Asian Religions, page 18
These two points should dampen our enthusiasm for trying to prove that the Buddha actually lived and taught. Still, a rich tradition has been passed down that describes the life of the Buddha in highly mythicized terms. Thinking of “myth” as a narrative with symbolic importance and generalizable teachings, the religious myth of the Buddha is much more important to Buddhists than any effort to uncover an “accurate” history.
The Mythical Buddha
Although at the time of his birth the Buddha declared that this would be the last of his rebirths (he predicted his enlightenment immediately upon emerging from his mother's womb), he had enjoyed many prior lifetimes. Stories of these prior rebirths expanded during the centuries and were eventually assembled in collections called Jātaka (Lives), numbering well over 500. The Buddha appeared in diverse forms – as a human being in every station of life, from king to pauper; as a spirit; and as an animal of various kinds, large or small. All of these stories illustrate the two salient characteristics of one who would one day become fully enlightened: his wisdom and his compassion. Reborn as a jackal, the Buddha saves the life of a lion; reborn as a deer, the Buddha persuades a hunter to give up hunting; reborn as a monkey, the Buddha cares for his blind mother; reborn as a prince, the Buddha feeds a starving tigress and her cubs with his own flesh; reborn as a merchant, he pays a fair price for a gold plate that its seller thought was made of clay; and so on. Today these stories are told to children as moral fables. They demonstrate that every being is potentially a Buddha, which he or she becomes by performing acts of kindness and justice.
In his latest rebirth, the Buddha was said to have been born to a king. He was thus a Khatriya, a member of the governing or warrior caste. He was named Siddhārtha Gautama. The tradition often refers to the Buddha as Śākyamuni (his father was the leader of the Śākya clan, and Siddhārtha became known as the “sage of the Śākyas”); thus Śākyamuni, Siddhārtha, or Gautama all are names referring to the Buddha. When Siddhartha was born, his father noticed that the infant had strange physical features; these are known as the “32 major marks and 80 minor marks of the Buddha” and included elongated earlobes, webbed fingers, a large skull, a “male organ like that of an elephant or royal stallion,” curly hair, and a wheel-shaped design on his palms and on the soles of his feet (see Figure 19.1).
Figure 19.1 Hand of the Buddha. © Jun Mu / Shutterstock.
Seeing these features, the king knew that his son was destined for greatness, as these were the mythical characteristics of a “great being” (a mahāsattva). But when the king consulted his seers, they predicted that the marks indicated one of two possible outcomes: either the prince would become the greatest conqueror the world has ever known (a Cakravartin, “wheel-turner” – leading chariots into battle), or he would become the greatest renunciant the world has ever known (a sannyasin – one who renounces all material needs and desires). Hoping that the prince would become a military leader, the king did everything in his power to encourage his son to embrace the world, to cultivate his desires and to see that they were fulfilled. He gave him three palaces: a warm palace for the winter months, a cool palace for the summer months, and a dry palace for the monsoon season. He trained him in martial skills, from wrestling to archery and horseback-riding. He surrounded him with dancing girls, one of whom he chose to be Siddhartha's wife. When the prince stepped out, the king swept the parks of any offensive scenes, such as beggars or old folks, so that his son would see only beauty, youth, and vitality wherever he looked.
It is often argued that religion arises out of hardship, as a response to sickness, death, poverty, and want. Especially in the case of the Asian subcontinent, the claim is made that conditions are so bad there that people naturally turn to religion as an escape from this world of suffering. What is remarkable about the Buddha is that he actually experienced quite the opposite: a life of luxury, comfort, and sexual fulfillment. And yet, eventually, he taught that these things are fleeting and unsatisfying and that the world is indeed replete with suffering, even in the most ideal circumstances. We will turn to these teachings in Chapter 20.
Destined as Siddhartha was to become enlightened, the course of his life up to this point was hardly conducive to religious awakening. And so the gods (actually minor spirits called devas, whose function is simply to ensure that events unfold as they should) fashioned four encounters during the prince's excursions from his father's palace. These are called the Four Passing Sights – “passing” in the sense that they were transient, or even perhaps projections of the future Buddha's growing awareness of the true nature of the world.
On the first excursion he came upon an old man, supported by a cane, his back bent with age, his eyes failing, his muscles sagging and weak. “Does this follow inevitably from youth?” the future Buddha asked.
On the second excursion he came upon a sick man, with suppurating sores and labored breath, unable to stand or walk, wracked with pain and distress. “Must it be that birth leads to this?” the prince lamented.
On the third excursion he came upon a corpse covered with flies and maggots, skin grey and peeling, a ghostly look in his eyes. “Woe to birth that it must lead to death!” cried Siddhartha.
On the fourth excursion he came upon a sannyasin, his vision clear and posture straight, a look of calm and contentment on his face. The thought of renouncing the world of pleasures and pains was immensely pleasing to the future Buddha.
Having learned from these experiences that there is suffering and that there is a way out of it, the prince decided to leave his sheltered life. Again aided by the devas, who gently cushioned the hooves of his horse so that they would not clatter on the cobblestones and awaken the royal family, Siddhartha left his father's palace. This is described in the tradition as the pravrajya (the Great Going Forth), and the same term is used today of a young man or woman when they become initiates in a Buddhist monastery. Going out into homelessness, the prince subjected himself to the traditional practices of yogic renunciation, including self-deprivation, fasting, and exposure to the sun and rain. Ultimately these practices merely enfeebled him and, after receiving sustenance in the form of the aroma of flowers and the dew of grass, he became strong enough to pursue his spiritual reflections with a healthy body. The path of moderation is known in the tradition as the “middle way” between the two extremes of hedonism (indulgence in pleasure) and asceticism (rejection of pleasure), and it is a fundamental principle of Buddhist practice: physical health is a basic prerequisite for mental and spiritual health.
In this more productive state of mind and body, the Buddha contemplated the true nature of life in all its aspects, beneath a banyan tree, and he attained enlightenment – the substance of which will be discussed in the next chapter.
The Buddha shared what he had learned in a teaching career that spanned some 30 years. He continued to practice homelessness, travelling from place to place and never spending more than one night under the same tree. He was extraordinarily egalitarian in his acceptance of followers, and the crowds of listeners became greater and greater. He collected disciples as well as patronage from the land-holding class, which indicates that early Buddhism may have appealed primarily to members of the Vaiśya caste. These land-owners provided temporary resting places called vihāras for the Buddha and his disciples. Though the name refers to temporary quarters or “rain retreats,” Buddhist monasteries retained this name even after becoming permanent structures in the first centuries of Buddhist history.
At a time said to have been determined by the Buddha himself, he lay down in peaceful repose (Figure 19.2) and gave his last teaching. Preparing his followers for his departure, he cautioned them against relying upon any external authority, even that of the Buddha himself: “Do not take on faith anything taught to you by your parents, by your teachers, by your priests, or by your tradition; believe only what you have experienced for yourself to be true.”1 This is one of the most fundamental principles of Buddhist teaching and practice.
Figure 19.2 Reclining Buddha. Wat Than wall mural. Phnom Penh, Cambodia. © Philippe Lissac / Corbis.
The Life of the Buddha as a Model for Spiritual Self-Cultivation
What do Buddhists take from this story?
Though the details of the Buddha's life are undeniably mythicized, it is important to Buddhists that there was once a man who lived in this world and attained enlightenment; moreover, we are fortunate to have been born in a time when his teachings can be known.
In his every appearance in the world, the Buddha taught timeless, universal values of kindness, compassion, wisdom, and justice.
Offered everything that a man could want, the Buddha chose material simplicity and a religious life, and he invited us to do the same.
Though suffering exists – in sickness, old age, and death, and even in the midst of pleasure – it can be overcome through religious practice.
The best way to live is in moderation, between the extremes of self-indulgence and self-denial.
The most effective way to practice spiritual self-cultivation is within a community of like-minded persons dedicated to the same goal.
The only true knowledge comes from one's own experience, and religious practice is more meaningful and fruitful than dogma or belief.
Death is not to be feared, and it can be accepted calmly and peacefully; ultimately all things pass away.
Note
1 Adapted from the Kālāma Sutta. For a complete translation, see Kalama Sutta: To the Kalamas translated from the Pali by Thanissaro Bhikkhu. At http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/an/an03/an03.065.than.html (accessed July 25, 2013).
20
Suffering and Its Causes
The core of Buddhist teachings is expressed in the Four Noble Truths:
1 All of existence is suffering (dukha).
2 The cause of dukha is desire (tahā).
3 To end dukha, eliminate tahā.
4 To end tahā, follow the Eightfold Path.
The Four Noble Truths are purported to have been spoken by the Buddha in his first sermon in a deer park near Benares, India. In commemoration of this sermon, Tibetan temple roof ornaments feature images of deer flanking the symbol of the dharmacakra (“wheel of the dharma”), and the picturesque eighth-century Tōdaiji Temple in Nara in Japan allows deer to roam freely on the temple grounds (see Figure 20.1).
Figure 20.1 Feeding deer at Tōdaiji Temple, Nara, Japan. Photo by the author.
The sermon in which the Buddha expounded the Four Noble Truths is recounted in a sūtra entitled Dharmacakra-pravartana sūtra (The Sūtra Setting in Motion the Wheel of the Dharma). Recall that Śākyamuni's father hoped that his son would become a cakravartin, a great military leader. Instead his wheel was that of the dharma, and the dharmacakra is the primary symbol of the Buddhist tradition. The Buddha set forth his teachings almost as a doctor would prescribe treatment for an illness. Indeed the Buddha is known in the tradition as “the Great Physician,” and his Four Noble Truths can be read as diagnosis (“there is dukha”), analysis (“its cause is tahā”), description of a healthy state (“there is relief from dukha by eliminating tahā”), and prescription (“follow the Eightfold Path through ethical practice and meditation”). In this chapter we will examine the first two of the Four Noble Truths, with an analysis of dukha and tahā; Chapter 21 explores ethical means for overcoming suffering, and Chapter 22 examines the goal of enlightenment as a fruit of meditation.
Dukha
Just as the Christian tradition predicates the promise of salvation upon the prior condition of sin, Buddhist practice begins by calling attention to suffering. Buddhism teaches that suffering is endemic: it is everywhere and in every experience. To paraphrase the Buddha, life is suffering, death is suffering, youth is suffering, old age is suffering, health is suffering, disease is suffering, pleasure is suffering, pain is suffering. Many of my students, when first confronted with the bald statement “Life is suffering,” cannot help but think of Buddhism as negative and pessimistic. But this would be true only if the tradition taught not only that there is suffering, but that suffering is inevitable and cannot be overcome, that the patient is “incurable.” In other words, Buddhism would be a pessimistic religion if it stopped at the first of the Four Noble Truths. Clearly this is not the case. Nevertheless, the teaching begins with the dramatic, forceful, bold, and even counterintuitive statement that life is suffering, and if the “patient” refuses to accept this diagnosis – if we live in denial of the ubiquity of suffering – then Buddhism has nothing to teach us.
What is meant by dukha? “Suffering” is the most common translation, but this English word may draw too much attention to physical pain and discomfort. Dukha is both a physical and an emotional state: it certainly includes physical pain and suffering, but also anxiety, disappointment, despair, sadness, imbalance, and worry. One good translation of the Dharmacakra-pravartana sūtra renders dukha as “stress.”1 So the first Noble Truth states: “Life is stressful.”
In the sūtra, the Buddha provides examples of what he means by dukha:
the trauma of birth;
illness and physical decline;
death and the fear of death;
being tied to what one hates;
being separated from what one loves.
Some of these things are self-evident, and we have all experienced them to greater or lesser extent. They are certainly painful. At the same time they seem to be simply episodes in the course of life. They happen, but then they are gone. Why would the tradition conclude from these experiences that life itself is suffering?
Moreover, aren't some of these experiences pleasurable as well? Certainly we could cite birth in particular, which – if all goes well – many parents would describe as the happiest event of their lives. Elsewhere the Buddha explains: the ubiquity of suffering does not mean that pleasure does not exist. It does not mean that there is no happiness in life. However, even the happiest and most pleasurable experiences in life are tinged with suffering. The birth of a healthy child is certainly a happy occasion, but it is hardly “pleasurable”: neither for the mother nor for the newborn infant, whose cries of anguish are simply met with cold air, pricks, probes, and laughter! The pain of childbirth for the mother is especially emphasized in Buddhism, and one of the major stages of a Chinese or Japanese funeral for a mother is a ritual expression of gratitude, thanking her for suffering so that her children could have life.
In fact every kind of pleasure involves suffering. Like most people, I derive a significant amount of pleasure from money – that is, from things that money can buy: my air-conditioned home, my car, food (especially when it is prepared by others in a nice restaurant), fashionable clothes, travel, and recreation. But all of these pleasures come at a cost: not only to me (over-indulgence, inevitable disappointments, wishing for an even better car or a more luxurious trip), but, more importantly, to others. The world simply cannot sustain the kind of lifestyle that I enjoy. Of course, there are many people who are much more affluent than a university professor – and many more who are much less affluent. For those less well off, a lot of my pleasure creates direct or indirect hardships: it's not “fun” to make my shirts, butcher the animals I eat, power the plants for my central heat and air, or stand at a sales counter from morning till night. One could argue that my consumption patterns contribute to a global economy that benefits laborers and the service industry; they are earning a wage, but whatever benefit those workers may gain, they are also suffering for my pleasure.
Even seemingly non-harmful activities cause others to suffer. I derive great pleasure and satisfaction from my job as a professor and I believe that it does the world good to have broadly educated citizens, with a deeper appreciation for Asian cultures. I'm proud of my work and I try to do it well. But I also know that there are others, perhaps many others, who could fill my job ably and would love to have it. At least indirectly, my pleasure as a teacher is coming at their expense.
When my father died, my wife graciously insisted that my mother, who was diabetic, come live with us. She did so for over 12 years and was fortunate to see my two children grow up. As good as my wife was, as good a son as you might say I was, there was something my mother used to say that I will always remember. Every day after I visited her in her room, whether I stayed with her for five minutes or for an hour, she would say the same thing: “Leaving so soon?” No matter how much time I spent with her, she wished for more. Of course, we could say that her expectations were unreasonable, that she should have been satisfied with our occasional visits, but there is no doubt that she felt lonely when her family was not with her. The ordinary activities of our busy lives caused her to suffer.
Such examples could be multiplied infinitely. Yes, pleasure exists and, on balance, life may be more pleasurable than painful, but the fact is that suffering is found in every aspect of life.
Acknowledging this fact is one of the first steps, and arguably the most important one, in following the way of the Buddha. If I am aware of suffering and of the unintended consequences of my own enjoyment of life, I will naturally want to lessen that suffering, and I will begin to take concrete steps to alleviate suffering when I can.
Tahā
The second Noble Truth states that the cause of dukha is tahā. The word tahā is etymologically related to “thirst” or “grasping” and is usually translated as “desire” or “attachment,” that is, “desire for things that I do not have” and “attachment to things that I do.” I grasp the things that I want to keep and I grasp for things that I want to attain. More often than not, my grasping is met with frustration. In other words, a lot of suffering arises from unrealistic expectations. The things I am attached to decay and disappear; they change in unexpected ways; or they fail to satisfy me fully. The things I wish I could have fill me with longing, disappointment, and self-doubt: my wishes are never completely fulfilled, and I am disappointed with myself for not attaining my dreams. Moreover, my desires have negative consequences for others. They make me think about myself above others, they occupy my attention, and they are competitive.The Buddhist tradition identifies five objects of desire and attachment:
