Helping Yourself Helps Others

The dhamma, when well practiced, is like a medicine for treating the ills of life, enabling us to live our lives well. The Buddha, as the proclaimer of the dhamma, is like a skillful doctor who prescribed particular medicines for particular illnesses. If a doctor is not skillful, even though he may have good medicine, he may prescribe it wrongly. His treatment will then not be very effective. A skillful and wise doctor will be very effective in treating his patients, because he thoroughly understands the properties of the various medicines.

Sometimes we hear it said, “Buddhism has been with us for thousands of years, and yet we still see people fighting and in conflict. Evil still abounds. Buddhism seems incapable of dealing with it; it’s useless. We may as well dispense with it.” Some people see it like this.

Do you think this is true? They say that even though we’ve had this Buddhist religion for so many years, people are still corrupt; they still live in conflict. Religion seems powerless to stop these things. We can see no concrete results from religion at all. Better to do away with it.

To these people I say, “Well, the science of medicine has been with us for many thousands of years. Medicine is plentiful, and there have been doctors curing illnesses throughout the ages, for thousands, even tens of thousands, of years. And yet we see disease and illness still abound. If what you say is true, then we must also say that the science of medicine is redundant; we may as well throw that out too.”

As long as there are people living in this world, there will be suffering, so we must also have a treatment for it. When one person is cured, there are still countless others to follow.

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What is the disease that incessantly hounds the mind? It is the disease of defilements (kilesa). Whenever greed, hatred, or delusion arise within the mind, they cause discontent and suffering to arise. Such a mind can be called an ill or diseased mind. When diseases such as greed arise, they stifle and oppress the mind, causing it to become obsessed with some object or other.

When the mind rests with a meditation object, we don’t have to bother with sensations arising from the outside world. Defilements resulting from value judgments about externals do not arise.

This is the most elementary level of meditation practice: concentrating the mind on a harmless object. With the mind coming to rest on that object, we can be said to have accomplished our aim—the mind is in samadhi, being firmly fixed on one object. When talking of samadhi, the word ekaggata (one-pointedness) is used, meaning that the mind rests with one particular object. When it rests on that object, it is calm and undistracted. This is samadhi.

When the mind is one-pointed, it is said to be like a magnifying glass that is used to concentrate the sun’s rays. Using a magnifying glass, a concentration of energy occurs that can even ignite an object in its path. Again, the mind can be compared to water that is released from a great height, such as a mountain. If the water has no channel, it dissipates, but if a pipe is used to channel the water, it flows down in a torrent, sometimes so strong as to sweep all obstacles, such as branches and trees, from its path. Yet again, the calm mind can be compared to still limpid water, which is completely free of ripples, perfectly smooth. If one were to look into the water, one would clearly see a true reflection of one’s features. In the same way, the calm mind sees things without distortion.

The real value of samadhi lies with wisdom. The difference between samadhi and wisdom is that samadhi renders the mind calm and undefiled for only a limited time.

Therefore, the results of practicing samadhi on its own still leave us prone to problems. Suffering still arises; the disease is still with us. Samadhi in itself does not give us a real, lasting result. One who transcends the influence of defilements temporarily, by using samadhi, is said to have experienced transcendence through suppression (vikkhambhana vimutti). The illustration is given of grass covered by a rock. As long as the rock is there, the grass is suppressed and cannot grow, but once the rock is removed, the grass grows as before.

What is the disease that incessantly hounds the mind? It is the disease of defilements.

How can we cure the problem once and for all, so that even when the mind experiences various sensations, no harm or problems arise? One must delve deeper into the problem by destroying the seed of defilement in the mind, so that the mind does not react with defilement to the various sensations. This is called abandoning the defilements through true knowledge and vision of the way things are—that is, by using wisdom. Wisdom on this level is called vipassana (insight).

Thus, when we talk of the higher levels of Buddhist practice, it is said to have two main branches: on one hand, samadhi in itself, which we call samatha (calm), and on the other hand, the use of wisdom, seeing the true nature of things, which is called vipassana. If one develops samadhi and then uses that calm mind in the development of wisdom, one will achieve what in Buddhism we would consider to be comprehensive results.

The practice of the foundations of mindfulness is said to help eradicate desire and aversion and to see things as they are. Now, when we are more adept at seeing things as they arise, we will notice their arising, existence, and cessation. When we perceive the various sensations coming and going as they do, we will be seeing the process by which they function, seeing that they are constantly arising and ceasing. They are impermanent. Seeing impermanence (anicca), we will also see dukkha (suffering) and anatta (selflessness), the three characteristics. So the practice of the foundations of mindfulness on deeper levels enables us to see the arising, changing, and dissolution of all things. This is seeing the three characteristics of conditioned existence, which is the arising of wisdom. The mind will then no longer grasp or be influenced by external sensations. The mind becomes its own master and breaks free, and that freedom is the fruition of wisdom development.

If the mind knows the truth of life, the disease of ignorance will not arise. The disease of the mind is caused by ignorance, which causes the mind to fabricate. This is the practice of Buddhism. Notice that it all relates to us. The practice I’ve been talking about here is based on this fathom-long body. The truth can be seen right here. Living in this world, we experience the environment as sensations. If we don’t practice appropriately toward those sensations, we experience problems.

In one sense, it’s almost as if we “lie in wait” for sensations to arise and relate to them in such a way as to not give rise to defilements. It is as if we were a passive receiver of sensations. In this sense, we may feel we should sit and wait for things to happen and do our best to avoid getting involved in anything. This is one way of looking at dhamma practice.

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Another way is to use our practice to improve the world, by training to see it in a more skillful way. So the initial practice is not only to be a passive experiencer but also to learn to get up and go outside to meet the world. This means practicing toward the world in a good way.

One who practices like this practices correctly in relation to oneself and also, having seen the truth, practices in the world in such a way as to be helpful, not harmful, to others. Helping others also helps us to develop good qualities in ourselves. The mind tends toward skillful reactions in its everyday contact. In this way, the practitioner sees a relationship between their own personal practice and the practice of relating to the world. One sees that all beings are related and so deals with them with goodwill and compassion, helping them in their need. Furthermore, we understand that all other beings are afflicted with the same illness as we are; they are bound by the three characteristics just as we are. Therefore, it is proper that we learn to help one another as fellow travelers on the path of practice.

If the mind knows the truth of life, the disease of ignorance will not arise.

Dhamma practitioners should thus not only consider the right way to relate to the various experiences they encounter in the course of their lives but also to help others. This type of practice was recommended by the Buddha, even up to the level of those who have experienced insight. At one time, the Buddha compared the stream-enterer (sotapanna) to a cow with a calf. The cow eats grass to feed itself and also to feed the calf, which follows her around. “Eating the grass” can be compared to one’s own personal practice of the dhamma. Even though she is eating grass, the mother cow does not neglect her calf; she is constantly looking after it and being watchful to keep it from falling into danger. Likewise, one who practices the teaching of Buddhism practices primarily to train oneself in the correct practice but also gives consideration to one’s fellow people and all other beings, so as to help them with goodwill and compassion.

In helping yourself, you help others; in helping others, you help yourself. All in all, the practice boils down to behaving in the right manner, both to oneself and to others. In this way, dhamma practice leads to progress both for oneself and for others.

There is an apt analogy related by the Buddha in the story of the two acrobats. One form of acrobatics performed in the Buddha’s time involved the use of a long bamboo pole, which was balanced on the head and shoulders of one acrobat, while another acrobat balanced himself on top of the pole. They would perform various tricks and balancing acts in this way. Two of these acrobats, master and apprentice, were traveling around the country performing their art.

One day the master said, “Now, you keep your eye on me, and I’ll keep my eye on you and so keep you from falling off.” The apprentice replied, “Oh, no, master. You should look after yourself while I look after myself. In this way, we can perform our act and earn a living in safety.”

The meaning of the story is: In looking after yourself, you also look after others, and by looking after others, you also look after yourself. In practicing the dhamma we are cultivating virtue, which first arises in ourselves. That virtue can then extend to others, even without our knowing about it. Specifically, when practicing the dhamma we are cultivating morality (sila), concentration (samadhi), and wisdom (panna). When our moral conduct is pure, we don’t harm others. This is one result of dhamma practice. Although we have developed that virtue within ourselves, its good effects extend to others in that we no longer present any danger to them. Again, if we help others, for example, by exercising forbearance (khanti), not harming others through anger but exercising goodwill (metta) and compassion (karuna), we are practicing the dhamma, the fruit of which also arises within ourselves. Thus, it is said that in looking after ourselves, we look after others, and when looking after others, we look after ourselves. The practice of the dhamma is coproductive in that its effects extend to all beings.

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Adapted from Voices of Siam: Illuminating the Buddhist Path to Natural Reality. © 2025, compiled and translated by Bruce Evans. Reprinted in arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Boulder, CO.