Generosity

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

The following talk was given by Gil Fronsdal at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on October 14, 2018. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Generosity

What I feel inspired to talk about this morning is generosity. Generosity is one of the four central practices in our particular Buddhist tradition or school. Those four practices are mindfulness, ethics, loving-kindness, and generosity—sati^[1], sīla^[2], mettā^[3], and dāna^[4].

These four qualities of the practice are not just practices that people do, but they become qualities of the heart. They are a manifestation of the good heart that reveals itself as we deepen or open up in this practice. Because of my background and upbringing, to my surprise, I relate to these four as sacred. They are sacred qualities; they're very special. There's a certain feeling of reverence inside, a feeling of caring for them. There's a wholeness in life when these four qualities are circulating and operating together. The absence of them—not having them—seems like I'd be bereft. I'd feel something was deeply off-kilter or askew in my heart. They're really central to this tradition and to how I've evolved as a person. Generosity is one of them.

A Story of Generosity

There's a wonderful little story—a fable, maybe. Once upon a time, there was a monk who had very few possessions and an old patchwork robe that he wore. He often slept outside under trees. One of his students was the king of the land, who had given him a golden begging bowl. Buddhist monastics travel around with an alms bowl, and when the lid is off, it means they're available for people to put food in it so they can eat. Otherwise, they don't eat. So, he had a golden one.

One day, he was going to lay down to sleep outside, and he saw a person lurking behind a few nearby trees, intent on stealing his bowl. It was cold, so he got up, went over to the person, handed him the bowl, and said, "Here, now I don't have to worry about you at night." The person couldn't believe his good luck and ran off.

The next morning, when the monk woke up, the thief was there with the bowl. He said, "I want to return this bowl. I've never met anyone who has this kind of freedom to be able to give away and offer something of such great value as if you had no need for it. Somehow, I felt that you had greater wealth because you gave it to me. I want to learn what you know, so I'm here to be your student." That's a nice story.

The Gift Economy

One of the joys in my life is not only learning generosity, but I also learned a lot about it because I was a recipient of it. At pretty much every stage of practice I did in Buddhism, I felt I was a recipient of a lot of goodness and support. In the early years of practice, it was very clear that the people who were my teachers were not doing it to become wealthy. There was an abundance of generosity in their teaching, their time, and their dedication to offering the opportunities I had.

When I practiced in monasteries in Japan, there was a tremendous outpouring of support for the people practicing. There is a wonderful story that epitomizes this for me. I had very little money when I went to Japan to practice for a year—something like $200 or $250. I decided that the reasonable thing to do when you have that little money is to get a job. It was pretty easy to teach English in Japan back then, so I set up a job to teach English. I had a couple of weeks before it started, so I went off to a Zen monastery to do a retreat. During that retreat, I thought, "I didn't come to Japan to teach English. I was already ordained as a Zen priest and monk. I came to practice Buddhism. I don't know if this is going to work, but I'll take my chances." I decided that when I returned to Kyoto, I would cancel my job.

The retreat was offered freely by the monastery, but there was a custom that at the end, if you were a visitor, you would put a little money in a nice envelope and go to the abbot to make an offering. It wasn't expected to be much money. At one monastery I practiced at in the United States that had this custom, I was told to go to the bank, get three brand-new one-dollar bills, and put them in a special envelope. The newness of it made it a ritual; much more was being expressed than just throwing crumpled dollar bills in the direction of the teacher.

So, I put in money as an expression of gratitude for having done the retreat. I talked with the abbot for a while, and it became clear that I was a masterless Zen monk. I was originally ordained by a Zen master, but due to circumstances, I no longer had him as my teacher. It turned out that in Japan, there is a custom of supporting masterless Zen monks by giving them "train money" so they can go look for a master. It was clear I was leaving and wasn't asking the abbot to be my master. He said, "Just wait a minute," went to the back room, and a few minutes later, handed me an envelope. So, I left him with my envelope, and he gave me his. His envelope had more money in it than mine did, plus my train money.

Here I had made this decision to devote myself to the practice. The first thing that happened once I left the retreat was receiving this wonderful, unexpected support for pursuing the practice. It went that way for me over and over again in my life. Whenever it seemed risky to choose the Dharma^[5] over the reasonable thing to do, and I chose the Dharma practice, somehow things came together to offer support. I feel changed and inspired by that experience.

When I practiced in Burma, people would sometimes come and offer a little bit of food for us Westerners practicing there. It was clear that some of the people offering us food were quite poor. I was so inspired by this that I told myself, "I have to practice now for them. For their sake, I have to be worthy of what's been given to me." Those feelings weren't a burden; they actually made my heart sing. It felt like, "Okay, now it's not just for me. I've got to try harder here and apply myself more." I was simply delighted by it all.

A Web of Relationships

If you go all the way back to the time of the Buddha, there's a lot of emphasis on the value of generosity and giving. The Buddha said something like, "If you knew the benefits that come from offering generous gifts, you wouldn't let a single meal go by without sharing it."

When I was a Zen monk, for years we would eat in the meditation hall in a ritual way, with chanting and bowing. At the end of the meal, you always had to take a little bit of the food you received and put it on a small stick next to your bowl. Then, the people who served the food would come along and collect that little morsel. They collected it from everyone who was eating and then went out and offered it somewhere in nature—in the woods, for the critters. It was a symbolic offering to say, "Never eat or receive something without then turning around and offering it back." The amount of food that went out to the critters was pretty small, but symbolically, it helped me feel this exchange. It reminded me that we are connected to the natural world, the non-human world, and the wider world. We are living in a mutual exchange and relationship with it. By doing this little ritual every day, it slowly dawned on me. I can be a slow learner sometimes, but over time, it had a big impact on me.

Buddhism, especially through the monastic community, is set up to be a gift economy. A gift economy is very different than a commercial, consumer economy where you just have money to buy things. A gift economy has a lot to do with a field of relationships. A gift is given generously in relation to the contact people have with each other. It's a feedback system of care, support, respect, and generosity. For it to be intact, everyone has to play their part.

For monastics, they have to be ethical. They have to be worthy of generosity. They have to practice uprightly and well. If they aren't, people aren't inspired to offer them food. The monastics also have to be in relationship with the laity, because if you receive something from them, you're supposed to offer something back. The only thing monastics are allowed to offer back is teaching. This process of giving and taking puts people in personal contact with each other.

In a commercial, consumer economy like we have in this country, all you need to do is have money. It is very easy to ignore where your goods come from or who produced them. It is also easy to ignore where your goods go after you finish with them and throw them in the trash. The exchange of money creates a very different system of exchange than a gift economy. So much is lost in the relationship to the natural world, to the human world, and to each other. Maybe some people prefer it because they don't want to be in relationship with the world too much. For some people, there is fear involved, and it feels better to be in your own little world. For some people, it's greed: "I just want it for myself to benefit myself, and not think about anybody else at all. I deserve it, after all."

It's very interesting to consider the difference between a gift economy and a commercial economy. Buddhism, down through the centuries, has primarily existed in a gift economy, where the whole exchange of generosity is built into the fabric that keeps it going, supports it, and sustains it^[6].

The Practice of Generosity

The practice of generosity has many aspects. One aspect is establishing healthy social relationships. It's often said that generosity is the first practice people do; it's the gateway into Buddhism. If that's the case, then the gateway into Buddhism is not a personal exploration for your own sake, but immediately puts you in a field of relatedness with other people. Generally, generosity is done outwards to others. It is giving and connecting to others, establishing that Buddhism is interrelated to people.

In our tradition, where we emphasize meditation so much—sitting down and closing your eyes—it can lend itself to a feeling of being self-involved, and even selfish or disconnected. Intentionally pulling back from relationships might have its place sometimes, but the foundation of liberation in Buddhism is one that keeps the heart completely open to the world and to our relationships with the people around us.

Another aspect of generosity is that it's a practice. It's said that generosity is non-obligatory. If it's obligatory, it's not generous. To be non-obligatory means it comes from a place of freedom, openness, or goodness inside. It just feels good or feels right. If it's an obligation, it is giving, but it's not generous. Non-generous giving isn't bad—giving doesn't have to be generous—but here is where it gets interesting in terms of Buddhist practice.

It's possible to take up the practice of giving because we understand that doing it is beneficial in a variety of ways. Deciding to be generous and deciding to give becomes a mirror to show you all the ways you don't want to give. You might see, "I'm actually miserly," or "I'm too afraid to give," or "I'm too annoyed with that person to give." There's a rich inner world that interferes with our generosity, and it's really good to learn what that interference is. Practicing giving even when you don't want to, and doing it with mindfulness, reveals a lot of what's going on inside of us.

This is very important because generosity can be seen as a beautiful ideal, but it's possible to be oppressed by ideals^[7]. You might feel, "I don't live up to it. I'm supposed to be this way, and I'm not. Now I have to force myself to be generous." It quickly becomes a mess. But one of the values of ideals is to help us see how we don't live up to them—meaning, we see what interferes with the ideal. That's a great lesson. If you see how you're selfish, greedy, miserly, or afraid of other people, you have a chance to work through it. You can take inventory and decide, "Is this really how I want to live my life?"

If you work through that, you still don't have to be generous. It might be that the circumstance you're in doesn't call for generosity. If you thought the goal was just to be generous, you could give in the wrong situations. But working through the obstacles to generosity gives us the ability to act from many different places, not just from a forced generous place.

We can practice giving as a mirror and a challenge. Many years ago, a teacher I know encouraged people to carry a $20 bill (which might be more like $50 now) in their wallet or pocket. The practice was to find someone you didn't know during the next week and give it to them. Giving away $50 brings up all sorts of questions: "Who do I give it to? Why do I give it then?" Personal and interpersonal issues come up in that reflection. This is the practice of giving for the benefit of understanding ourselves better.

The practice of giving can also teach us about letting go and how wonderful it is not to hold on. We learn the joy of opening up and stepping forward with an open hand and open arms, freeing something inside of us. There is a way of giving that is freeing, and a way of giving done with a profound feeling of reverence. For example, when I gave that envelope to the teacher in Japan, there was a feeling that something special was going on. It was much more than just my generosity; there was a human connectedness and care that had depth to it.

Instructions on Giving

The Buddha gave instructions about how to give. It's an interesting list:

1. One gives a gift carefully, which means thoughtfully and with consideration. Remember, this is 2,500 years ago, before they had PayPal.
2. One gives it with one's own hand. Even if we use a credit card or send a check today, we can find the equivalent of doing it in an intentional, embodied way, like you're really in it and connected to it.
3. One gives it showing respect for the other person.
4. One gives a valued gift—something we feel is useful, important, or valuable.

There are other wonderful instructions as well. The Buddha said one should give a gift in such a way as not to demean, disrespect, or denigrate the other person. Sometimes gifts can do funny things in relationships, so we should give in a way that respects the person.

The Buddha also talked about a variety of motivations for giving. There are two sets of eight. For instance:

• One can give spontaneously.
• One can give out of fear.
• One can give to reciprocate a gift, or in the hope of receiving a gift in return.
• One can give by thinking it is good to give.
• One can give by thinking it's improper to deny food to a monastic who has none.
• One can give in order to get a good reputation.
• One can give because it ennobles and adorns the mind.

Another list includes giving out of affection, giving in anger, giving out of stupidity, giving out of fear, giving to maintain a family tradition, or giving to have a favorable rebirth. One might give believing that "by giving, my heart will be glad, and happiness and joy will arise in me." Finally, one gives to ennoble and adorn the mind.

The tradition says this last one—giving to ennoble and adorn the mind—is the best reason to give. It's a little odd; why is that better than giving for the sake of the other person? They say that when we ennoble or adorn the mind, we are preparing the mind to practice insight and concentration. Adorning the mind is creating a mind that has no static. It creates a mind that is open, unagitated, clear, and available for the world. It is a beautiful, liberated mind.

Generosity as an Expression of Freedom

A third reason for giving is as an expression of generosity, or as I like to think of it, an expression of our freedom. Buddhism puts tremendous emphasis on the capacity to be unencumbered by attachments, craving, compulsion, fear, selfishness, and stinginess^[8]. To be unencumbered—to have cast off the shackles, heaviness, and burdens we live under—creates a heart and mind that is very open, clear, transparent, and free. Generosity becomes a manifestation of that inner freedom. Some Buddhist traditions^[9] say that when generosity is given in this way, it is a manifestation of our inner freedom.

When generosity is given in this way, the idea that there is a "giver," a "receiver," and a "gift" kind of disappears. The self-consciousness of "me being a giver" disappears. It just feels like this is the nature of reality: there is giving going on here, it's just a flow. The freedom of giving is like what happens in a family. Sometimes a family member might make supper for the rest of the family. It's an act of generosity, but are they doing it for "the other," or for the big "we"? This is what we do for each other. There's no feeling of separation; we're all in it together.

One of the formative experiences I had in my life was when I was seventeen. I bummed around Europe with four friends with almost no money. It was remarkable how we all just shared whatever we had. There were no personal possessions; nothing belonged to one person and not the other. It was quite hard to go back to high school in America after that, where my friends had no sense of this shared existence.

A liberated heart has the ability to give where the sense of giver, receiver, and even gift falls away. That openness and simplicity of just giving is a bit of an ideal. But sometimes by giving, we exercise that freedom. We might feel the joy or the rightness of just letting go and giving in a very open way. Sometimes it's helpful to act on that, to stretch beyond what we're comfortable with in order to grow or expand our freedom.

The expression of generosity feels like a sacred part of our practice and our life. It has benefited me and freed me tremendously, bringing a lot of joy and delight. I feel I would be very bereft without that capacity.

Reflections

Since we have tea today, I'd like to invite you to share something with one or two people next to you. Can you share a simple example from your life of a situation or person where you learned something about the value, benefits, or specialness of generosity? Maybe share that simple thing with a friend, say hello, offer your name, and welcome them. In about ten minutes, there will be tea and a snack, generously offered by Sangha^[10] members. Thank you. Maybe you'll join with a snack where there's no giver and no receiver, but just a snack. Thank you all.