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Dāna as Social Action: Discourses on Material and Spiritual Giving

So, we're going to look today at some of the ways that the practice and inner states associated with giving, or dāna^[1], are described in the Buddhist texts. We'll look at some suttas in the Pali Canon, how it's described in the earliest layer of the text, and we'll expand from there. I'm going to bring in two relatively contemporary thinkers. One, the great Thai monastic reformer from the late 1960s, Bhikkhu Buddhadasa^[2], who uses dāna as the basis of his theory of Dhammic or Buddhist socialism. And a beautiful thinker coming out of the anthropological and mythic tradition, Lewis Hyde, who wrote a fabulous book in the late '70s called The Gift: Imagination and the Erotic Life of Property, and we'll use that as a source for talking about some of the ways that we can think about gift exchange and the magical, community-supporting, and social action aspects of gifting.

We'll weave between talk and meditation as we always do here. For those who don't know me, I'm Dr. Sean Oakes. I am in Northern California on ancestral Southern Pomo land in Sonoma County. I use he and they pronouns, and it's really a pleasure to be here with you. Hello from a cool autumn morning in the redwood trees up here.

The Meaning and Fruits of Dāna

We'll flow into the beginnings of how we might define this quality of dāna. I will often use the expanded translation "inspired giving" or "generosity." The word itself simply means giving or gifting, and it's sometimes translated more loosely as generosity because generosity is the feeling state that gives rise to the action of giving. For some folks, understanding dāna as generosity is helpful because it gives us contact with the feeling, the inspiration that gives rise to giving. For other folks, it can perhaps be a little dodge. Maybe it's more comfortable to feel inspired, to feel generous, because that feels good. But the actual practice of giving—giving resources, giving money, giving time, giving of what we have of our wealth, whether great or modest—can be more challenging. And that's absolutely true. Dāna for sure is a practice. It's a practice of letting go, and it's traditionally considered the first practice. When the Buddha would present the gradual path to people, the list in the texts always begins with dāna. The Buddha presents the gradual path that begins with dāna, then develops into the ethical practices known as sīla^[3], keeping the precepts. The Buddha talks about the heavens or the fruits of good action, where our rebirths might lead us to. And only then, when he feels like a person is ready and available for the deeper teachings, does he give the teaching unique to the Buddhas, which is the Four Noble Truths: the truth of suffering, its cause, its release, and the path. Dāna is the beginning of this sequence known as the gradual training that leads all the way to full awakening and liberation.

Let's look first at some of the ways that dāna is described in the suttas. This first quote is from one of the texts known as the Dāna Sutta, the discourse on giving. It's from the Itivuttaka^[4], which is one of the earliest books of the canon (Itivuttaka 26) on the benefits of giving. The Buddha says, "Mendicants, if sentient beings only knew, as I do, the fruit of giving and sharing, they would not eat without first giving, and the stain of stinginess would not occupy their minds. They would not eat without sharing even their last mouthful, their last morsel, so long as there was someone to receive it." It's a cardinal property of the gift that it is consumed. This is an insight that will be repeated in Lewis Hyde's book on gift exchange. Food is very often dāna, and there's something important about how the gift is given and then consumed. This is one of the primary definitions of dāna that the Buddha gives. You know, the example is of eating and sharing food, and we'll see this example in the most famous Buddhist Jataka^[5] tale of giving, the tale of the wise rabbit, and from the human realm, the tale of the great donor Anāthapiṇḍika^[6].

In another text, there are mentioned these two gifts: a gift of things of the flesh and a gift of the teaching. The better of these two gifts is the gift of the teaching. For those who are diligent in the dispensation of the Holy One, both those who speak and those who listen, confident in the dispensation of the Holy One—that's the Buddha Sāsana, the tradition of the Buddhas—such a gift purifies the highest goal. This is often reflected upon in giving, that there are these multiple levels of giving. There's giving of material resources, the things of the flesh. In the monastic system traditionally, that's the four requisites: food, clothing, shelter, and medicine. And then there's the gift of the Dharma. It's considered the most profound gift to give the Dharma because it's the one thing that can set someone most directly on the path to their own liberation.

The Buddha describes five fruits of giving. These are fruits that come to oneself. This list appears in a couple of different places, including a discourse to a military man, General Sīha, and another discourse in the Anguttara Nikaya^[7]. The fruits of giving: a donor is dear and beloved to many people. This is a fruit of giving that's apparent in the present life. Furthermore, good and true persons associate with a giver. A giver gains a good reputation. A giver enters any kind of assembly bold and self-assured, whether it's an assembly of aristocrats, brahmins, householders, or ascetics. This is a fruit of giving that's apparent in the present life. Furthermore, when a giver's body breaks up after death, they're reborn in a good place, a heavenly realm. When the Buddha says this to the general, who is faithful, he says, "Okay, I can see those first four in the present life, but I can't see my future life. So I have to believe you on this one." And the Buddha is like, "Yeah, just believe me on this one." [Laughter]

This list describes both fruits that you might want to experience for yourself, but it also begins to describe how giving creates community. We like people who are generous. You can often tell someone's inner quality and trustworthiness by how they give. People want to hang out with those who give. This is subtle; it might seem like the giver gets a good ego so they're confident. But you might feel into what this is pointing to. Someone who gives gifts has a certain kind of confidence. I know what it's like to walk into a room where there are some wealthy people, and I'm not wealthy myself. Sometimes I feel awkward or wonder, "Am I an impostor here?" This often happens with Dharma teachers because the patrons of the Dharma are sometimes wealthy folks. I know what I do in the world and what I give, and my heart is at ease enough about my material situation and my vocation that I can actually enter an assembly of rich people more confident than I might otherwise. This is a quality of giving. It's not just because I have this job, but because woven into my life as a practitioner has been this quality of giving. I give to the monastics, and this gives rise to a kind of confidence in the world. The amount of giving isn't the yardstick, but it's the quality in the heart.

There are also five timely gifts. Mendicants, there are these five timely gifts: a gift to a visitor, a gift to someone setting out on a journey, a gift to someone who is sick, a gift at a time of famine, and presenting the freshly harvested grains and fruits first to those who are ethical. These are all gifts that happen in specific social situations. They're not random. A gift to a visitor when they come over, offering them water or a snack. A gift to someone who is sick is direct caretaking. A gift at a time of famine, when it's most needed. The fifth one acknowledges that when giving the fruits of the harvest, there's a social and ritual function in giving first to the ethical. This uplifts those who are acting wisely. It doesn't replace the others—if I'm in a time of famine, I'm not going to only give to good people—but this fifth one brings in the aspect of merit that comes when we support those who are wise and ethical.

Finally, the benefits of giving food. When a giver gives food, they give the recipients five things: long life, beauty, happiness, strength, and eloquence. This is not so much the benefits that come to oneself, but the benefits that accrue to someone else when you give them food. Food is the cardinal gift, and what we're actually giving is continued life and continued well-being.

Dāna cuts through stinginess and greediness. It's the beginning of letting go. Often one of the first awkward moments in one's Dharma practice is coming to a class or an event that is offered freely, or offered "on dāna." It's a classic question that a lot of Dharma centers and teachers refuse to answer: "How much should I give?" For many of us who weren't raised in a dāna culture or a tithing culture, it can be very awkward. We'll talk about this more when we look at the difference between gift exchange and market exchange. In a market, things have prices. When something has a price, it relieves you of the confusion of wondering how much it's worth. Notice how different it is coming to a class like this one today. You could come and offer nothing if that's what's right for you, or you could come and offer a lot. It's on you. How different that is from coming to a class where there's a set price, even if you can easily afford it.

We don't live in a dāna-based culture in much of the post-industrial capitalist world. Many of us offering the teachings, including myself and the folks running Sati Center, are lay people. In the traditional system, we would be monastics, and dāna would go to support the entire monastery, not individual teachers. So it's already strange to give dāna to individuals. It becomes a complex practice. Sati Center and I believe in offering the teachings freely, fully on dāna. I love doing that. But if nothing came in, the center wouldn't be able to keep offering programs, and the teacher wouldn't be able to keep teaching. It's a very different thing when this is part of our livelihood. We have to relate to dāna as a very different model from market exchange, which makes it complex. It's awkward to step into gifting economies that are unfamiliar to us.

Market Exchange vs. Gift Exchange

Let's talk a little more about these concepts in tension: market exchange and gift exchange. I'm going to bring out a few themes from Lewis Hyde's beautiful book called The Gift: Imagination and the Erotic Life of Property. It was written in 1979. Hyde contrasts the Greek words eros and logos. Eros is that which makes connection, and logos (the word, or structure) is that which divides. Hyde points out that the primary difference between gift exchange and market exchange is that gift exchange creates connection, where market exchange creates boundary and difference.

Hyde says: "It is characteristic of market exchange that commodities move between two independent spheres." When you're buying and selling something, woven into that transaction is the fact that the buyer and seller are separate. But a gift, when it moves across the boundary, either stops being a gift or else abolishes the boundary. A commodity can cross the line without any change in its nature. Moreover, its exchange will often establish a boundary where none previously existed.

Think about a birthday present. The gifting of that thing serves to reinforce your relationship. It increases the connection between you and that person. What would happen if, instead of giving that gift, you sold it to the person? Once you've done that, you've changed the relationship. You've become a seller and a consumer, and you've created a boundary. One of the definitions of a commodity is that it moves across a boundary without changing. If I sell something to you, it's essentially the same thing for both of us. The price is a way of agreeing that it has the same value. But if I have something and I give it to you, it's actually a different kind of thing, Hyde is saying, because it's invested with the power of the gift.

You can sense this if you go around your house and pick up something that was gifted to you. It carries a different energy than something you bought. I have a pocket knife that I inherited from my father when he died. I also have a beautiful carved knife that was bought for my partner and me by some friends in France. Whenever I pick up either of these objects or carry them with me in the woods, I am always aware of their gift nature. Once, I couldn't find my dad's knife, and I had a flash of panic that it might be lost in the woods. I know the feeling of losing something I bought—it's unfortunate. But the feeling of losing my dad's knife that was gifted to me was completely different. The object is invested with emotional force. The gift actually changed in its nature by crossing the gift boundary, and it helped erase the boundary between us.

Gifts create relationship. Hyde says it is the cardinal distinction between gift and commodity exchange that a gift establishes a feeling bond between two people, while the sale of a commodity leaves no necessary connection. In a market exchange, we often don't want relational connection. Hyde gives the example of going to a hardware store to buy a hacksaw blade. If the shopkeeper always starts talking to you about their family, you might just choose a different hardware store. You're not there to be in a friendship relationship. Market exchange demands a certain kind of boundary be maintained, whereas gifting establishes a feeling bond. As long as the emotional tie is recognized as the point of the gift, both the donor and the recipient will be careful to structure the exchange so that it does not jeopardize their mutual affection. A gift creates connection, but it has to be calibrated. If you give a far too extravagant gift early in a relationship, it creates tension.

Because a gift creates relationship, gift exchange must also be refused when there is real threat in the connections that it offers. You see examples of this in rules against political corruption. You shouldn't accept rides on yachts from wealthy individuals because it is recognized that that kind of gift creates relationship. It creates a feeling bond, and that's not an appropriate place for that feeling bond. If you're being given a gift by someone who wants to harm you, it's appropriate not to receive it. In Greek myth, Persephone^[8] is warned not to eat the pomegranate seeds in Hades because it will create a connection, binding her to the underworld.

Reciprocal vs. Circular Giving

The last theme we'll take from Hyde is the difference between reciprocal and circular giving. Reciprocal giving is just back and forth between two people. In a sense, this is the kind of gifting we sometimes do in the Dharma nowadays, like if a student gives me dāna in exchange for a one-on-one mentoring session. I like offering that on dāna, but part of the challenge is that it's difficult for it not to become essentially market exchange veiled by the concept of dāna. Hyde calls it the "ego of two." If the exchange goes on and on to the exclusion of others, it soon goes stale. He tells a story from the Hindu tradition of two brahmins who were stingy and didn't like the obligation of giving alms. So they decided to just give alms to each other back and forth. It didn't work out for them—they were reborn in a hell realm. The gift needs to be consumed and it needs to move.

As a contrast, we can think about a more circular giving, which is traditional in the Buddhist system. There are at least three points in the circle: a giver gives to a recipient, and that recipient doesn't give something back directly to them, but does something for the community. Instead of thinking about the gift you make to myself and Sati Center because you're delighting in this class, you could think of it as gifting to support the community, making this kind of study available for more people. One of the best ways to shift into this is to give dāna in an ongoing way, whether you attend events or not, changing it from market exchange into communal support.

In the Buddhist Sangha^[9], giving to the community also has a ritual aspect, where the gift is actually given partly to the mystery. When you give gifts to monastics, like candles for light, incense for aroma, and flowers for beauty, you're honoring the qualities of sīla, samādhi, and paññā (ethics, immersion, and wisdom). All of those gifts are consumed in a ritual way. Part of the gift is actually sent beyond the human community into the realm of the divine. Hyde says the gift leaves all boundary and circles into mystery. It's almost like the gift is purified by looping through the divine. The gift nurtures the whole community and stitches the Sangha into its own practice. We think of it as corruption when an abbot of a monastery starts accumulating wealth and keeping donations meant for the community. The agreement with dāna is that we're supporting the whole system.

Guided Meditation: Muditā (Appreciative Joy)

Dāna cuts through stinginess and holding on to resources. There's a joyfulness to it. We can touch into this quality of muditā^[10]. Muditā is sympathetic joy, empathic joy, or appreciative joy. It's joy at the well-being of others. This divine state is itself a kind of generosity. I'm going to let my own precious joy not just be oriented toward my own well-being, but joyful because someone else is getting something good. It's like vicarious gratitude.

Come once more into your meditative seat. Settle again into the body and breath. Let the various concepts swirl on their own. Relax the face. Bring in a full breath. I'll invite you to bring to mind a time when you gave a gift and it felt really good. An experience of joyful giving, in any context. It could be a personal gift, charity, or dāna in a spiritual context.

Find the example you're going to use. Bring it to mind. You might see where you were when you made the gift. The thing we want to remember is the feeling at the moment that you gave the gift, whether it was hitting send on an electronic donation or physically handing something to another person. We're looking for the feeling of joy at the well-being of the one you're giving the gift to, or joy at your relationship with them.

As you do this, you might find other feelings. Maybe the joy is mixed with feelings of scarcity, resentment, regret, confusion, or wanting. Just notice whatever's there. But in whatever way you can feel the joy of that giving, focus on that. See if you can feel it again in the present as you remember that moment.

Remembering the feeling of delighting in giving something to someone else and appreciating their well-being. How is it different from joy or gratitude directed toward one's own well-being? This feeling of muditā for the well-being of others weaves into our practice of dedicating merit.

(Breakout session: Describe an experience of joyful giving. What conditions supported freedom from the hindrances in this situation?)

The Story of Anāthapiṇḍika

I'm going to start this part with a story about the supporter of the Buddha who came to be known as Anāthapiṇḍika. The name Anāthapiṇḍika is a title meaning "one who gives alms to the helpless." His given name was Sudatta of Sāvatthī^[11]. He was a banker, a setthi, who was devoted to generosity.

One time, Anāthapiṇḍika was traveling on business and came to Rājagaha to visit his brother-in-law. When he arrived, he noticed all the household staff bustling around, preparing a huge event. He asked his brother-in-law what was going on. His brother-in-law said, "We are preparing a meal for the Blessed One, the Enlightened One."

Anāthapiṇḍika asked three times, "Did you say the Enlightened One?" Hearing the words, he was inspired. He went to sleep that night but couldn't sleep. Finally, he couldn't stand it and got up before dawn, heading out of the city to where the Buddha was. Walking in the dark, he got afraid. He thought about turning back, but a nature spirit named Sīvaka^[12] encouraged him to keep going, saying that a hundred thousand elephants or horses were not worth a sixteenth part of a single step forward.

He walked on and right at dawn, he saw the Buddha walking back and forth. The Buddha addressed him by his given name, "Come, Sudatta." Anāthapiṇḍika was overwhelmed, fell to his feet, and asked the customary polite question, "Did the Blessed One sleep well?" The Buddha spun this conventional small talk into a teaching: "Always indeed he sleeps well, the brahmin who is fully quenched... having removed care from the heart."

Then the Buddha gave Anāthapiṇḍika the gradual talk. It begins and ends with letting go. It begins with giving, moves through ethical practice and the heavens, and ends with renunciation (nekkhamma^[13]). When the Buddha saw that Anāthapiṇḍika's heart was bright and ready, he gave him the teaching unique to the Buddhas: the Four Noble Truths. Anāthapiṇḍika attained stream-entry right there.

When he was ready to go back to Sāvatthī, Anāthapiṇḍika asked the Buddha if he could build him a monastery. The Buddha replied, "Ascetics prefer peace and quiet, householder." Anāthapiṇḍika went back to Sāvatthī and found the perfect park outside of town, owned by Prince Jeta. Prince Jeta said, "I couldn't possibly sell it, even if you blanketed the ground in gold." Anāthapiṇḍika said, "You got it." He started bringing in carts of gold coins and laying them all over the park. Prince Jeta stopped him and said, "Give me the merit of paying for the gatehouse. This part is mine to offer."

Anāthapiṇḍika built individual cells for the monks, meeting halls, a temple, and lotus pools. The Buddha spent nineteen rains retreats in this monastery, Jetavana. The stock phrase at the beginning of many suttas—"Thus have I heard, at one time the Blessed One was dwelling in Sāvatthī in Jeta's Grove, Anāthapiṇḍika's Park"—is crafted specifically to honor both donors.

Anāthapiṇḍika's story shows the power of his devotion and feeling. This feeling is emphasized in another story about King Pasenadi^[14]. King Pasenadi also wanted to support the monastics, but he learned that the monks were taking the food his servants gave them and giving it away to lay supporters in the city, who would then give it back to the monks. The king asked why. The monks explained that the servants were just following orders; their hearts weren't in it, and some were even grumbling. The gift wasn't wholesome; it wasn't real dāna. The gift needed to be laundered through the devoted lay community to acquire the blessing of true dāna. The ritual aspect of the gift, carrying faith and refuge, is what makes it true dāna.

Dāna is social action because it creates something that is not just one-to-one reciprocal exchange. It goes from giver to recipient and out into the whole circle, supporting the faith and wisdom of the entire Sangha.

Dhammic Socialism and Contentment

A final reference from the contemporary world expands this further out into a political orientation. Bhikkhu Buddhadasa was a Thai monastic reformer in the late 1960s who interpreted Buddhist teachings in a very naturalistic way. During this time, Thailand was rapidly modernizing and becoming a consumer society. The government recognized that the Buddha's teachings on contentment and letting go were inimical to a successful consumer society. They actually requested that the monasteries stop teaching contentment so people would consume more. Buddhadasa pushed back, saying that renunciation and letting go are the absolute heart of the Dharma.

Buddhadasa formulated a theory of "Dhammic Socialism." He said, "All the religions of the world are socialistic, not individualist democracies where people can do whatever they like. Whenever anyone puts personal interest before the good of the society, defilements (kleshas^[15]) take over." He wasn't referring to communism, but to a system that puts the basic needs of everyone in society first, rather than focusing on the personal accumulation of wealth.

Buddhadasa looked to the natural ecosystem as a model of natural socialism. "Look at the birds. They consume only as much as their stomachs can hold... Look at the trees. They can take in only as much as their trunks will allow." The structure of the ecosystem corrects for the impulse to hoard. But human beings have figured out how to hoard resources behind market boundaries, preventing them from circulating. Buddhadasa viewed this as the basis of much social ill. He believed we must develop a renunciate attitude, taking and consuming only as much as we need, just as monastics do when they beg for food daily and limit their possessions.

Buddhadasa wrote, "Nature would have us use no more than we actually need. But people have failed to heed nature, competing with one another to take as much as they can... If we were to take only what is enough, none of these problems would arise."

Part of what can be challenging about this is that renunciation and dāna are meant to be voluntary. They have to come out of feeling. When tithing was made optional in late-medieval France, donations to the church dropped off a cliff because it had been treated as a tax rather than an act of faith. Dhammic socialism relies on authentic, unforced generosity. We have to inspire people to feel joyful, go for refuge, and delight in the Dharma. That delight is what inspires true support for the community.

Q&A and Reflections

Question: I'm thinking about the trade-offs we have to make. Giving dāna to a meaningful experience might mean renouncing another experience, like going to a tea symposium that has an entry fee. We don't have unlimited resources, so renouncing sometimes means renouncing other options in this society of abundant choices.

Sean: Absolutely. In Anāthapiṇḍika's story, he spent three-fifths of his wealth building the monastery. Then another fifth was stolen, and the last fifth was swept away in a flood. Even when he became poor and could only offer thin rice gruel, he continued to give. What's emphasized is that giving his resources away delighted him the most. If you're weighing whether to support this group or that event, take a moment to feel which kind of giving brings you the most joy. It's not just about which activity you'd enjoy receiving more, but which act of giving feels more joyful.

Question: I had a friendly connection with someone who helped me transport plywood, but when I offered them money, it threw cold water on the interaction, pushing it from a friendly connection into a commodity. But my main question is: I struggle with feelings of judgment toward wealthy people who hoard wealth while there is such suffering. How do we hold that?

Sean: Greed is one of the ancient defilements. The impulse to hoard and accumulate wealth is deep in the human psyche. It is painful to see wealth being hoarded, and it's easy to feel judgment. I meet my own impulses to judge with the understanding that the impulse to hoard is instinctual, self-protective, and can be a response to trauma. It's a deeply held cultural belief and doesn't indicate a person's evilness. We've all been trained to be stingy. I know people whose entire business is coaching young people with inherited wealth on how to give it away, and it is a joyful process for them. Watch out for letting Mara and judgment take over the heart.

Question: Can you touch on giving time and energy, like volunteering, as opposed to giving money?

Sean: What I love about giving time and energy is that it's almost always in relationship. You help out, and connection is created. All the same theories of gift exchange are at play. For some, it's easier to give money; for others, it's easier to give time. Sometimes giving money is a way to hide from the social challenge of working with people. But working together is how community is created and sustained. For example, monks establishing Clear Mountain Monastery in Washington didn't just ask for a ride to their new land; they organized a three-day walk across town, inviting people to walk, eat, and listen to the Dharma together. It was a joyful expression of community. Giving time and energy brings forward the connective aspect of dāna.

Question: Is skillful giving about knowing what people actually need—whether it's money, time, or listening—rather than just giving what you want to give?

Sean: For sure. You want to give something that's going to be helpful and timely. Sometimes a nonprofit has enough money, but what they really need is your participation to build community. Skillful giving means you have to be in relationship first to know what is needed. If I'm a guest teacher at a new Sangha, I often don't know what they need—do they need an encouraging push to practice harder, or a tender reminder that they are good enough? I have to ask and connect with them to offer an appropriate gift. It's a weave: you have to be in relationship first, and then the skillful gifting deepens that relationship.

Closing and Dedication of Merit

In the formula for reinforcing our belonging, we go for refuge to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. Refuge means reminding the heart that this is a safe enough place to practice and unfold the path. When we go for refuge to the Sangha, we mean the community of those who have awakened, those who accompany us on the path, and all beings interwoven with us.

Take a moment to bring to mind the people here today, your teachers, peers, and fellow practitioners. Place yourself in that spiritual community and imagine it spreading out around you on all sides. In whatever way makes sense to you in your heart, go for refuge to this Sangha. Notice the feeling of being held by this community.

With that feeling as a basis, we give rise to the felt sense of blessing that arises from our practice, and we give it away to those who would benefit by it—to our ancestors, and to all those in the world who are in need.

May we each be well. May all beings be well. May the merit of our practice be for the benefit of all. May you have every good blessing. May the devas protect you by the power of the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha. May you ever be well.

We keep moving the gifts we receive through the circle. We stitch together Dharma culture in this way, giving rise to the authentic impulses of renunciation and giving. We create the socialist culture of the heart, not as a top-down model imposed upon a culture, but as a wisdom culture arising from within.