The Foundation of All Good Qualities
by Lama Tsong Khapa

The kind and venerable spiritual master is the foundation of all good qualities. Seeing that dependence on him or her is the root of the path, may I rely on him or her with great respect and continuous effort - inspire me thus!
A human life with leisure is obtained this once. Understanding that it has great value and is hard to find, may I produce unceasingly the mind that takes hold of its essence day and night - inspire me thus!
The fluctuation of our body and life is like a bubble of water; remember death, for we perish so quickly. After death, the effects of black and white karma pursue us as a shadow follows a body. Finding certainty in this, may I always be careful to abandon even the slightest negative action and to complete the accumulation of virtue - inspire me thus!
There is no satisfaction in enjoying worldly pleasures. They are the door to all misery. Having realized that the fault of samsaric perfections is that they cannot be trusted, may I be strongly intent on the bliss of liberation - inspire me thus!
That pure thought (to attain liberation) produces great conscientiousness, mindfulness and awareness. May I make the essential practice keeping the vows of individual liberation(1), the root of the doctrine - inspire me thus!
Having seen that all beings, my kind mothers, have fallen like myself into the ocean of cyclic existence, may I train in the supreme altruistic intention, assuming the obligation to free all migrating beings - inspire me thus!
Generating the altruistic intention alone, without cultivation of the three ethical practices(2), does not lead to enlightenment. Having realized this, may I practice with intense effort the vows of the conquerors and their spiritual children - inspire me thus!
By quieting distraction to false objects, and analyzing the meaning of reality(3), may I quickly generate within my mind stream the path uniting calm abiding and special insight(4) - inspire me thus!
When, trained in the common path(5), I am a suitable vessel, let me enter with ease the great gateway of the fortunate ones, the Vajrayana(6), the highest of all vehicles - inspire me thus!
The basis of achieving the two powerful attainments is the pure vows and commitments that I have pledged. Having found true understanding of this, may I keep them even at the cost of my life - inspire me thus!
Having realized the significance of the two stages(7), which are the essence of the tantric path, may I steadfastly practice without laziness the four sessions of yoga, and realize what the holy beings have taught - inspire me thus!
May the spiritual teachers who lead me on the sacred path and all spiritual friends who practice it have long life. May I quickly and completely pacify all outer and inner hindrances - grant such inspiration, I pray!
In all my rebirths may I never be separated from perfect spiritual masters, and enjoy the magnificent Dharma. Completing all qualities of the stages and paths, may I quickly achieve the stage of Vajradhara(8).

Notes:
(1) The vows of individual libration include the five lay precepts, the vows of novice and fully-ordained monks and nuns, and the one-day vows.
(2) The three moral practices are restraining from negative actions, accumulating virtuous ones, and working for the benefit of sentient beings.
(3) Objects are false in that their way of appearance and way of existence do not accord, i.e. although objects appear to be inherently existent, in fact they are not; they are empty of inherent existence.
(4) Calm abiding is samatha, and special insight is vipassana.
(5) The common path is the general path of the sutrayana (determination to be free, dedicated heart, wisdom realizing emptiness) and the path of the three lower tantras.
(6)Vajrayana (the tantric path) is a branch of the Mahayana and contains special techniques for transforming one's ordinary body, speech and mind into the body, speech and mind of a Buddha.
(7) The two stages are the generation stage and the completion stage of the highest class of tantra.
(8) Vajradhara is the form that Shakyamuni Buddha appeared in when he taught the tantras.

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The Tree of Enlightenment
An Introduction to the Major Traditions of Buddhism
by Peter Della Santina
Chico Dharma Study Group
26 Kirk Way, Chico, CA. 95928 U.S.A.

Part One

The Fundamentals of Buddhism

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 Kalamas contained in the Kesaputtiya Sutta.. The Kalamas
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 Kalamas 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
tranquillity--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 Kalamas, 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 tranquillity
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 undeciphered 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 Sariputta,
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 Sariputta 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 Tathagata has told, and also their cessation; thus
teaches the great ascetic." The accounts report that Sariputta 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 supramundane, 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 tranquillity, 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 "tranquillity," 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-pointedness 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-pointedness 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 tranquillity. Second, it turns the mind
into an instrument capable of seeing things as they