by Christopher Kakuyo Sensei

This Dharma talks was given some years ago and has been dusted off and presented again for your considerations- Originally delivered in 2019 in Millcreek Ut

 

Last week, we spoke about dāna, or the practice of generosity, from the receiving end. Today, we’re going to talk about it from the giving end.

We talked last week about the common idea that Buddhism is all about meditation and kindness, and how that is only part of the picture. In the Itivuttaka, the Buddha describes three kinds of meritorious action: generosity, ethical conduct, and meditation.

Generosity has been at the foundation of Buddhism since the time of the Buddha. It is a primary Buddhist virtue, which I find very interesting.

Many of you come from other traditions. Take a moment to think about the primary virtue of your previous tradition. Mine was sexual purity.

I came across an interesting passage in Tricycle magazine that describes generosity as a revolutionary practice. Giving freely, without expecting something in return, challenges not only our selfishness and possessiveness but also the transactional nature of our society.

What struck me was the idea that the entry point to Buddhist practice isn’t necessarily sitting in meditation but the practice of generous giving and receiving.

When the Buddha taught the lay follower Upāli the gradual path, his first instruction was on generosity.

I also found this from the Zen tradition:

A monk once asked the Chinese Zen master Hui-hai, “What is the gate of Zen practice?” Hui-hai answered, “Complete giving.”

And in the Pure Land Sutras, there’s a wonderful image of flowers raining down from the sky. The people gather these flowers and offer them to Buddhas in countless other Buddha lands.

I love this imagery. It’s a cycle of giving and receiving, the flowers representing the unfolding of awakening and the gift of the teaching, then returned as offerings. Generosity and gratitude working together in a cycle of ever-expanding awakening.

In Pali, the word cāga means generosity, relinquishment, or letting go. The word dāna refers more specifically to giving or what is given.

So generosity is the practice of letting go, and we put that practice into action through what we give.

Why Do We Give?

The Buddha described eight motivations for giving. Some arise from fear, obligation, a desire for recognition, or the hope of getting something in return. Others come from a spontaneous desire to give, a sense that giving is good, or an understanding that generosity ennobles the mind.

What matters isn’t simply what we give but why we give it.

I appreciate how Gyomay Kubose describes this in The Center Within. He writes about the Buddhist teaching of going through life with empty hands.

He explains that empty-handedness doesn’t mean having nothing to give. We might bring flowers to a friend, but what matters is the condition of our mind. We give because we want to, without expecting thanks, recognition, or repayment.

That’s what it means to give empty-handed.

The Buddha taught that we give without attaching ourselves to the gift, the recipient, or the reward. We practice giving to release greed and self-clinging.

To give without expectation of reward: What does that mean to you? Why is it so challenging?

The practice of generosity is the practice of letting go, of focusing on others and turning away from the primacy of the small self and our identification with it.

I think understanding this expands our definition of generosity.

What Can We Give?

In traditional Buddhism, monks depended entirely on offerings from laypeople. Material support was necessary for them to survive.

That’s one thing we can give, and many of you provide that support for our fellowship. We are lay-led, and no one is paid to share the Dharma.

We can also give material support to those affected by earthquakes, fires, and other hardships.

I also think that when we give, it should hurt a little. Otherwise, we’re simply giving our excess. That’s easy practice.

But generosity goes well beyond material things.

The Buddha taught that material support is important, but the most important things we can share are the teachings and our practice.

We tend to think of dāna as something transactional. With economics being a primary metaphor for our Western lives, that’s understandable. We often measure the value of a gift in dollars or by its practical usefulness.

But the practice asks us to give so much more.

It’s not so much about columns on a spreadsheet as it is about awareness, opening up, and acknowledging our wealth beyond material things.

The Buddhist teacher Alexander Berzin makes an interesting point: we don’t need to be wealthy to practice generosity.

He suggests that even when we see a beautiful sunset, we can practice generosity by wishing that others could enjoy it too. We can share our appreciation of a landscape, good weather, or a wonderful meal.

And when we have something that could genuinely help someone, we don’t just imagine giving it. We actually give it.

This really resonates with me.

We can give so many things: letting someone into our lane in traffic, putting our shopping cart back, offering an open-hearted smile.

We can give patience, understanding, and kindness.

There is no limit to the gifts we can give one another.

As you know, compassionate listening is a primary practice in our fellowship, and it’s also a practice of generosity.

What greater gift can we give another human being than our wholehearted, compassionate attention?

And what an amazing gift it is to be heard!

Why does being truly heard feel like a gift?

I’d like to share a story from Marianne Elliott.

She describes sitting with a friend who was going through a painful experience. As she listened, her mind immediately began searching for ways to help, trying to figure out what she could do to make things better.

But she noticed what was happening and brought her attention back to her friend.

Instead of assuming she knew what her friend needed, she simply asked: “What do you need from me?”

The answer was something she never would have guessed.

I think that’s a wonderful example of generosity. Sometimes the greatest gift we can offer isn’t advice, a solution, or even encouragement.

It’s simply our presence and a willingness to listen.

What do you need from me?

That question itself is a great gift, and receiving the answer can be transformative.

Of course, being authentic and vulnerable is hard for most of us. We tend to hide our weaknesses, believing we should be able to manage everything ourselves.

I love this line attributed to Rumi: “Give your weakness to one who helps.”

Sharing the gift of our weakness. What a powerful teaching about our ultimate and absolute interdependence.

We generally think of generosity as giving from our strengths, from what we have in abundance. But what about giving someone the opportunity to help us? To allow ourselves to be vulnerable?

Rumi reminds us that we need more help than we know.

And perhaps that’s another way generosity brings us together. We give, we receive, and the distinction between the two becomes less important.

Ultimately, the perfection of generosity is an invitation to practice and open ourselves to the world, and to the grace and abundance that surround us.

It connects us to the world around us and to our true selves.

The practice is not, and never has been, simply about what is given.

As Walt Whitman wrote: “When I give, I give myself.”

Everything a Buddha, every action a Buddha offering.

Sharon Salzberg reminds us that generosity grows from an inner sense of abundance, the recognition that we have enough to share.

And perhaps what we discover through the practice is that we have much more to give than we ever imagined.

May we cultivate a life of generosity and, in the words of Mary Oliver:

“…practice giving until the giving feels like receiving.”

 

 

 

 

 

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