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Faith and Wisdom

Good evening.

Tonight I'd like to begin with a little excerpt from the suttas^[1], the discourses. Some of you might know that there is the Pali Canon^[2], which is preserved in Pali and belongs to the Theravada^[3] tradition. There are also parallel versions of these texts. They are not complete, but they were written in Sanskrit and preserved in Chinese. We lost the Sanskrit originals, but we have the Chinese bits and pieces.

Sometimes it is interesting to look at what was in the Pali Canon and then look at the corresponding sutta in what are called the Agamas^[4], which are preserved, to compare them. Seeing how they are different and how they are the same—they are all a little bit different—gives an idea of maybe what were later accretions or what were some of the earlier versions.

I am only saying that because I would like to tell a story that is in the suttas, but I am borrowing a bit. I am starting with what is in the Nikayas^[5], and I am borrowing a little bit that comes from the Agamas found in the Chinese version, bringing it over and making it into one sutta.

In this sutta, there is a layperson who goes up to the Buddha. Maybe I will just start here and say at this time, several monastics were making a robe for the Buddha. They thought that when his robe was finished, and the three months of the Rains Retreat^[6] had passed, the Buddha would set out wandering. It was the tradition that during the monsoon season, the monastics would not travel; they would stay in one place. That tradition even goes on today, to have three-month retreats. I know Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts, has been holding three-month retreats for over forty years; I think 2020 was the only time in which it had not occurred, if I understand correctly.

So, this idea is staying in place for three months at a time. It was nearing the end of the three months, and it was common for the Buddha then to go wander and teach. It was also common for people to make new robes for him and to give that as an offering at the end of the Rains Retreat.

Mahanama the Sakyan^[7] heard about that. He was a layperson, not a monastic. He went up to the Buddha and said to him, "Blessed One, I am no longer in control of my four limbs. I am losing the sense of the four directions, and I am forgetting the teachings I have learned, as I heard from a group of many monastics who had assembled to sew the Blessed One's robes that soon the Blessed One, with the rainy season retreat being completed and his robes having been made, will take his robes and bowl and journey among the people."

Mahanama is saying he is overcome. I don't know what it is exactly, but he feels like he just lost control of his limbs, lost his sense of the directions, and is forgetting the teachings. To think that this teacher who is so important for him is leaving. Mahanama was not a monastic and wasn't going to follow him. We can feel this urgency: Oh no, this person who has really supported me so much with the teachings and the monastics, they're leaving. I won't have access to them. Remembering, of course, thousands of years ago, there weren't books with the teachings written down. There weren't audio or video recordings. When a person left, you really didn't have access to their teachings any longer.

Mahanama continues, and he says to the Buddha, "For this reason, I am now reflecting: when will I get to see the Blessed One again, and the monastics with whom I am acquainted?" Some of the Buddha's followers were really meaningful to Mahanama as well.

The Buddha replies: "Whether you see the Blessed One or you do not see the Blessed One, whether you see the monastics with whom you are acquainted or you do not see them, you should be mindful of five qualities and make an effort to cultivate them, Mahanama. The faithful succeed, not the faithless. The energetic succeed, not the lazy. The mindful succeed, not the unmindful. Those with concentration succeed, not those without concentration. The wise succeed, not the witless^[8]."

The Buddha is saying, "Even though I am not here, or my followers, or people who can give you the teachings, you can cultivate these five qualities." You might recognize this list as the Five Faculties^[9]. Even though the Buddha wasn't there to guide the way, he was saying to just cultivate these qualities. Instead of having the Buddha there, it is the next best thing.

I find this rather inspiring, where the Buddha recognizes that poor Mahanama is distraught, and he tells him to cultivate faith, energy, mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom, and he will succeed. It is interesting that he uses the word "succeed." Mahanama isn't a monastic; he is pointing out that he will be successful in his spiritual life and professional life. Of course, he's not using those exact words, but this is how to bring things to fruition and have things go the way that you wish for them to go. Not in a way where we muscle our way in and force them to happen, but in a way in which we create the conditions for them to unfold.

I have given a few talks on the faculties, and this is actually the fourth one. I'll just say briefly that the first two talks were about cultivating and developing the faculties as a whole. The third one was about balancing some of the faculties, specifically balancing energy and concentration. Tonight, I would like to talk a little bit about balancing faith and wisdom.

This probably comes out of the simile of a charioteer who is driving a chariot with four horses. The charioteer represents mindfulness—the one who is giving the directions, saying where to go and at what speed. Two of the horses next to one another are energy and concentration, and the other two horses next to them are faith and wisdom. They all have to be in balance. They all have to be in accordance and aware of each other.

When we hear the word "faith," we might think it is just about believing the right things. But, of course, if you have been around the dharma scene for a while, you know that faith in Buddhist practice is not about that at all. Instead, it is about having a limited experience, but there's something inside us—maybe like a guitar string that has been strummed, vibrating and creating a sound, or a certain resonance. Faith is like recognizing that something we've heard or experienced touches us and speaks to us. Maybe not literally, but something resonates, and it might be very subtle. It's a call that this is worth investigating some more, this is worth exploring, this is worth putting some energy towards.

Maybe it is like the call to learn something new. In the COVID era, maybe we want to spend our time doing something enriching rather than doom-scrolling—baking, or whatever it might be. Maybe it's something bigger, similar to the call to start a family or change one's career. All of us have these intuitions, this idea that yes, this feels wholesome, and this is a direction to go. Of course, it's not the end of the journey; it is just the beginning.

For me, I had this experience the very first time I ever heard a Buddhist dharma talk. It was in a weekend yoga workshop. I really had no idea what it was going to be, but I liked to do yoga, so I signed up at my favorite yoga studio. This is now quite some years ago. After we did some asana practice—moving the body into different postures—we took a break. We came back, and we were all sitting on our mats in the yoga studio. In walked this person wearing red and gold clothes, which I now know are what Tibetan teachers wear, but at the time I didn't know that. He had a really distinct accent from Minnesota or North Dakota. I was a little confused: What is he wearing, and why is he speaking this way? I couldn't quite understand. But he started talking about the dharma, the Buddha dharma, and my jaw just dropped. There was something that felt so beautiful to me, and it struck my heart in some kind of way.

Maybe you have a story like this too, and maybe not. Maybe you are just dipping your toe in. Whether it's a really strong sense of yes, I really want to do this, there's something inside of me that is saying this, or maybe it's just a little bit of curiosity. In some ways, this is faith. We don't know yet. We don't have direct experience or knowledge, but we believe that this is something worth pursuing.

One way that faith is described in the suttas is as a simile for a frontier citadel or fortress. A quote goes: "Just as a king's frontier citadel has a pillar with deep foundations, firmly embedded, imperturbable and unshakeable, to defend those within and repel those outside, in the same way, a noble disciple has faith in the awakening of the Realized One, the Blessed One."

Maybe your faith doesn't feel like a pillar with deep foundations that is firmly embedded, or maybe it does, and you can tap into that and allow it to support you. Here, it is talking about faith in the awakening of the Realized One, this belief that indeed there was a person who had enlightenment, and that awakening is possible—that human beings have this capacity.

When faith is at its best, it produces enthusiasm and galvanizes energy for practice. It can serve as a real support in times of difficulties, because all of us have difficulties in our meditation practice, Buddhist practice, or any spiritual practice. There are times when it gets difficult. This is what it feels like to be stretched and challenged a little bit. This is what spiritual practices do. Faith can help us move forward and help us not hold back, or hold back less. It can also help us appreciate that some truly brilliant, dedicated, and wise people have come before us on this path. They have left methods and maps for us. We can follow these methods and maps, and we can achieve what they have achieved. That can be a support for us.

Faith can be a real support. If we don't have any faith, it can lead to giving up as soon as things get difficult. It can lead to cynicism—thinking that everybody is just in it for the money, or for the glory, or to impress their neighbors. Without faith, we might just put in a half-hearted effort or feel a sense of bitterness: I've been doing all this work, and I didn't get what I expected.

But if we have too much faith, the mind might start to get dogmatic: No, this is the way it is, this is the truth, and everything else is wrong. That's not helpful. There might start to be some sectarian arrogance: The way that I practice Buddhism is the only true Buddhism, and I don't know what the rest of you are doing. That is not helpful for anybody. Excess faith might lead to blind adherence without having it touch our hearts or truly engaging our minds, just doing exactly what is expected of us. Importantly, if we have excess faith and believe that simply believing enough will be sufficient, it leads to an inability to realistically examine our approach to our spiritual life: Is the way that we're doing this supportive? Is it onward-leading? Is it helpful for not only us but for others around us?

To counteract some of these issues, faith must be balanced with wisdom. When faith is balanced with wisdom, it has a different feeling. It has a quality of real inquiry: Is this helpful? Is this skillful? Is this wholesome? Is this the way forward? Faith, when balanced with wisdom, has a sense of humility—not an arrogance that I am going to muscle my way through, or that I know better, or my group knows better. It also has a steadiness, a warm-heartedness to it.

So, what is wisdom? Wisdom, of course, is a faculty we all have. There are a number of ways that we can define it, but one is that it allows us to discern, distinguish, and discriminate between what is helpful and what isn't helpful. It helps us find our way, understand, and see things more clearly. It allows us to incorporate what we see into our understanding, and it allows our understanding to shift and change as we learn more, have more experiences, and hear more teachings.

Wisdom is not the same as knowledge. They are related, of course, but knowledge is just the accumulation of knowing more and more. I'll quote a little bit from yet another sutta, where a priest from the dominant religious tradition at the time comes up to the Buddha and describes a wise person. The Buddha counters him. This person's name is Vassakara^[10]. He goes up to the Buddha and says, "Master Gotama"—because he is a priest of another tradition, he doesn't call him the Blessed One, he calls him Master Gotama—"Master Gotama, when someone has four qualities, we describe them as a great person with great wisdom. Here are the four qualities: they are very learned in diverse fields of learning; they understand the meaning of diverse statements; they have a good memory; and they are deft and tireless in household duties, understanding how to go about things in order to complete and organize the work."

This is what Vassakara says is a wise person. Then he says, "If Master Gotama agrees with me, please say so, and if he disagrees, please say so."

The Buddha responds by saying, "I neither agree nor disagree, but here are four other qualities for a wise person." The Buddha is saying that being learned, having a good memory, and understanding statements isn't part of wisdom. He describes it in a different way with these four qualities:

First, they practice for the welfare and happiness of the many. Second, they think what they want to think, and they don't think what they don't want to think. They have capacity with their mental capabilities; they aren't being pushed around by whatever thoughts are coming up. Third, they attain the four Jhanas^[11]. These are concentration states when the mind gets settled. He describes them as blissful meditations in the present life that belong to the higher mind, so they are able to direct and settle the mind in a particular way. Fourth, a wise person realizes the undefiled freedom of heart and freedom by wisdom in this very life.

It is not so much about the content of the mind that the Buddha says characterizes a wise person, but their capacity to use the mind in particular ways, practicing for the welfare and happiness of the many.

I find this inspiring. So much of what we do as part of meditation practice is training the mind, and this is what the Buddha says wisdom is. Of course, wisdom is a way to awakening. Buddhism is called a wisdom tradition for this reason.

But we can have too much wisdom. We wouldn't call it wisdom if there is too much; maybe there is too much knowledge, or not enough faith. In the Visuddhimagga^[12], which is a commentary from hundreds of years after the Pali Canon, too much wisdom is defined as being strong in wisdom and weak in faith. This imbalance errs on the side of cunning and is as hard to cure as a sickness caused by medicine.

Cunning means trying to find the loopholes, or trying to show off one's skills using deceit or evasion, rather than real wisdom which has a wholesomeness to it. Knowledge is helpful, but it has to be balanced with faith. We could think about this as the head and the heart being in balance. Faith is the heartfeltness, the string being strummed, and wisdom is the mind being able to have these capacities, but not in a devious way that just looks for loopholes.

If we don't have enough wisdom, there might be an emphasis on just acquiring knowledge. I just have to learn more, I have to read more suttas, listen to more dharma talks, I just have to acquire more. It is easy to fall into that trap because our society values education. You have to learn; you have to do well in school. There are media empires that spend untold amounts of money to convince you that you need to know more, and you need to know it now.

But wisdom at its best comes from deep and direct investigation of our experience. That investigation gets coupled with earlier experiences and teachings we've had. It is a way that uses the beautiful capacities that minds have as a support for more freedom, more ease, and more peace. And not just for ourselves, but for all beings. We can use these beautiful minds and beautiful hearts that we have as a support for everyone, without exception.

Thank you.