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.

Introduction to Buddhism Part 1: The Story of the Buddha

Welcome to the first Monday evening talk of the year. I am going to use this as an occasion to start a series of talks. The plan for the next ten times that I am teaching here on Monday evening is to offer an introduction to Buddhism. I am not here every Monday, so you can check the IMC calendar to see when I am here if you want to come for just that series.

One of the things prompting me to do this is reflecting on when we first moved here nineteen years ago; our first talk here was the first Monday in January. Before that, we were for many years at the church in Palo Alto. There was a very strong desire in the Insight Meditation movement, when it first came to this country, to not include a lot of Buddhism in the teachings. The goal was to make mindfulness accessible to people who might find religion to be a turn-off.

There are a lot of people who are interested in Buddhism, but a lot of it was left out of the Insight Meditation teachings. I am very happy with that because mindfulness practice is a phenomenally effective tool that supports people in all kinds of ways. The Buddhism part is somewhat optional for mindfulness, but mindfulness is not optional for Buddhism. We were content with this approach for a long time, but in the twenty or thirty years that I have been teaching, the environment for mindfulness has changed dramatically.

Now, mindfulness is everywhere. People have it on their apps, and the amount of mindfulness in our society is astronomical. Years ago, it was hard to find and hardly present in the United States. Now, secular mindfulness is in schools. Believe it or not, my son in college is in a fraternity, and there is a meditation group in his fraternity now! [Laughter] I don't quite know what to make of that, given my background and the associations I had with those things.

Recently, I was asked to speak at the local college. They were eager to get more mindfulness because their students come to college already knowing it; they've learned it in high schools and in society. What this means is that we don't have to be so careful anymore. Now we can be Buddhists. I still think of us as a kind of "Buddhist Light," but it gives us an opportunity to speak more freely. What we have to offer is something different than just secular mindfulness. We have the opportunity to offer it in its original context. That is the motivation behind offering you an introduction to Buddhism for these ten weeks.

Two Kinds of Religion

First, I will share some introductory words about Buddhism, and then we are going to go into the world of Buddhist myth. In an overarching way—a generalization that I have heard no one else ever make—there are two kinds of religions on this planet. What makes them religions is that they deal with teachings and practices of ultimate value, ultimate meaning, and ultimate purpose. A religion represents the highest values that people live their lives by, which they want to infuse into everything they do.

Whatever brings that kind of pervasive ultimate value or purpose, I call religion. You might have a different definition, but using mine, there are generally two types: theistic religions and humanistic religions.

Theistic religions, as the name implies, are founded upon deities, divinities, or gods. Often accompanying this is a relationship to a transcendent world—like a heaven—that is completely separate and distinct from this world. That transcendent reality plays a major role.

Humanistic religions are human-centered. There isn't a transcendent being or a divine essence in a different dimension of reality. Humanistic religions tend to be based on values, purposes, and experiences that human beings can know for themselves. Theistic religions are often based on things people don't actually know for themselves, but which come through books, teachers, or tradition.

The Buddhism that I teach, and the Buddhism I feel I belong to—Theravada Buddhism—is humanistic in nature. Historically, over time, Buddhism has often evolved in theistic directions. There are forms of Buddhism that I would define as theistic, where supernatural, godlike beings and transcendent heavenly realms are very important. However, the Buddhism that we teach here at IMC comes from Southeast Asia—Thailand, Burma, Cambodia, and Sri Lanka. Vada means doctrine or teaching, and Thera means the elders, so Theravada is the teachings of the elders, going right back to the historical Buddha and his disciples.

This tradition makes the claim that it represents the earliest teachings of Buddhism. If you dig into this earliest tradition and do critical textual studies, it has a very strong humanistic quality. It is based on what people can experience and know for themselves, pointing to our own experience, relying on ourselves as our own teacher, and discovering something within ourselves of ultimate meaning.

The Tathagata and the Blank Slate

In the earliest times, Buddhism was relatively humanistic. But there is a strange thing that goes on. From the earliest records, this person that we now call the Buddha didn't quite want to go along with being defined in the usual ways people identify a human being. He didn't want to be identified as a parent, a son, or by a profession. In a very famous story, someone asked him, "Who are you?" He answered, "I am awake." Well, that doesn't tell you much! Where were you born? Who were your parents? He simply said, "I am awake."

The most common name he used for himself was the unusual title Tathagata^[1]. It is very rare that he calls himself "Buddha." The Tathagata probably means "the one who has thus gone" or "the one who has thus come." I suspect it means something closer to "the one who is thus." Who are you? "Like this. You get what you see."

In some ways, it is quite refreshing to just be "thus"—not having to be defined, not having to be anything for anyone, not having to prove yourself, apologize for yourself, or explain yourself. You just show up, without any baggage of identity, and say, "I am thus, like this, and we'll see where we go from there."

He didn't seem to talk about himself much, except as an example of what he had to teach. There is no biography of his early life from his lifetime. He didn't want to define himself in ordinary human terms. Was he human? Of course he was, but he was a little bit amorphous, not quite present in the way we expect from a human being in terms of a strict definition.

This created a nice blank slate—an inkblot for others to fill in. Down through the centuries, Buddhists have filled it in, creating some pretty phantasmagoric stories about the Buddha's life. You can watch the historical texts develop over time and see the growth of what I call the Buddhist myth. You aren't really supposed to say other religions have myths, because myths aren't supposed to be true, but since I am a Buddhist, I think I'm allowed to call them myths.

I don't take these stories as literally true. But they are fascinating as myths, and myths have their own truth. Sometimes myths can be more true than reality because they point to underlying patterns and truths about our life that speak to people like poetry. Most of what I am going to share with you today probably never happened, but it makes a valuable story if you are willing to suspend disbelief and take it as pointing to something about every person.

The Birth of the Buddha

Once upon a time, far away in northern India, there was a king and a queen. We don't actually know that the Buddha's parents were royalty—that detail came hundreds of years later—but in the story, they gave birth to a prince.

When the Queen was pregnant, she traveled to give birth in her home country, as was the custom. Halfway between the countries, under a tree, she went into labor. She stood, lifted one hand to hold a branch, and the Buddha was born out of her side—an early Caesarean!—because that was considered pure.

The Buddha popped out, and the first thing he did was take seven steps. That is pretty precocious for a newborn. He then pointed one finger to the sky and one finger to the earth and said, "Heaven above, earth below, I am the world-honored one." As he walked those seven steps, he didn't actually touch the ground; deities came and placed lotus petals underneath his feet to hold him up.

I tell this story to children, and I say, "That's strange, that someone would say about themselves, 'I'm the best in the world.'" But the way we should understand it is this: I go around to each child and say, "You're the most wonderful person in the world, you're the best." There is a way in which everyone is a "world-honored one." My interpretation of the story is that everyone comes to realize they are unique, special, and valuable. The whole enterprise of Buddhism is to inhabit that so thoroughly that you end up having no conceit whatsoever. You want to be free of conceit, but you start with that basic foundation of inherent worth.

Soon after his birth, a sage named Asita^[2] came to see the baby. He read the signs on the baby's body and said, "Lo and behold, this is a phenomenal person. This person will grow up either to be a world-ruling monarch or a great sage, a Buddha."

The father didn't think much of the religious life for his first son. He wanted him to follow in his footsteps, take over the kingdom, and become a world-ruling monarch. To ensure this, the King built three palaces to raise his son—one for each season in the foothills of the Himalayas. He built these to protect his son so he would not see any human suffering. The King was afraid that if the prince saw the reality of the human condition, he would choose the religious route. He made sure the prince lived in a gated community, went to private schools, and had all the luxuries of life. He essentially lived in Woodside! [Laughter]

The Four Heavenly Messengers

As a young man in his late teens, he was married for a good number of years. When he was around twenty-nine, he grew curious about what was outside the palace walls. He had his charioteer get the horses and chariot ready, and he managed to sneak out to see the world.

Lo and behold, he saw something he had never seen before: an old person. He asked his charioteer, "What is that?" The charioteer replied, "That is an old person. It is the nature of all people to become old." Wow.

The next day, they snuck out again, and this time he saw a severely sick person. The Buddha asked, "What is that?" The charioteer said, "That is a sick person. It is the nature of all beings to be sick." He had no idea; he had been entirely protected from this reality.

The following day they went out, and he asked, "What is that?" The charioteer said, "That is a dead person." Coincidentally, the first time I ever saw a dead person was not far from where the Buddha saw one in the myth—it was in Kathmandu when I was eleven, and they were carrying a body down to the river to be burned. The charioteer told him, "It is the nature of all people to die."

On the fourth day, the Buddha went out and saw a renunciant—a contemplative who had devoted himself to the spiritual life. He was walking down the street in a very different way than the Buddha had ever seen anyone walk. He walked calmly, self-possessed, with clarity, presence, and simplicity. He wasn't looking at billboards or advertisements or caught up in distractions. The Buddha asked, "What is that?" The charioteer replied, "That is a renunciant."

These four sights are called the Four Heavenly Messengers. They came to the Buddha to show him what the human condition is like. It is not uncommon for people to be protected from a lot of what goes on in this human life, not really seeing the degree of suffering that exists or the destiny we all share. If we are lucky enough, we get old, we will be sick someday, and we are going to die.

For the Buddha, this became an existential crisis. It made such a huge impact that palace life now seemed uninteresting. He felt, "I have to get to the bottom of this. I have to understand this and find what is beyond this—a freedom or awakening that has greater value."

The Great Renunciation

The next night, the Buddha snuck out again. He had his charioteer take him to the edge of the country. Before crossing the river, he took his sword, cut off his beautiful long hair, took off all his royal jewels and fine clothes, gave them to his charioteer, and went forth into the world. This is called the Great Renunciation.

According to the myth, on that exact same day, his wife had given birth to their first and only son. In spite of just having a newborn baby, he left. That is pretty shocking in modern terms. In the ancient world, some say that as the male of the royal household, he had fulfilled his primary duty of providing an heir to the throne, which freed him to go off and discover spiritual truth. While dramatic, remember that there were no universities, no IMC down the street, and no therapists you could see. The only option available for someone with that kind of inquiring, existential need was to go forth, leave regular lay life, and become an ascetic contemplative.

He went off and found the meditation teachers of his time. Those teachers taught him how to go into deep states of trance. He became an exceptional student, equaling his teachers in his ability to enter these deep meditative trances. However, he realized that even after mastering these teachings, they didn't address the existential issues he was concerned with. So, he left them.

The other option available was severe ascetic practice: starving oneself, eating just one grain of rice a day, having no clothes, sleeping outdoors in harsh weather. One practice involved holding one's breath until almost fainting. In these myths, the Buddha always had to be the best at everything, so he practiced asceticism more fiercely than anyone else, right up to the edge of dying. He collapsed on the bank of a river and lay there as if dead. People who saw him thought he had passed away. But he revived himself and thought, "I have done asceticism better than anyone, right to the edge of dying, and this is not providing the answer either. Dying is not going to provide the answer."

He decided to start eating again to regain his energy. His five companion ascetics saw that he was now "indulging" and giving up the ascetic path, so they left him in disgust. Left alone, he went looking for a place to sit and found a beautiful spot under a Bodhi tree near a river.

Awakening Under the Bodhi Tree

As he sat there wondering what to do next, he remembered an event from his childhood when he was seven years old. His father was performing the royal ceremonial spring plowing. The young boy was left under a rose apple tree at the edge of the fields. It was a comfortable spring day. He felt safe and content, just watching the activity in the fields. Sitting upright, not trying to accomplish anything, his mind became settled, relaxed, and unified, and he entered into the first of the deep jhāna^[3] meditations—a state of great ease, peace, and well-being.

As an adult, he remembered that well-being and thought, "That is the path to liberation. It doesn't depend on anything in the world. It is an experience of well-being that is free of being caught up in sensual desire, hatred, and fear. That well-being welled up from inside, not dependent on anything."

He continued that evening and into the night practicing this line of meditation. It is not a trance where you disconnect from the world, but a deep state of meditation that is very much connected to oneself, the world, and the body. There are deeper and deeper states of stillness—freedom of the mind from its preoccupations, thoughts, identity, and desires. The mind can settle, come home to itself, and no longer be fragmented or chasing things.

He was on the brink of awakening when a deity named Mara^[4] appeared. Mara's job description is to prevent people from getting enlightened and to keep them immersed in the world of sensual pursuits. Mara saw that someone was about to escape his realm, so he came with his army to frighten the Buddha. They threw spears, arrows, flashing swords, and axes at him. But the Buddha just sat under the tree meditating and did nothing. Every weapon thrown at him turned into flowers and fell gently to the ground.

Mara said, "This isn't working, let's try something else." He sent his gorgeous daughters, who tried to present themselves in tempting ways to distract the Buddha. But the Buddha sat peacefully and didn't take the bait.

Finally, Mara came with his biggest weapon. He approached the Buddha and demanded, "What right do you have to become enlightened?" Many people have a lot of doubt about themselves. They feel unworthy or undeserving. When it comes to something as profound as spiritual liberation, this doubt can rear its head strongly. In response, the Buddha took his right hand, reached over his knee, and touched the earth. He said, "I call upon the earth as my witness to my right to become enlightened." When he touched the earth, there was a great earthquake that attested to his worthiness. This frightened Mara away.

The Buddha continued to meditate. In the early morning, as the sun was rising, he had a deep insight and understanding of reality. He was able to let go in a very profound way, and that letting go was his awakening, his enlightenment.

The Buddha's Passing

He went off to teach and had a teaching career that lasted over forty years in ancient India. He lived to be about eighty years old. When it was time for him to die, he was walking back to his home country. On the trip, he got very sick twice. The first time, he was in a tremendous amount of pain. The only way he got relief was by entering those deep meditative trances he had learned when he was young. When he recovered, he continued his walk.

Later, he was offered a meal. In the original language, the food is called sukara-maddava^[5], often translated as "pig's delight." Some think it was bad pork; others think it was a type of mushroom that wild pigs like to eat. We don't really know what it was. When offered the meal, the Buddha said, "I am the only one who can eat this. Don't give it to anyone else. I will eat my portion, and then bury the rest." He ate it and became gravely ill.

He walked a bit further, felt he was going to die, and laid down between two trees. For a day or so, he made himself available for the villagers and his disciples to come visit him. He gave his last teachings. One of the last things he asked his disciples was, "Do you have any questions left over?" They were silent. He asked three times, saying, "Perhaps out of respect for me being sick and dying you don't want to ask, but please ask." No one said anything.

The very last thing he said was something like, "All conditioned things are impermanent. Strive on with diligence." Then he closed his eyes and went into deep meditation. He took a final tour systematically through the eight deep meditation states. When he was in the deepest one, a monk asked, "Is he dead?" Another monk, who was also a deep meditator, knew he wasn't dead but in a deep state of meditation. The Buddha then started coming back down through the states. In the fourth absorption—a deeply peaceful, blissful state—he let go, and conventionally, he passed away.

The Meaning of the Myth

That is the myth. It is the myth of someone who discovered how to be at peace, so that when it was time for him to die, he could die peacefully. He had no fear, no distress. He had done what he needed to do, felt complete, and had passed on his teachings. To have that ability to die with ease and peace is a phenomenal thing, even if none of these stories are historically true. It is phenomenal for this person to have set in motion a religious tradition that continues right up to today.

This myth may be the myth of every person. It is the myth that we are somehow protected and don't really understand what is going on in our lives. We don't understand why we suffer, and many of us avoid facing our existential issues. In order to truly face them, we have to turn toward them, sit with them, and look honestly at what this life is about. Through deep insight, we ourselves can find awakening. We can find a level of peace and a resolution to the existential issues of our lives. It's not that we are in a hurry to die, but when it is time to die, we will have lived a full, meaningful, purposeful life. By touching into something very true about human life, we gain a degree of peacefulness, freedom, love, and compassion for this world. That is what Buddhists have been pursuing and practicing ever since.

When we resume this series, I will offer you my interpretation of this humanistic Buddhism, based on the earliest texts rather than the myths. You will get a very different flavor of what Buddhism can be. I hope I told this story well enough that it is inspiring as poetry. Go out and look for your own Heavenly Messengers, and then come back, and we will take up this story from another angle. Thank you.