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.

Mahāparinibbāṇa Sutta (3 of 4)

Introduction and Recap

So, very briefly, just to recap where we were: we've been looking at the story of the last days of the Buddha. We saw that this particular discourse is largely informed, or created, not just by the circumstances of the Buddha's death, but also by the social and political circumstances surrounding him. Namely, the expansionism of Ajātasattu^[1], but more generally also the collapse of the social and political order that obtained during most of the Buddha's life.

We've seen how the narrative of the Mahāparinibbāna Sutta is operating on these complex levels. On the one hand, the primary narrative is telling the story of the journey of the Buddha towards the place where he is going to die, in full knowledge of that fact. It is also telling the personal journey of Venerable Ānanda as he journeys alongside of him. As Ānanda is the teller of the story after the Buddha's death, he is inserting himself into the story, while also having that broader context of the political and religious changes. Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta^[2] had also died just recently, so there were changes in the religious and spiritual environment going on at the same time.

We also see the diverse responses of the Buddhist community to the impending news—some responding with equanimity, some with distress—and how that informs the way that the different dimensions of the Buddhist community evolved in later years. This is a theme I'll return to a bit later on.

The Sal Forest and Out-of-Season Blossoms

For today, we've drawn quite near to the time of the parinibbāna^[3]. Last time, I believe we came up as far as discussing the occasion when the Buddha got sick and Ānanda had to bring him a drink, and then he met Pukkusa the Malla^[4]. If we continue on from that narrative, the Buddha now is going to approach the Sal Forest at Kusinārā, where he did ultimately pass away. Let me just share my screen.

The Buddha said, "Let's go to the far shore of the Golden River, the Hiraññavatī Nadi, and onto the Sal Forest of the Mallas in Kusinārā." I think I've mentioned this before, but I'll just say again in passing: when I've been doing these translations, it is conventional not to translate names of things, which is often the right thing to do. But frequently in Pali, names also have a meaning, and that gives you something of the sense of what's going on around there. In this particular case, the Golden River is probably called "golden" presumably because there was gold in it. I'm assuming that's the obvious reason, which probably tells you something about the source of the economic prosperity of the peoples in this region; one of the sources was the gold that washed down the rivers from the Himalayas. So, the Buddha is now in the land of the Mallas, which we discussed last week as well.

Then the Buddha addressed Ānanda: "Set up a cot for me between the twin Sal trees with my head to the north. I'm tired and I'll lie down."

"Yes, sir," replied Ānanda, and did as he was asked. The Buddha laid down in the lion's posture on his right side, placing one foot on top of the other, mindful and aware.

Now at that time, the twin Sal trees burst into full blossom with flowers out of season. As I've mentioned before, I think this is one of the reasons why it seems likely the Buddha's passing away was not in May, as is currently celebrated in the month of Vesak. At that time, it is the season for the Sal trees to blossom. So here, they are blossoming out of season, which would fit with the schedule of them being in the cold season around December or January.

Miracles, Devotion, and Modernist Buddhism

They sprinkled and bestrewed the Realized One's body in honor of the Realized One, and the flowers of the heavenly flame tree fell from the sky. Heavenly sandalwood powder also fell from the sky, heavenly music played in the sky, and heavenly choirs sang in the sky in honor of the Realized One.

Then the Buddha pointed out to Ānanda what was happening, adding, "That's not the full extent of how the Realized One is honored, respected, revered, and esteemed. Any monk or nun, or male or female lay follower, who practices and lives with the teaching, practicing properly, living in line with the teachings—they honor, respect, revere, venerate, and esteem the Realized One with the highest honor. So Ānanda, you should train like this: we should practice in line with the teachings, practicing properly, living in line with the teaching."

Once again, we can see this is the very typical attitude of the Buddha to such miraculous events. We've seen a number of such cases already, and this is very prominent in suttas like Majjhima Nikāya 123, the Acchariya Abbhuta Sutta^[5]. The Buddha wasn't an aggressive kind of skeptic; he wasn't out to prove everybody wrong and debate whether these things were true or not. He was more like, "Meh, whatever," saying that's not really the point. The terminology of the phrasing that he uses there is quite nice, in the sense of being finely judged. He says it's not ettāvatā—not to this extent. He's not saying that there's anything wrong with paying homage to the Buddha with flowers and scents. It's tempting to translate that passage as saying, "That's not the real way to pay homage to the Buddha," but that's not really what the text says. The text says that's not the full extent of how to pay homage to the Buddha. Rather, the homage he would really respect is from the one who is practicing in line with the teachings.

This is a theme and an attitude that you find right throughout the early Buddhist texts, and which has largely permeated most of the Buddhist traditions. There's this balance when it comes to elements which we might consider to be supernatural. I don't think the Buddha wanted to get bogged down in discussions about the reality of these things; it's more about, "Well, what is the point? What is it that actually really matters?" When I see these things as a text scholar, all I can say is what's in the text. We can look at parallels, but ultimately we can't really say what was happening and whether these things were real or not—that ultimately comes down to faith. But what is really apparent is this idea where the Buddha said the practice that goes beyond that is the practice of the Dhamma.

I think it's probably worth noting this in the context of current discussions around Buddhism. I'll briefly contextualize it because I'm not sure how much familiarity people have. In most of the traditional forms of Buddhism, we find a strong emphasis on devotional practices, which is very obvious in pretty much any traditional Buddhist country. One of the basic theses of so-called "modernist Buddhism" was that the Buddha taught a rational teaching of meditation, ethics, and so on, rather than teaching purely devotional and superstitious-based practices. This was a new wave of Buddhism that started in the 19th century and dominated much of the 20th century. Towards the end of the 20th century, the winds shifted in academic studies. Rather than trying to find a one true rational tradition, the emphasis became much more on "Buddhisms," acknowledging that there have always been these different kinds of Buddhisms.

Which is fair enough—if that's your thing, that's not a problem. But sometimes it goes too far when people tend to assume that prioritizing meditation over devotional practice is colonialist or orientalist. It's important to acknowledge that you find the Buddha himself doing this kind of thing all the time. The modernists were not just making things up; all of this stuff is right there in the suttas, as has been acknowledged throughout the Buddhist world. Any knowledgeable Buddhist in any Asian country will essentially tell you the same thing. I've been told countless times in Thailand, Sri Lanka, Malaysia: "Oh, here everyone just does puja, they just do devotion. We should do more meditation." So this is not just a Western orientalist thing; it's based in the suttas.

This is not to say it can't be framed in a Western and orientalist way. Sometimes it's framed as if secularized Buddhists had "discovered" meditation and were practicing the real Dhamma, whereas Asian Buddhists are not. That's a bit racist, and it doesn't acknowledge the complexities of what is going on. In every single Buddhist country, there are all kinds of different people doing all kinds of different things.

You see this same tension, addressed by the Buddha in this passage, still playing itself out today. Somebody who has a very devotional practice today would read this and say, "Gods are coming and sprinkling flowers... that's so beautiful," taking it at face value because it affirms their own practice. Whereas somebody who's into meditation will look at that and think, "See, the Buddha said this devotional practice is not really where it's at," which affirms their practice. It's interesting that those different tendencies are very much present today, and in this sutta in particular, we're starting to see a bit of that jockeying back and forth in the community.

Venerable Upavāṇa and the Gathered Deities

Now, this next episode is very embarrassing for poor Upavāṇa. At that time, Venerable Upavāṇa was standing in front of the Buddha, fanning him. Upavāṇa was a sort of second attendant to the Buddha, a supporter of Ānanda. The Buddha made him move, saying, "Move over, mendicant, don't stand in front of me." I mean, how would you feel if the Buddha said that to you? Oh my goodness!

Ānanda thought, "This Venerable Upavāṇa has been the Buddha's attendant for a long time, living in his presence. Yet in this final hour, the Buddha makes him move. What is the reason?"

So he asked the Buddha, and the Buddha said, "Most of the deities from ten solar systems have gathered to see the Realized One. For twelve leagues all around this Sal grove, there's no spot, not even a fraction of a hair's tip, that's not crowded full of illustrious deities. Those deities are complaining: 'We've come such a long way to see the Realized One. Only rarely do Realized Ones arise in the world. And this very day, in the last watch of the night, the Realized One will become fully extinguished. And this illustrious mendicant is standing in front of the Buddha, blocking the view. We won't get to see the Realized One in his final hour.'"

Ānanda asked, "What kind of deities are you thinking of?"

"There are deities, Ānanda, both in the sky and on the earth, who are percipient of the earth. With their hair disheveled and arms raised, they fall down like their feet were chopped off, rolling back and forth, lamenting, 'Too soon will the Blessed One become fully extinguished! Too soon the Holy One will become fully extinguished! Too soon the Eye in the World will vanish!' But the deities who are free from desire endure mindful and aware, thinking, 'Conditions are impermanent. How could it possibly be otherwise?'"

There's a nice little story there—this "thousands of devas on the head of a pin" thing going on. I'm going to have to say this, so you're just gonna have to put up with me: I was having dāna at the house of a local Buddhist devotee the other day, and the husband was a physicist and cosmologist. I mentioned that in the suttas, when the Buddha speaks of the devas, they have three physical differences from ordinary human beings. Number one is that their length has shrunk. Number two, their mass has increased. And number three, time slows down. Shrinking length, increasing mass, time slowing down. I can see a few people get it: these are the three principles in the special theory of relativity as you approach the speed of light. [Laughter]

It's weird, isn't it? I think it's strange, because "deva" basically means "a being of light." So maybe they are relativistic beings who are approaching the speed of light. I don't know! Anyway, moving on.

The Four Inspiring Places for Pilgrimage

The Buddha goes on to recommend that after his passing, people go to see the four inspiring places (saṃvejanīyaṭṭhānāni). These are the places where the Buddha was born (Lumbini), where he became awakened (Bodh Gaya), where the wheel of Dhamma was rolled forth (Sarnath, on the outskirts of Varanasi), and where the Buddha became fully extinguished (Kusinārā, where we are right now).

The one at Lumbini is particularly notable because there is an Ashokan pillar there, and on it, it says Hida Budhe Jāte, which is basically exactly the same as the Pali Idha tathāgato jāto. It's essentially a direct quote from the suttas inscribed into the pillar at Lumbini, and it's probably the earliest direct quote from the suttas anywhere in existence.

If you haven't had the opportunity to go on pilgrimage to these places, it is highly recommended. It is very inspiring. When you go to those places where the Buddha went and lived, and you see all the other people on pilgrimage and all the people of faith and devotion, it really changes you. It's a really profound and very moving experience.

Ānanda's Questions: Relating to Women and the Buddha's Corpse

These are some of the last passages that the Buddha is speaking. The Buddha is now at Kusinārā, lying down between the Sal trees, coming up to the end of his life. Ānanda comes along with a few slightly odd questions.

First, Ānanda says, "Sir, how do we proceed when it comes to females?" That's a slightly odd question to ask now. There's no real context for it; it seems to be fairly abruptly inserted. It's not found in some of the parallels, so it seems pretty clear that it is a later insertion.

Let me talk a little bit about what it means. When I translate mātugāma, I translate it as 'female' rather than 'woman'. Pali has two words for woman. One is itthī, which is normally in opposition to purisa (man). Then they have mātugāma. It means woman, but it's usually used in contexts where it's contrasted with a bhikkhu. So, purisa is contrasted with an itthī, whereas a bhikkhu is contrasted with the mātugāma. This is why I think it's worthwhile trying to preserve that distinction by using the rendering 'females' here.

Ānanda was very handsome and very much a favorite of the ladies. There are many episodes, some of them quite comic, of what actually happened in his adventures with various ladies who fell in love with him. We don't really have a narrative context for him asking this question, but there is a context in terms of Ānanda's character and perhaps his own doubts about his practice.

The Buddha replies: "Not looking, Ānanda." (Adassanaṃ, Ānanda.)

Now, that recommendation contradicts what the Buddha said elsewhere about sense restraint. Sense restraint doesn't mean not looking, but being aware of how what you're seeing provokes a response inside you and being mindful of that. Let's not forget that this is advice for Ānanda specifically, and not meant to be general advice. The pronouns here are plural, so Ānanda is using a 'we', but that 'we' is also quite commonly used in Pali as a royal 'we'. I really think this is mostly talking about just Ānanda.

When we look at the Pali Canon, we are dealing with texts that are two and a half thousand years old. What I find quite astonishing about the suttas is how rarely we find anything that's really problematic in them compared to other scriptures of the same period. One text-historical way of looking at it is that maybe these things were added later. It's also possible to look at it in terms of the changing attitudes of the Buddhist community. It's often said, with some justification, that more sexist or misogynist attitudes crept into the Buddhist tradition over time. You can certainly find things in the Pali commentarial tradition that are outrageously misogynistic. However, tradition is never monolithic. In this particular case, the commentary restricts that broad statement down to one very specific case: "What this really means is that if a monk is in his hut, and a woman comes up to the door and is trying to entice the monk, then you shouldn't look at her."

Returning to the text, Ānanda says: "Don't look, Ānanda. Fine. But when looking, how to proceed?" This cracks me up because Ānanda immediately says to the Buddha, "Well, I'm not going to do that! Obviously we're going to look. So then what do we do?"

"Without chatting, Ānanda." (Anālāpo, Ānanda.)

"Okay, but when we are chatting, how do we proceed?"

"Be mindful, Ānanda." (Sati upaṭṭhāpetabbā, Ānanda.)

Ānanda is not shy about letting the Buddha know that he has zero intention of actually keeping any of these recommendations! That last instruction is glossed in an interesting way by the commentary, which refers to a sutta in the Sutta Nipāta where the Buddha says monks should look at women their own age as sisters, older women as mothers, and younger women as daughters. That is how they proceed mindfully.

The next question is more straightforward: "How do we proceed when it comes to the Realized One's corpse?" The Buddha says, "Don't get involved in the rites for venerating the Realized One's corpse. You must strive and practice for your own goal, meditate diligent, keen, and resolute. There are astute aristocrats, brahmins, and householders who are devoted to the Realized One; they will perform the rites."

This recommendation has not really been followed in the community. These days, it's pretty common in Theravada countries that monastics are called upon to perform funeral rites and chanting. It's become so common that it really has to be dealt with in any practice tradition, because otherwise you're spending all day going to one funeral after the next. But you can see from the Buddha's attitude that monks shouldn't be so involved in funeral ceremonies, but more involved with their meditation.

How did that come into the Buddhist tradition? One data point is a story in the Jātakas where Venerable Lāḷudāyī^[6], who was widely regarded as the most foolish monk in the Sangha, was invited to a funeral. When they came back, the monks told the Buddha it was terrible. When it came time to recite the verses of sorrow—that all things are impermanent—he recited the verses of auspicious blessing, saying, "Oh happy day! Oh wonderful day! If only every day could be like today!" [Laughter] Poor Lāḷudāyī didn't get the chanting right for the funerals.

The Buddha then gives instructions for the cremation. They wrap a wheel-turning monarch's corpse with 500 double layers of unworn cloth and uncarded cotton, place it in an iron case filled with oil, build a funeral pyre out of fragrant substances, and cremate the corpse. They then make a monument (a stupa) at the crossroads. The Buddha says his funeral should be done the same way. The four people deserving of a stupa are a Buddha, an independent Buddha (Paccekabuddha)^[7], a Buddha's disciple, and a wheel-turning monarch.

The Incredible Qualities of Ānanda

This next passage is one of my favorites. Ānanda entered a dwelling and stood there leaning against the doorjamb and crying, "Oh, I'm still only a trainee with work left to do, and my teacher is about to become fully extinguished—he who is so kind to me!"

It's so sad, and Ānanda is a very relatable figure here. The dwelling here is a vihāra, and remembering they were in a forest grove, the commentary says this was a pavilion set up for the funeral. If we look at the narrative structure, earlier in the sutta the Buddha pointed to his past life as King Mahāsudassana. In the Mahāsudassana Sutta, when the King is intent on going on retreat, the Queen misses him so much that she is also leaning against the doorjamb and crying in exactly the same way. The narrative is carefully framing it so that Ānanda is in the place of the Queen.

The Buddha asks a monk to summon Ānanda. When he arrives, the Buddha says, "Enough, Ānanda! Do not grieve, do not lament. Did I not prepare you for this when I explained that we must be parted and separated from all we hold dear and beloved? How could it possibly be that what is born, created, conditioned, and liable to wear out should not wear out, even the Realized One's body?"

Notice the Buddha's response. First he checks Ānanda's behavior, but he doesn't just leave it at that; he then gives him emotional support. "For a long time, Ānanda, you've treated the Realized One with deeds of body, speech, and mind that are loving, beneficial, pleasant, undivided, and limitless. You've done good deeds, Ānanda. Devote yourself to meditation, and you'll soon be free of the defilements." The emphasis on meditation is very clear here.

The Buddha continues to praise Ānanda's wisdom and discernment, and then says there are four incredible and amazing things about Ānanda. This is very personally and specifically phrased. Ānanda was always the one talking about the incredible and amazing things about the Buddha, and now the Buddha is turning that around. "If an assembly of monks, nuns, lay men, or lay women goes to see Ānanda, they are uplifted by seeing him and hearing him speak. And when he is silent, they've never had enough." The Buddha compares these qualities to the four incredible and amazing things about a wheel-turning monarch.

The City of Kusinārā and the Story of Mahāsudassana

Ānanda says to the Buddha, "Please don't extinguish in this little jungle hamlet, this branch hamlet. There are other great cities such as Campā, Rājagaha, Sāvatthī, Sāketa, Kosambī, and Bārāṇasī. Let the Buddha become fully extinguished there. There are many well-to-do aristocrats, brahmins, and householders there who are devoted to the Buddha; they will perform the rites."

These cities encompass the main areas where the Buddha visited. The Buddha replies, "Don't say that, Ānanda." He goes on to say that once upon a time, there was a king named Mahāsudassana, a just and principled wheel-turning monarch. His capital was this very Kusinārā, which at the time was named Kusāvatī. It was successful, prosperous, populous, full of people, and with plenty of food. It was never free of ten sounds by night or day: the sounds of elephants, horses, chariots, drums, clay drums, arched harps, singing, horns, gongs, and handbells, and the cry, "Eat, drink, and be merry!"

Why is the prefix "Kusi" here in Kusinārā, Kusāvatī, Kosambī, or Kosala? I believe all of these come from the root Kusa, which is a kind of grass. Kusa grass was an essential ingredient in Vedic rituals, specifically coronation rituals. The Brahmins established their influence by officiating the coronations of kings to legitimize their realms. I believe this prefix indicates that these are brahmanized kingdoms whose royal families were established through this means.

The Buddha tells Ānanda to go and inform the Mallas of Kusinārā that the Buddha will pass away in the last watch of the night. The Mallas' tribal name is Malla, but the Buddha calls them Vāseṭṭhas. Vāseṭṭha is the brahmanical lineage name of the purohita (priest) who officiated their coronation. The Mallas come, many of them stricken by grief.

Subhadda the Wanderer and the Noble Eightfold Path

Then there was a wanderer (paribbājaka) named Subhadda residing near Kusinārā. He wants to ask the Buddha a question because he knows the Buddha is going to die soon. Ānanda says, "Don't trouble him because he's not well." Ānanda is being a bit overprotective, but the Buddha says, "It's all right, let him come."

Subhadda asks, "Master Gotama, there are those ascetics and brahmins who lead an order and a community, well-known religious founders deemed holy by many people, namely: Pūraṇa Kassapa, Makkhali Gosāla (the bamboo-staffed ascetic), Ajita Kesakambalī (of the hair blanket), Pakudha Kaccāyana, Sañjaya Belaṭṭhiputta, and the Jain ascetic of the Nāta clan (Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta)^[8]. According to their own claims, did all of them have direct knowledge, or none of them, or only some?"

Of these six leading samaṇas of the time of the Buddha, whom we meet famously in the Sāmaññaphala Sutta^[9], the most well-known is the Jain leader Mahāvīra, referred to in the Pali texts as Nigaṇṭha. The Pali translators have sometimes not quite noticed the actual meaning of the name. Nigaṇṭha is not a personal name at all; it is simply a word used for the Jain ascetics, just as bhikkhu is used for Buddhist mendicants. Nātaputta is a variant spelling of Nātika-putta, a member of the Nāta clan. It is a reference to the Jain ascetic of the Nāta clan, in exactly the same way as others might refer to the Buddha as Samaṇa Gotama (the ascetic of the Gotama clan). Pūraṇa and Mahāvīra did claim to have direct knowledge, whereas others, such as Ajita Kesakambalī, denied that such knowledge was possible.

This is a question that comes up a lot today: "Was this person enlightened? Is my teacher more enlightened than your teacher?" The Buddha generally wasn't a fan of people speculating about the enlightenment of others.

The Buddha answers, "In whatever teaching and training the Noble Eightfold Path is not found, there is no ascetic found, no second ascetic, no third ascetic, and no fourth ascetic [the four stages of realization: stream-entry, once-return, non-return, and arahant]. In this teaching and training the Noble Eightfold Path is found. Only here is there an ascetic... Other sects are empty of ascetics. Were these mendicants to practice well, the world would not be empty of perfected ones."

Notice what the Buddha does and doesn't say. He says you can't find the Noble Eightfold Path anywhere outside of his teaching. As far as I'm aware, that's demonstrably true. But he does not say it's impossible for there to be someone outside of Buddhism who will practice and realize enlightenment if they were to adopt those factors.

Subhadda is inspired and asks to go forth. The Buddha, as is standard, theoretically puts him on probation, but he says that's fine. He ends up giving him the going forth, and he ultimately became an enlightened disciple, the last disciple of the Buddha.

The Buddha's Final Instructions and Last Words

Now we've finally come up to the Buddha's last words. The Buddha addresses Venerable Ānanda: "Now, Ānanda, some of you might think, 'The teacher's dispensation has passed, now we have no teacher.' But you should not see it like this. The teaching and training that I've taught and pointed out for you shall be your teacher after my passing." This is a major statement on how the sāsana continues.

Then he introduces some minor details: "After my passing, mendicants ought not address each other as 'Reverend' (āvuso) as they do today. A more senior mendicant ought to address a more junior mendicant by name, or clan, or by saying 'Reverend'. A more junior mendicant ought to address a more senior mendicant using 'Sir' (bhante) or 'Venerable' (āyasmā)." Āvuso comes from the root āyu meaning elder, and it's a respectful term, but not as respectful as āyasmā. The Buddha is establishing terms of address based on seniority. Notice it's about decorum and respect, not command. It's a very light touch.

The Buddha also says, "If it wishes, after my passing, the Sangha may abolish the lesser and minor training rules." The Sangha ultimately decided not to abolish any rules. Why would the Buddha do this? It shows that the reason we keep the rules is not because we were told to keep them, but because we chose to keep them. It's a way of empowering the Sangha.

The Buddha then says, "After my passing, give the divine punishment (brahmadaṇḍa) to the mendicant Channa... Channa may say what he likes, but mendicants should not correct, advise, or instruct him." Channa had been systematically obnoxious. I try to imagine how it would feel to be poor Channa, having one of the last things the Buddha ever says be about punishing him.

The Buddha then returns to major principles. "If there is a single one who has doubt or uncertainty concerning the Buddha, the teaching, the Sangha, the path, or the practice, ask! Don't regret it later." The mendicants kept silent for a first, second, and third time. The Buddha gently coaxed them, "Perhaps you don't ask out of respect for the teacher, so let a friend tell a friend." Still, they kept silent.

Venerable Ānanda said, "It's incredible, sir! It's amazing! I'm quite confident that there's not even a single mendicant in this Sangha who has doubt or uncertainty."

The Buddha replied, "Ānanda, you speak from faith. But the Realized One knows that there's not even a single mendicant in the Sangha who has doubt or uncertainty... Even the last of these 500 mendicants is a stream-enterer, not liable to be reborn in the underworld, and bound for awakening."

Then the Buddha said to the mendicants: "Come now, mendicants, I say to you all: conditions fall apart. Persist with diligence." (Vayadhammā saṅkhārā appamādena sampādethā'ti.)

These were the Realized One's last words.

Q&A Session

I'm going to finish there and see if anyone has any questions in the chat.

Eva comments, "I feel for him. Presumably Ānanda and a Dhamma friend and I were crying buckets when we thought of never ever seeing a teacher again in our next lives." Well, you know what I have to say for that, dear Eva? It's impermanent. How could it be that we should not be separated from those that are dear and beloved? It cannot happen.

Wayne asks about language usage: "What's the difference between the fully enlightened one, fully awakened one, and realized one? Are they interchangeable?" The word "Buddha" means awakened, sometimes translated as enlightened. Sammāsambuddha is an intensified form, like "the fully awakened one". "The Realized One" is my translation of the word Tathāgata. It literally means "the one who has become such", and it's usually used in a context that emphasizes the integrity and truthfulness of the Buddha—as he speaks, so he does. There are many other terms used to describe the Buddha; the Indic languages are very rich in these epithets.

Pete Hume says, "It's been very helpful to me to hear your pronunciation of so many terms that are commonly mispronounced." Thank you Pete. I put quite a lot of effort into learning how to pronounce Pali correctly. I've shared a short guide to pronouncing Pali in the chat.

Mao asks, "Does 'persist with diligence' mean something specific? I suppose it means practicing the path and reaching enlightenment." Exactly. In those two phrases, the whole of the Four Noble Truths and the Buddha's teachings are encapsulated. It captures the theme of the Mahāparinibbāna Sutta: on the one hand, the inevitability of everything passing, but at the same time, do something about it. We get to choose our lives. Even in the interval between breathing in and breathing out, there is much that you can do. If you do that with mindfulness, that makes your life well lived in accordance with Dhamma.

Jeff asks, "I had heard that in the ancient kingdom of Kusinārā, the Buddha had been a wheel-turning monarch in a previous life?" That's correct. In the Mahāsudassana Sutta (Dīgha Nikāya 17), the Buddha identifies himself with King Mahāsudassana, making it one of the few Jātaka stories found in the early texts. He uses that to emphasize the teaching of impermanence. As the king at that time, he had retreated to his palace to spend the rest of his life developing karuṇā jhāna^[10] (the meditation on compassion), and was reborn in a Brahma realm.

I think we should probably finish up there.