Deep Commentary

This verse was taught by the Buddha at Jetavana Monastery, in connection with the Venerable Elder Who Lived Alone. According to the traditional account, “The Venerable Elder Who Lived Alone was well known among the fourfold assembly as one who walked alone, stood alone, and sat alone. The monks went to the Buddha and reported about the elder: ‘Venerable Sir, that elder acts in such and such a way.’ The Buddha praised him, saying: ‘Good, good! That monk is able to live in solitude.’ The Buddha then praised the life of seclusion and aloneness, and taught this verse.” (Quoted from the Dhammapada Commentary, Vol. III, Vien Chieu edition, p. 166)

In the Buddha’s time, many monks often lived alone in mountains and forests, so that they could practice meditation more easily. Forest and mountain settings were quiet and rarely visited by people. The monks were deeply wary of noisy and agitated surroundings. When the environment is quiet, a practitioner can more easily turn inward and cleanse the defilements of the mind. Our minds are usually pulled outward by sense-objects and hardly ever rest. We rarely reflect or contemplate inwardly. The outer environment and the mind are closely connected and cannot be separated. When the surroundings are disturbed, our minds become unsettled. This is an undeniable truth.

Only when we live alone do we have the opportunity to see ourselves more clearly. A practitioner who lives deep in remote mountains and valleys will naturally face many difficulties and obstacles, especially concerning essential material needs such as food, clothing, and shelter. Yet for those firmly resolved to seek liberation, with courageous and unshakable determination, these difficulties can be overcome with ease. From there, they gain the moral strength and deep spiritual power needed to transform themselves and inspire others, bringing benefit, peace, and liberation.

That is the meaning of solitary living in its ordinary sense. If we examine it more deeply, however, the solitary life of a mendicant does not necessarily mean living far away from everyone. True solitude means that the practitioner skillfully and continually abides in mindfulness. Such a person is aware of what is truly happening in the present moment. They are not caught in the two extremes of past and future. Life is present only in this very moment. Even if they are living and working together with others, even within a community of monks, they can still preserve mindfulness in all daily activities. A person who lives in this way is also regarded by the Buddha as one who lives alone.

Regarding the needs of renunciants, in every age the Buddhas and patriarchs have advised that the life of one who has gone forth should be marked by “constant insufficiency” in food, clothing, and rest. Everything should be a little lacking, not abundant. Speaking frankly, renunciants today have too many material conveniences, especially machines and modern devices. The more luxurious material conditions become, the more the original aspiration to practice for liberation inevitably declines. If we do not skillfully restrain and limit ourselves, our enjoyment will be no different from that of ordinary worldly people. In other words, the mind of craving and attachment that we had before practicing will reveal itself in its original form. This is a real phenomenon and cannot be denied.

This phenomenon has been occurring in a serious and alarming way. True practitioners who see this feel deep sorrow: sorrow for the decline of the spiritual way and human conscience, and sorrow that the noble virtue and dignity of renunciants have fallen so tragically. Compared with the life of practice and pursuit of the Way lived by practitioners of old, our way of practice today is very far from theirs in every respect. In terms of moral character alone, we have not yet fulfilled what is basic, let alone the higher virtue of transcendence.

Thus we fall into a deep inner contradiction. On one side, we also want liberation; on the other side, we do not dare decisively to give up the material comforts and worldly pleasures to which ordinary people cling. No matter what arguments or excuses we use, we cannot hide this from the world. More clearly still, we cannot hide it from our own hearts.

In the Song of Enlightenment by Master Yongjia Xuanjue, there is a verse about this life of solitude:

Always walking alone, always journeying alone,
The awakened ones travel together on the road to Nirvana.
The ancient tune is lofty, the spirit clear, the wind naturally high;
The body may look worn, but the bones are strong, though people pay no heed.

Translated meaning:

I accept solitude on the path of practice,
Joyfully alone, I walk with the rhythm of my own steps.
I only hope for companions in the Dharma with the same heart,
Together advancing toward the lasting bliss of Nirvana.
If this wish is not fulfilled, I vow to remain an old-fashioned person,
Living by myself, living with cool winds and bright moonlight.
Even if my bones protrude, my body grows thin, and my flesh wastes away,
I will not regret it; I rejoice in that firm and steadfast resolve.

This expresses the fierce determination and unwavering position of a heroic person who dares to live and die alone on the path of practice. Those who simply rejoice where others rejoice, follow whatever they hear, and believe whatever they encounter—where can such people go, and what can they accomplish? They have no firm standpoint. Their practice is of the kind: “If others go, I go too”; “if others practice, I practice too”; and even if others do wrong, they follow and do wrong as well. To Master Yongjia, an awakened person, such people are truly worthy of compassion and pity.

In this world, people who lack firm conviction are not few. It is better to accept solitude on the path than to have a companion whose aspiration and standpoint for liberation differ from one’s own. Even so, we still deeply hope to have Dharma companions of the same heart so that we may advance together in study and practice. If that is not possible, then each person must walk their own way. However difficult that path may be, even if it leaves the body gaunt, the bones exposed, and the flesh wasted away, we still resolve to hold firm to our path and move forward without regret.

In the Song of Enlightenment above, Master Yongjia encouraged himself and also wished to send this message to those who share the same aspiration and firm resolve to live and die for the Dharma. Because he wished to be liberated from all the suffering of human existence, he accepted loneliness; more than that, he accepted being considered old-fashioned. He lived alone with cool wind and bright moonlight.

Yet in reality, are we truly lonely? No. How could we be lonely, when around us there are countless scenes that continually remind and comfort us: the clear moon, the cool wind, birdsong, blooming flowers, flowing streams, whispering pines, and so on. All of these are our intimate companions. Naturally, such companions will never cause us many troubles or entanglements. Not only that, they also help us advance deeply and swiftly on the path of practice, awakening, and liberation. Only nature is truly the living source of joy in our life.

Nature’s scenery is poetic and serene;
Warm sunlight and clear sky, free from dusty haze.
Cool wind and birdsong make the heart light and free;
The still lake lets wisdom release its tangled threads.
Worldly affairs are left beside the hills;
The Buddha’s path is guarded in a mind that settles impurity.
The golden lotus of the western realm is my heart’s vow;
With mindful recitation of Amitabha, that dream may be fulfilled.

XXII. The Chapter on Hell (Nirayavagga)