44. Pavāranā Day
By Luang Pu Thate Desaraṅsī
October 19, 1986
The Pavāranā declaration, performed in place of the Uposatha Sangha transaction, is a condensed statement. But in truth, its meaning is profound. It signifies mutual consent. After living together for the three-month rains retreat (vassa), everyone who has dwelt together invites Pavāranā from one another—from the most junior to the most senior, encompassing everyone equally. It grants the opportunity to advise and admonish one another out of compassion, with loving-kindness and good intentions. The person being admonished must accept and confess, vowing to act accordingly. Thus, it is said to be more encompassing than the Pātimokkha itself. The recitation of the Pātimokkha is not fully understood by everyone; it is followed more as tradition and custom. But this Pavāranā covers everything, in all matters.
In reality, when people live together, there are bound to be conflicts arising from speech—words we utter intentionally or unintentionally. Therefore, we are to grant each other forgiveness, so that we may live in peace and happiness. Those who do not grant one another forgiveness harbor grudges and vengeance, living in discomfort and causing trouble both for themselves and others. So, after living together throughout the three-month retreat—people coming from the four directions, with different backgrounds, different habits, different views—it is impossible for everything to be in perfect harmony. Opinions, thoughts, and perspectives cannot all be the same. We need tolerance and patience towards words that cause friction. Sometimes there is intention, sometimes there is none—just a mistake. The intention may be the same, but the words differ.
For example, you intend to distribute food equally to all monks. But a particular monk doesn't like that food; it doesn't agree with his constitution. He then suspects that the donor gave it to him maliciously. This is how it happens. The root of quarrels lies right here. That case involves no intention or carelessness. But carelessness—speaking jokingly or teasingly—can also cause friction. Intentional speech meant to belittle, insult, or mock one another is another matter. Regarding all these, one must know oneself.
Everyone who ordains in this religion intends to see their own mind and heart. They strive to see their own mind and heart. We must first establish our mind firmly, steadily, and equanimously. Then, when others speak, we will know whether that person spoke rightly or wrongly, well or badly, coarsely or finely. We will know it immediately, and our mind will not be disturbed. If the mind is not established as one-pointed (ekaggatā)—if it is not as I have described—then the mind will see everything in a negative light. No matter what anyone says, you will find fault with it all. Whatever they say, you see only the error. In contrast, a person without a jealous, vengeful nature, without envy or malice, who has loving-kindness equally for everyone—such a person remains equanimous whether someone speaks well or badly. They see it all as good. This accords perfectly with the common saying: "If you love someone, even their curses seem good; if you hate someone, even their blessings seem bad." That saying is utterly true.
We have ordained as samanas, as monks and novices. We are called the Sakya clan—the lineage of the Buddha. We are people of endurance. Holding onto petty grudges and anger serves no purpose at all. It benefits neither oneself nor others. What can it accomplish? Anger, jealousy, envy—these only breed suspicion of one another. There is not a single good thing about them; no benefit is seen. But if we have good intentions, loving-kindness, and good will toward one another, then whether someone speaks well or badly, we take it all as good, and it becomes beneficial. Even toward those who are angry with us, we can conduct ourselves well. If we endure and refrain from speaking the words that would cause anger, if we restrain ourselves just a little, the anger subsides. But if we constantly harbor anger toward others—toward any group, any faction, any person—anger and resentment are not permanent or lasting. If we, as monks, are worse than laypeople, that would be terrible. Laypeople live together; they get angry at each other, yet they still manage to coexist. A husband and wife may bicker all day long, but they still live together.
We have ordained under the Buddha's discipline and teachings. From the moment we wake up, from the time we entered the religion, our robes are different from laypeople's, our status is different, our way of living and eating is completely different. Laypeople revere us as virtuous, peaceful, and refined. If inwardly we are angry, hateful, and vengeful toward one another, it is utterly shameful. It is not fitting for a samana in the slightest. We must be extremely careful.
Therefore, Pavāranā serves as a basis for mutual admonition, a basis for peace and order. If one adheres to the spirit of Pavāranā, whether living near or far, wherever one may be—having performed Pavāranā here, then going elsewhere, living elsewhere, meeting elsewhere—one can still admonish one another.
Admonishing one another requires a sense of proportion, a sense of the right time and occasion. Find the right opportunity and moment. Do not speak harshly or aggressively, for it will be of no benefit. The essential point is this: whatever leads to harmony, preserve it—that is very good. Whatever leads to quarrels and disputes, do not speak it or do it. Only then is one worthy of being a proper samana.
Now, as for all the various little things that crop up—every little thing that emerges—it disturbs. And not only disturbs oneself; it disturbs others too. Admonishing someone does not always lead to continuous improvement. If you do not first examine, consider, and reflect upon yourself before speaking, the act of speaking itself becomes damaging. How much damage does it cause? Therefore, one should exercise restraint and care in everything.