Right Speech
Photo by Giulia May
Zuisei speaks of Right Speech, the third factor in the Noble Eightfold Path.
She speaks of the importance of kind, mindful speech whose purpose is to affirm rather than negate, to support rather than demean. In fact, according to the Buddha, right speech should have five characteristics: it must be timely, true, beneficial, endearing, and agreeable. If it is missing any of these characteristics, then we do better to refrain.
This talk was given by Zuisei Goddard.
Note: Sensei’s talks on the second and sixth factors, Right Thought and Right Effort, were mistakenly not recorded. Therefore they’re missing from this collection.
Transcript
Transcript has been lightly edited for clarity.
Long ago, in an immeasurable, boundless, inconceivable number of asamkhya kalpas in the past, there was a Buddha named Awesome Sound King Thus Come One, worthy of offerings, of right and universal knowledge, perfect clarity and conduct. The kalpa in which this Buddha lived was called Exempt from Decay and the land was called Great Achievement. After Awesome Sound King Thus Come One had passed into extinction, the correct law also passed away. In the period of counterfeit law, practitioners of overbearing arrogance exercised great authority and power.
At this time, there was a bodhisattva named Never Disparaging. For what reason was this bodhisattva named Never Disparaging? Whatever persons this bodhisattva happened to meet, whether monks, nuns, laymen or laywomen, Never Disparaging would bow in obeisance to all of them and speak words of praise, saying, “I have profound reverence for you. I will never dare treat you with disparagement and arrogance. Why? Because you are all practicing the Bodhisattva way and are certain to attain Buddhahood.” Among the four kinds of believers, there were those who gave way to anger. Their minds lacked purity, and they spoke ill of the Bodhisattva and cursed, saying, "Who is this bodhisattva? Where does this prediction that we will attain Buddhahood come from? We have no use for such vain and irresponsible predictions."
Many years passed in this way during which the bodhisattva was constantly subjected to curses and abuse. Not giving way to anger, however, each time the bodhisattva spoke the same words, “You are certain to attain Buddhahood...” Some among the group would throw sticks of wood or tiles and stones, but even at a distance, the bodhisattva continued to call out, "I would never dare disparage you, for you're all certain to attain Buddhahood." Because of this, the overbearing, arrogant monks, nuns, laymen and laywomen, gave this bodhisattva the name, Never Disparaging.
Right Speech is the third of the eight factors of the Noble Eightfold Path—samyagvāc. It falls under the category of virtue or ethical conduct. The Buddha said that abstaining from lying, from divisive speech, from abusive speech and from idle chatter is called right speech. Speech is perhaps the wheel of karma through which we, if not easily, perhaps most obviously hurt one another. Not because we don't think ill of one another, we often do. Not because we don't cause bodily harm. In general, we don't go around hitting each other, but there's a look or a turning away or a touch that we miss—or a touch that we misplace. These are ways that we harm one another. But with speech we engage so often and so casually, that it is very easy, very easy, to do damage. None of us sets out to lie outright, at least I hope we don't. But, it's likely that most of us at some time have, in one way or another, have covered our tracks or pretended that we knew something when we didn't really.
I remember for years Shugen Sensei, before the introductory retreat every month, would gather the residents and monks and say, "Thirty to thirty-five new people are about to come in. They will look at some of you who arrived three days ago, and you're wearing robes, and they're going to see these robes, and they're going to think that you know what you're doing. So, just be aware. When someone asks you a question just speak from your own experience, not what you've read, not what you've heard, just what you've experienced. If you don't know, don't be afraid to say, ‘I don't know’."
When we see not knowing as weakness, it makes it difficult to fess up to not knowing. Even in a tradition that speaks of not knowing as a virtue, we don't quite believe it. In the sutras, it says when a person who has abstained from false speech is asked to tell what they know, for example, in a town meeting, or with their family, or at court, such a person, if they know will say, "I know." If they don't know, they will just as easily say, "I don't know." So a person who's abstaining from false speech doesn't consciously tell a lie to protect themselves, or, perhaps, even to protect someone else or for the sake of a reward.
Likewise, a bodhisattva abstains from divisive speech. They don't tell here what has happened over there. They don't go over there and tell what has happened over here, trying to separate, trying to divide, those from here and there. Loving harmony thus bodhisattvas sow harmony wherever they go. They sow harmony with their words and certainly with their thoughts.
I heard a story about a woman. She was in Germany from a Jewish family. Just as the Second World War was starting, they heard that in Berlin they were giving out visas to get out of the country. She decided that she was going to try to do this for her family. So, she got on a train that took a couple of hours. She got to Berlin and went into, I guess, what was the consulate or embassy of some kind. I could picture it very well because I've spent many hours in a place like it. It's like a warehouse. The one where I was staying had a tin roof, a very hot tin roof. When it was raining, you couldn't hear the person sitting next to you, so everybody was screaming just to be heard. It was summer and 100 degrees, probably. There's no windows, there's no way to call or to go outside because if you go out, you lose your place. You've been there probably since four or five in the morning. You've been standing outside for several hours with people going back and forth selling you things. Back then, maybe it was a little stool. Now, they have folding chairs and water coolers to give you a whole meal as you're waiting. If you're lucky you get in that day, if you're not lucky, you could be there for three, four hours before the doors even open and not even get in.
She got in on that first day. There's these long benches without a back. You're just sitting, and you feel like cattle, really. You're sitting next to each other, and every hour or so you feel like you move a foot—a little bit closer to the desk where the immigration officer is. In this case, it was just the one German immigration officer tending to hundreds of people. She spends the whole day there, and at a certain point, he says there's no more visas and just closes shop. Everybody goes home or away to find a place to stay and come back the next day to try again.
She comes back the next day because she knows it's really the only chance that they have. She comes back and once again she’s standing in line. Once again, she spends the whole day there. Everybody's exhausted, they're hot, they're tired. They just want to get out. The immigration officer gives his allotted number of visas, and when he's done he says, "That's it." The thing is that there's also this fear because you know that your fate is in the hands of this person, and if they're having a bad day that could be it for you. So, you do everything you can to not cross them in any way. That's if you can get close enough to even talk to them.
So the second day goes by, and he says the same thing: the visas are done, we’re closing for the day. Everybody goes into an uproar. Everybody's yelling and screaming, and the guy doesn't really care. He just packs away his things and starts to walk away. This woman decides to go up. She makes her way all the way up the rows and goes up to him at his desk before he leaves. She says, "I just wanted to thank you. I want to thank you for your time." She turns and walks away.
As she's leaving, she hears steps behind her, and then she hears, "Ma'am, ma'am." When she turns, it is the officer that's running after her. He says, "I have this stack of visas. They’re for you." She takes them, smiles at him, thanks him, and turns and walks, basically to her freedom. At the same time, he turns and goes back into the building to his endless paper piles.
The more cynical among us think, we think, well, it's calculated. This was her last chance, so she thought let me just be nice and see if anything happens. Isn't it interesting that we would even think that instead of thinking— of course, she's just been kind, that's just natural? If nothing had happened, if she hadn't gotten the visas, I probably would never have heard the story. Would it have been any less powerful—her very simple, I want to thank you for your time? It was like saying I have profound reverence for you, and I would never dare treat you with disparagement and arrogance. Although I'm hot, I'm tired and afraid, and you hold my fate in your hands, I will never dare disparage you. Not only does she refrain from divisive or abusive speech, but she actively invokes kind speech, causing it to appear when it was not there before.
Dogen says that kind speech is offered little by little, and then kind speech expands, and so even kind speech that is not ordinarily known or seen comes into being. Those who hear your kind speech will be deeply touched. They will always remember it. Certainly the immigration officer will always remember it. The monks, the nuns, the laymen and laywomen that bodhisattva Never Disparaging was addressing, certainly remember it and they don’t like it. They are threatened that he's making this prediction. He's saying, I have profound reverence for you. I would never dare disparage you. Their response is how dare he or she? How dare this bodhisattva tell us that we are Buddhas—such an irresponsible prediction? Is it that maybe they're afraid they won't live up to it? Is it that it's an irresponsible prediction, or is it that they don't want the responsibility? Or what if they're thinking, what if the others make it, but I don't? Up until now, they could just go on their merry way, and if they see it, great, but if they don't—now, what's their excuse?
What we are threatened by is sometimes so simple, really. Many years ago, I was a vegetarian. The first few times, especially when I went home, my family would ask, "Well, is there anything that you don't eat?" And I would say, "Well, I'm a vegetarian." They said, "Great. So you eat chicken, right?" And I said, "Well," I kind of hesitated. They said, "Oh, no chicken. It's okay." It happened so many times that after a while it was, "Yes, I eat chicken. I love chicken. Chicken is great." Otherwise, I would just eat a lot of salads. Basically it was like in that movie, “Everything Illuminated,” where he's vegetarian. He travels to Ukraine, and when he goes to a restaurant, they basically always give him a baked potato. It was kind of like that. It was in the 90’s in Mexico City, so I just ate a lot of salads and boiled vegetables. When it didn't happen, when they didn't ask, we would just sit down to a meal. They knew that I was vegetarian, and invariably, people would spend a good part of the meal explaining to me why they needed to eat meat: for their bones, it was for their heart, it was for their hair, for their complexion. You name it. I would just sit there and smile and nod politely while I ate my boiled carrots.
It went so deep that 15 years later, after I stopped being a vegetarian, my family still, to this day, still asks me, "Is there anything that you don't eat?" It's like I changed the channel, and they haven't found their way back to the regular station after all these years. Again, that's so innocuous. I'm a vegetarian. What about when the words have a little more oomph behind them? I'm gay. I'm Republican. I'm pro-fracking. I'm pro-choice. What's our investment then, and how do we respond to the one who is sometimes deeply threatening our sense of self? How unsettling that can be.
Imagine someone running up to you, bowing deeply, and saying, "I would never dare disparage you, because you are a Buddha?" Wouldn't you be a little taken aback? Dogen says that kind speech means that when you see sentient beings, you arouse the heart of compassion and offer words of loving care. It is contrary to cruel or violent speech. Cruel speech can be very harsh, but it can also be very subtle. You sow a little doubt here. You plant a little complaint there. You put this person down to elevate yourself. You laugh a little bit, just a little bit, behind their back. It can happen before we even are aware that this is what we have done.
The Buddha said that there's five criteria to follow when deciding whether you should say what you want to say. Is it factual? Is it true? Is it beneficial? By that he means is it connected to the goal of enlightenment? Is it endearing? And is it agreeable? If it is all of these things then go ahead and say it. But, if any of these are missing then kindly refrain. There's the convention, but I'm guessing that it was probably true, that he would say what was worth saying three times, or he would wait until someone asked him a question three times before answering it because then he knew that it was a question that was actually worth asking.
So, if something isn't true, why say it at all? There might be situations in which lying is appropriate, compassionate action. Most of the time we know lying is self-serving. If something is true but not beneficial to the path, to this person's awakening, if it's not endearing or agreeable then do we need to say it? It's interesting. I don't know if that's really the translation. I find it a little hard to believe that the Buddha would say that something needed to be endearing. Maybe. Maybe what they really mean is kind. It needs to be kind. There are many, many things that we'll have to say, at some point in our lives, that will not be endearing and perhaps won't be agreeable to those who hear them.
Martin Luther King Jr. said, “In the end we will remember, not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” He had a most felicitous way with words, so it's hard not to hear what he said—even harder to forget. Maybe he was an example of what Dogen meant when he said to ponder the fact that kind speech is not just praising the merit of others, it has the power to turn the destiny of a nation. My mother used to say that you can say anything if you know the right way to say it. By anything, she meant the truth. She meant saying what needs to be said—if you know the right way to say it.
There's many, many ways of course, to tell the truth and to offer kind speech. I came across a series of cards that a woman made for people who are suffering from cancer. She's a survivor herself. She said, "It's kind of weird to get a card that says Get well soon because you might not. You have cancer. You might not get well, ever.” She said that she would get these cards and would think, Oh, thanks, I'll try. She's a designer, so she decided she would make the cards that she would have liked to have gotten herself. Some of them are funny, they're humorous. I'm so sorry, you're sick, and I want you to know that I'll never try to sell you on some random treatment I saw on the internet or Let's go out and celebrate with whatever is not disgusting, right now, that you can actually taste. She said, "Never say to a person with cancer, ‘Everything happens for a reason’, or ‘Cancer is the journey.’ I can say that as one who went through the journey. You can't say that to me."
I remember Hoshin Ritter, who was a longtime student here who died of cancer. One time I went to see her, and she said that she hated it when people would say, “I've learned so much from my cancer, and I am so grateful to have gone through this.” Hoshin would say, "Yeah, yeah, but I mean, wouldn't it be so much nicer not to have to go through it?"
Other cards in the series were very simple and direct. I'm really sorry that I didn't get in touch. I didn't know what to say. There’s a video of her speaking about her business—she says, "This is the card I would have liked to get." She actually gets choked up when she says that. I'm really sorry that I didn't get in touch. I didn't know what to say.
I want you to know, I would never dare treat you with disparagement and arrogance, because you are practicing the Bodhisattva way and are on your way to Buddhahood. I don't think we should put that on a card and sell it. We already do that enough. That reminds me of William Safire, a speech writer. He spoke about how we're so used to canned sentiments and how, even in the White House, so many presidents like to just ad lib. Maybe he was complaining because there was less work for the speech writers. He said that we're just so used to canned sentiments that come in these Hallmark cards. He said that when his brother was little he spent several days making a homemade card, a handmade card for his mother. On the outside it said I will never forget you mom, and on the inside, You gave away my dog. He said that yes, his brother was sore but at least he was original. So, we shouldn't put I will never dare treat you with disparagement on a card. We probably shouldn't even use those words. Maybe we can find our own words to say aloud whenever we can, or in silence when we can't? What do you think we do when we do liturgy? When we say that a dedication is perceived and subtly answered. I was talking to somebody the other day asking, who perceives it? Who answers it? Sometimes we're chanting for people who have life threatening illnesses, many of whom we don't know, we'll never know most likely. Why? Why do that?
We were thinking of an activity to do with the kids. Our theme next month is affirming life. We were going to have them plant some seeds that they would then have to care for. The intention would be for them to give intention to the seeds—on top of the physical action of planting that seed, giving it life. They would express the intention in words that they would then write on their little container. One of the parents was telling us that she did an experiment inspired by—I don't remember his name—the guy who speaks to water and has shown the effects that kind words have on water. He has an exercise that you can do with your family, where it's basically this: you have a plant that you speak kindly to and another plant that you mildly abuse, and you see what happens. This parent did that with rice. She said that they didn't plant anything, but they had two containers of rice in water. So they, she and her three sons, would offer all of their kind words to the one container of rice which was fine. The other one started getting moldy. She said that after a while it kind of breaks down because they both get moldy, but the one that was spoken to unkindly did in fact mold more quickly. We were somehow surprised by this, even though we know we're made of the same stuff as everything. We were surprised by the effect that we have on the world around us. Sometimes we're surprised by the effect we have on each other. The people that we love the most, the people that we care for the most, are the ones that we most often hurt, aren’t they? This happens even with the moment where we know that's not what we want to say and we’re not able to stop ourselves, not able to stop the words coming out of our mouths.
What a triumph, in a way, it is when you start to see, through practice, that maybe you don't have to do that. Maybe you don't have to kick someone else verbally when you get threatened. You don't have to talk and talk when you get nervous, for example.
Daido used to talk about what would happen if you did an experiment with two people. You told one of them they’re going to wake up every morning, let's say for a year, and bring to mind and express everything that they are grateful for for half an hour. The other one is going to express and bring to mind everything that they hate, that they are displeased with for half an hour. They do this every single day for a year. What kind of people do you think you will have at the end of the year? I mean, it doesn't take too much imagination to see. Yet, we're surprised when our words shape us and shape those around us. We're surprised.
What about with ourselves towards ourself? Is your speech kind, compassionate and loving towards yourself? What kinds of things do you tell yourself every day, moment to moment? On the cushion all those hours, do you divide and conquer? Do you berate and criticize? Do you lie, knowingly or unknowingly? Do you fictionalize?
Rebecca Solnit says:
Something wonderful happens to you, and you instantly look back over your life and see it as a series of fortunate events stretching off into the distance like mountain peaks. Something terrible happens in your life has always been a litany of woe. The present rearranges the past. We never tell the whole story because life isn't a story. It's a whole Milky Way of events, and we are forever picking out constellations from it to fit who and where we are.
The problem is that when what happens inside us is unknown, forget about constellations, it is like that TV with the two stuck channels. You can't get out. What's happening here you project out there, of course, there's no other way. What you see out there, comes inside, comes as extra. Then as you begin to get rid of the static, just a little bit at a time, other options begin to open up. Then you see, oh, I am tired, I am upset, I am dissatisfied. I don't have to go and pick a fight now with someone else.
The last element of right speech is not engaging in idle chatter. So much of it is fear: of silence, of not fitting in, of appearing dumb or uninteresting, afraid, perhaps, of what we will see if we actually quiet down. Perhaps the most effective way to protect ourselves, as we're spending hours silent with ourselves, is to fall asleep. You see it all the time, there are people who are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. They take their seat, and the moment they turn in, it's like a switch goes off. They're out. It's a hard one because if you don't know that you're falling asleep, there's not much you can do. If you do then you can work to trace it back—what is actually happening right now? Is there something that I'm afraid or hesitant to see?
The bodhisattva speaks when it's appropriate to speak, and is silent when it's appropriate to be silent. But how do you know? The Buddha with his usual methodical way says that you reflect. You reflect on it before. You reflect on it during. You reflect on it after.
There's a practice, especially in the Tibetan tradition, where the moment you wake up, you express your intention to give everything in that day towards your enlightenment and the enlightenment of others, raising the bodhichitta basically. Everything that you do in speech, word and action, is dedicated towards others. At the end of the day, right before you go to bed, you review, did I actually do that? They speak, in fact, of a teacher. I don't remember his name. He had a pile of black rocks and a pile of white little pebbles. For every hurtful action word or thought he would take a black pebble and put it forward and for every good affirming action, word or thought he would take a white pebble. In the beginning, for years, in fact, the black pebble pile was much bigger. Little by little, that began to change until it is said at the end he only had white pebbles.
I remember thinking that a bodhisattva like Never Disparaging could never actually exist when I first heard that story. I thought, yes, there are people who have a core to them that is unshakable, but I thought, really to that, to that extent? Really? Then I read a story about Lincoln. He was already a president and was kept waiting by his own general for over an hour. He went to see McClellan at his house. McClellan was really a bit of a diva, actually quite a diva. Apparently wasn't a very good general, but he had a very good opinion of himself. He had a thing about power. He thought nothing of having the president wait for him. Lincoln's aides were beside themselves. After 15 minutes, they thought, we should just get out of here, and you should fire him. Everybody thought they should fire him anyway because he was so bad. He had no qualms about sending his soldiers ahead while he drank tea. Lincoln kept laughing and saying, Really it's okay, it's fine. He just stayed and waited and told stories to pass the time. I remember thinking about that and really trying to put myself in that place of that much authority, that much power, and really not minding, really not caring that somebody else is slighting you. How many smaller slights have I responded to with anger and with pride? From what I've read, he seemed to really be that kind of person. He saw it as a waste of time to disparage someone else.
So you reflect on what you're going to say, and you reflect as you're saying it, and you reflect after you've said it. That's the one thing I love about writing—that reflection by necessity has to go into it: all the trimming, editing, cutting and rewriting it takes to say something well, to say something in the best possible way, the cleanest or the simplest or the most lyrical, beautiful poetic way, so it has the highest chance of being heard. When I get discouraged, I think about how much work it actually does take to say something well. Hemingway, it is said, wrote the end to “Farewell to Arms“ 49 times. Somebody asked him why? I mean 49 times really? Why? He said, "I had to get the words right." I think we all must do the work to get the words right. Getting the right words out in the right way at the right time, right words have the power to turn the destiny of a nation as Dogen says. Even if they turn one human heart their power would not be any less evident or valuable.
This is called Eye to Eye by Naomi Shihab Nye:
Please forgive this interruption.
I am forging a career,
a delicate enterprise
of eyes. Yours included.
We will meet at the corner,
you with your sack lunch,
me with my guitar.
We will be wearing our famous street faces,
anonymous as trees.
Suddenly you will see me,
you will blink, hesitant,
then realize I have not looked away.
For one brave second
we will stare
openly
from borderless skins.
This is my salary.
There are no days off.
Explore further
01 : The Lotus Sutra translated by Burton Watson
02 : The Bodhisattva’s Four Methods of Guidance by Dogen
03 : The Art of Fiction by Ernest Hemingway