This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video above. It likely contains inaccuracies, especially with speaker attribution if there are multiple speakers.

Spurred to Practice

Good evening, and a really warm welcome to everybody. It's so nice to share the Dharma. Even though you're not here in the room with me, I do feel connected. I recognize some of the names in the chat, and imagining sitting with you all is really lovely.

Today I want to talk a little bit about the Buddha before he was awakened. Technically, before awakening, he was called a Bodhisattva, a "Buddha-to-be," or by his given name, Gotama. Some people pronounce it Gautama; in Pali, we would say Gotama. There is a passage that talks about something that inspired him to practice, something that spurred him on. It's not the usual Heavenly Messengers^[1] that we often think about as what caused the Bodhisattva to leave his opulent lifestyle to become a mendicant and find a way towards awakening. It was something else. Surprisingly, fear played a role in spurring him to practice.

There are some verses the Buddha speaks in response to what is happening in his contemporary time, telling a story of what happened before his awakening. According to the commentaries—which were composed many hundreds, maybe even a thousand years after the time of the Buddha—there were two groups of people who were quarreling and fighting. One group was the Shakya clan. Sometimes the Buddha is called Shakyamuni, which means "sage of the Shakyas." The people of the Shakya clan were quarreling with people from the Koliyan^[2] clan.

Both groups had made irrigation channels on the Rohini River, which formed the border between the regions where these two different groups lived. One year, there was very little water—perhaps a drought. They were fighting over who could get the water for the irrigation channels that each group had created. They were disputing, fighting, and insulting each other. It escalated and escalated until the two armies met on the opposite banks of the river.

When the Buddha hears about this—that his own people are fighting—he goes and gives a talk. He describes how seeing people quarrel before he was awakened served as an impetus, a spur for his own awakening. This is captured in verses in a poem. I modified the verse just a little bit to make it a little more cohesive for what we're doing here. I will read the whole excerpt, and then we'll unpack it a little bit and discuss it. It starts this way:

Just look at people in their quarrels. I will speak of my dismay and the way that I was shaken. Seeing people thrashing about like fish in little water, seeing them in conflict with each other, I became afraid. I felt discontent at seeing only conflict to the very end. Then I saw an arrow here, hard to see, embedded in the heart. Pierced by this arrow, people dash about in all directions. When the arrow is pulled out, they don't run, and they don't sink.

Understanding Saṃvega

Let's talk about this a little bit, starting at the beginning: "I will speak of my dismay and the way that I was shaken."

These words—"dismay" and "shaken"—are a translation of the word saṃvega^[3]. Some of you might have heard of saṃvega. Thanissaro Bhikkhu^[4] has a really nice translation of this expression. He describes three different aspects to it. First is an oppressive sense of dismay and alienation that comes with realizing the futility of life as it is normally lived. It is the realization that there are always more difficulties coming up. Every day there is suffering here and everywhere—using "suffering" to cover a wide range of experiences, from intense suffering to mild discomfort. This oppressive sense of dismay, terror, or alienation arises when you feel like there's difficulty everywhere, or when seeing that everything is changing. There isn't a solid place to land that is consistent and steady where we can finally rest. That's one aspect of saṃvega.

Another aspect, Thanissaro Bhikkhu says, is a chastening sense of our own complicity, complacency, and foolishness in having let ourselves live so blindly. It is when you realize, "I was not really paying attention. I was thinking that if I could just have that one more thing, it was going to make me happy. Or if I could achieve yet one more goal, or have that perfect relationship, these would be lasting sources of happiness." Then we have this sense that this hasn't been working, and it isn't going to work. It brings a sense of foolishness in realizing we were so committed to getting these things, and yet they aren't sources of lasting happiness. That's the second element of saṃvega.

The third element is a sense of urgency. It is an energy that arises of wanting to find a different way, wanting to practice. In the Buddhist sense, they use this word saṃvega for what motivated the Bodhisattva Gotama to leave the palace and his opulent lifestyle. It is this sense of looking around and realizing, "All of this here isn't a way towards freedom. How can I find a way to freedom?"

Thrashing Like Fish in Little Water

These verses start with: "Look at people in their quarrels. I will speak of my dismay and the way that I was shaken. Seeing people thrashing about like fish in little water."

I will say that a number of years ago, I had some neighbors who would regularly start yelling around 9:00 PM. I couldn't quite understand what they were saying—it might not have been in a language that I understood—but nevertheless, just hearing the yelling, I was shaken. I was surprised by how affected I was by overhearing people I didn't even know. It was really troubling. I was shaken, but I was also deeply moved because clearly, they were under a lot of distress, too.

The Buddha describes seeing people "thrashing about like fish in little water." That feels heartbreaking. Fish in little water, not being able to breathe, feeling desperation, doing whatever you can. Perhaps the reason you're in little water is because you're in a puddle, or maybe the river that used to flow readily is now having less and less water. Maybe the irrigation channels have been cut by the Shakyan people or the Koliyan people. The fish are running out of water, just as the people are running out of water, and there are limited things you can do. For me, it is very evocative: this thrashing about like fish in little water, and this sense of, "Well, what can we do?" This thrashing about is the exact opposite of being collected, the opposite of taking a meditation posture.

Seeing Conflict to the Very End

Then the verses continue: "Seeing them in conflict with each other, I became afraid. I felt discontent at seeing only conflict to the very end."

It is not clear exactly what the Bodhisattva was afraid of here. Maybe, just like I described feeling shaken by seeing other people quarreling, he became afraid too, feeling an unsettledness. Maybe he was concerned that the strife, hostility, and enmity he was seeing would spill over and he would be affected. Maybe he was afraid because he cared about these people and saw that they were going to harm each other. Even if he wasn't harmed, people he cared about would be.

Maybe he was afraid that it would never end. There are lots of stories of family feuds that seem to never end. I'm sure all of us, especially these days, can think of different groups that just seem to be warring. These disputes show up in many different ways, and it's really unsettling and frightening, especially if they are leaders thrashing about like fish in little water.

It is interesting to imagine the Bodhisattva saying, "Seeing them in conflict with each other, I became afraid. I felt discontent at seeing only conflict to the very end." This brings up the idea that maybe he couldn't see a way out. He couldn't see how it was going to end if there's always one-upmanship, a digging in of heels, an unwillingness to see the other's point of view, or an unwillingness to admit a mistake or acknowledge that somebody else has a better idea. It is the feeling that there is no way out.

An Arrow Embedded in the Heart

The verses continue, with the Buddha describing himself before he was awakened: "Then I saw an arrow here, hard to see, embedded in the heart. Pierced by this arrow, people dash about in all directions."

It is interesting that he talks about what's embedded in the heart. Some of you might know that in Pali, certain words can mean both mind and heart, but that's not the word being used here. It's actually a word that only means heart^[5]. This arrow in the heart feels heartbreaking to even think about. But he is turning his focus; he talks about seeing the conflict in others, and then he sees this arrow here, in himself.

He turns it around and looks at himself—this arrow, hard to see, embedded in the heart. He switches from looking at the problems out there, blaming, and imagining what's going to happen as a consequence of that conflict, and instead turns it around to ask, "Okay, what is happening here? What is happening in my own experience?" He goes from blaming others to taking some responsibility and checking in to see if there is a role he might play in it.

The idea is that the arrow is hard to see, especially if you're looking out there and blaming others. Or perhaps, if there is some fear, there isn't enough collectedness to look inside oneself or to inquire within. But the heart is where we would feel this saṃvega. This is where we would feel this spurring on to practice, this sense of urgency. It's where we would feel the sense of foolishness in being complicit and thinking that worldly things are going to be a source of lasting happiness.

He says, "Then I saw an arrow here, hard to see, embedded in the heart. Pierced by this arrow, people dash about in all directions." He is speaking about all people, recognizing that what he saw in himself is just part of the human experience. All of us have this experience: when we're pierced by this arrow, we dash about in all directions.

Dashing About in All Directions

This arrow represents the piercing sting of things that lead us to thrash or dash about. The commentaries give a long list. We can think about greed, hatred, and delusion—the unwholesome roots of our behavior.

Another arrow is conceit^[6]. In the Buddhist understanding, conceit is not only thinking that you're superior to others, but also thinking that you're inferior to others, or even thinking that you are equal to others. Conceit is having a strong sense of self ("I'm over here") and a strong sense of other ("You are over there"), and then comparing the two, becoming overly concerned with that comparison. "Am I doing better? Am I doing worse? Do I have more? Do I have less? Oh, we're just the same." Always making those comparisons is how we understand the word conceit. It is an excess of self-concern, including some pride, vanity, or a sense of self-importance, especially when we compare ourselves with others. This is part of the sting of the arrow piercing the heart.

We can also understand these arrows to be views that we're really attached to. These could be speculative views, postulating about things we don't know about, including metaphysical views. Or maybe predicting what's going to happen, getting really attached to our predictions, and becoming convinced about the future.

They can also be views about a self: "I'm like this. I have been this way in the past, and I will always be this way in the future. I'm a person who can't get settled for a meditation. I'm a person who's always sad. I'm a person who can never have greater levels of freedom." All these views we have about ourselves—or what it's like to be this version of ourselves right now—these are all the darts. These are the arrows that are hard to see, but embedded in the heart, that the Buddha saw before he was awakened. He saw all these different ways we can get tripped up. The sting of the arrow feels like a constriction, a pinching, a contraction; it is a feeling of being uncomfortable.

The verse then talks about the consequences of having this arrow in the heart: "Pierced by this arrow, people dash about in all directions."

We could understand "dashing about in all directions" both literally and metaphorically. If we have greed, hatred, delusion, speculative views, or a sense of conceit, these things create the conditions in which people will behave unethically. To dash about in all directions can mean to go astray and behave in ways that are unwholesome, unskillful, or unhelpful.

For example, the commentaries give a pretty scary list: when struck by the arrow of greed, people kill living beings, take what is not given, break into houses, plunder, commit banditry, ambush highways, commit adultery, and speak falsely. We are probably not doing these extremes, but what are some of the ways in which greed might show up and undermine our best behavior, influencing us to do things that aren't skillful or helpful?

The commentary also says that when struck by the arrow of greed, people may go on long journeys trying to find wealth, enduring terrible hardships to find different jobs or to commit banditry on the highways. They literally move about in all directions. Then the commentary says, if one does not obtain wealth, they experience pain and dejection. Those are the difficulties: if you have a lot of greed and feel like you have to have more and more, but are unable to get it, you feel the piercing of that arrow. On the other hand, if you are able to get more and more, but still have a lot of greed, there is the discomfort of always having to guard and protect whatever it is you've accumulated.

I've certainly had that experience of feeling like I desperately wanted something. I remember back in my late twenties, just starting my career and having some income, I bought something that was a little bit out of my price range. I really stretched myself in order to purchase it. I will never forget how I became obsessed with protecting this object because I couldn't really afford it. It ended up being a good lesson for me, showing how it took so much psychic energy, as well as literal energy, to protect something that had so much greed associated with it. Maybe you have a story like this, too.

We could also be struck by the arrow of views. Like the Bodhisattva before he was awakened—the story is that he engaged in self-mortification practices like starvation. Seeing this arrow stuck in the heart, we recognize that this arrow represents the things that are pinching, piercing, and uncomfortable, acting as the roots of our unwholesome behavior.

Pulling Out the Arrow

The verses conclude: "When the arrow is pulled out, they don't run, and they don't sink."

We can understand "they don't run" to mean that people stop dashing about in all directions, literally or figuratively. They aren't behaving unethically, or doing things that are unhelpful or unwise.

"And they don't sink" means they are able to cross over the floods and get to the far shore. Some of you might be familiar with the simile of the raft, where the raft is used for the purpose of taking one to the far shore. The Dharma is considered the raft. To not sink is to avoid getting stuck in the floods of water. The "floods" (or oghas)^[7] refer to attachments—attachment to sensuality, attachment to views, attachment to becoming more and more, or the flood of ignorance.

I feel motivated by these verses. The Buddha recognized that he had fear; he was spurred by seeing conflict, and he experienced saṃvega—this sense of urgency for practice. He turned around and saw that there were arrows in his own heart, and recognized that when there are arrows in anybody's heart, they dash about in all directions. But when the arrow is pulled out, they don't run, and they don't sink.

There are further verses in this poem detailing the trainings on how to pull out the arrow and what it is like when the arrow is pulled out. But I will just close by reciting this verse one more time:

Just look at people in their quarrels. I will speak of my dismay and the way that I was shaken. Seeing people thrashing about like fish in little water, seeing them in conflict with each other, I became afraid. I felt discontent at seeing only conflict to the very end. Then I saw an arrow here, hard to see, embedded in the heart. Pierced by this arrow, people dash about in all directions. When the arrow is pulled out, they don't run, and they don't sink.

Conclusion

When you find yourself seeing others in conflict, may it support you in your practice. May it support you to look inward and see if there is something inside of you that you can address to help find more ease and calm in the midst of conflict.

Be reminded that the Bodhisattva, before he was awakened, was disturbed and troubled by seeing people in conflict. He used this to support his practice, which ultimately allowed him to support other people. In the same way, might we be spurred to practice by seeing conflict, and might we too be able to help others.

Thank you.