One Hand, Eight Minds

2.1 One Hand, Eight Minds

Part One spoke of how a single hand comes open. In Part Two, the Buddha speaks of this hand in finer detail—fine enough to take one good act of giving apart into eight.

Outside the city of Sāvatthī there was a grove, Jeta's Grove, Anāthapiṇḍika's Park—the place where the Buddha settled and taught for more rains-retreats than any other in his later years. Once, in this park, he laid the matter of giving out before the mendicants seated around him, item by item:

"If a son or daughter of good family gives gifts of material goods, they acquire eight kinds of merit. What are the eight? First, giving at the right time, not at the wrong time; second, giving what is fresh and pure, not what is foul and defiled; third, giving with one's own hand, not having another do it; fourth, giving with a clear vow, without pride or extravagance; fifth, giving out of liberation, not looking for return; sixth, giving aimed at cessation, not seeking rebirth in the heavens; seventh, seeking a worthy field for the giving, not giving to barren soil; eighth, then taking this merit and dedicating it to all beings, not keeping it for oneself."

These words are preserved in the Ekottarika Āgama, in the "Chapter on the Eight Difficulties."

Notice one thing first: of the eight the Buddha drew out, not one speaks of amount. He did not say the more you give the better, nor the costlier the better. All eight speak of how to give—of the shape the heart takes beneath one and the same outward motion. One hand, eight minds.

The Eight, One by One

The first, giving at the right time, not at the wrong time—give when the person actually needs it. A bowl of rice handed over when someone is hungry is food; brought once they are no longer hungry, it is only a bowl of rice gone cold. Whether the gift is timely shows whether your eye holds the other's difficulty at this moment, or only picks the hour that suits you.

The second, giving what is fresh and pure, not what is foul and defiled—give the clean thing, the thing fit to be offered. To push off on someone what you were about to throw out, the leftover, the soured, is not giving; it is disposing of waste in the costume of giving. If you would give, give the portion you would be willing to receive yourself.

The third, giving with one's own hand, not having another do it—the least conspicuous of the eight, and the bone of this whole book. The Buddha asks you to present the thing with your own hand, not by another's. Because the hand that is to loosen is your own. Send someone in your place, settle it with a written order, and the thing goes out, but your own hand, gripping "mine," never touches the loosening at all. In the instant you hand it over yourself, your own fingers opening, you are bodily present. To give "with discretion" is to weigh it yourself and let go yourself. Where giving truly does its work is in that instant, not on the ledger.

The fourth, giving with a clear vow, without pride or extravagance—give with a reverent intention in the heart, free of that "I am bestowing this on you" hauteur. When a person gives, "I" most easily climbs up the back of the hand: I have more than you, I am helping you, you ought to remember my kindness. That risen "I" is pride. To give without pride is to keep "I" from riding on the back of this gift.

The fifth, giving out of liberation, not looking for return—the face of the gift turned away from repayment. To stretch out the hand while the eye is fixed on "what he will give back to me" is for the gift never really to leave: it is tied to an invisible cord, and the far end of the cord is still gripped in your own hand. Loosen the cord, and the giving is a "liberated" giving—out, and really out.

The sixth, giving aimed at cessation, not seeking rebirth in the heavens—one layer deeper than the fifth. To give without seeking return is already rare; but if the heart still thinks "giving like this will earn me rebirth in the heavens, to enjoy their blessings," then the face of the gift still turns toward a finer "I." To aim at cessation is to turn the direction around: not to trade for a more dignified next life, but to let the grip on "mine" die down, little by little.

The seventh, seeking a worthy field for the giving, not giving to barren soil—place the thing where it can truly bear benefit. A good seed in soil that can grow it is not wasted; scattered where it will be taken up to harm, the gift passes empty, and may even add to evil. A worthy field does not mean picking "which recipient earns me the most blessing"—that only winds back onto the cord of the fifth—but seeing whether the thing, arriving there, can truly bring forth good.

The eighth, then taking this merit and dedicating it to all beings, not keeping it for oneself—the giving done, do not grip even the merit it earned. The hand loosens once more at the very end: even the "I did a good thing" is not kept as one's own; it is turned over to all beings. The first seven loosen wealth, goods, the calculations of the heart; this last loosens "my own good"—the finest, and the final, loosening.

Loosened All the Way—Where Does It Lead

Read the eight from first to last and one through-line shows: not one of them reckons "how much was given"; what they all reckon is how far "I" has loosened. Timely—loosening your own convenience. Fresh—loosening your own reluctance to part with it. Your own hand—letting your own hand do the loosening in person. Without pride—loosening the risen "I." Without return, without heaven—loosening the cord tied to repayment. Worthy field—loosening the calculation of "blessing-for-me." Dedication—loosening even the good. Eight items: one hand loosening in eight places.

Having named the eight, the Buddha at once spoke a verse:

"The wise give at the right time, / Without stinginess or greed; / Having already made their merit, / They turn it all to others. / This giving is most excellent, / Praised by all the Buddhas; / In this body they receive its fruit, / Beyond it they receive celestial blessings."

And at the close he marked where the eight lead: "Whoever seeks this result should practice these eight bases. Its recompense is measureless, beyond all reckoning; they obtain the jewel of the deathless and gradually come to extinction."

See where he lands—"gradually come to extinction." Do the eight completely, and what they open onto is not a thicker store of blessings, not a finer next life, but cessation, the place where the grip of self-clinging has loosened, inch by inch, all the way down. Giving sets out from these eight, and at the first step its face is already turned toward liberation.

Part One said that beneath the visible giving hides an invisible letting-go. This chapter says, next: that letting-go is to be nurtured on all eight sides at once. The outward motion is only one, but for the hand to loosen clean, the heart must loosen in eight places together. This is how far the Āgamas carried the single word "giving."