off. Beyond that, I enjoy reading, thinking, playing music, and creative pursuits like writing. My day involves picking up the kids, playing with them, reading to them, and collapsing into bed exhausted, just like most parents. A daily meditative practice helps me balance life’s ups and downs, as even the Dalai Lama has them—he once said he’s happy about 90 per cent of the time.

Q. You’ve seen His Holiness’s empathy. How does his example inspire you?

A. His empathy goes beyond feeling others’ pain—he works to remove their suffering. He’s developed the skill and wisdom to actually help. I’ve seen him greet thousands of refugees escaping Tibet, listening to their stories and weeping with them. That’s not just empathy; it’s a commitment to action.

Q. With so much suffering and conflict in the world today, what message should the global community take from the Dalai Lama?

A. Violence and anger lead nowhere. We need to take a deep breath, step back, and listen. Most people we see as “bad” have been damaged, but everyone is retrievable. His Holiness emphasises responsibility over prayers alone—you have to act to change the world. His life balances action with a strong contemplative practice, showing us how to make a difference.