Living by Vow

by Shohaku Okumura

  The four bodhisattva vows are an essential point, not just in our practice of zazen but also in our day-to-day lives. Each of us has a job or a family and in each situation we try to practice the four noble truths and the four bodhisattva vows. Our practice is the whole of our life, not something special that we do only in the monastery or at a sesshin or retreat. Those are important parts of our practice, but the Buddha taught us to just awaken to the reality of our lives and live on the basis of that reality. We have to live right now, right here, with this body and mind, and in the company of others. The guiding force, the compass that leads us to live out this reality, is the bodhisattva vows.

  SHAKYAMUNI BUDDHA’S VOW

  According to the Sanskrit literature, Shakyamuni sat alone under the bodhi tree and was enlightened. He saw that beings suffer in samsara—in the six realms of the world: the realms of hell, hungry ghosts, animals, asuras, human beings, and heavenly beings. This is the meaning of suffering as the first noble truth. The Indian folk belief was that we are born into one of these six realms, and when we die we are reborn into another realm according to our deeds in this life. The transmigration continues endlessly until we are free from twisted knots of karma created by the three poisonous minds of grasping, aversion, and ignorance.

  I don’t know if these realms actually exist after death, but I see that they exist in human society and inside each of us. Hell is when people live together and make each other suffer. Everything each one does irritates the others. This sort of thing often happens even within ourselves: two conflicting parts of us argue and fight. We have a constant internal struggle. That’s hell.

  Hungry ghosts are beings consumed by unsatisfied craving. In this realm we always feel something is lacking. We consume or try to obtain things we desire but are never satisfied.

  Animals are happy when they are fed; they feel content and go to sleep. Some animals, like cows or elephants, work from birth to death; they just work, work, work. Many Japanese people live like this. Some of my friends who work in Tokyo leave their homes at seven in the morning and start work at eight thirty or nine. It may take them two hours to get to their jobs. They work until nine in the evening and then return home and go to bed around eleven or twelve. That’s their life. When I heard this, I was amazed. Their lives are much harder than intensive sitting practice during sesshin! I can’t imagine how a person could live that way. It’s living in the realm of animals.

  Asuras are fighting spirits. Asura was a mythical Indian god of justice. When we believe we are right, we criticize others based on our own concept of justice. If necessary we fight with others until we win. Exterminating people who oppose us becomes the purpose of our lives. Such people cannot be satisfied without enemies. They can’t live without something against which they can struggle. We all have this sort of attitude sometimes. When we have someone to criticize, we feel safe, righteous, and good.

  Human beings seek fame and profit. Animals are satisfied when their stomachs are full, but we with our human minds are never full, because we think of our future. I want to make sure I will be fulfilled tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and for the rest of my life, and that my children will live long, happy lives. Even if we don’t have any problems at this moment, we are not satisfied because we worry about the future. Animals don’t worry about safety or security in the future. Only human beings save something extra for tomorrow.

  Heavenly beings are those whose desires are completely met. They need nothing; they seem happy, and yet they are not. Since they have everything, they don’t need to seek anything and are unable to find motivation to do anything. These people become lazy and also worry about losing what they already possess. It can be difficult for them to find truly intimate friends because they think others befriend them only to take something. Even if they live successful lives, they lose everything when they die. When such people face death, they might question the meaning of their hard work and achievements. Even someone who has it all cannot be happy in an absolute way as long as the goal in life is to satisfy ego-centered desires. This is the insight the Buddha attained under the bodhi tree.

  The Buddha contemplated the causes of these forms of suffering and tried to find their root cause. Later in Buddhist history people assumed that the Buddha contemplated the twelve links of causation—the way our lives become suffering and how we can be liberated from suffering. He found that the ultimate cause of suffering is ignorance and delusive desires based on that ignorance. This ignorance is mumyō in Japanese, avidyā in Sanskrit. Myō means “brightness” or “wisdom,” and mu means “no.” Mumyō means that we cannot see the reality of life. As we try to fulfill our desires, we do things that are good or bad. As a result of our deeds, we transmigrate through the various realms of samsara and we suffer. This is the teaching of causality based on our karmic deeds. Our desires and the actions that arise from them are based on our ignorance. The consequences of our deeds cause suffering. When we clearly see our ignorance it disappears. When we see with the eye of wisdom that ignorance causes our suffering, we are free from both ignorance and suffering. This is called nirvana or enlightenment.

  Shakyamuni Buddha remained sitting for several weeks to savor his enlightenment. He was released from all ignorance and suffering and he enjoyed it. He felt that what he now saw, the causes of suffering, was very difficult to understand. He feared that if he tried to teach others what he had discovered, no one would understand. He thought, “The content of my enlightenment, the concept of interdependent origination, is extremely difficult to comprehend. Those who enjoy clinging take pleasure in attachment and are fond of their ties of dependence, and they will never be able to understand it.” He expressed this thought in verse:

  That enlightenment which I have attained through many hardships

  Should I now teach to others?

  Those who hold fast to greed and hatred

  Cannot easily understand this Truth.

  Against the common stream,

  Subtle, profound, fine, and difficult to perceive,

  It cannot be seen by those

  Who are lost in desire, cloaked in darkness.11

  Pondering thus, he was not inclined to teach the Dharma.

  Here “the common stream” refers to the cycle of birth and death within samsara. The Buddha initially thought that people would find it too difficult to understand what he had discovered. In the Sanskrit story Brahmā Sahāmpati, a god, divined what the Buddha was thinking. (Perhaps this is not a description of real events but an account of what was happening in the Buddha’s mind.) When he saw that the Buddha had decided not to teach, he asked him to reconsider. “In this world there are some people who bear only a small amount of hindrance and whose wisdom is outstanding,” he said. “Please preach your Dharma to them.” Still the Buddha hesitated. Brahma repeated his request, and again the Buddha did not consent. After the third request he accepted. Then he said, “The gateway of ambrosia (deathlessness) is thrown open for those who have ears to hear.”

  The Buddha’s hesitation to teach is understandable. When I first studied the Buddha’s teaching I had difficulty accepting it. It was not so hard to understand it intellectually. It’s easy to understand as an abstract theory that the cause of suffering is ignorance and desire, or to see examples in other people. But it’s difficult to see when we ourselves suffer and are ignorant. It’s also hard to accept that we are deluded. We believe that we are special, important, and valuable. It’s really not a matter of intellectual understanding, not a set of abstract hypotheses. If we agree with the Buddha’s teaching, we need to practice it and make an effort to transform our lives.

  Because of Brahma’s request, the Buddha went to Benares and taught a group of ascetic monks who had practiced with him. These monks accepted his teaching. The Buddha’s determination to start teaching was the origin of the vow in Buddhism. After that the Buddha traveled all over India by foot and continued teaching for over forty-five years. He lived by his vow from his en
lightenment until his death at the age of eighty.

  The Buddha’s vow was to help people awaken to reality and save them from suffering. This is the vow we take as a bodhisattva: “Beings are numberless, we vow to free them.” A bodhisattva is a disciple or a child of the Buddha, a person who aspires to learn the Buddha’s teaching and follow his example. Vow is essential for us as Buddhist practitioners. It is a concrete and practical form of wisdom and compassion. This is the important point to understand when we think about vow.

  KATAGIRI ROSHI’S POEM ON VOW

  Katagiri Roshi, the founding teacher and abbot of the Minnesota Zen Meditation Center until his death in 1990, named the center Ganshōji, which means “temple born of vow.” After I became the head teacher there, I used his office. In it was a cabinet holding his writings. Since I wanted to understand his goals, attitude, and teaching, I read much of his work. I found a poem he wrote in 1988 that is quite wonderful.

  PEACEFUL LIFE

  Being told that it’s impossible,

  One believes, in despair, “Is that so?”

  Being told that it is possible,

  One believes, in excitement, “That’s right.”

  But whichever is chosen,

  It does not fit one’s heart neatly.

  Being asked, “What is unfitting?”

  I don’t know what it is.

  But my heart knows somehow.

  I feel an irresistible desire to know.

  What a mystery “human” is!

  As to this mystery:

  Clarifying

  Knowing how to live

  Knowing how to walk with people

  Demonstrating and teaching,

  This is the Buddha.

  From my human eyes

  I feel it’s really impossible to become a Buddha.

  But this “I,” regarding what the Buddha does,

  Vows to practice

  To aspire

  To be resolute,

  And tells me, “Yes, I will.”

  Just practice right here, now

  And achieve continuity

  Endlessly

  Forever.

  This is living in vow.

  Herein is one’s peaceful life found.12

  This is a poem about vow. I also found his original poem in Japanese. When I read it closely, I saw that it is a lucid explanation of the four noble truths. The first stanza expresses the truth of suffering. “One believes in despair … one believes in excitement … whichever is chosen; it does not fit one’s heart neatly.” This is the reality of our lives. In Japanese this stanza reads, Hito ga dame da to ieba / gakkarishite so dana to omoi / Hito ga iinda to ieba hashaide so o nanda to omou. The phrases he used for “possible” and “impossible” are dame da and iinda. Dame da means both “impossible” and “not good.” Iinda can be interpreted as “good.” We encounter many such judgments in our lives. Sometimes people say you are good, sometimes not good. Each time we are judged we feel despair or excitement. We live based on opinions, not just other people’s but also our own. When we are successful, we think, “Yeah, this is great.” When we’ve had a hard time, we feel small. We may even feel that life is not worth living. This up and down is samsara, the reality of our life that is described as transmigration through the six realms.

  This is our life as human beings. We always feel somewhat unsatisfied. “Whichever is chosen; it does not fit one’s heart neatly.” Happy or sad, there is some dissatisfaction. We feel that there is something unsettled in ourselves and in our way of life. We are moved by others’ expectations, by the situation, or even by our own self-image. We can’t find a peaceful, steady, absolute foundation for our life. As we move in samsara. We always feel somewhat unsafe, somewhat unsettled. Something is lacking even if we are in the heavenly realm and all our desires are fulfilled. Of course, if we are in hell, we really suffer. This is our life. So we start to question: What’s wrong? What’s the problem? What causes this feeling of emptiness? We want to understand this feeling. In the second stanza Katagiri says, “Being asked what is unfitting; I don’t know what it is.” Our motivation to question and understand is called bodhi-mind. Katagiri writes, “My heart knows somehow. / I feel an irresistible desire to know.” We want to know the real cause of the problem. This is unique to human beings. We alone ask who we are and how we should live. Other animals don’t have this problem.

  Dōgen Zenji said that “to study the Buddha Way is to study the self.” I think a human is a being that has to study the self. Other living things do not have to do this; they have no questions. But for us, this self is a big question. We humans are troublesome, mysterious creatures. We need to understand this mystery. This questioning, this need to understand, is our bodhi-mind—a mind that awakens to the reality of our life.

  Katagiri continues, “As to this mystery: / Clarifying / Knowing how to live / Knowing how to walk with people / Demonstrating and teaching, / This is the Buddha.” The Buddha understood or clarified this mystery. He saw the answer to the questions: What are human beings? What is the cause of human suffering? He awakened and understood how we can live in a wholesome way with peace.

  The reality that the Buddha found in his enlightenment is interdependent origination. Katagiri’s phrase “knowing how to walk with people” refers to this interdependence. It means that we can’t live without other people and things. For Buddhists, studying the self means studying how to walk with others. That’s why the Buddha emphasized the importance of the sangha, a place where people live and practice together.

  Katagiri’s comment in the last stanza, “From my human eyes / I feel it’s really impossible to become a Buddha,” reminds us that even though we study the Buddha’s teaching we are still human. The Buddha’s achievement is so great that it’s almost impossible for us as humans to follow his Way. Even so, one “vows to practice.” In the Japanese version, the word for “vow” is negau, which means “to wish.” We wish to practice and aspire to become buddhas. Katagiri uses the word “aspire” as the translation for inori. Inori, we’ve seen, is usually translated as “prayer,” but here it means “deeply wish for something that doesn’t seem possible.” Even though we know that it is impossible to follow the Buddha’s Way, we deeply wish to make it possible. Then Katagiri says he vows “to be resolute.” Here the Japanese version has kesshin, which means “to make up one’s mind, to be fixed and determined.” Next, he says he tells himself, “Yes, I will.” Even though he feels it’s impossible, he cannot help but say this. That vow comes from the deepest part of the self. Intellectually it seems impossible. But from our deep life force we can’t help but say, “Yes, I will.” That is vow. A vow should not be made by our intellect or an emotional impulse. It should come from the deepest part of us.

  “Just practice right here, now” means that we start practicing immediately. We can’t postpone it because the wish is so deep. Somehow we have to start searching for our own self. There is no time to wait. “And achieve continuity” means to practice continuously. Because it’s impossible to achieve what Buddha did, we have to practice forever. There is no end, no goal, and yet we take small steps one by one, moment by moment. We try to walk along the Buddha’s Way one step or just half a step in all situations. Sometimes we are happy because we feel we are good practitioners and doing the right thing. Sometimes sitting in this posture every morning is boring or painful, and yet we do it. In any situation we try to adopt the attitude Katagiri describes. “Being told that it’s impossible / One believes, in despair, ‘Is that so?’ / Being told that it is possible, / One believes, in excitement, ‘That’s right.’” Even in our practice we need to work with this attitude of up and down. Sometimes sitting in our zazen we feel great; we feel that we are enlightened. Sometimes we feel we are in hell. In either situation we just go through it endlessly, forever.

  Katagiri Roshi said, “This is living in vow.” It means to sit, to try to help others, to live and work with others each day of our lives. When we are liv
ing in vow, in our emotion, in our human sentiment, there are good times and hard times. Like all people in samsara, we are still in the six realms. And yet, we can find a peaceful basis, a foundation for our life which is never moved by human sentiment. That is vow. That is the reality of our life.

  The last line of his poem is “Herein is one’s peaceful life found.” When we vow, we feel we have a duty. Usually, taking a vow is like making a promise: if we don’t keep it, we feel bad or fear that we might be punished. But vow in Buddhism is not like that. It’s not something we do with our intellect or shallow emotion. We vow toward the Buddha, toward something absolute and infinite. As a bodhisattva, we can never say, “I have achieved all vows.” We cannot be proud of our achievements, because in comparison with the infinite anything we achieve is insignificant. Each of us has different capabilities, of course. If we cannot do very much, we practice just a little. There is no reason for us to feel small or to say we’re sorry. We just try to be right here with this body and mind and move forward one step or just half a step. This is our practice in a concrete sense.

  Katagiri Roshi used the expression “living in vow” because it sounds natural in English. I like “living by vow,” perhaps because D. T. Suzuki has this expression in his book Living by Zen.13 In the Japanese translation of this book he says something like “All living beings are living in Zen but only human beings can live by Zen.” Saying that all living beings—dogs, cats, plants, flowers—are living in Zen doesn’t mean they abide in meditation or samādhi, but rather that they are living the reality of life as it is, or tathātā in Sanskrit. Everything lives in the reality of life, in Zen; but only human beings have to make a conscious effort to do so. We devote ourselves to the study and practice of Zen and consciously live by Zen. As Suzuki says, only human beings do this, but that doesn’t mean that we are superior to other beings. Because of our doubts and delusions we cannot simply live in reality. We have to consciously return to reality and make an effort to live on that basis. That, according to Suzuki, is living by Zen.