I have been studying Buddhism for most of my life at this point. At first much of my study was from books. Later, I gained direct teachers. In the US I studied under a Zen master for a couple years. In Japan I did as well. It's not just Zen teachers; one of my good friends is a former Shingon monk—a serious one as opposed to most of them in this country. Shingon Buddhism is a bit different, being based on esoteric Buddhism, but it still has things to teach. I learn from him every time we meet.
Am I then a Buddhist? I don't know. I suppose so, but I don't really like labels much. There is the famous Socrates line "The only thing I know is that I know nothing". The actual quote didn't go like that, but regardless, I agree with the sentiment. As a result I am always learning and trying to learn—about Buddhism, about everything. That may be a non-answer. A better one might be that I'm more of a Buddhist than anything else.
I thought today I would type up one of my favorite Buddhist stories. I first read this from and am copying it from Buddhism Plain and Simple by Steve Hagen. This is a simple introduction to Buddhism, but I always consider it one of the best books on the philosophy I've ever read. Steve Hagan is a Sōtō Zen priest in Minnesota and really is a gifted teacher. Anyway, this is a common story and I have heard it in many other places and in many different ways, but Steve's way is the best.
This is a wonderful story with an equally wonderful lesson.
There's an old story about a man who came to see the Buddha because he had heard that the Buddha was a great teacher. Like all of us he had some problems in his life, and he thought the Buddha might be able to help him straighten those out.
He told the Buddha that he was a farmer. "I like farming," he said "but sometimes it doesn't rain enough, and my crops fail. Last year we nearly starved. And sometimes it rains too much, so my yields aren't what I'd like then to be."
The Buddha patiently listened to the man.
"I'm married too," said the man. "She's a good wife... I love her in fact. But sometimes she nags me too much. And sometimes I get tired of her."
The Buddha listened quietly.
"I have kids," said the man. "Good kids too... but sometimes they don't show me enough respect. And sometime...."
The man went on like this, laying out his difficulties and worries. Finally he wound down and waited for the Buddha to say the words that would put everything right for him.
Instead the Buddha said "I can't help you."
"What do you mean?" said the astonished man.
"Everybody's got problems." said the Buddha. "In fact, we've all got 83 problems. Each one of us. Eighty-three problems and there's nothing you can do about it. If you work really hard on one of them, maybe you can fix it—but if you do, another one will pop right into its place. For example, you're going to lose your loved ones eventually. And you're going to die someday. Now there's a problem, and there's nothing you or I, or anyone else, can do about it."
The man became furious. "I thought you were a great teacher" he shouted. "I thought you could help me! What good are your teachings then?"
The Buddha said, "Well, maybe it will help you with the 84th problem."
"The 84th problem?" said the man. "What's the 84th problem?"
Said the Buddha "You want to not have any problems."
Sit with the story for a bit if you have time and let it sink in.
When I first heard this story, it struck me as both humorous and profoundly true. We spend so much of our lives trying to make everything “just right”—as if we could get to some final, problem-free state. But there’s always going to be problems—probably even more than eighty-three. What matters isn’t getting rid of problems; it’s how we live with them. It's a parable of accepting the inevitability of problems. That aligns with the core of the philosophy: if I had to summarize Buddhism, it might be "accept how things are, and stop wishing they were different".
I’ve been reminded of this again and again over the years, especially in moments when I’m confronted with something unexpected. One such moments came just a few months after my oldest son was born.
We went in for one of the standard checkups and they found a heart murmur. As first time parents, we were just a bit freaked out about it. The doctor assured us that it may not be serious and that we would just have to watch closely and see how things went.
She then told us that it was good that we knew his problem, because everyone has problems but not everyone knows what their problems are; if you don't know what your problems are, they can sneak up and you and surprise you and put you in a very bad situation, but if you do know your problems, you can work around them. We now knew one of our son’s problems—and that was good. Better to know it now than be surprised by it later.
Pretty standard advice really, though most doctors wouldn't put it in quite the philosophical way that ours did. Anyway, I remember being reminded of this Buddhist story at that time.
The doctor’s words echoed the Buddha’s in a way. We don't want problems—not with us, and especially not with our family members. We want certainty; we want control. We want to not have any problems. But life doesn’t work like that. Problems aren’t failures—they’re just part of the deal. Whether it’s a child’s heart murmur, a rough season on the farm, or the aching need for things to go smoothly, the real shift happens when we stop demanding a problem-free life and start living with the ones we’ve got.
Maybe that’s how we face our 83 problems—not by fixing them, not by wishing they weren't there, but by seeing them clearly and no longer resisting them.
[Title graphic photo released to the public domain by Charles Rondeau, available here]
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David is an American teacher and translator lost in Japan, trying to capture the beauty of this country one photo at a time and searching for the perfect haiku. He blogs here and at laspina.org. Write him on Mastodon. |
Wes & Grindan
