The Tree of Enlightenment By Peter Della Santina (Part 1)
From Dharmaweb
An Introduction to the Major Traditions of Buddhism
By
Peter Della Santina
Part One: The Fundamentals of Buddhism
From 1983 to 1985 when I was in Singapore engaged in the Buddhist studies project at the Curriculum Development Institute, I was invited by the Srilankaramaya Buddhist Temple and a number of Buddhist friends to deliver four series of lectures covering some of the major traditions of Buddhism. The lectures were popular, and thanks to the efforts of Mr. Yeo Eng Chen and others, they were recorded, transcribed and printed for limited free distribution to students of the Dharma. In the years since, the lectures, which originally appeared in the form of four separate booklets, have remained popular and have even been reprinted from time to time. Consequently, it seemed to me to be desirable to collect the four series of lectures in one volume, and after appropriate revision to publish them for the general use of the public.
In keeping with the original objectives of the lectures, this book is - as far as possible - non-technical. It is intended for ordinary readers not having any special expertise in Buddhist studies or in Buddhist canonical languages. Original language terms have therefore been kept to a minimum and foot notes have been avoided. Names of texts cited are sometimes left un-translated, but this is because the English renderings of some titles are awkward and hardly make their subject matter more clear. In brief I hope that this book will serve as the beginning of its readers' Buddhist education and not the end of it. The book can supply a general introduction to the major traditions of Buddhism, but it does not pretend to be complete or definitive. Neither can I honestly affirm that it is altogether free from errors, and therefore I apologize in advance for any that may remain in spite of my best efforts.
A number of original language terms and personal names which have by now entered the English language such as 'Dharma', 'karma', 'Nirvana' and 'Shakyamuni' have been used throughout the book in their Sanskrit forms. As for the rest, Pali original language terms, text titles and personal names have been retained in parts I and IV which are largely based on Pali sources, while Sanskrit original language technical terms, text titles and personal names have been used in parts II and III which are largely based on Sanskrit and Tibetan sources. Occasionally, this general rule has been ignored when the names of texts and persons referred to in a given context actually occur in another one of the canonical languages. In as much as Pali and Sanskrit are in most cases quite similar, I trust the average reader will have no difficulty in coping with this arrangement.
I owe a great debt to a very large number of people for the realization of this book. First and foremost, I would like to thank H.H. Sakya Trizin without whom my interest in Buddhism might well have remained superficial and merely intellectual. Next I would like to thank Yeo Eng Chen and many other members of the Singapore Buddhist community without whose help and encouragement the lectures would never have been delivered and the original transcripts on which this book is based, never made. Then, I would also like to thank a great many friends and students in Asia, Europe and America who encouraged me to think the lectures might be useful for an even wider readership. Finally, I want to thank all those who have been involved in the actual preparation of the present book. They include, the members of the Chico Dharma study group, specially, Jo and Jim Murphy, Victoria Scott for her help with the manuscript, L. Jamspal for his help with the original language terms, my wife Krishna Ghosh for the many hours she spent checking the manuscript, and my son Siddhartha Della Santina for the cover design and formatting of the manuscript.
In conclusion, I would like to add that by offering this book to the public, the Chico Dharma Study Group hopes to initiate a program whereby Buddhist Studies materials may be made available free of commercial considerations to students of Buddhism through a variety of media. For the time being, the present book will be available not only in hard copy, but also over the internet. In the future, the Chico Dharma Study Group plans to produce and make available important materials in the fields of Buddhist philosophy, practice and folklore, including materials for children and young adults. We welcome the help of anyone who would like to contribute in any way to the educational activities of the group and we invite you to contact us with your suggestions.
Peter Della Santina
Chapter One: Buddhism: A Modern Perspective
In Part One of this book, it is my intention to cover what I would like to call the fundamentals of Buddhism, that is, the basic teaching of Buddhism. This survey will include the Life of the Buddha, the Four Noble Truths, the Noble Eightfold Path, karma, rebirth, interdependent origination, the three universal characteristics, and the teaching of the five aggregates. Before the actual treatment of these basic topics, I would like to deal first with the notion of Buddhism in perspective, and that a modern perspective. There are many ways in which people of different times and different cultures have approached Buddhism, but I believe it may be especially useful to contrast the modern attitude toward Buddhism with the traditional attitude toward it. This kind of comparative consideration may prove useful because understanding how people of different times and cultures view a particular phenomenon can begin to show us the limitations of our own particular perspective. Buddhism has awakened considerable interest in the West, and there are many persons who enjoy positions of some note in western society who are either Buddhist or sympathetic to Buddhism. This is perhaps most clearly exemplified by the remark said to have been made by the great twentieth-century scientist Albert Einstein, that although he was not a religious man, if he had been one, he would have been a Buddhist. At first glance it may seem surprising that such a remark should be made by one regarded as the father of modern western science. However, if we look more closely at contemporary western society, we find a Buddhist astrophysicist in France, a psychologist who is a Buddhist in Italy, and a leading English judge who is one, too. Indeed, it would not be too much to say that Buddhism is fast becoming the favorite choice of westerners who belong to the elite in the areas of science and art. I will look at the reasons for this in a moment, but before doing so, I would like to compare this situation with that found in traditionally Buddhist communities and countries. Take, for example, the situation among the traditionally Buddhist communities of Southeast and East Asia. In Europe and America, Buddhism is generally believed to be more than usually advanced in its thought, rigorously rational, and sophisticated. I will not attempt to conceal the fact that it came as quite a shock to me when I first went to Southeast Asia and found that many people there view Buddhism as old-fashioned, irrational, and bound up with outdated superstitions. This is one of two prevalent attitudes that obstruct the appreciation of Buddhism in such traditionally Buddhist communities. The other popular misconception that afflicts Buddhism in such communities is the notion that it is so deep and so abstract that no one can ever possibly understand it. Perhaps it is the intellectual arrogance of the West that has saved Europeans and Americans from this aberration. In short, when I look at the common attitudes prevailing in the West and in the East toward Buddhism, I find a radical contrast. This is why I want to begin our examination of Buddhism with a consideration of alternative perspectives. In the West, Buddhism has a certain image in the popular mind, while in traditionally Buddhist communities; Buddhism has an altogether different image. The dismissive attitude that prevails in such communities has to be overcome before people there can really begin to appreciate the teaching of the Buddha. In this way people everywhere can acquire the balanced perspective needed to approach Buddhism without prejudice and preconceived ideas. Consequently, this introduction to Buddhism is intended not only for people in the West but also for people in traditionally Buddhist communities who may have become estranged from the religion for a variety of social and cultural reasons. It should also be said, of course, that the image of Buddhism common in the West may be limited in its own way, but I hope that, in the chapters that follow, a clear and objective presentation of the traditions of Buddhism will, finally, emerge. For the moment, to turn again to the western attitude toward Buddhism, one of the first features we can appreciate about it is the fact that it is not culture-bound, that is to say, it is not restricted to any particular society, race, or ethnic group. There are some religions that are culture-bound: Judaism is one example; Hinduism is another. However, Buddhism is not similarly constrained. That is why, historically, we have had the development of Indian Buddhism, Sri Lankan Buddhism, Thai Buddhism, Burmese Buddhism, Chinese Buddhism, Japanese Buddhism, Tibetan Buddhism, and so on. In the near future, I have no doubt that we will see the emergence of English Buddhism, French Buddhism, Italian Buddhism, American Buddhism, and the like. All this is possible because Buddhism is not culture-bound. It moves very easily from one cultural context to another because its emphasis is on internal practice rather than external forms of religious behavior. Its emphasis is on the way each practitioner develops his or her own mind, not on how he dresses, the kind of food he eats, the way he wears his hair, and so forth. The second point to which I would like to draw your attention is the pragmatism of Buddhism, that is to say, its practical orientation. Buddhism addresses a practical problem. It is not interested in academic questions and metaphysical theories. The Buddhist approach is to identify a real problem and deal with it in a practical way. Again, this attitude is very much in keeping with western conceptions of utilitarianism and scientific problem-solving. Very briefly, we might say the Buddhist approach is encapsulated in the maxim, "If it works, use it." This attitude is an integral part of modern western political, economic, and scientific practice. The pragmatic approach of Buddhism is expressed very clearly in the Chulamalunkya Sutta, a discourse in which the Buddha himself made use of the parable of a wounded man. In the story, a man wounded by an arrow wishes to know who shot the arrow, the direction from which it came, whether the arrowhead is bone or iron, and whether the shaft is one kind of wood or another before he will let the arrow be removed. His attitude is likened to that of people who want to know about the origin of the universe--whether it is eternal or not, finite in space or not, and so on--before they will undertake to practice a religion. Such people will die before they ever have the answers to all their irrelevant questions, just as the man in the parable will die before he has all the answers he seeks about the origin and nature of the arrow. This story illustrates the practical orientation of the Buddha and Buddhism. It has a great deal to tell us about the whole question of priorities and scientific problem solving. We will not make much progress in the development of wisdom if we ask the wrong questions. It is essentially a matter of priorities. The first priority for all of us is the reduction and eventual elimination of suffering. The Buddha recognized this and consequently pointed out the futility of speculating about the origin and nature of the universe--precisely because, like the man in the parable, we have all been struck down by an arrow, the arrow of suffering. Thus we must ask questions that are directly related to the removal of the arrow of suffering and not waste our precious time on irrelevant inquiries. This idea can be expressed in a very simple way. We can all see that, in our daily lives, we constantly make choices based on priorities. For instance, suppose you are cooking and decide that, while the pot of beans is boiling, you will dust the furniture or sweep the floor. But as you are occupied with this task, you suddenly smell something burning: you then have to choose whether to carry on with your dusting or sweeping or go immediately to the stove to turn down the flame and thereby save your dinner. In the same way, if we want to make progress toward wisdom, we must clearly recognize our priorities. This point is made very nicely in the parable of the wounded man. The third point I would like to discuss is the teaching on the importance of verifying the truth by means of recourse to personal experience. This point is made very clearly by the Buddha in his advice to the Kalama’s contained in the Kesaputtiya Sutta… The Kalama’s were a community of town-dwellers in some ways very much like people in the contemporary world, who are exposed to so many different and often conflicting versions of the truth. They went to the Buddha and asked him how they were to judge the truth of the conflicting claims made by various religious teachers. The Buddha told them not to accept anything merely on the basis of purported authority, nor to accept anything simply because it is contained in sacred text, nor to accept anything on the basis of common opinion, nor because it seems reasonable, nor yet again because of reverence for a teacher. He even went so far as to advise them not to accept his own teaching without verification of its truth through personal experience. The Buddha asked the Kalama’s to test whatever they might hear in the light of their own experience. Only when they came to know for themselves that such and such things were harmful should they seek to abandon them. Alternatively, when they came to know for themselves that certain things were beneficial--that they were conducive to peace and tranquility--then they should seek to cultivate them. We, too, must judge the truth of whatever we are taught in the light of our own personal experience. In his advice to the Kalama’s, I think we can see clearly the Buddha's doctrine of self- reliance in the acquisition of knowledge. We ought to use our own minds as a kind of private test tube. We can all see for ourselves that when greed and anger are present in our minds, they lead to disquiet and suffering. By the same token, we can all see for ourselves that when greed and anger are absent from our minds, it results in tranquility and happiness. This is a very simple personal experiment that we can all do. The verification of the validity of teachings in the light of one's own personal experience is very important, because what the Buddha taught will only be effective, will only really succeed in changing our lives, if we can carry out this kind of personal experiment and make the teaching our very own. Only when we can verify the truth of the Buddha's teachings by recourse to our own experience can we be sure that we are making progress on the path to the elimination of suffering. Again we can see a striking similarity between the approach of the Buddha and the scientific approach to the quest for knowledge. The Buddha stressed the importance of objective observation, which is in a sense the key to the Buddhist method for acquiring knowledge. It is objective observation that yields the first of the Four Noble Truths, the truth of suffering; it is observation that verifies one's progress along the steps of the path; and it is observation that confirms the realization of the complete cessation of suffering. Therefore, at the beginning, in the middle, and at the end of the Buddhist path to liberation, the role of observation is essential. This is not very different from the role played by objective observation in the scientific tradition of the West. The scientific tradition teaches that when we observe a problem, we must first formulate a general theory and then a specific hypothesis. The same procedure obtains in the case of the Four Noble Truths. Here the general theory is that all things must have a cause, while the specific hypothesis is that the cause of suffering is craving and ignorance (the second noble truth). This hypothesis can be verified by the experimental method embodied in the steps of the Eightfold Path. By means of the steps of this path, the soundness of the second noble truth can be established. In addition, the reality of the third noble truth, the cessation of suffering, can be verified, because through cultivating the path craving and ignorance are eliminated and the supreme happiness of nirvana is attained. This experimental process is repeatable, in keeping with sound scientific practice: not only did the Buddha attain the end of suffering but so, too, we can see historically, did all those who followed his path to the end. Therefore, when we look closely at the teaching of the Buddha, we find that his approach has a great deal in common with the approach of science. This has naturally aroused a tremendous amount of interest in Buddhism among modern-minded people. We can begin to see why Einstein was able to make a remark like the one credited to him. The general agreement between the Buddhist approach and that of modern science will become even clearer when we examine the Buddhist attitude toward the facts of experience, which, like that of science, is analytical. According to the teaching of the Buddha, the data of experience are divided into two components, the objective component and the subjective component; in other words, the things we perceive around us, and we ourselves, the subjective perceivers. Buddhism has long been noted for its analytical approach in the fields of philosophy and psychology. What is meant by this is that the Buddha analyzed the facts of experience into various components or factors. The most basic of these components are the five aggregates: form, feeling, perception, volition, and consciousness. These five aggregates can be viewed in terms of the eighteen elements, and there is also an even more elaborate analysis in terms of the seventy-two factors. The procedure adopted here is analytical inasmuch as it breaks up the data of experience into their various components. The Buddha was not satisfied with a vague conception of experience in general; rather, he analyzed experience, probed its essence, and broke it down into its components, just as we might break down the phenomenon of a chariot into the wheels, the axle, the body, and so forth. The object of this exercise is to gain a better idea of how these phenomena function. When, for instance, we see a flower, hear a piece of music, or meet with a friend, all these experiences arise as the direct result of a combination of component elements. This has been called the analytical approach of Buddhism, and again, it is not at all strange to modern science and philosophy. We find the analytical approach very widely applied in science, while in philosophy the analytical approach has characterized the thought of many European philosophers, perhaps most clearly and recently that of Bertrand Russell. Studies have been done comparing his analytical philosophy quite successfully with that of early Buddhism. Consequently, in western science and philosophy, we find a very close parallel to the analytical method as it is taught within the Buddhist tradition. This is one of the familiar and recognizable features that has attracted modern western intellectuals and academics to Buddhist philosophy. Modern psychologists, too, are now deeply interested in the Buddhist analysis of the various factors of consciousness: feeling, perception, and volition. They are turning in increasing numbers to the ancient teaching of the Buddha to gain greater insight into their own discipline. This growing interest in the teaching of the Buddha--provoked by these many areas of affinity between Buddhist thought and the major currents of modern science, philosophy, and psychology--has reached its apex in the twentieth century with the startling suggestions advanced by relativity theory and quantum physics, which represent the very latest developments in experimental and theoretical science. Here, again, it is evident not only that the Buddha anticipated the primary methods of science (namely, observation, experimentation, and analysis), but also that, in some of their most specific conclusions about the nature of man and the universe, Buddhism and science actually coincide. For example, the importance of consciousness in the formation of experience, so long ignored in the West, has now been recognized. Not long ago, a noted physicist remarked that the universe may really be just something like a great thought. This very clearly follows in the footsteps of the teaching of the Buddha expressed in the Dhammapada, where it is said that the mind is the maker of all things. Likewise, the relativity of matter and energy--the recognition that there is no radical division between mind and matter-- has now been confirmed by the most recent developments in modern experimental science. The consequence of all this is that, in the context of contemporary western culture, scientists, psychologists, and philosophers have found in Buddhism a tradition in harmony with some of the most basic principles of western thought. In addition, they find Buddhism particularly interesting because, although the principal methods and conclusions of the western scientific tradition often closely resemble those of Buddhism, western science has thus far suggested no practical way of achieving an inner transformation, whereas in Buddhism such a way is clearly indicated. While science has taught us to build better cities, expressways, factories, and farms, it has not taught us to build better people. Therefore people in the contemporary world are turning to Buddhism, an ancient philosophy that has many features in common with the western scientific tradition but that goes beyond the materialism of the West, beyond the limits of practical science, as we have known it thus far.
Chapter Two: The Pre-Buddhist Background
Although studies of Buddhism usually begin with the life of the Buddha, the historical founder of the faith, I would like first to examine the situation that prevailed in India before the time of the Buddha, that is to say, the pre-Buddhist background of Buddhism. I personally believe such an examination to be particularly helpful because it enables us to understand the life and teaching of the Buddha in a broader historical and cultural context. This sort of retrospective examination can help us better understand the nature of Buddhism in particular, and perhaps, too, the nature of Indian philosophy and religion in general. I would like to begin our examination of the origin and development of Indian philosophy and religion with a geographical analogy. In the north of the Indian subcontinent are two great rivers, the Ganges and the Yamuna. These two great rivers have separate sources in the high Himalayas, and their courses remain quite separate for the better part of their great length. Gradually they draw nearer to each other and eventually unite in the plains of northern India, near the city now known as Allahabad. From their point of confluence they flow on together until they empty into the Bay of Bengal. The geography of these two great rivers exemplifies the origin and development of Indian philosophy and religion because in Indian culture, as in Indian geography, there are two great currents of thought that were originally quite different and distinct in character. For many centuries the course of these two remained separate and distinct, but eventually they drew closer together, merged, and continued to flow on together, almost indistinguishable from each other, right up to the present day. Perhaps as we proceed with our examination of the pre-Buddhist culture of India, we can bear in mind the image of these rivers whose origins were separate, but which at a certain point merged and continued together to the sea. When we look into the very early history of India, we find that, in the third millennium B.C.E., there was a very highly developed civilization on the subcontinent. This civilization was easily as old as those, which are called the cradles of human culture, such as the civilizations of Egypt and Babylon. It flourished from about 2800 to 1800 B.C.E. and was known as the Indus Valley, or the Harappan, civilization. It extended from what is now western Pakistan south to a point near present-day Bombay and east to a point near Shimla, in the foothills of the Himalayas. If you look at a map of Asia, you will at once realize that the geographical extent of the Indus Valley civilization was immense. And not only was this civilization stable for a thousand years, it was also very advanced, both materially and spiritually. Materially, the Indus Valley civilization was agrarian and exhibited a great degree of skill in irrigation and urban planning. There is evidence that the people of this civilization had evolved a system of mathematics based on a binary model--the same model employed in modern computing. The Indus Valley civilization was literate and developed a script that remains largely un-deciphered to date. (The meaning of the Indus Valley script is one of the great-unsolved mysteries of linguistic archaeology.) In addition, there is ample evidence that the civilization enjoyed a very highly developed spiritual culture. Archaeological discoveries at two major sites, Mohenjo-daro and Harappa, bear witness to this. The peaceful unfolding of the life of this great ancient civilization was rather abruptly interrupted sometime between 1800 and 1500 B.C.E., either by some natural disaster or by an invasion. What is certain is that, simultaneous with or very soon after the demise of the Indus Valley civilization, the subcontinent was invaded from the northwest--just as, centuries later, Muslim invaders were to come from that direction. The invading people were known as Aryans. This term designated a people who originally belonged to a region somewhere in Eastern Europe, perhaps the steppes of modern Poland and the Ukraine. The Aryans were very different from the people of the Indus Valley civilization. Whereas the latter had been agrarian and sedentary, the Aryans were nomadic and pastoral. They were unused to urban life. A warlike and expansionist people, they lived in large part on the spoils of conquest won from the peoples they subjugated in the course of their migrations. When the Aryans arrived in India, they very soon became the dominant civilization, and after the middle of the second millennium B.C.E., Indian society was largely dominated by Aryan values. Let us now look at the religious attitudes of the people of the Indus Valley civilization and of the Aryan civilization. This is of particular interest to us. As I have said, the Indus Valley civilization had a written language, which we have thus far been unable to decipher. Nonetheless, our knowledge of the civilization is derived from two reliable sources: the archaeological discoveries at Mohenjo-daro and Harappa, and the written records of the Aryans, who described the religious behavior and beliefs of the people they came to dominate. Archaeological excavations have revealed a number of symbols important to the people of the Indus Valley civilization. These symbols have religious significance and are also sacred to Buddhism. They include the pipal tree (later known as the bodhi tree, or ficus religiosa), and animals such as the elephant and deer. Perhaps most significant, the image of a human figure has been found that is seated in a cross-legged posture, hands resting on the knees and eyes narrowed--clearly suggestive of the attitude of meditation. With the help of these archaeological discoveries and other evidence, eminent scholars have concluded that the origins of the practices of yoga and meditation can be traced to the Indus Valley civilization. Moreover, when we study the descriptions of the religious practices of the people of the Indus Valley civilization found in the written records of the early Aryans, the Vedas, we find the figure of the wandering ascetic frequently mentioned. These ascetics are said to have practiced methods of mind training, to have been celibate, naked or clothed in the most meager of garments, to have had no fixed abode, and to have taught the way beyond birth and death. Putting together the evidence gathered from the archaeological findings at the major sites of the Indus Valley civilization and that found in the early records of the Aryans, the picture that emerges of the religious attitudes and practices of the people of the Indus Valley civilization, while sketchy, is clear enough in its essentials. The religion of the Indus Valley civilization evidently contained several important elements. First of all, meditation, or the practice of training the mind, was clearly present. Second, the practice of renunciation--that is to say, abandoning household life and living the life of a homeless ascetic, or mendicant--was also common. Third, it is clear that there was some conception of rebirth or reincarnation occurring over the course of a countless number of lives, and, fourth, a sense of moral responsibility extending beyond this life--that is to say, some form of the conception of karma. Last, there was a paramount goal of religious life--namely, the goal of liberation, of freedom from the endless cycle of birth and death. These were the outstanding features of the religion of the earliest civilization of India. Next, let us look at the religion of the early Aryan people, which contrasted sharply with that of the Indus Valley civilization. Indeed, it would be difficult to find two religious cultures more radically different. Constructing a complete picture of the religious attitudes and practices of the early Aryans is much simpler than doing so for the Indus Valley people. When the Aryans arrived in India, they brought with them a religion that was completely secular in nature. As I have said, they were an expansionist society--a pioneer society, if you like. Their origins lay in Eastern Europe, and their religion in many ways resembled that of the ancient Greeks. If you look at descriptions of the gods who composed the Greek pantheon, you will not fail to notice striking parallels between the two. The Aryans revered a number of gods who were personifications of natural phenomena, including Indra (not unlike Zeus), the god of thunder and lightning; Agni, the god of fire, and Varuna, the god of water--to name just a few. Whereas in the religion of the Indus Valley civilization the ascetic was the preeminent religious figure, in the Aryan religious establishment the priest was by far the most important. Whereas in the religious value system of the Indus Valley civilization renunciation was paramount, in the value system of the early Aryans the most worthy state was that of the family man, or householder. Whereas in the religious culture of the Indus Valley civilization the value of progeny was not emphasized, for the early Aryans progeny, particularly sons, was the highest priority. The religion of the Indus Valley civilization emphasized the practice of meditation, while the Aryan faith relied on the practice of sacrifice, which was its primary means of communicating with the gods, securing victory in war, obtaining sons and wealth, and finally reaching heaven. While the religion of the Indus Valley civilization included the conceptions of rebirth and karma, the early Aryans had no such conceptions. The notion of moral responsibility extending beyond the present life appears to have been unknown to the Aryans, for whom the highest social value was loyalty to the group, a virtue calculated to contribute to the power and cohesion of the tribe. Finally, the ultimate goal of religious life for the people of the Indus Valley civilization was liberation, a state that transcended birth and death, whereas for the early Aryans the goal was simply heaven--and a heaven that looked very much like a perfected version of this world, in fact. In brief, while the religion of the Indus Valley civilization stressed renunciation, meditation, rebirth, karma, and the final goal of liberation, the Aryan religion stressed this life, ritual sacrifice, loyalty, wealth, progeny, power, and heaven. Thus it is clear that the sets of religious attitudes, practices, and values professed by these two ancient civilizations of India were almost diametrically opposed to each other. And yet, over the course of centuries of cohabitation, these two religious traditions did manage to merge and become, in many instances, practically indistinguishable. Before concluding our review of the salient features of the Indus Valley and early Aryan religions, it should be mentioned that the religious culture of the Aryans was characterized by two further elements unknown and foreign to the religion of the Indus Valley people. The two elements I have in mind are caste--that is to say, the division of society into social strata--and belief in the authority and infallibility of revelation, in this case the ancient scriptures known as the Vedas. The religious culture of the Indus Valley civilization did not accept these conceptions, and they remained constant points of contention dividing the two major religious traditions of India. The history of Indian religion from 1500 B.C.E. to the sixth century B.C.E. (i.e., the time of the Buddha) is the history of the interaction between these two originally opposed traditions. As the Aryan people gradually moved eastward and southward, settling and spreading their influence over most of the Indian subcontinent, they adopted a more sedentary pattern of life. Little by little, the opposing religious cultures of the two peoples began to interact, influence, and even merge with each other. This is precisely the phenomenon I had in mind earlier when I referred to the merging of the two great rivers of India, the Ganges and the Yamuna. By the time of the Buddha, a very heterogeneous religious culture flourished in India. This is clear even from a superficial look at some of the prominent facts about the Buddha's life. For example, after his birth, two distinct types of people made predictions about his future greatness. The first prophesy was pronounced by Asita, who was a hermit and ascetic living in the mountains, although the biographies of the Buddha insist that Asita was a Brahmin, a member of the priestly caste of Aryan society. This in itself is clear evidence of the interaction of the two ancient religious traditions, for it indicates that, by the sixth century B.C.E., even Brahmins had begun to abandon household life and adopt the life of homeless ascetics, something unheard of a thousand years before. A little later, we are told that 108 Brahmins were invited to the ceremony for bestowing a name on the young Buddha. There, they also prophesied the future greatness of the child. These men were evidently priests who had not renounced household life and who thus represented the original, orthodox practice accepted in the Aryan fold. How is it that two traditions initially so different were able to merge? I think the answer may be found in the dramatic changes that occurred in the life of the Indian people between the middle of the second millennium B.C.E. and the time of the Buddha. Aryan expansion came to an end when the Aryans had spread across the plains of India. The end of this expansion brought about many social, economic, and political changes. First of all, the tribal, nomadic, and pastoral way of life of the early Aryans gradually changed into a more sedentary, agrarian, and eventually urban pattern of existence. Before long, the majority of the population was living in urban settlements where the people were somewhat removed from the natural forces which had been personified in the gods of the early Aryans. Second, commerce became increasingly important. Whereas priests and warriors had been the dominant figures in early Aryan society--priests because they communicated with the gods, and warriors because they waged war against the enemies of the tribe and brought home the spoils of battle--now merchants became ascendant. In the time of the Buddha, this trend is evident in the famous disciples who belonged to the merchant class--Anathapindika, to name just one example. Last, the organization of society along tribal lines gradually became obsolete, and the territorial state began to evolve. No longer was society organized into tribes within which there were very close sets of personal loyalties. The tribal pattern of social organization was replaced by the territorial state, in which many people of different tribes existed together. The kingdom of Magadha, ruled by King Bimbisara, the famous patron and disciple of the Buddha, is an example of such an emerging territorial state. These social, economic, and political changes contributed to a growing willingness on the part of the Aryan people to accept and adopt the religious ideas of the Indus Valley civilization. Although the Aryans had materially dominated the earlier, indigenous civilization of the subcontinent, the next thousand to two thousand years saw them come increasingly under the influence of religious attitudes, practices, and values adopted from the religion of the Indus Valley civilization. Consequently, by the beginning of the Common Era, the distinction between the Aryan tradition and that of the Indus Valley civilization was more and more difficult to draw. In fact, this historical reality is responsible for the misconception expressed in the claim that Buddhism was a protest against, or an offshoot of, Hinduism. Buddhism is a religion that draws most of its inspiration from the religious culture of the Indus Valley civilization. The elements of renunciation, meditation, rebirth, karma, and liberation, which were important components of the religious culture of the Indus Valley people, are also important in Buddhism. The Buddha himself very probably meant to indicate that the origins of the religion he proclaimed lay in the Indus Valley civilization when he said that the path he taught was an ancient path, and that the goal to which he pointed was an ancient goal. Buddhism also maintains a tradition of six prehistoric Buddhas who are believed to have flourished before the Buddha Shakyamuni. All this, I believe, points to a certain continuity between the religious culture and traditions of the Indus Valley civilization and the teaching of the Buddha. When we examine the two religious phenomena we call Buddhism and Hinduism, we find a greater or smaller proportion or preponderance of elements inherited from each of the two great religious traditions of ancient India. In Buddhism the greater proportion of significant elements is clearly inherited from the religion of the Indus Valley civilization, while a far smaller proportion may be traced to the religion of the early Aryans. There are undoubtedly elements in Buddhism inherited from the religion of the Aryans, such as the presence of the gods of the Vedas, but their role is peripheral. Conversely, many schools of Hinduism retain a greater proportion of elements of religious culture inherited from the Aryan tradition and a much smaller proportion that can be traced back to the religion of the Indus Valley. Many schools of Hinduism still emphasize caste, the authority of revelation in the shape of the Vedas, and the efficacy of the practice of sacrifice. Notwithstanding these clearly Aryan elements, a place is also made in Hinduism for important elements of the culture of the Indus Valley civilization, such as renunciation, meditation, rebirth, karma, and liberation.
Chapter Three: The Life of the Buddha
Next I would like to turn to the life of the Buddha Shakyamuni. I shall not attempt to treat this topic exhaustively, nor to cover the great majority of the biography of Shakyamuni. The accounts of the life of the Buddha are for the most part narrative, and they have been presented elsewhere by both ancient and modern authors. Instead, I would like to use this brief consideration of the life of the Buddha to draw attention to a few important Buddhist values that are strikingly illustrated in the accounts of the life of Shakyamuni. In Chapter 2, I discussed the origins and nature of the two ancient traditions of India, the one having its source in the religious culture of the Indus Valley civilization and the other associated with the Aryan civilization. In addition, I indicated that these two ancient traditions, originally quite different, in the course of time began to interact with and influence each other until, by the first millennium of the Common Era; they became almost indistinguishable one from the other. It is, perhaps, no coincidence that the area of the north central Gangetic plain and the Nepalese Tarai, which came to be known as "the central country," or Madhyadesha, was one of the regions in which the two traditions came into active contact, and even conflict. The priests who were custodians of the Aryan tradition associated the eastward movement of Aryan civilization with the threat of a dissipation of the purity of Aryan culture and with the growth of unorthodox practices and attitudes. The history of religions teaches that, when two very different traditions like those of the Indus Valley civilization and the Aryans come into contact and conflict, a tremendous potential is created for the growth of new attitudes and patterns of religious culture. The life and teaching of the Buddha can be usefully viewed in the context of this historical phenomenon. Moreover, as mentioned in Chapter 2, there were significant social, economic, and political changes affecting the lives of the people of the region in the sixth century B.C.E. These naturally contributed to a heightened level of religious consciousness. It has consistently been the case that, in times of major social, economic, and political change, people tend to look inward for safety and security in an ever more uncertain world. They instinctively look to religion--and to the ostensibly unchanging values embodied in religious belief and practice--for stability in the midst of uncertainty. Such periods have almost always produced great religious revolutions and revivals. This was most certainly the case in sixth century India, just as it was in China in the sixth century, and just as it was at the beginning of the Christian era in the Mediterranean world. There are three values of paramount importance that emerge from the life of the Buddha: (1) renunciation, (2) love and compassion, and (3) wisdom. These values stand out very clearly in many episodes throughout his life. It is no coincidence that these three, taken together, are the essential requisites for the attainment of nirvana, or enlightenment. According to the teaching of Buddhism, there are three afflictions, which cause us to be reborn again and again in the wilderness of cyclical existence--namely, attachment, aversion, and ignorance. These afflictions are eliminated by the correctives of renunciation, love and compassion, and wisdom, respectively. Through cultivating these three attitudes, the Buddhist practitioner is able to remove the afflictions and attain enlightenment. Consequently, it is no accident that these attitudes should feature so prominently in the life of the Buddha Shakyamuni. Let us consider these essential attitudes one by one, beginning with renunciation. As in the case of love and compassion, the first signs of renunciation manifested themselves very early in the life of the Buddha. Basically, renunciation is the recognition that all existence is permeated by suffering. When you realize this, it leads to what we might call a turning about, that is to say, the realization that all of common life is permeated by suffering causes us to look for something more or something different. This is precisely why suffering is counted as the first of the Four Noble Truths, and why the clear recognition of the reality and universality of suffering is the essence of renunciation. Now, as it happens, Prince Siddhartha is believed to have participated, as we might expect, in the annual plowing ceremony of his clan at the tender age of seven. It was then that, while watching the proceedings, the young prince noticed a worm that had been unearthed being devoured by a bird. This casual observation led Siddhartha to contemplate the realities of life--to recognize the inescapable fact that all living beings kill one another to survive, and that this is a great source of suffering. Already, at this early age, we find in the Buddha's biography the beginning of the recognition that life, as we know it is permeated by suffering. If we look again at the biographical accounts of Siddhartha's early life, we soon come to the famous episode of the four sights that moved him to renounce the life of a householder and adopt the life of an ascetic in order to seek the truth. Seeing an old man, a sick man, and a corpse led him to consider why it was that he should feel unsettled by these sights. Clearly, he himself was not immune to these conditions but was subject to the inevitable succession of old age, sickness, and death. This recognition led the prince to develop a sense of detachment from the ephemeral pleasures of this world and prompted him to seek the ultimate truth about existence by way of renunciation. It is important to remember at this stage that the prince's renunciation was not prompted by despair occurring in the ordinary course of life. He enjoyed the greatest possible happiness and privilege known in his day, and yet he recognized the suffering inherent in sentient existence and realized that, no matter how much we may indulge ourselves in pleasures of the senses, eventually we must face the realities of old age, sickness, and death. Understanding this--and encouraged by the fourth sight, that of an ascetic-- Siddhartha was moved to renounce the life of a householder and to seek ultimate truth for the benefit of all living beings. Let us look next at the attitude of love and compassion, which also appears very early in the life of the Buddha. The most striking example is the episode of the wounded swan. The biographical accounts tell us that the prince and his cousin Devadatta were wandering in the park that surrounded the royal residence when Devadatta shot down a swan with his bow and arrow. Both youths ran toward where the swan had fallen, but Siddhartha, being the faster runner, reached the place first. The young prince gathered the wounded bird up in his arms and sought to allay its suffering. Devadatta reacted angrily to this, insisting that the swan belonged to him, inasmuch as he had shot it down. The youths took their dispute to the wise man of the court, who decided to award the bird to Siddhartha on the grounds that life rightly belongs to him who would preserve it and not to him who would destroy it. In this simple story, we have an excellent example of the Buddha's early manifestation of the attitude of love and compassion, an attitude whose object is to foster as far as possible the happiness of others and to allay their suffering. Later, also, after his enlightenment, the Buddha continued to demonstrate this attitude in remarkable ways. There is, for instance, the well-known episode wherein the Buddha took it upon himself to nurse the ailing monk Tissa. The latter's illness was such as caused all the other members of the Order to shun him. However, the Buddha, resolved to lead by example, personally cleaned and cared for Tissa's diseased and decaying body, thereby alleviating his suffering. Last, let us take a long look at the attitude of wisdom, which is the most important of the three, being commensurate with enlightenment itself. It is wisdom that finally opens the door to freedom, and wisdom that removes ignorance, the fundamental cause of suffering. It is said that while one may sever the branches of a tree and even cut down its trunk, if the root is not removed, the tree will grow again. In a similar way, although one may remove attachment by means of renunciation, and aversion by means of love and compassion, as long as ignorance is not removed by means of wisdom, attachment and aversion are liable to arise again. The principal instrument through which wisdom may be gained is meditation. Again, there is an event early in the Buddha's life in which his precocious skill in concentrating the mind is evident. According to the accounts of the life of Shakyamuni, immediately after witnessing the unhappy incident involving the worm and the bird at the plowing ceremony, the prince sat under a nearby rose-apple tree, and there spontaneously began to meditate, achieving the first level of meditation by concentrating his mind on the process of inhalation and exhalation. In this event we have evidence of a very early experience of meditation in the life of the Buddha. Later, when he renounced the life of a householder and went forth to seek the ultimate truth, one of the first disciplines he developed was that of meditation. The accounts tell us that the ascetic Gotama (as he was known during his six years of striving for enlightenment) studied under two renowned teachers of meditation, Alara Kalama and Uddaka Ramaputta. Under the tutelage of these teachers he studied and mastered the various techniques of concentrating the mind. In Chapter 2 I mentioned that there is evidence, which suggests that the origins of meditation go back to the dawn of Indian civilization, to the golden age of the Indus Valley civilization. It is very likely that the two teachers mentioned in the biographies of the Buddha were exponents of this very ancient tradition of meditation, or mental concentration. And yet, remarkably, the ascetic Gotama left the two teachers in question because he found that meditation alone could not permanently put an end to suffering, even though it might supply temporary relief. This fact is important, because although the teaching of the Buddha emphasizes the practice of mental development and is therefore clearly in the tradition of the Indus Valley civilization, the Buddha transcended the limited goals of mere meditation and brought a new dimension to religious experience. This is what distinguishes the Buddha's teaching from the teaching of many other Indian schools, particularly those which, in one form or another, embrace the practice of yoga, or meditation. In short, what distinguishes Buddhism from the contemplative traditions of Hinduism and other religions is the fact that, for Buddhism, meditation by itself is not enough. We might say that, for Buddhism, meditation is like sharpening a pencil. We sharpen a pencil for a purpose, let us say, in order to write. Similarly, by means of meditation we sharpen the mind for a definite purpose--in this case, the purpose is wisdom. The relationship between meditation and wisdom has also been explained with the help of the example of a torch. Suppose we want to see a picture on the wall of a darkened room with the aid of a torch. If the light cast by the torch is too dim, if the flame is disturbed by drafts of air, or if the hand holding the torch is unsteady, it is impossible to see the picture clearly. Similarly, if we want to penetrate the darkness of ignorance and see into the real nature of existence, we will be unable to do so if our minds are weak, distracted, and unsteady as a consequence of habitual indolence and emotional and intellectual disturbances. The Buddha put this discovery into practice on the night of his enlightenment. Then, we are told, he made his mind concentrated, one-pointed, and supple by means of meditation, directed it to the understanding of the real nature of things, and comprehended the truth. Therefore, the enlightenment of the Buddha was the consequence of the combination of meditation and wisdom. There are also other dimensions of wisdom exemplified in the life of the Buddha. One of these is the understanding of the Middle Way. The conception of the Middle Way is central in Buddhism and has many levels of meaning, all of which it is not possible to consider here. However, this much may be said at once: The most fundamental meaning of the Middle Way is the avoidance of the extremes of indulgence in pleasures of the senses and, alternatively, tormenting the body. This fundamental aspect of the Middle Way is illustrated in the life of the Buddha by his very own career and experience. Before his renunciation of the life of a householder, Siddhartha enjoyed a life of luxury and sensual pleasure. Later, when he had become an ascetic in search of the truth, he spent six years practicing all manner of physical deprivations and self-mortification. Eventually, he understood the futility of such practices as well as the meaninglessness of his former life of indulgence, and discovered the Middle Way that avoids both extremes. There are, of course, many other important episodes in the life of the Buddha that would be interesting and valuable to discuss, but my point in choosing to concentrate on these few elements is simply that we can begin to look at the Buddha's life as a lesson in conduct and concept, and not simply as a biography containing a number of names and places. Then we can appreciate the attitudes exemplified in Shakyamuni's career. In this way, a greater and more genuine insight into the real significance of the life of the Buddha becomes possible.
Chapter Four: The Four Noble Truths
With this chapter, we enter the real heart of the teaching of the Buddha. The Four Noble Truths are one of the most fundamental of the schemes delineated by the Buddha. In many important particulars, they virtually coincide with the whole of the doctrine of Shakyamuni. The understanding of the Four Noble Truths is synonymous with the attainment of the goal of Buddhist practice. The Buddha himself indicated as much when he said that it is failure to comprehend the Four Noble Truths that has caused us to run on so long in the cycle of birth and death. The importance of the Four Noble Truths is similarly indicated by the fact that the Buddha's first discourse, delivered to the five ascetics at the Deer Park, near Benares, was the Dhammachakkappavattana Sutta, which had as its subject the Four Noble Truths and the Middle Way. In the formula of the Four Noble Truths--that is, the truth of suffering, the truth of the cause of suffering, the truth of the cessation of suffering, and the truth of the path--we have a summary of the teaching of the Buddha in theory and in practice. Before turning to a consideration of the Four Noble Truths individually, I would like to draw your attention to a few facts about the formula in general. In this context, it is appropriate to recall that the ancient science of medicine had enjoyed a certain degree of development by the time of the Buddha. One of the fundamental formulas evolved by practitioners of the science of medicine in ancient India was the fourfold scheme of disease, diagnosis, cure, and treatment. If you consider carefully these four stages in the practice of the science of medicine, it will be apparent that they correspond very closely to the formula of the Four Noble Truths: (1) the truth of suffering clearly corresponds to the first element of disease; (2) the truth of the cause just as clearly corresponds to the element of diagnosis; (3) the truth of cessation corresponds to the achievement of a cure; and (4) the truth of the path just as clearly corresponds to the course of treatment of a disease. Having said this about the therapeutic nature of the formula of the Four Noble Truths and its resemblance to the formula evolved by ancient practitioners of the science of medicine in India, I would like to make another point which, although conceptual, is nonetheless very important for a correct understanding of the Four Noble Truths. When Shariputra, who was to become one of the Buddha's most outstanding disciples, came upon Assaji, one of the first five ascetics to embrace the Buddha's teaching, he asked him about it. Assaji is said to have replied that he could not tell Shariputra much about the Buddha's teaching because he was relatively new to it. Nonetheless, Assaji went on to give a summary of the teaching of the Buddha that goes something like this: "Of things that proceed from a cause, their cause the Tathágata has told, and also their cessation; thus teaches the great ascetic." The accounts report that Shariputra was greatly impressed by the few words spoken by Assaji. He went to find his friend and fellow seeker-after-truth Moggallana, and the two of them sought out the Buddha and became his disciples. Assaji's very brief summary of the teaching of the Buddha tells us something about the central conception that lies behind the formula of the Four Noble Truths: it indicates the importance of the relationship between cause and effect. The concept of cause and effect lies at the heart of the teaching of the Buddha, and it also lies at the heart of the formula of the Four Noble Truths. In what way? The formula of the Four Noble Truths begins with a problem, namely, the first of the four noble truths, the truth of suffering. The problem of suffering arises from causes, causes expressed in the second noble truth, the truth of the cause of suffering. Similarly, there exists an end of suffering expressed in the third noble truth, the truth of cessation, and a cause of the end of suffering, that is to say the path, which is the last of the four truths. In the fourth noble truth the cause is absence: in other words, when the causes of suffering are removed, the absence of such causes is the cause of the cessation of suffering. If you look more closely at the Four Noble Truths, you will see that they divide quite naturally into two groups. The first two truths, those of suffering and its cause, belong to the realm of birth and death. Symbolically, they can be pictured in the form of a circle, because they operate in a circular manner. The causes of suffering produce suffering, and suffering in turn produces the causes of suffering, which in their turn again produce suffering. This is the cycle of birth and death, or samsara. The latter two truths, the truth of the cessation of suffering and the truth of the path, do not belong to the realm of birth and death. They can be represented figuratively through the image of a spiral, in which the movement is no longer merely circular but is now directed upward, so to speak, toward another plane of experience. To return for a moment to the conception of cause and effect in the context of the Four Noble Truths, it is clear that these four truths stand in a causal relationship, one to another, within each of the two groups just indicated: the first of the four (the truth of suffering) is the effect of the second (the truth of the cause), while the third (the truth of cessation) is the effect of the last of the truths (the truth of the path). If we remember the importance of the relationship between cause and effect when we consider the Four Noble Truths, I believe we will find them easier to understand. Likewise, if we recall the importance of the principle of cause and effect, it will be of great help to us as we proceed in our survey of the fundamental teaching of the Buddha, whether in the context of the study of karma and rebirth or that of interdependent origination. In short, we will find that the principle of cause and effect runs like a thread throughout the whole of the teaching of the Buddha. Let us now turn our attention to the first of the Four Noble Truths, the truth of suffering. Many non-Buddhists and even some Buddhists find the choice of suffering as the first of the four truths disturbing. It is said that such a choice is indicative of pessimism. I have often had people ask me why Buddhism is so pessimistic. Why does it choose to begin with the truth of suffering? There are a number of ways this question may be answered. Let us consider, for a moment, the attitudes of pessimism, optimism, and realism. In practical terms, let us suppose that someone is suffering from a serious illness but refuses to recognize the truth of his condition. His attitude may be optimistic, but it is also surely foolish, inasmuch as it precludes taking any measures to remedy the disease. Such an attitude is analogous to that of the ostrich who, it is said, buries its head in the sand and so convinces itself that no danger threatens it. If a problem exists, the only sensible course of action is to recognize the problem and then do whatever is necessary to eliminate it. The Buddha's insistence on the need to recognize the truth of suffering is therefore neither pessimistic nor optimistic: it is simply realistic. Besides, if the Buddha had taught only the truth of suffering and had stopped there, then there might be some truth in the charge that his teaching is pessimistic. However, the Buddha only began with the truth of suffering. He went on to teach the truth of the cause of suffering and, even more importantly, the truths of its cessation and of the means to achieve its cessation. I am quite sure that, if we are honest with ourselves, all of us will admit that there is a fundamental problem with life. Things are not quite as they should be. No matter how much we may try to run away from this fact, at some time or other--perhaps in the middle of the night, in a crowd of people, or for just a moment during an ordinary working day--we do come face to face with the reality of our situation. We realize that something, after all, is wrong somewhere. This experience is what impels people to seek solutions to the fundamental problems of unhappiness and frustration. Sometimes these solutions are only apparent, like the attempt to eliminate unhappiness by accumulating more and more possessions. Alternatively, people may seek solutions to the fundamental problems of life in various forms of therapy. In Buddhism, the truth of suffering can be divided into two categories. These are, broadly speaking, physical and mental. Physical suffering includes the sufferings of birth, old age, sickness, and death. You will recall that in Chapter 3 we mentioned Prince Siddhartha's encounter with the facts of old age, sickness, and death in the shape of the three sights of an old man, a sick man, and a corpse. Here, we find a fourth form of suffering added, the suffering of birth. Birth is suffering both because of the physical pain experienced by the infant and because it is from birth that the other forms of suffering, such as old age, inevitably follow. Birth may be said to be a gateway through which the other sufferings naturally follow. I think we need hardly spend much time on the sufferings of old age, sickness, and death. We have all observed the suffering of old age, the inability to function effectively and think coherently. Most of us have experienced for ourselves the suffering of sickness, and even if we have had the good fortune always to be healthy, we have seen the suffering of others afflicted by disease. Again, we have all observed the suffering of death, the pain and the fear experienced by the dying person. These sufferings are an unavoidable part of life. No matter how happy and contented we may be at a particular moment, the sufferings of birth, old age, sickness, and death are inevitable. In addition to these physical sufferings, there are mental sufferings: the suffering of separation from what is dear to us, the suffering of contact with what we despise, and the suffering of frustrated desires. Often, in the course of our lives, we are separated from the people and places we love. The requirements of career or country sometimes force us to leave our homes and loved ones. Change and death can bring about separation from the people and places we love. Again, the course of our lives often brings us into contact with people and situations we would rather avoid, such as a colleague or superior at work who is antagonistic toward us. Such a situation can make our time at our place of work a genuine torment. The suffering of contact with what we despise can also take more extreme forms, such as the experiences of flood, fire, famine, persecution, war, and other natural and manmade disasters. Finally, most of us, some time or other, experience the suffering of frustrated desires. We experience such frustration when, for instance, we cannot obtain the things we want, be it a job, a car, a house, or even a partner. These mental and physical sufferings are woven into the fabric of our human existence. But what about happiness? Is there no happiness at all in life? Of course there is; however, the happiness we experience in the course of our lives is impermanent. As long as we still enjoy youth and health, we may find happiness in a comfortable situation or in the company of someone we love, yet all these experiences of happiness are conditioned, and therefore impermanent. Sooner or later, we will experience suffering. Now, if we really want to solve the problem of suffering, reduce and eventually eliminate it, we must identify its cause. If the lights go out and we want to eliminate the darkness, we must identify the cause of the problem. Is it a short circuit, has a fuse blown, or has the power supply been cut off? Similarly, once we have recognized the problem of suffering, we must look for its cause. Only by understanding the cause of suffering can we do something to solve the problem. What is the cause of suffering according to the Buddha? The Buddha taught that craving is the great cause of suffering. There are various kinds of craving: craving for pleasant experiences, craving for material things, craving for eternal life, and craving for eternal death. We all enjoy good food, our favorite music, pleasant company, and the like. Enjoying such things, we want more and more of them. We try to prolong such pleasant experiences and to experience them more and more often. Yet somehow we are never completely satisfied. We find, for instance, that when we are very fond of a particular type of food and eat it again and again, we soon get bored with it. We try another kind of food, like it, enjoy it, and still, after a while, we begin to get bored with it. We go on to look for something else. We even get tired of our favorite piece of music. We get tired of our friends. We look for more and more. Sometimes this chase after pleasant experiences leads to very destructive forms of behavior, like alcoholism and drug addiction. All this is craving for the enjoyment of pleasant experiences. It is said that trying to satisfy our craving for pleasant experiences is like drinking saltwater when thirsty: it only increases our thirst. Not only do we crave pleasant experiences, we also crave material things. You can see this very clearly in children, although we all suffer from it. Take any small child into a toy shop and he or she will want every toy in the shop. Eventually persuaded by his parents, he will settle for one of the toys. Almost as soon as he has gotten it, he begins to lose interest in it. Without fail, within a few days the toy lies neglected in a corner of the room and the child wants another toy. But are we really very different from young children? Almost immediately after buying that new car, don't we begin to want another, even better one? When we move into a good house, don't we often think, "This house is all right, but it would be still better if I could find a bigger one, say one with a garden, or one with a swimming pool?" It goes on and on, whether it is a set of trains, a bicycle, a video recorder, or a Mercedes Benz. It is said that the craving for acquiring wealth and material things involves three major problems that cause suffering. The first is the problem of getting them. You have to work hard, perhaps skimp and save, to buy the new car you wanted. Next, you have to look after it and protect it. You worry that someone may damage your car. You worry that your new house may catch fire or be damaged by the wind or rain. Finally, there is the problem of losing possessions, because sooner or later they will fall apart or we ourselves will die. Craving for existence or eternal life is a cause of suffering. We all crave existence, life. Despite all the suffering and frustration we experience, we all crave existence, and it is this craving which causes us to be born again and again. Then there is the craving for nonexistence, that is to say, the craving for annihilation, which we might call a desire for eternal death. This craving expresses itself in nihilism, suicide, and the like. Craving for existence is one extreme, while craving for nonexistence is the other. At this point you may be asking yourself, "Is craving alone a sufficient cause of suffering? Is craving alone enough to explain suffering? Is the answer as simple as that?" The answer is no. There is something that goes deeper than craving, something that is, in a sense, the foundation or ground of craving--namely, ignorance. Ignorance is not seeing things as they really are. It is failing to understand the truth about life. Those who consider themselves well educated may find it offensive to be told they are ignorant. In what sense are we ignorant? Let me say this: without the right conditions, without the right training and the right instruments, we are unable to see things as they really are. None of us would be aware of radio waves were it not for the radio receiver. None of us would be aware of bacteria in a drop of water were it not for the microscope, or of subatomic reality were it not for the latest techniques of electron microscopy. All these facts about the world in which we live are observed and known only because of special conditions, training, and instruments. When we say that ignorance is failing to see things as they really are, what we mean is that, as long as we have not developed our minds--and, through them, wisdom--we remain ignorant of the true nature of things. We are familiar with the fear that we experience when we see an unidentified shape in the darkness by the side of the road while walking home alone late at night. The shape may actually be a tree stump, yet it is our ignorance that causes us to quicken our steps. Perhaps the palms of our hands begin to perspire; we may reach home in a panic. If there had been a light, there would have been no fear and no suffering because there would have been no ignorance about the shape in the darkness. We would have seen the tree stump for what it is. In Buddhism we are concerned with ignorance about the nature of the self, soul, or personality. Such ignorance means regarding the self as real. This is the fundamental cause of suffering. We take our bodies or feelings or ideas to be a self, soul, or personality. We take them to be a real, independent ego, just as we take the tree stump to be a potential assailant. But once you assume this conception of a self, there naturally arises the conception of something apart from or other than your self. And once the conception of something different from your self occurs, you automatically regard it as either helpful to and supportive of your self or as hostile to it. Thus elements of the reality that you assume is different from your self are either pleasant or unpleasant, desirable or undesirable.
From the conceptions of self and something other than the self, craving and aversion naturally arise. Once we believe in the real existence of the self--in the real, independent existence of the soul or personality apart from all the objects we experience as belonging to the external world--we then want those things we think will benefit us and shun those things we think do not benefit us or may even be harmful to us. Because of the failure to understand that in this body and mind there is no independent or permanent self, attachment and aversion inevitably thrive. From the root of ignorance grows the tree of craving, attachment, greed, aversion, hatred, envy, jealousy, and the rest. This entire tree of emotional afflictions grows from the root of ignorance and bears the fruit of suffering. Ignorance is the underlying cause of suffering, while craving, attachment, aversion, and the rest are the secondary or immediate causes of suffering. Having identified the causes of suffering, we are now in a position to reduce and eventually eliminate suffering. Just as identifying the causes of a physical pain puts us in a position to eliminate that pain by means of eliminating its causes, so when we identify the causes of mental suffering, we are then able to reduce and eventually remove that suffering by removing its causes--ignorance, attachment, aversion, and so on. This brings us to the third of the Four Noble Truths, the truth of the end of suffering. When we begin to talk about the end of suffering, the first obstacle we must overcome is the doubt that exists in some minds about whether or not the end of suffering is really possible. Can suffering really be ended? Is a cure really possible? It is in this context that confidence, or faith, plays an important role. When we speak of confidence or faith in Buddhism, we do not mean blind acceptance of any particular doctrine or creed. Rather, we speak of faith in the sense of admitting the possibility of achieving the goal of the end of suffering. Unless we believe that a doctor can cure us of a physical pain, we will never seek his advice, never undergo the appropriate therapy, and may consequently die of an illness that could have been cured had we only had sufficient confidence to seek help. Similarly, confidence in the possibility of being cured of mental suffering is an indispensable prerequisite to effective practice. Here, too, you may say, "How can I believe in the possibility of nirvana--the complete end of suffering, supreme happiness--if I have never experienced it?" But as I remarked earlier in this chapter, none of us would be able to hear radio waves were it not for the development of radio receivers, or see microscopic life were it not for the invention of the microscope. Even now, most of us have never observed subatomic reality, yet we accept its existence because there are those among us with the special training and appropriate instruments to observe it. In this case, also, the possibility of attaining the complete end of suffering--namely, nirvana--ought not to be rejected simply because we have not experienced it ourselves. You may be familiar with the old story of the turtle and the fish. One day the turtle left the pond to spend a few hours on the shore. When he returned to the water, he told the fish of his experiences on dry land, but the fish would not believe him. The fish could not accept that dry land existed because it was totally unlike the reality with which he was familiar. How could there be a place where creatures walked about rather than swam, breathed air and not water, and so on? There are many historical examples of this tendency to reject information that does not tally with what we already are familiar with and believe. When Marco Polo returned to Italy from the East, he was imprisoned because his accounts of his travels did not corroborate what was then believed about the nature of the world. And when Copernicus advanced the theory that the sun does not circle the earth but vice versa, he was disbelieved and ridiculed. Hence we ought to be careful not to dismiss the possibility of a complete end of suffering (the attainment of nirvana) just because we have not experienced it ourselves. Once we accept that the end of suffering is possible, that a cure for our ills does exist, we can proceed with the steps necessary to achieve that cure. But unless and until we believe that a cure is possible, there is no question of successfully completing the needed therapy. Therefore, in order to realize progress on the path and--gradually, eventually--the complete end of suffering, we must at least have initial confidence in the bare possibility of achieving our goal. When we refer to the third noble truth, the truth of the cessation of suffering, we have in mind this goal of the Buddhist path. The Buddha once said that, just as the ocean, although vast, is of one taste, the taste of salt, so also his teaching, although many-faceted and vast as the ocean, is of one taste, the taste of nirvana. As you will see, there are many facets to the teaching of Buddhism--the Four Noble Truths, the three ways of practice, interdependent origination, the three characteristics, and so on--but all have one goal in view, and that is the cessation of suffering. This is the goal that gives all the various facets of teaching that we find in Buddhism their purpose and direction. The end of suffering is the goal of Buddhist practice, and yet the cessation of suffering is not exclusively transcendental or supra mundane. The point at issue here is an interesting one. If we consider, for instance, the question of the final goal of other faiths, such as the Semitic religions, Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, we find that there are two goals. One has its expression in this life and this world, in terms of building a kingdom of love, prosperity, and justice here and now; the other, higher goal consists of attaining heaven in the afterlife. In Buddhism, in contrast, the conception of the goal of practice is more comprehensive. The cessation of suffering of which the Buddha spoke is very broad in scope. When we speak of the end of suffering in Buddhism, we can mean (1) the end of suffering here and now, either temporarily or permanently; (2) happiness and good fortune in future lives; and/or (3) the experience of nirvana itself. Let us see whether this can be explained in greater detail. Suppose we happen to be in dire poverty, with insufficient food, shelter, clothing, medicine, education, and so forth. Such conditions constitute suffering just as surely as do birth, old age, sickness, death, separation from what we love, and so on. When we remedy the situation here and now, through greater prosperity and improved standards of living, our suffering is reduced. Buddhism teaches that the particular happiness or suffering that we experience in this life is the consequence of actions we have done in the past. In other words, if we find ourselves in fortunate conditions now, these advantages are the result of good actions done in the past. Similarly, those who find themselves in less fortunate conditions are suffering the consequences of unwholesome actions done in the past. What does Buddhism offer in the way of the end of suffering? Practicing Buddhism in the short term results in relative happiness in this life. This happiness can be of a material nature, in the sense of improved physical conditions; it can be of an inner nature, in the sense of greater peace of mind; or it can be both. All this can be achieved in this very life, here and now. This is one dimension of the end of suffering. Being of this life, it might be roughly equated with what Christianity calls "the kingdom of God on earth." In addition to this, the end of suffering in Buddhism means happiness and good fortune in the next life. This implies rebirth in fortunate circumstances, where we enjoy happiness, prosperity, health, well-being, and success, whether as a human being on this earth or as a celestial being in the heavens. We can liken this dimension of the end of suffering to the heaven of which the monotheistic religions speak. The only difference is that, in these religions, heaven once attained is permanent, whereas in Buddhism one's right to enjoy happiness has to be sustained and renewed. The goal offered by Buddhism does initially mean happiness and prosperity in this life and in future lives. But it is also more than that, and here it differs from the other religions in question. Not only does Buddhism promise happiness and prosperity in this life and the next, it also offers liberation--nirvana, or enlightenment. This is the total cessation of suffering. It is the ultimate goal of Buddhism and it is also attainable here and now. When we speak of nirvana we encounter certain problems of expression, because the exact nature of an experience cannot be communicated merely by speaking about it-- rather, it must be experienced directly. This is true of all experience, whether it be the experience of the taste of salt, sugar, or chocolate or of one's first swim in the ocean. All these experiences cannot be described exactly. To make this point, suppose I have just arrived in Southeast Asia and am told of a very popular local fruit called durian. I can question people who live in the area and who regularly eat and enjoy durian, but how can they ever explain to me precisely what it is like to eat it? It is simply not possible to describe accurately the taste of a durian to someone who has never eaten one. We might try comparison or, alternatively, negation; we might say, for instance, that durian has a creamy texture or that it is sweet and sour, and add that it is something like jack fruit and not at all like apple. But it remains impossible to communicate the exact nature of the experience of eating durian. We find ourselves confronted with a similar problem when we try to describe nirvana. The Buddha and Buddhist teachers through the ages used similar devices to describe nirvana--namely, comparison, and negation. The Buddha said that nirvana is supreme happiness, peace. He said that nirvana is immortal, uncreated, unformed; beyond earth, water, fire, and air, the sun and moon; unfathomable and immeasurable. Here we can see the various devices that Buddhism used to describe nirvana, such as the sort in which nirvana is likened to something we experience in this world. For example, occasionally we are lucky enough to experience great happiness accompanied by profound peace of mind, and might imagine that we are experiencing a faint glimpse of nirvana. But a jack fruit is not really like a durian, and nirvana is not really like anything in this world. It is not like any everyday experience; it is beyond all the forms and names we might use, and in terms of which we experience the world. The point is that, to understand what nirvana is really like, you must experience it for yourself, just as to know what durian is really like, you must eat it. No number of essays or poetic descriptions of durian will ever approach the experience of eating one. Similarly, we have to experience the end of suffering for ourselves, and the only way we can do this is by eliminating the causes of suffering--the afflictions of attachment, aversion, and ignorance. When we have eliminated such causes of suffering, then we will experience nirvana for ourselves. How, then, can we remove these causes of suffering? What are the means by which we can remove the afflictions that are the causes of suffering? This is the path taught by the Buddha--the Middle Way, the path of moderation. You will recall that the life of the Buddha before his enlightenment falls into two distinct periods. The time before his renunciation was one in which he enjoyed every possible luxury; for example, the accounts tell us that he had three palaces, one for each season, filled with sources of pleasure to an extent scarcely imaginable in his day. This period of enjoyment was followed by six years of extreme asceticism and self-mortification, when he did without the basic amenities of normal life, lived out in the open, wore the poorest garments, and fasted for long periods of time. In addition to such deprivations, he tormented his body through various practices like sleeping on beds of thorns and sitting in the midst of fires under the cruel heat of the midday sun. Having experienced the extremes of luxury and deprivation--and having reached the limits of these extremes--the Buddha saw their futility and thereby discovered the Middle Way, which avoids both the extreme of indulgence in pleasures of the senses and the extreme of self-mortification. It was through realizing the nature of the two extremes in his own life that the Buddha was able to arrive at the ideal of the Middle Way, the path that avoids both extremes. As we shall see in the chapters to come, the Middle Way is capable of many significant and profound interpretations, but most fundamentally it means moderation in one's approach to life, in one's attitude toward all things. We can use the example of the three strings of a lute to illustrate what we mean by this attitude. The Buddha had a disciple by the name of Sona who practiced meditation with such zeal that he encountered nothing but obstacles. Sona began to think of giving up his vows and abandoning the life of a monk. The Buddha, who understood his problem, said to him, "Sona, before you became a monk, you were a musician." Sona replied, "That is true." Then the Buddha said, "Being a musician, you should know which string of a lute produces a pleasant and harmonious sound: the string that is overly tight?" "No," replied Sona, "the overly tight string produces an unpleasant sound and is likely to break at any moment." "Then," said the Buddha, "is it the string that is slack?" "No," replied Sona, "the slack string does not produce a pleasant and harmonious sound. The string that produces a pleasant and harmonious sound is the string that is not too tight and not too loose." In this case, a life of indulgence and luxury may be said to be too loose, without discipline or application, whereas a life of self-mortification is too tight, too hard and tense, and likely to cause a breakdown of the mind and body, just as the overly tight string is likely to break at any time. More specifically, the path to the Buddhist goal of the cessation of suffering is like a medical prescription. When a competent doctor treats a patient for a serious illness, his or her prescription is not only physical but also psychological. If you are suffering, for instance, from a heart condition, you are not only given medication but are also asked to control your diet and avoid stressful situations. Here, too, if we look at the specific instructions for following the Buddhist path to the end of suffering, we see that they refer not only to one's body--actions and words--but also to one's thoughts. In other words, the Noble Eightfold Path, the path leading to the end of suffering, is a comprehensive path, an integrated therapy. It is designed to cure the disease of suffering through eliminating its causes, and it does so by means of treatment that applies not only to the body but to the mind as well. Right understanding is the first step on the Noble Eightfold Path. It is followed by right thought, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration. Why do we begin with right understanding? We do so because, to climb a mountain, we must have the summit clearly in view. In this sense, the first step on our journey depends on the last. We have to keep the goal clearly in view if we are to travel a path which can take us surely to that goal. In this way, right understanding gives direction and orientation to the other steps of the path. We can see here that the first two steps of the path, right understanding and right thought, refer to the mind. Through right understanding and right thought, ignorance, attachment, and aversion can be eliminated. But it is not enough to stop there because, to achieve right understanding and right thought, we also need to cultivate and purify our minds and bodies, and the way to do this is through the other six steps of the path. We purify our physical being so that it will be easier to purify our minds, and we purify and develop our minds so that it will be easier to attain right understanding. For the sake of convenience, the Noble Eightfold Path has been divided into the three ways of practice: (1) morality, or good conduct (2) mental development, and (3) wisdom. The eight steps of the path are divided into these three ways of practice as follows: (1) right speech, right action, and right livelihood belong to the way of morality; (2) right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration belong to the way of mental development; and (3) right understanding and right thought belong to the way of wisdom. Because it is necessary to purify our words and actions before we can purify our minds, we begin our progress along the path with morality, or good conduct. And because the Noble Eightfold Path is the means of reaching the goal of Buddhism, I will devote Chapters 5, 6, and 7 to these three ways of practice.
Chapter Five: Morality
In Chapter 4 we discussed the Four Noble Truths, our last topic being the fourth truth, which consists of the Noble Eightfold Path to the end of suffering. There we used the analogy of climbing a mountain, where the very first step depends on keeping the summit firmly in view, while the last step depends on being careful not to stumble at the outset. In other words, each part of the way depends on the other parts, and if any part of the path is not completed, the summit will not be gained. In the same way, in the case of the Noble Eightfold Path, all the steps are interrelated and depend on one another. We cannot do away with any one step. Nonetheless, as mentioned at the end of Chapter 4, the eight steps of the path have been divided into three ways of practice: (1) morality, (2) mental development, and (3) wisdom. Although, conceptually and structurally speaking, the first step of climbing a mountain depends on the last and the last depends on the first, practically speaking, we do have to climb the lowest slopes first. We may be attracted to the summit, but to get there we must cross the lower slopes first; only then can we proceed to the higher reaches. It is for this very practical reason that the steps of the Noble Eightfold Path have been divided into these three ways of practice. The first of these three ways of practice is morality. Morality forms the foundation of further progress on the path, of further personal development. It is said that, just as the earth is the basis of all animate and inanimate things, so morality is the basis of all positive qualities. When we look around us, we can see that everything rests on the earth, from buildings to bridges, animals to human beings. The earth supports all these things; in the same way, morality is the foundation of all qualities, all virtues, all attainments, ranging from the mundane to the supra-mundane, from success and good fortune to skill in meditation and, ultimately, wisdom and enlightenment. By means of this analogy, we can easily understand the importance of good conduct as a fundamental prerequisite for following the path and achieving results on it. Why do we take the trouble to stress the importance of good conduct as the foundation of progress on the path? The reason is that there is a tendency to think of good conduct as rather dull and boring. Meditation sounds more exciting and interesting, and philosophy and wisdom, too, have a kind of fascination about them. There is a dangerous temptation to neglect the importance of morality and want to go straight on to the more exciting parts of the path. But if we do not create this foundation of good conduct, we will not succeed in following the other steps of the path. It is necessary to understand how the rules of good conduct, or the precepts, are established in Buddhism, because there are different ways in which moral or ethical codes can be presented. If you look at the moral teachings of the major religions of the world, you will find that there is a surprising degree of agreement among them. If you look, for instance, at the moral teachings of Confucius or Lao Tzu, at those of the Buddha and of Hindu teachers, and at those of Jews, Christians, and Muslims, you will find that the basic rules of good conduct are almost identical. However, although the rules in most cases correspond almost exactly, the attitudes toward these codes and the ways they are presented, understood, and interpreted differ considerably from faith to faith. In general, there are two ways moral codes can be established--what we might call the authoritarian way and the democratic way. A good example of the former is God handing down the tablets of the Ten Commandments to Moses on the mountain. By contrast, in Buddhism we have what I think we can call a democratic way of establishing the basic rules of good conduct. You may wonder why I say this when, after all, we do have rules of morality laid down in scriptures. You might ask, "Isn't this similar to God handing down the commandments to Moses?" I think not, because if we look more closely at the meaning of Buddhist scriptures, we can see what lies behind the rules of good conduct-- namely, the principles of equality and reciprocity. The principle of equality holds that all living beings are the same in their basic orientation and outlook. In other words, all living beings want to be happy, to enjoy life, and to avoid suffering and death. This is just as true of other living beings as it is of us. The principle of equality is at the heart of the universality of the Buddha's vision. Understanding the principle of equality, we are encouraged to act in light of the additional awareness of the principle of reciprocity. Reciprocity means that, just as we would not like to be abused, robbed, injured, or killed, so all other living beings are unwilling to have such things happen to them. We can put this principle of reciprocity quite simply by saying, "Do not act toward others in a way you would not want them to act toward you." Once we are aware of these principles of equality and reciprocity, it is not hard to see how they form the foundation of the rules of good conduct in Buddhism. Let us now look specifically at the contents of morality in Buddhism. The way of practice of good conduct includes three parts of the Noble Eightfold Path: (a) right speech, (b) right action, and (c) right livelihood. Right speech constitutes an extremely important aspect of the path. We often underestimate the power of speech. As a consequence, we sometimes exercise very little control over our faculty of speech. This should not be so. We have all been very greatly hurt by someone's words at some time or other in our lives, and similarly, we have sometimes been greatly encouraged by the words someone has said. In the area of public life, we can clearly see how those who are able to communicate effectively are able to influence people tremendously, for better or for worse. Hitler, Churchill, Kennedy, and Martin Luther King were all accomplished speakers who were able to influence millions with their words. It is said that a harsh word can wound more deeply than a weapon, whereas a gentle word can change the heart and mind of even the most hardened criminal. Perhaps more than anything else, the faculty of speech differentiates humans from animals, so if we wish to create a society in which communication, cooperation, harmony, and well-being are goals to be attained, we must control, cultivate, and use our speech in helpful ways. All the rules of good conduct imply respect for values founded on an understanding of the principles of equality and reciprocity. In this context, right speech implies respect for truth and respect for the well-being of others. If we use our faculty of speech with these values in mind, we will be cultivating right speech, and through this we will achieve greater harmony in our relationships with others. Traditionally, we speak of four aspects of right speech--namely, the avoidance of (a) lying, (b) backbiting or slander, (c) harsh speech, and (d) idle talk. Some of you may already be familiar with the Buddha's instructions to his son Rahula about the importance of avoiding lying. He used the example of a vessel. The vessel had a little bit of water in the bottom, which he asked Rahula to look at, commenting, "The virtue and renunciation of those who are not ashamed of lying is small, like the small amount of water in the vessel." Next, the Buddha threw away the water in the vessel and said, "Those who are not ashamed of lying throw away their virtue, just as I have thrown away this water." Then the Buddha showed Rahula the empty vessel and said, "Just as empty is the virtue and renunciation of those who habitually tell lies." In this way the Buddha used the vessel to make the point that our practice of wholesome actions, our good conduct and character, are intimately affected by lying. If we are convinced that we can act in one way and speak in another, then we will not hesitate to act badly, because we will be confident that we will be able to cover up our harmful actions by lying. Lying therefore opens the door to all kinds of unwholesome acts. Slander is divisive. It creates quarrels between friends, and it creates pain and discord in society. Therefore, just as we would not like to have our friends turned against us by someone's slanderous talk, so we ought not to slander others. Similarly, we ought not to abuse others with harsh words. On the contrary, we should speak courteously to others, as we would like them to speak to us. When we come to idle talk, you may wonder why we cannot even engage in a little chitchat. But the prohibition against idle talk is not absolute or general. The kind of idle talk meant here is malicious gossip--that is, diverting ourselves and others by recounting people's faults and failings. In short, why not simply refrain from using the faculty of speech--which, as we have seen, is so powerful--for deception, creating divisions among others, abusing others, and idling away time at their expense? Instead, why not use it constructively--for communicating meaningfully, uniting people, encouraging understanding between friends and neighbors, and imparting helpful advice? The Buddha once said, "Pleasant speech is as sweet as honey; truthful speech is beautiful, like a flower; and wrong speech is unwholesome, like filth." So let us try, for our own good and the good of others, to cultivate right speech--namely, respect both for truth and for the welfare of others. The next part of the Noble Eightfold Path that falls into the category of morality is right action. Right action implies (a) respect for life, (b) respect for property, and (c) respect for personal relationships. You will recall what I said a moment ago about life being dear to all. It is said in the Dhammapada that all living beings tremble at the prospect of punishment, all fear death, and all love life. Hence, again keeping in mind the principles of equality and reciprocity, we ought not to kill living beings. You might be ready to accept this for human beings but demure with regard to some other living creatures. Here, however, some of the developments in recent years in the fields of science and technology ought to give the most skeptical freethinker food for thought. For instance, when we destroy a particular strain of insect, are we absolutely certain of accomplishing the greatest, long-term good of all, or do we, more often than not, instead contribute unwittingly to an imbalance in the ecosystem that will create even greater problems in the future? Respect for property means not to rob, steal from, or cheat others. This is important because those who take what is not given by force, stealth, or treachery are guilty of breaking this precept. The employer who does not pay his employee an honest wage, commensurate with the work performed, is guilty of taking what is not given; the employee who collects his salary but shirks his duties is equally guilty of lack of respect for property. Finally, respect for personal relationships means, first of all, to avoid sexual misconduct. Put most simply, it means avoiding adultery. Beyond that, it means avoiding sexual liaisons with people who are liable to be harmed by such relations. More generally, it means avoiding abuse of the senses. You can easily see how, if these guidelines are followed in a given community, such a community will be a better place in which to live. Right livelihood is the third step of the Noble Eightfold Path included in the way of practice of morality. Right livelihood is an extension of the rules of right action to our roles as breadwinners in society. We have just seen that, in the cases of right speech and right action, the underlying values are respect for truth, for the welfare of others, and for life, property, and personal relationships. Right livelihood means earning a living in a way that does not violate these basic moral values. Five kinds of livelihood are discouraged for Buddhists: trading in animals for slaughter, slaves, arms, poisons, and intoxicants (drugs and alcohol). These five are not recommended because they contribute to the ills of society and violate the values of respect for life and for the welfare of others. Dealing in animals for slaughter violates the value of respect for life. Dealing in slaves violates both respect for life and right action in personal relationships. Dealing in arms also violates the value of respect for life, while dealing in poisons or intoxicants also does not respect the lives and welfare of others. All these trades contribute to insecurity, discord, and suffering in the world. How does the practice of good conduct, or morality, work? We have said that, in the context of society at large, following the rules of good conduct creates a social environment characterized by harmony and peace. All our social goals can be achieved within the rules of good conduct based on the fundamental principles of equality and reciprocity. In addition, each person benefits from the practice of good conduct. In one of his discourses, the Buddha said that someone who has observed respect for life and so forth feels like a king, duly crowned and with his enemies subdued. Such a person feels at peace and at ease. The practice of morality creates an inner sense of tranquility, stability, security, and strength. Once you have created that inner peace, you can successfully follow the other steps of the path. You can cultivate and perfect the various aspects of mental development. You can then achieve wisdom--but only after you have created the necessary foundation of morality both within and without, both in yourself and in your relationships with others. Very briefly, these are the origin, contents, and goal of good conduct in Buddhism. There is just one more point I would like to make before concluding our review of Buddhist morality. When people consider the rules of good conduct, they often think, "How can we possibly follow them?" It seems to be terribly difficult to observe the precepts. For instance, even the prohibition against taking life, which is the most fundamental, appears very difficult to follow absolutely. Every day, as you clean the kitchen or putter about the garden, you are very likely to kill some insect that happens to get in your way. Also, it appears very difficult even to avoid lying in all cases. How are we to deal with this problem, which is a genuine one? The point is not whether we can observe all the rules of morality all the time. Rather, the point is that, if the rules of morality are well founded (i.e., if the principles of equality and reciprocity are worth believing in, and if the rules of morality are an appropriate way of enacting them), then it is our duty to follow these rules as much as we possibly can. This is not to say that we will be able to follow them absolutely, but only that we ought to do our best to follow the way of practice indicated by the rules of good conduct. If we want to live at peace with ourselves and others, then we ought to respect the life and welfare of others, their property, and so on. If a situation arises in which we find ourselves unable to apply a particular rule, that is not the fault of the rule, but simply an indication of the gap between our own practice of morality and the ideal practice of it. When, in ancient times, seafarers navigated their ships across the great oceans with the aid of the stars, they were not able to follow exactly the course indicated by those heavenly bodies. Yet the stars were their guides, and by following them, however approximately, mariners reached their destination. In the same way, when we follow the rules of good conduct, we do not pretend that we can observe all of them all the time. This is why the five precepts are called "training precepts"; it is also why we renew them again and again. What we have in the rules of good conduct is a framework through which we can try to live in accord with the two fundamental principles that illuminate the teaching of the Buddha: the principle of the equality of all living beings, and the principle of reciprocal respect.
Chapter Six: Mental Development
In this chapter we will look at the steps of the Noble Eightfold Path that fall into the group known as mental development. We have already noted the interdependent nature of the steps of the path, and in this context it is particularly important to understand the position of mental development. Placed as it is between good conduct and wisdom, mental development is relevant and important to both. You may ask why this should be so. Indeed, people sometimes think simply following the precepts of morality is sufficient for leading a good life. There are several answers to this question. First of all, in Buddhism there is more than just one goal of the religious life. Besides the goal of happiness and good fortune, there is also the goal of freedom. If you want to attain freedom, the only way is through wisdom, and wisdom can only be gained by means of mental purification, which is achieved through meditation. But even for the sound practice of good conduct, mental development is helpful if not necessary. Why? Because it is relatively easy to follow the rules of morality when things are going well. If you have a good job, live in a stable society, and earn enough to support yourself and your family, it is relatively easy to observe the moral precepts. But when you find yourself in situations of stress, instability, and uncertainty--when, for instance, you lose your job, find yourself in circumstances where lawlessness prevails, and so forth--then observance of the rules of good conduct comes under attack. In such circumstances, only mental development can safeguard your practice of good conduct. By strengthening the capacity of the mind and by attaining control over it, mental development serves as a guarantor of the observance of the precepts, and at the same time it assists in the real objective of seeing things as they really are. Mental development prepares the mind to achieve wisdom, which opens the door to freedom and enlightenment. Mental development therefore has a distinctly important role in the practice of the Noble Eightfold Path. Buddhism's emphasis on the importance of mental development is not surprising when we remember the importance of mind in the Buddhist conception of experience. Mind is the single most important factor in the practice of the Noble Eightfold Path. The Buddha himself put this very clearly when he said that the mind is the source of all things and that all things are created by the mind. Similarly, it has been said that the mind is the source of all virtues and other beneficial qualities. To obtain these virtues and qualities, you must discipline the mind. The mind is the key to changing the nature of experience. It is said that, if we had to cover the whole surface of the earth with some soft yet resilient substance to protect our feet from being hurt by sticks and stones, it would be a very difficult undertaking indeed. But merely by covering the soles of our feet with shoes, it is as if the whole surface of the earth were thus covered. In the same way, if we had to purify the whole universe of attachment, aversion, and ignorance, it would be very difficult indeed, but simply by purifying our own minds of these three afflictions, it is--for us--as if we had purified the whole world of them. That is why, in Buddhism, we focus on the mind as the key to changing the way we experience things and the way we relate to other people. The importance of the mind has also been recognized by scientists, psychologists, and even physicians. You may be aware of a number of visualization techniques now being used by therapists in the West. Psychiatrists and physicians are successfully employing methods very similar to well-known techniques of meditation to help patients overcome mental disorders, chronic pain, and diseases. This approach is now an accepted practice within the therapeutic community. We can all appreciate the influence the mind has on our own state of being by looking at our experience. We have all experienced happiness and know how it has a beneficial influence on our activities. When in such a state of mind, we are efficient, we respond appropriately, and we are able to function in the best possible way. On other occasions, when our minds are disturbed, depressed, or otherwise pervaded by harmful emotions, we find that we cannot even discharge simple tasks with care. In this way, we can all see how important the mind is in whatever sphere of our lives we care to consider. Three steps of the Noble Eightfold Path are included in mental development: (a) right effort, (b) right mindfulness, and (c) right concentration. Together, these three encourage and enable us to be self-reliant, attentive, and calm. In its most general sense, right effort means cultivating a confident attitude toward our undertakings. We can call right effort "enthusiasm," also. Right effort means taking up and pursuing our tasks with energy and a will to carry them through to the end. It is said that we ought to embark on our tasks in the same way an elephant enters a cool lake when afflicted by the heat of the midday sun. With this kind of effort, we can be successful in whatever we plan to do, whether in our studies, careers, or practice of the Dharma. In this sense, we might even say that right effort is the practical application of confidence. If we fail to put effort into our various projects, we cannot hope to succeed. But effort must be controlled, it must be balanced, and here we can recall the fundamental nature of the Middle Way and the example of the strings of a lute. Therefore, effort should never become too tense, too forced, and, conversely, it should not be allowed to become lax. This is what we mean by right effort: a controlled, sustained, and buoyant determination. Right effort is traditionally defined as fourfold: (1) the effort to prevent unwholesome thoughts from arising, (2) the effort to reject unwholesome thoughts once they have arisen, (3) the effort to cultivate wholesome thoughts, and (4) the effort to maintain wholesome thoughts that have arisen. This last is particularly important, because it often happens that, even when we have successfully cultivated some wholesome thought, it is short-lived. Between them, these four aspects of right effort focus the energy of the mind on our mental states. Their object is to reduce and eventually eliminate the unwholesome thoughts that occupy our minds, and to increase and establish firmly wholesome thoughts as a natural, integral characteristic of our mental state of being. Right mindfulness is the second step of the Noble Eightfold Path included in mental development, and is essential even in our ordinary, daily lives. Like the other teachings of the Buddha, this can best be illustrated with examples from everyday life itself. Indeed, if you look at the discourses of the Buddha, you will find that he consistently used examples that were familiar to his audience. Thus we might do well to look at the importance of mindfulness in our ordinary, mundane activities. Mindfulness is awareness, or attention, and as such it means avoiding a distracted or cloudy state of mind. There would be many fewer accidents at home and on the road if people were mindful. Whether you are driving a car or crossing a busy street, cooking dinner or doing your accounts, it is done more safely and effectively when you are attentive and mindful. The practice of mindfulness increases our efficiency and productivity; at the same time, it reduces the number of accidents that occur due to inattention and general lack of awareness. In the practice of the Dharma, mindfulness acts as a kind of rein upon our minds. If we consider for a moment how our minds normally behave, we will clearly understand the need for some kind of rein, or control, in this context. Suppose that, as you are reading this book, a gust of wind suddenly causes a window to slam shut somewhere in the house. I am sure most of you would immediately turn your attention to the sound and, at least for an instant, focus your mind on it. At least for that instant, your mind would be distracted from the page. Similarly, at almost every moment of our conscious lives, our minds are running after objects of the senses. Our minds are almost never concentrated or still. The objects of the senses that so captivate our attention may be sights, sounds, or even thoughts. As you drive down the street, your eyes and mind may be captured by an attractive advertisement; while walking along the street, catching the scent of a woman's perfume, your attention may be momentarily drawn to it, and perhaps to the wearer. All these objects of the senses are causes of distraction. Therefore, to manage the effects of such distractions on our minds, we need a guard that can keep our minds from becoming too entangled with such sense objects and with the unwholesome mental states they can sometimes arouse. This guard is mindfulness. The Buddha once told a story about two acrobats, master and apprentice. On one occasion, the master said to the apprentice, "You protect me, and I will protect you. In that way we will perform our tricks, come down safely, and earn money." But the apprentice said, "No, master, that will not do. I will protect myself, and you protect yourself." In the same way, each one of us has to guard his or her own mind. Some people may say this sounds rather selfish. What about teamwork? But I think such doubts result from a fundamental misunderstanding. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. A team is only as effective as its individual members. A team of distracted people, incapable of discharging their own responsibilities efficiently, will be an ineffective team. Similarly, to play an effective role in relation to our fellow beings, we must first guard our own minds. Suppose you have a fine car. You will be careful to park it in a place where it will not be damaged by another motorist. Even at work or at home, you will occasionally look out the window to make sure the car is all right. You will wash it often, and you will be certain to take it into the shop for servicing at regular intervals. You will probably insure it for a great deal of money. In the same way, each of us possesses one thing far more valuable than anything else he or she may have: a mind. Recognizing the value and importance of our minds, we ought to guard them. This is mindfulness. This aspect of mental development can be practiced anywhere and at any time. Some people think meditation is too difficult to practice. They may even be afraid to try it. Usually, such people are thinking of formal meditation, that is, concentrating the mind while sitting in meditation. But even if you are not ready to practice the techniques of mental concentration, certainly right effort and right mindfulness can and should be practiced by everyone. The first two steps of mental development are simply (1) cultivating a confident attitude of mind, being attentive and aware; and (2) watching your body and mind and knowing what you are doing at all times. As I write, at this very moment, with one corner of my mind I can keep an eye on my mind. What am I thinking of? Is my mind focused on the message I am trying to convey, or am I thinking about what happened this morning, or last week, or about what I will do tonight? I once heard a teacher remark that if you are making a cup of tea, then at that moment, Buddhism means making it well. The heart of mental development is focusing the mind precisely on what you are doing at this very moment, whether it be going to school, cleaning the house, or conversing with a friend. No matter what you are doing, you can practice mindfulness. The practice of mindfulness can be universally applied. Traditionally, the practice of mindfulness has played an important role in Buddhism. The Buddha called mindfulness the one way to achieve the end of suffering. The practice of mindfulness has also been elaborated with regard to four specific applications: (i) mindfulness of the body, (ii) mindfulness of feelings, (iii) mindfulness of consciousness, and (iv) mindfulness of objects of the mind. The four applications of mindfulness continue to play an important role in the practice of Buddhist meditation to this very day. But let us go on to consider the third step of mental development, namely, concentration, which is also sometimes called "tranquility," or simply meditation. You will recall that we traced the origins of meditation all the way back to the Indus Valley civilization. Meditation, or concentration, has nothing to do with frenzy or torpor, much less with a semiconscious or comatose state. Concentration is merely the practice of focusing the mind single-pointedly on an object. This object can be either physical or mental. When complete, single-pointed concentration on an object is achieved, the mind becomes totally absorbed in the object to the exclusion of all mental activity--distraction, torpor, agitation, and vacillation. This is the objective of the practice of right concentration: to concentrate the mind single-pointedly on an object. Most of us have had intimations of this kind of state of mind in our everyday lives. Occasionally, something approaching single-pointed-ness of mind occurs spontaneously, when listening to a piece of music or watching the sea or sky. At such times you may experience a moment when the mind remains single-pointedly absorbed in an object, sound, or form. Concentration can be practiced in a number of ways. The object of concentration may be visual (like a flame, an image, or a flower) or it may be an idea (such as love and compassion). When you practice concentration, you focus the mind repeatedly on the selected object. Gradually, this leads to the ability to rest the mind on the object without distraction. When this can be maintained for a protracted period of time, you have achieved single-pointed-ness of the mind. It is important to note that this aspect of mental development is best practiced with the guidance of an experienced teacher, because a number of technical factors can condition your success or failure. These include attitude, posture, and duration and occasion of practice. It is difficult to get all these factors right just by reading a book. Nonetheless, you need not become a monk to practice this kind of meditation. You need not live in a forest or abandon your daily activities. You can begin with relatively short periods of meditation, as short as ten or fifteen minutes a day. Proficiency in this kind of meditation has two principal benefits. First, it leads to mental and physical well-being, comfort, joy, calm, and tranquility. Second, it turns the mind into an instrument capable of seeing things as they really are. Thus it prepares the mind to attain wisdom. The gradual development of the ability to see things as they really are through the practice of meditation has been likened to the development of special instruments by means of which we can now see subatomic reality and the like. In the same way, if we do not develop the potential of our minds through the cultivation of right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration, our understanding of the real state of things will remain at best intellectual knowledge. To turn our understanding of the Four Noble Truths from mere book knowledge into direct experience, we have to achieve single- pointed-ness of the mind. It is at this point that mental development is ready to turn its attention to wisdom. Now we can clearly see the particular role of meditation in Buddhism. I touched on this briefly when I spoke about the Buddha's decision to leave the two teachers of meditation, Alara Kalama and Uddaka Ramaputta, and of his combination of concentration and wisdom on the night of his enlightenment. Here, too, single-pointed-ness of mind by itself is not enough. It is like sharpening a pencil before proceeding to write, or sharpening an ax that we will use to cut off the trunk of attachment, aversion, and ignorance. When we have achieved single-pointed-ness of the mind, we are then ready to join concentration with wisdom in order to gain enlightenment.
Chapter Seven: Wisdom
With this chapter we will complete our survey of the steps of the Noble Eightfold Path. In Chapters 5 and 6 we looked at the first two groups, or ways, of practice, those of good conduct and mental development. Here we will look at the third way of practice, which is wisdom. At this point we find ourselves faced with an apparent paradox: in the list of eight steps of the path, right understanding and right thought occur first, yet in the context of the three ways of practice, the wisdom group comes last. Why should this be? Earlier, we used the analogy of mountain-climbing to help explain the relationships among the steps of the path. When you set out to climb a mountain, you must have the summit in view. It is the sight of the summit that imparts the general direction to one's steps. For this reason, even at the very beginning of a climb, you must keep your eyes on the summit. Therefore, right understanding is listed at the very beginning of the steps of the path. Yet in practical terms, you have to climb the lower slopes and scale the intermediate reaches before you can gain the summit, which is the attainment of wisdom. In practical terms, therefore, wisdom comes only at the end of your practice of the path. Wisdom is described as the understanding of the Four Noble Truths, the understanding of interdependent origination, and the like. What we mean when we say this is simply that the attainment of wisdom is the transformation of these doctrinal items from mere objects of intellectual knowledge into real, personal experience. In other words, we want to change our knowledge of the Four Noble Truths and the like from mere book learning into actual, living truth. This goal is accomplished first through the cultivation of good conduct, and then specially through the cultivation of mental development. Anyone can read in a book about the meaning of the Four Noble Truths, interdependent origination, and so forth, but this does not mean he or she has attained wisdom. The Buddha himself said that it was through failing to understand the Four Noble Truths and interdependent origination that we have all gone on in this cycle of birth and death for so long. Obviously, when he said this, he meant something deeper than simple failure to be acquainted intellectually with these items of doctrine. The term "understanding" must thus be taken in the sense of right understanding, that is to say, direct and immediate understanding. It can be likened to a simple act of perception, like seeing a patch of blue color. Perhaps this is why the language of seeing is so often used to describe the attainment of wisdom. We speak of wisdom in terms of "seeing the truth" or "seeing things as they really are" because the attainment of wisdom is not an intellectual or academic exercise: it is und