Knowing our own faults: the starting point of the path of practice

If we want to turn a bicycle around and pedal it uphill, what is the first thing we must do? Clear the road: remove the stones and the thorn bushes.

In Buddhism this work is called practice (tu). In the Chinese-derived word, tu means to mend or correct. To practise is to mend the mind, specifically to mend our actions (body), our speech (mouth) and every thought (mind) of ours.

But to mend anything, we must first know clearly where we are at fault. This is the real problem, because if we cannot see our faults we cannot correct them. It is like a mechanic who wants to repair a broken motorbike: first he must find where it is going wrong. If the mechanic is unskilled, he will keep kicking the starter, revving the engine, and taking all the parts apart to check them, and still be unable to fix it, because he cannot see where the damage is. But a skilled, experienced mechanic will discover that the wire in the spark plug is broken, take it off and reconnect it, wipe the plug clean, and the motorbike starts up crisply again.

In the same way, we must know where we are wrong before we can mend our own mind. That is why the starting point of practice is “Knowing our own faults”. Anyone who does not yet know their own faults has not yet begun to practise; and whatever they practise, they practise wrongly, on the wrong road. Just as with repairing a motorbike, an unskilled mechanic may not only fail to fix it but damage parts that were working perfectly well.

So, in order to practise and mend ourselves, we must know our own faults. As for how to practise after that, that is a matter of hundreds and thousands of lifetimes. Here we speak only of the starting point of practice, which is knowing our faults, and merely knowing our faults is already extremely difficult.

For example, someone who has gone to the temple for many years knows all its customs well: where to put the broom after sweeping, what the lay people sitting below should do when the monks and nuns make the offering at mealtime... Then a newcomer to the temple, who does not know the rules well, begins eating before the monks and nuns above have even finished the noon offering. Seeing this, the long-time visitor snaps:

– How foolish! You come to the temple and don't know anything at all!

A fellow practitioner who saw this reminded her:

– Don't lose your temper.

- You should have been given a beating too; you're lucky you haven't!

This person does not see her own hot temper, and when someone points it out she flares up in anger a second time. So although she has attended the temple for a long time, she has not yet begun to practise, because she has not seen her own fault. If we do not know our own faults, then however energetically we pursue meritorious deeds and however hard we toil for the Dharma, we still are not standing at the starting point of practice.

To know our own faults, we need courage and wisdom

Truly knowing our faults is a kind of strength of character, because it takes both courage and wisdom.

For example, a Buddhist visits a friend's house. While sitting and waiting in the living room, he suddenly notices a wad of money lying under the chair. There is nobody around, and the host is busy in the kitchen. Greed stirs in him: “If I quietly put it in my pocket now, probably no one would ever know!” But then he thinks: picking up something dropped inside someone's house like this is no different from stealing. At that moment, torn between wanting the money and remembering his teacher's instruction at the time of taking refuge – “do not steal; if you find something lost, return it to the one who lost it” – the mind is wrenched back and forth, and in the end he decides to tell the host. The host is bewildered, because he does not know whose money it is either. Now the visitor feels regret and thinks: “If only I hadn't said anything, I could have just taken it!” But then hastily repents: “Oh no, I've been greedy a second time...” That is to say, the inner struggle goes on and on like this.

After going home, he goes to the temple to see his teacher to ask to repent of his greedy mind:

“Venerable Master, a little while ago I saw a wad of money under a chair in someone's house, and greed arose in me, wanting to take it. Because you had told me not to steal, I managed to check myself and told the owner of the house. When the owner was also bewildered, not knowing whose money it was, I felt greed a second time: ‘If only I hadn't said anything, I could have just taken it!’ That thought is truly shameful and sinful. Fortunately, thanks to your teaching and the Buddha's blessing, I saw my fault and overcame greed once. But all the same I did commit a fault, so before you I sincerely ask to repent. May you compassionately bear witness for me, so that next time I will not make this mistake again.”

If we were this Buddhist, would we dare to seek out someone to repent to? Not necessarily; often we simply go back and forth in torment. But this person recognised that it was a fault, dared to say it out loud, dared to admit having a fault, dared to tell his teacher, and so he gained two things: first, courage (daring to admit and to speak of the fault), and second, wisdom (knowing the fault). So to be able to know our faults, we must have this strength of character, which consists of both courage and wisdom.

That Buddhist saw his own fault of greed and overcame it – at that moment he could be considered to have set foot at the starting point of practice. But if, foolishly, he had taken the money then, he would be sunk for lifetime after lifetime in storms and tempests, unable to stand at the gate of peaceful practice. It is the same for us: if we do not see our own faults, we are running into a jungle full of thorns, and our lives are swept away into endless rebirth. Only when we know our faults do we begin to have a place to stand and a place to walk – even though the journey will be extremely arduous, as that Buddhist had to struggle and wrestle with his own inner mind so as not to covet the money that had been dropped. It is that hard; it is not easy.

The more we practise, the more new faults we discover

Knowing our faults is standing at the starting point of practice, and by degrees: the more faults we know, the brighter our wisdom, the greater our merit grows, and the nearer the fruit of the path comes. Faults are always lying in wait, crowding around our mind like a road already strewn with thorns and dangers, because, except for the noble ones, all beings are bound and ordered about by the ten fetters already present in the mind. Like someone cycling uphill: clear one boulder and discover a thorn bush; push aside the thorn bush and see a pothole; avoid the pothole and meet a muddy bog... The more we practise and the brighter our wisdom, the more we discover subtle, deep faults that we never knew of before. The higher a noble one's attainment of the path, the more the fetters are gradually reduced, and only an arahant has cut off all the fetters, is completely free of faults, completely liberated.

Seeing a fault means we have already advanced a step on the path of practice. However, the process is not simple at all. The further we go, no sooner have we escaped one fault than another appears. For example, the Buddhist saw that he still had a nature of greed, but because he discovered it, he repented and overcame it. This is the first time. The next time, the Buddha has him face the very same fault, but as a harder problem: he finds a diamond on the road, yet decides not to seize it as his own. In this way, he has overcome greed, like clearing away one boulder so as to take one more step on the path of spiritual awakening, and at that moment he feels very settled and happy. But no! A new obstacle will arise, a new fault will appear – and then it is very easy for pride to arise, for him to see himself as better than others.

Why is that? Because when a person overcomes greed within themselves, they naturally become very sensitive to the greed of everyone around them. Looking at one person's face, listening to another's words, they see that everyone is still sunk in greed for material things: sitting down to a meal together, picking up a bite of food they choose the tasty piece, taking a mouthful of rice they choose the tasty bit,... the greed of others appears very clearly. This person takes pride in thinking they have ended greed (though in truth they have not) while others are still heavily attached. And a secret conceit arises.

Before, when he had escaped greed, his heart was bursting with happiness, and when sitting in meditation or reciting the Buddha's name his mind was very calm. But a few days later the mind suddenly becomes disturbed, his head tense and uncomfortable, and he does not know why. In the end he has no choice but to go to his teacher, who advises him: “Perhaps you have committed some fault so hidden that you have not yet recognised it. Try to look for your fault, repent every day, ask the Buddha for his blessing, and you will get through it.”

So, we see the problem is “not knowing where the fault is”! Why not know where the fault is? Because the second fault is harder to see than the first. When he discovered greed, he struggled and fought inwardly and eventually got through it. But the invisible conceit he cannot see, and if he cannot see it, how can he overcome it? He has overcome greed but cannot recognise his pride, so he is stuck right there, the mind disturbed this way and that, sometimes gaining, sometimes losing, sometimes calm, sometimes agitated... So it is clear that in practice, only by knowing a fault can we correct it; if we do not know it, we cannot overcome it, and we cannot practise at all.

For three years this person kept repenting, and thanks to that merit the Buddhas quietly blessed him. Then one day, while sitting in meditation, he suddenly burst into tears, and afterwards went to report to his teacher: “Venerable Master, I have seen my fault of these past three years. When I overcame greed, I looked at my fellow practitioners and wondered why, after practising so long, they were still greedy. I thought I was better than others and enjoyed that without realising it. Because of pride, my merit from practice has been worn away, so my mind has been disturbed and uneasy. Throughout this time I have been bowing to the Buddha and repenting, and perhaps because of that, while sitting in meditation I suddenly saw my own fault. Today I ask you to bear witness as I sincerely repent.”

When we see others commit faults, it is easy for us to feel irritation and contempt. We are at once proud and without compassion. That is the reason our merit is damaged and our spirit obstructed. Among us, who is understanding of the faults of others? If we have this mind, we have advanced one more step on the path of practice. But beware. If we accept this praise and think we have made progress, watch out: pride is creeping in, and we feel a joy mixed with self-satisfaction without realising it. How wretched! No sooner is one thorn bush cleared than another bog appears. No sooner is one fault dealt with than another comes looking for us. As the saying goes: “To practise is to suffer a little in the heart.” That is just how it is.