IS MERIT IN THE MILK POWDER?
PURSUING PUN

˜ N˜A IN

CONTEMPORARY SRI LANKA

Jeffrey Samuels

This article examines merit making in contemporary Sri Lankan practice. Exploring

the role of emotions, most generally defined as “happiness in the heart/mind,” in this

important Buddhist activity, this article seeks not only to move beyond a more

mechanical view of merit making as generalized exchange, but also to introduce an

affective quality to the notion of intention (cetana¯). Finally, this article questions the

tendency to judge Buddhist behavior and appearance solely against the norms set

forth in the Buddhist monastic code by investigating how people’s histories,

experiences, and backgrounds shape their own understandings of who constitutes an

ideal monastic.

Merit is a key concept in Buddhism, and making merit plays a vital role in the lives
of many Buddhists. The importance of merit-making in the Buddhist tradition in
general, and the Therava¯da tradition in particular, is evident not only in the
plethora of canonical and post-canonical references to this activity, but also in the
host of scholarly works on the topic. In addition to a number of monographs
examining Pa¯li canonical and post-canonical passages that pertain to merit-
making (Egge 2002; Endo 1987; Hibbitts 1999), are several ethnographic works
exploring this important Buddhist activity in contemporary Myanmar (for example,
Spiro 1982), Thailand (for example, Tambiah 1984; Keyes 1983), and Sri Lanka
(Gombrich 1971a, 1971b).

Drawing on passages from Pa¯li canonical and commentarial texts, scholars

have pointed to a number of ways in which merit may be acquired, such as the 10
wholesome actions (dasakusalakamma).

1

At the head of the list of the 10 activities

is giving (da¯na), an activity which, in the words of John Strong (1987, 384; see also
1990), is oftentimes regarded as ‘the Buddhist act of merit par excellence [that]
cements a symbiotic relationship between the sa

_

mgha and the laity [and] that has

long been one of the prominent features of Buddhism’.

2

Scholars discussing this

important Buddhist activity have also pointed out that while the primary and
secondary literature suggest all beneficial acts of giving are ‘meritorious’, giving to

Contemporary Buddhism, Vol. 9, No. 1, May 2008

ISSN 1463-9947 print/1476-7953 online/08/010123-147

q

2008 Taylor & Francis

DOI: 10.1080/14639940802312741

the monastic community (oftentimes regarded as an unsurpassable field of merit
of this world—anuttara pun˜n

˜akkhetta

_

m lokassa—as in the often-recited iti pi so

formula) provides donors with the best opportunity to earn merit.

3

Despite the publication of a number of articles and ethnographies that

have elucidated, in varying degrees, how this central practice is understood
and played out in the everyday lives of Buddhists, students of Buddhism,
according to Ivan Strenski, have tended to see in this key Buddhist practice ‘a crass
calculus of spiritual merits and demerits’ (1983, 474). Rather than penetrating, in
Stenski’s words, the behavior of merit-making Buddhists in order to understand
what Buddhists regard to be a vision of Buddhist culture or what morally makes
a Buddhist civilization, scholars have been inclined to see in the practice ‘a
wonderful pre-capitalistic anticipation of elements of economic ideology’ (Strenski
1983, 474). This more mechanical and perfunctory view of merit-making has
had an effect on several ethnographic works dealing with the topic, works that
have treated meritorious giving in a very disjointed manner. Oftentimes, these
same works—which have primarily focused on the intention of the donor and the
spiritual quality of the recipient—have been inattentive to or have not taken
seriously the role that the emotions play in this important Buddhist activity.

4

In the remainder of this article, I would like to offer a corrective to some of

the ways in which merit-making has been previously conceived. Drawing heavily
on conversations with monastics and lay people associated with three temples
in upcountry Sri Lanka, this article focuses on the role of emotions in this
quintessential Buddhist activity, thus adding a voice to a growing number of voices
(Berkwitz 2001, 2003; Heim 2003; Rotman 2003; Trainor 1997, 2003) that have
recently begun to address the place emotions in South Asian Buddhism. Focusing
specifically on feelings of happiness or gladness (satu

_

ta/santo¯

_

sa) in the heart/mind

(hite¯) of donors,

5

this article presents a much more unified vision of giving (da¯na)

and merit ( pun

˜n˜a), thus challenging the crass-calculus models previously advanced.

Although the explicit goal of this article is to provide a more holistic

understanding of merit-making by portraying how monks, lay people, and novices
understand merit during specific moments and in particular locations, I will also
make methodological claim as well. In offering another way to envision moments
of Buddhist practice, this article revisits a concern that has been made with
regards to the approaches that several scholars have taken in studying the
Therava¯da: the tendency to view contemporary Therava¯da practice through a
lens narrowly focused on segments of Pa¯li canonical and commentarial texts,
particularly the disposition to judge contemporary Buddhist practice against a
canonically based conception of orthodoxy. This tendency, it has been argued,
implies a deep-seated view that beliefs are primary and that practices or rituals are
derivatives of beliefs. While I do not want to engage in the same debate that
William Robertson Smith (1927) waged over a century ago—whether practices are
the consequence of belief or whether beliefs arise to explain action—I
nonetheless wish to draw attention to the problem inherent in some recent
approaches to the study of South Asian Buddhism; namely, the attempt

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JEFFREY SAMUELS

to understand contemporary religious practices through the filter of belief, which
is oftentimes colored by a particular reading of the Pa¯li canonical and
commentarial texts. In the pages that follow, then, I maintain that such an
approach leads not only to the conclusion that Buddhism on the ground
compares rather unfavorably with the ‘true’ Buddhism of the Pa¯li canonical texts,

6

but also, and equally troubling, to a fragmentary presentation of the Therava¯da as
a lived tradition. Before turning to the voices of my informants and how their
experiences and understandings may call into question the crass-calculus model
of merit-making, it may be helpful to discuss briefly some of the ways in which
giving (da¯na) and merit ( pun˜n˜a) have been understood and presented.

Conceptions of meritorious giving: compromising the ethic of
intention

One of the most commonly cited and important ethnographic works on Sri

Lankan Therava¯da has been Richard Gombrich’s Precept and Practice. One of
Gombrich’s concerns in his account of Sinhalese Buddhism is the acute tension
‘between what people say they believe and say they do, and what they really
believe and really do’ (1971b, 4) or between ‘the cognitive and the affective belief
system and value system’ (1971b, 5). Oftentimes, the tensions that Gombrich
perceives in Therava¯da Buddhist precept and practice are the result of his attempt
to deduce which contemporary practices and beliefs may be deemed ‘orthodox’.
Despite suggesting that he is ‘content to leave the definition of religion to the
practitioners themselves’ (1971b, 9), Gombrich nonetheless takes an evaluative
stance regarding what does and does not constitute orthodox Buddhism, a stance
that is oftentimes based, in the words of Steven Kemper, on his own knowledge of
the Pa¯li canonical and commentarial texts.

7

One expression of Sinhalese Therava¯da belief and practice where Gombrich

finds the tension between the cognitive and affective positions particularly strong
is merit-making. Basing his understanding of what meritorious giving should look
like on a select reading of Pa¯li canonical and commentarial texts, Gombrich argues
that the basis of making merit should be none other than the donor’s intentions
(cetana¯). He writes:

Ask any monk, and the cognitive position is quite clear: no offering, no flowers,

no recital of verses has any intrinsic merit; it is the thought that counts. The

Buddhist ethic is an ethic of intention; and doctrine is consistent on this point.

(Gombrich 1971b, 117)

8

Although Gombrich makes passing reference to the role that joy ( prı¯ti) plays in
meritorious giving (for example, Gombrich 1971b, 118f.), he nonetheless bases his
understanding of merit and merit-making activities on the centrality of intention.
In the chapter entitled ‘Total Responsibility in Theory and Practice’, Gombrich
states, for example, that ‘[I]t is the thought that counts, and merit bears fruit

PURSUING PUN

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125

for the doer because of the pure thought that accompanies it’ (1971b, 26;
emphasis added).

9

In arguing for the supremacy of intention or cetana¯ in meritorious giving,

Gombrich also examines other factors—such as the size of the gift (1971b, 250) and
the virtue of the recipient—that may also impinge upon amount of merit that one
accrues.

10

Drawing on a conversation he had with a village monk in Sri Lanka about

giving, Gombrich concludes that ‘merit varies with the virtue of the recipient’, which
he describes as the recipient’s noble or higher qualities (us´as gu

_

na). What is perhaps

most telling about Gombrich’s study, particularly his attempt at deciphering the
degree to which his informants’ responses are orthodox, is how troubled he is with
the doctrine of the suitable or virtuous (sı¯lvanta) recipient. Despite acknowledging
that such an idea has found its way into early Pa¯li texts,

11

Gombrich nonetheless

finds it to be ambivalent and problematic, arguing that such a doctrine compromises
‘the supremacy of intention’ (1971b, 249). The seriousness of the problem is also
evident, as James Egge (2002, 3) notes, in the fact that Gombrich is unable to get his
informants to share his concern. Recounting one conversation he had with a
monastic about meritorious giving, Gombrich explains:

The fullest answer given by a monk went thus. There are two kinds of giving (dan

dı¯ma): that with thought of worship ( pu¯ja¯buddhiya), which is motivated by
respect (gaurava), and that with thought of favour (anugrahabuddhiya), which is

motivated by pity (anukampa¯va). The former is exemplified by a gift to the

Sa _ngha, the latter by a gift to a beggar. For both, the accompanying thought is

all-important (ce¯tana¯va pradha¯nayi), but the former is superior, i.e., brings more

merit. [When I spoke up for the latter he showed no comprehension.]

12

By interpreting his informants’ responses through a lens focused on a particular
reading of the canonical and commentarial texts (i.e. that meritorious giving
should only be about generosity and should only bear fruit if it is accompanied
by the donor’s pure thoughts),

13

Gombrich presents contemporary practice in a

rather fragmented manner. As a result of being unable to get his informants to
share or even voice his own ‘orthodox’ views and concerns, Gombrich, to quote
Kemper (1978, 213), again ‘neglects the phenomenological “feel” of the religion as
it is experienced by the Sinhalese’.

14

Taking my cue from Southwold’s (1983, 184) conclusion that:

when the behaviour of most people, typical people, in another society appears

to us unintelligible and more or less silly, the fault lies with us, not with them;

and the remedy is to search ourselves to discover why we cannot fathom their

good sense and rationality . . .

I wish to explore some of the ways in which meritorious giving may be understood
as ‘a good-sense practice’. Turning to conversations that center on the place of
happiness in the heart/mind as well as to discussion about who constitutes a
suitable recipient, I will highlight the important role of emotions in this
quintessential Buddhist practice, suggest a way to interpret the laity’s and

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JEFFREY SAMUELS

monastics’ focus on a suitable recipient other than seeing it as compromising the
doctrine of intention, and propose a more nuanced and holistic understanding of
intention or cetana¯.

Happiness in the Hita: locating a place for the emotions in
meritorious giving

When I began asking lay people to share with me their views about

meritorious giving, I was surprised to find neither a focus on the intention of the
benefactor (i.e. the need to give with thoughts of generosity and non-attachment)
nor on the spiritual quality of the recipient (i.e. one who is developing higher
qualities or progressing toward nibba¯na). Instead, many conversations, at the
beginning at least, centered on the need for all acts of giving to be accompanied
by particular emotions, most often expressed as happiness or gladness
(satu

_

ta/santo¯

_

sa) in the [donor’s] heart/mind or hita.

15

The tendency to correlate

merit with the emotional state of happiness was best exemplified in the response
that one layman gave me when I asked him how one makes merit: ‘Merit means
happiness ( pi _n kiyanne¯ satu

_

ta). Happiness in the heart/mind (hite¯ santo¯

_

saya).

Demerit means unhappiness ( pava kiyanne¯ asatu

_

ta). Merit is based on these

two’.

16

Although I, by no means, wish to imply that the relationship between merit

and happiness in the heart is shared by all lay Buddhists in Sri Lanka or the
Therava¯da world, I did find it quite striking that the majority of lay people with
whom I spoke discussed merit in that manner. For instance, another layman
discussing his understanding of meritorious giving alluded to the need for
wholesome activities to be accompanied by feelings of happiness. Making specific
reference to merit accrued from certain acts of devotion or worship, he said: ‘If I
feel happy when I worship/honor a monk, then I see that as merit’.

Perhaps the most illuminating of responses came from a group interview I

conducted with three female lay devotees (upa¯sika¯) during a poya day celebration
at a local village temple. Replying to my question ‘How is merit obtained ( pi _n
labanne¯ kohomada)?’, they explained:

First upa¯sika¯: If the hita is not happy, then there won’t be any merit.

Second upa¯sika¯: You need to have happiness in the hita (hite¯ santo¯

_

saya) to get

merit. If we give anything with an unhappy hita, there would be

no merit at all.

Third upa¯sika¯: If we give something with happiness, even a little bit, it would

be good.

Second upa¯sika¯: Giving even a little with happiness bears results.

For the laymen and laywomen with whom I spoke about meritorious giving,
conversations rarely, if ever, touched upon the need for giving to be accompanied
by certain ‘pure thoughts’ or right intentions.

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127

Along with the majority of lay Buddhists, monastics I interviewed in

three separate temples in upcountry Sri Lanka were largely inclined to discuss
merit-making in the context of the donors’ emotions and heart/mind (hita). When I
asked the deputy head monk or anuna¯yaka of one temple how one earns merit, he
succinctly responded ‘Merit is called happiness in the hita’.

With the exception of one novice who gave a very text-based response to

my questions concerning meritorious giving, the majority of novices I interviewed
also correlated merit to happiness in the heart. One novice described merit-
making in the following manner:

We cannot get a lot of merit and a lot of fruit/result ( phala) from giving da¯na
with feelings of disgust/displeasure and unpleasantness (aprasa¯da). We can get
a huge amount (vis´a¯la) of merit by giving even something as small as a needle if
there is a feeling of being pleased.

Although this novice was less inclined to suggest that it is utterly futile to give
without happiness in the heart, he nonetheless regarded the emotional state of
the donor to be the very basis for making merit.

Other monks and novices were much more adamant about the role that the

emotions play in making merit. One novice living in another temple responded to
my inquiry by saying: ‘If the heart is pleased, by thinking “I gave da¯na,” then merit
is there. If there is no happiness in the heart, then merit would be less. Happiness
has to be there; if not, there won’t be any merit.’ Yet another novice in the
same temple succinctly noted: ‘Merit means happiness; if we do something with
happiness, then it is meritorious’.

For many of the novices and monks with whom I spoke, merit was not based

on ‘crass’ calculations regarding the size of the gift or the purity of the recipient;
nor was it necessarily correlated to the pure intention prompting a donative act.

17

Instead, conversations with them indicate that it is the emotional experiences that
precede, accompany, and proceed acts of generosity that determine whether or
not merit is there. This was explained most clearly by the head monk of one
temple who succinctly responded to my question about how one makes merit by
saying ‘Merit is explained in the teachings as happiness in the hita’.

18

He then

continued without any further prompting on my part:

There are various ways to receive happiness in the hita. One can be happy by

helping another person. One can be happy by helping up someone who had

fallen. One can be happy by giving food to, and bathing, someone who is sick.

We can be happy by doing a number of things for others. There are many

methods for becoming happy. All of those ways should be according to the

dharma/righteousness. It should be something that benefits oneself and others.

The expectation (bala¯porottuva) while giving alms should be happiness. There

should be happiness when people give alms. Think about it. We are without

food. We are fed by the people. Food is given to extinguish our hunger. By

eating that da¯na, we protect our religion and benefit society. We give people

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JEFFREY SAMUELS

advice (avava¯da) and teachings (anusa¯sana). To receive those things, people

provide us with nourishment. It is a great merit.

For this head monk, merit is primarily about happiness and the multitude of
actions that result in happiness. Although he acknowledges that giving to the
sa _ngha is a great form of merit and that one should give only if it benefits oneself
and others, his response opened the door to a variety of ways of receiving
happiness and making merit; thus not only allowing for a more affective
dimension to merit-making practices, but also challenging the view that acts of
generosity only bear fruit if they are accompanied by what Spiro (1982, 106) calls ‘a
real concern for the welfare of the recipient regardless of its consequences for the
donor’ (emphasis added).

Along with presenting much more inclusive views of how one makes merit,

the same head monk communicated a much more complex use of cetana¯ and its
role in making merit. As I noted above, in Gombrich’s (and Spiro’s) ethnographic
studies, cetana¯ is conceived as a rational/cognitive act; to make merit-making
activities efficacious, meritorious giving must be prompted by a donor’s ‘pure
thoughts’. According to the head monk, however, cetana¯ is not solely understood
as the mind or thoughts of a giver preceding a donative act; rather, it includes
both cognitive and affective dimensions. Discussing three types of cetana¯ in
reference to making merit, the head monk explained:

In giving, there should be prior cetana¯ ( pu¯rva cetana¯), a cetana¯ during the

delivery of a gift (mun˜cana cetana¯),

19

and a subsequent/after/future cetana¯

(apara cetana¯). Before giving da¯na, we might think: ‘Oh dear, the monks in the

temple may be hungry. Let’s prepare our da¯na quickly and go there.’ In this

regard, pu¯rva cetana is proper.

Although the head monk’s discussion of the first type of cetana¯ seemed to fit
squarely with Gombrich’s understanding of cetana¯ as the donor’s pure thought
prompting a donative act (1971b, 247f.), the remainder of the head monk’s
explanation expanded this more cognitive based understanding of cetana¯:

Now imagine that we prepared the meal in the morning. Then we take it to the

temple and offer it. That is mun˜cana cetana¯, the time that we offer it. Imagine

that at that time, the hita of the donor is disgusted thinking: ‘The monk here

didn’t talk to me. He didn’t do anything for me. He didn’t show any concern for

me. He didn’t come to meet me and perform Buddhapu¯ja¯ for me. He didn’t

administer the five precepts to me. He didn’t pay attention to me. He just

stayed in his room. Why should I bring this da¯na? I did something that was truly

in vain (apara¯de).’ Thinking so, he then feels disgusted. At that time, his hita is

disgusted. After that, he goes back home. Coming home, he tells his wife ‘See

here! I took da¯na there. The monks didn’t talk to me. They weren’t concerned

about me. I just went there, dropped the food, and came back. That is apara

cetana¯ . . . The first cetana¯ was good. The mun˜cana and apara cetana¯ were not

PURSUING PUN

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129

good . . . As a result, the merit from that wholesome activity (kusala kamma) will
not grow. Though there is merit, it is not strong/great [vis´a¯la ].’

What the head monk seems to imply through his example is that cetana¯ is not
simply the pure or generous thoughts that occasion a wholesome act. Even though
the head monk recognizes the importance of the thoughts that prompt an act of
generosity, he also introduces an affective quality of intention to the discussion of
meritorious giving, thus allowing for the possibility that thoughts and emotions
that precede, accompany, and follow wholesome activities may impinge upon the
amount of merit being accrued. I might note, moreover, that a similar point was
made in Maria Heim’s study of the place of emotions in South Asian Buddhist texts.
In expanding upon more familiar understandings of cetana¯ as a cognitive/rational
act, Heim (2003, 533) writes that ‘cetana¯ has a quite affective quality, described as
the pleasure associated with the decision and resolve to perform meritorious
actions, in anticipation of, during, and even after performing them’.

The supremacy of intention and the suitable recipient: moving
beyond compromises, tensions, and acute problems

Along with broadening our understanding of intention, the head monk’s

example may demand a re-evaluation of the relationship between the two
dimensions pertinent to merit-making that Gombrich and Spiro see as being in
tension with one another: the quality of the recipient and the donor’s intention.
Indeed, by acknowledging various circumstances that influence and affect the
experience of the donor, the head monk’s example points to the interrelatedness
between the donor’s intentions/thoughts/emotions and the recipient himself.
In other words, the very quality of the donor’s thoughts or emotions is determined
by a variety of factors and conditions, including the donor’s experience and
interaction with the recipient. Understood in this way then, the ‘supreme’ doctrine
of intentionality, now conceived as having both a cognitive and affective quality
to it, is indeed not ‘compromised’ by the quality of the recipient. It is, rather,
dependent on and affected by it.

Who is the best field of merit? Reconsidering the virtuous
recipient in Sinhalese Buddhist practice

In bridging this so-called conflict or tension, the head monk’s example

necessitates a reconsideration of our own understanding of who is and who is not
a ‘suitable recipient’. Indeed, while a number of ethnographic works envisage a
suitable recipient as one who is advanced or advancing on the path to nibba¯na
and who is—at least when judged against the standard set forth in the Vinaya—
ethically pure, such a conception appears to be quite limited.

20

Indeed,

conversations about meritorious giving with several head monks, deputy head
monks, novices, and lay people complexifies the issue of the suitable recipient

130

JEFFREY SAMUELS

somewhat by allowing for many ways for the hita to become pleased or
gladdened, ways that may have more to do with a donor’s cultural, social, and
historical background than, say, on canonical depictions and Vinaya norms.
To understand this better, it may be helpful to outline previous understandings of
who constitutes a suitable recipient.

A number of studies mentioning how the quality of the recipient affects the

amount of merit accrued have suggested that lay people, desiring to amass the
greatest possible amount of merit, often seek out more ‘virtuous’ or ‘spiritual’
recipients, such as the forest or other ascetically leaning monks. Michael Carrithers
(1979, 1983), in his well-known work on the forest monks of nineteenth-century
and twentieth-century Sri Lanka, has noted how the laity tended to flock toward
these more ascetically leaning monks, such as Ta¯pasa Himi and his disciples.
Carrithers further explains how many lay people find these monks’ peripatetic
lifestyle, their penchant for meditating or sitting in lotus posture under trees, and
their practice of living in cemeteries to be irresistible. In his study, Carrithers (1983,
50) also suggests a possible reason for the popularity of these ascetically leaning
monks: the pervasive idea within Sinhala society today ‘that it is particularly
meritorious to support a good monk’.

Richard Gombrich (1971b, 278) also discusses the popularity of forest monks

in contemporary Sri Lankan society when he notes that the amount of merit
increases if the recipient is virtuous, which Gombrich (1971b, 249) defines in terms of
higher or noble qualities (us´as gu

_

na). The forest monks’ popularity in contemporary

society, Gombrich argues, is based upon the commonly held belief that such noble
recipients represent a more fertile field of merit ( pun

˜n˜akkhetta

_

m):

21

‘to give a meal

to these [forest] monks you have to put down your name more than a year in
advance’ (Gombrich 1971b, 278).

22

Finally, in his recent publication, The Work of

Kings, H. L. Seneviratne (1999, 278) makes a similar point concerning a view that he
regards to be pervasive in Sri Lankan society: that more merit may be accrued by
giving to virtuous monks. Like Gombrich and Carrithers, Seneviratne notes how ‘lay
devotees rush to provide the needs of “ascetic” monks because of this’.

23

Reconsidering the suitable recipient: views of lay people

Although it may certainly be the case that a desire to give to virtuous monks

is something that is quite pervasive in Sri Lankan society, conversations about
merit-making with lay people point to much more variegated conceptions of who
constitutes a suitable recipient. While it is true that a number of lay people
mentioned the need to locate morally upright or sı¯la¯ca¯ra recipients,

24

their ideas

about merit making also suggest that what attracts their hita appears to be
grounded on their own social, economic, and historical contexts.

When I asked one layman about his own views on meritorious giving,

particularly how one acquires merit, he responded with the following scenario
that, I later discovered, had relevance to his own experiences at a nearby temple
with which he had recently abrogated his ties:

PURSUING PUN

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131

Let’s imagine that we have taken da¯na to the temple. The monks haven’t come

to perform Buddhapu¯ja¯. We would not feel any happiness and, as a result, there

would be no merit. Undergoing many hardships, we provide da¯na in order to

get merit. If the monks don’t come, then we would just go there, leave it, and

come back. Happiness in the heart is merit ( pi _n kiyanne¯ hite¯ satu

_

ta); merit does

not depend on just going to the Buddha . . . Imagine that we feel disgusted.

Then that activity will not be correct. Then, there will be no merit.

In addition to making reference to the need for acts of generosity to be accompanied
by happiness in the heart, his description included a discussion of what leads to an
emotionally satisfying experience and, implicitly, who constitutes a suitable recipient.
Indeed, even though this layman mentioned the need for monastics to behave well
and with restraint during our conversation, his description of a suitable recipient was
neither solely based on canonical images depicting the nibba¯na-faring monastics nor
solely grounded on popular images of the morally pure forest monks.

25

Instead,

his conception of a suitable recipient—someone who is committed to fulfilling his
own religious needs and, thus, to providing an experience that he (and others
who share similar views and experiences) finds pleasing to the hita—had more to do
with his own social circumstances, particularly his own experiences as a villager
who had been treated poorly by monks living in a nearby temple.

A layman from another village used an almost identical description in

response to my questions regarding making merit. Drawing on his own (and other
villagers’) upsetting experiences while visiting a nearby temple, he said:

When we take da¯na [there], some monks say: ‘We will perform Buddhapu¯ja¯ on

your behalf and eat the food.

26

You can go now.’ When we go there, we often

feel disgusted. We go there expecting merit. We want to offer food to the monks

and have them recite verses and do bodhipu¯ja¯ for us.

27

These are the things that

we expect. When something like that happens, then we get demerit. If we take

da¯na to another temple and the monks there perform Buddhapu¯ja¯, recite verses,

and preach to us, then we would feel happiness after offering food to them. As a

result, we would receive merit.

In addition to drawing our attention to a connection between a donor’s happiness
and quality of the recipients, this layman’s conceptions of meritorious giving
provided him the opportunity to discuss the very things that attract his hita.
Similar to the previous layman, those discussions were quite different from textual
depictions of a suitable recipient: someone who knows his former lives, who has
seen heaven and hell, who has attained nibba¯na or the destruction of birth (atho
ja¯tikkhayam patto), who has acquired certain supernatural powers (abhin˜n˜a¯vosito
muni), and who has become free from greed, hatred, and ignorance. Indeed, my
conversations with this layman about what pleases or attracts his heart had much
to do with his own (and other villagers’) past and current experiences as a lay
donor or da¯yaka.

28

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JEFFREY SAMUELS

Besides locating a group of monastics committed to fulfilling his religious

needs, this da¯yaka’s description of an ideal recipient was broadened to include
even a discussion of the temple’s environment. He added:

When we come to a sacred place, we first look around. Looking around is the

foundation for our happiness. Happiness grows inside of us bit by bit. From an

initial feeling of happiness, we begin to feel happier. As a result of that, devotion

(bhaktiya) begins to increase.

29

From that we begin to look toward the monk, the

temple, and the village with longing (a¯sa¯va). We feel that the temple and the

village are good. When we visit the reliquary mound (caitya), shrine room

(viha¯rage), and bodhi tree (bo¯dhiya), we feel happy. You can feel the difference if

you go to some temples that are not clean. When you go there you feel disgusted;

there you don’t feel happy. Ultimately, that is the basis for you to receive merit.

What his response implies, then, is that there are a multiplicity of factors that affect
the experiences of a donor prior to, during, and proceeding the donative act. For
many lay donors with whom I spoke, their exchanges with the monastics living in
the temple, the cleanliness of the temple itself, and the monastics’ willingness to
perform their religious activities directly affected their (i.e. the donors’) feelings of
pleasure or happiness and, thus, their ability to earn merit.

Before discussing how the monks’ conceptions of merit-making also call into

question common conceptions of the ideal recipient, I would like to return to the
conversation I had with three female devotees discussed in the previous section.
To recall, all three upa¯sika¯s defined merit as feelings of happiness or pleasure in the
heart/mind. When I followed up their responses by asking them what led them to
feel happiness in their hita, two of them launched into a discussion of what results
in feelings of disgust. One of the upa¯sika¯ simply responded that ‘seeing bad things’
leads her to feel disgust in her hita. The other upa¯sika¯ went on to add ‘seeing the
immoral actions of a monk (ası¯la¯ca¯raya kamma)’. When I pressed both of them
about what they meant by ‘seeing bad things’ and ‘seeing the immoral actions of a
monk’, the laywomen first began by making reference to monks who drink alcohol,
who associate with improper (implying female) friends, and who spend time with
‘bad’ donors. They then continued:

Third upa¯sika¯: He should speak well. He should come for every [religious] activity

to the village: protection rituals, funerals, and almsgivings. If there

is a problem for us, he should help us to solve it . . . He should

speak kindly/affectionately (a¯dare _n) to the other people

First upa¯sika¯: Without hurting their hita, he should speak in a beautiful way.

Third upa¯sika¯: Let’s say that something happened here now. The monk should

come here and explain the situation in a proper way. Let’s

imagine that a commotion (kalabala) broke out. If a monk comes

here and makes the people understand, then that would be the

monk’s moral activity (silvanta kamma) . . . We expect good

words from monks.

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133

First upa¯sika¯: The words that grab the heart/mind (hita gannava¯) according to

Buddhism and that cause people to be happy.

What I found noteworthy about their response was their particular portrayals
about the types of recipients who please their heart and, in turn, provide them
with the opportunity to make merit. Moreover, the one da¯yaka’s definition of
moral activity as acting as a compassionate and patient intermediary is compelling
to say the least. While the conceptions of a suitable recipient in Spiro’s and
Gombrich’s studies were largely derived from canonical and commentarial images
of the ideal recipient and, thus, appeared somewhat one-dimensional (e.g.
adhering to the monastic rules or cultivating higher qualities), the laywomen’s
descriptions of a suitable, and even morally upright, recipient were much more
complex and multi-dimensional. In saying this, however, I do not wish to deny that
certain segments of the lay population still find the forest-dwelling monks to be
the ideal and, in turn, the greatest field of field. What I wish to suggest, instead, is
that there exists is much more complex and nuanced conceptions and
understandings of who constitutes a suitable recipient than simply the nibba¯na-
faring and Vinaya-abiding monks of the Therava¯da.

30

Reconsidering the suitable recipient: views of monastics

My discussions with head monks and novices about meritorious giving

pointed to similarly complex views on what constitutes an emotionally satisfying
or pleasing experience. In my conversations, many monks were less inclined to see
the sa _ngha simply as a field of merit; instead, many of them explained how merit is
directly affected by the manner in which they, as members of the sa _ngha, interact
with the laity.

When I asked the deputy head monk or anuna¯yaka from one temple ‘How

can one receive merit ( pi _n labanne¯ kohomada)?’, he replied:

As monks, it is valuable if we can work and talk in a way that makes people

happy. If people feel disgusted when they see us, then their problem will be

doubled. If we behave in a way that creates wrong attitudes toward the religion

(sa¯sana) among the people, then people will be disgusted . . . When da¯yakas
come [to the temple] with white flowers and wearing white clothes and the

monks do not act in a way that is pleasing to the people, then they will feel

disgusted as soon as they climb the first stair. If people offer flowers regardless,

then there wouldn’t be any happiness in their hita. Happiness in the hita is merit.

They come to the temple to do wholesome actions. If they come to the temple

and we, as monks, talk to them in a manner that causes them to lose their

happiness, then it is difficult to think that merit would be there . . . There would

be no happiness in your hita. Merit comes with the happiness.

Similar to that of the lay people with whom I spoke, the anuna¯yaka’s response
suggests that merit is neither simply the result of giving to the sa _ngha nor solely

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JEFFREY SAMUELS

based on the donor’s intention. According to him, merit is rooted in a set of
complex and interdependent factors that include the gift, the donor, the temple
environment, and the recipient. When all of these come together in a meaningful
and pleasing manner, merit accrues.

31

My conversations about meritorious giving with a number of novices from

three separate temples also pointed to similarly complex understandings of who
constitutes an ideal recipient. In one such conversation, a 15-year-old novice made
the following distinction between giving to a monastic and giving to a beggar to
make his point:

As monks, we are the ones who accept da¯na. In this activity, giving da¯na to

monks and to beggars is different. The way it is given to a beggar is not similar to

[the] way it is given to birds and animals. In that regard, it is not good if we have

long hair and beards, like the Niga

_

n

_

thas.

32

As recipients, if we have shaven heads

and faces, then people would be able to worship us with folded hands. If we are

like that, they can get merit and return home. There are good effects from that.

If we aren’t [like that] then once they come to the temple, they will become

disgusted after seeing the temple and the monks and will become fed up with

giving da¯na. The merit will be less. There won’t be any merit in just giving da¯na

because that is what other people do.

33

Analogous to Gombrich’s informant who argued that it is more meritorious to give to
the sa_ngha, this novice’s example suggests that giving to members of the sa_ngha is
different from giving to other people, such as beggars. However, rather than merely
positing that they, as novices, are greater fields of merit because of their membership
in the sa_ngha (i.e. the unsurpassable field of merit), the novice’s example went on to
suggest why it is so: because, as recipients, they please the da¯yakas’ hita with their
appearance and demeanor. Put somewhat differently, the laity’s ability to worship or
pay respects to monastics is dependent upon the latter’s ability to play and look the
part. As people’s capacity to make merit is determined by their own conceptions of
who constitutes a suitable recipient, merit is no longer simply and narrowly defined
in terms of the Buddhist monastic rules or Pa¯

_

timokkha.

34

When I asked another novice (who had recently become a fully ordained

monk) about making merit, he mentioned that any wholesome activity—activities
that benefit oneself and those around—are opportunities for making merit. After
providing this almost textbook definition of making merit, he went on to
complicate the issue somewhat by discussing the qualities of an appropriate/ac-
ceptable recipient. In a manner similar to the two male da¯yakas who mentioned
how monks who refuse to perform Buddhapu¯ja¯ rituals on behalf of the laity
resulted in feelings of disgust and, in turn, to demerit (or, at least, negate the
opportunity for making merit), the novice noted:

[When bringing food, a donor] might think, ‘These monks, after eating our da¯na,

preach to us and provide us with merit.’ Thinking so, they get merit. A mother’s

happiness is immeasurable when she sees her son doing well in his studies.

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135

Similarly, da¯na made by the da¯yakas’ own hands and with their own money is

offered to the monks. When the donors see the monks preaching after eating

their da¯na, the donors might think ‘Look at these monks. They are preaching

[to us] after having our da¯na. They are receiving an education and preaching to
us.’ Thinking in that way, the people receive merit, like a person who plants a

tree and [later] becomes thrilled when he looks at the flowers. Those [actions of

giving] are for this world. From it, happiness and merit can be received in this

world. It is a treasure that follows you [through future lives].

What is worthwhile to note about this novice’s explanation is not only how the
possibility to make merit is understood in a much more holistic and less disjointed
manner, but also how the possibility to make merit is not merely determined by
the initial intention that may have prompted a wholesome activity. Just as a
person who plants a tree may admire the tree and the flowers it produces over a
long period of time, so too may people who offer food to a group of monastics
feel happiness (and thus make merit) when they see the ‘fruits’ of their labors:
monks learning to be members of the sa _ngha, learning to perform their roles
adequately and in a pleasing manner.

Conclusion

In presenting contemporary understandings of da¯na and making merit,

I have pursued five related objectives. Firstly, I have sought to locate a place for
the emotions—most commonly expressed as happiness or gladness
(satu

_

ta/santo¯

_

sa) in the [donor’s] heart/mind or hita—in this important Buddhist

activity. Drawing heavily on the voices of Buddhist monastics and lay people living
in upcountry Sri Lanka, and presenting, in their own words, how they understand
merit-making, I challenged the crass-calculus model discussed above by showing
how merit is often based on the donor’s emotional experiences that precede,
accompany, and proceed acts of generosity.

Secondly, in paying particular attention to descriptions of meritorious

giving, I sought to complexify, somewhat, the ways in which intention or cetana¯
has been understood. Taking into account one head monk’s description of the
three types of intention—intention preceding a donative act, accompanying a
donative act, and following a donative act—I suggested, like Maria Heim (2003,
533) had several years earlier, that cetana¯ has an affective quality to it, ‘described
as the pleasure associated with the decision and resolve to perform meritorious
actions, in anticipation of, during, and even after performing them’.

Thirdly, by paying particular attention to conversations with lay people and

monastics about merit-making that center on the emotions (particularly the role
that happiness in the heart/mind plays in the process) as well as by examining
how Buddhist monastics and lay people express their idea of what results in
happiness in the hita, I have sought to resolve what Gombrich and Spiro see as an
acute problem or tension between the supremacy of intentions and the doctrine

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JEFFREY SAMUELS

of a suitable recipient. In showing how the emotional and mental states of the
donors I interviewed are determined by and intimately tied to the very quality of
the recipient, I have argued against the view that Buddhism underwent a great
compromise in making itself appealing, in the words of Melford Spiro, to the
‘religiously unmusical masses’ (1982, 66).

35

The fourth objective pertains to ideas concerning a suitable recipient.

Drawing attention to the opinions and ideas of monastics and lay people
concerning meritorious giving, I posited the existence of much more complex and
multifarious images of who constitutes an ideal recipient. Rather than narrowly
defining the ultimate recipient as someone who has developed higher qualities and a
higher morality while pursuing the path to nibba¯na, I have maintained that, by and
large, ideas of who constitutes a suitable recipient are much more context dependent
than text based. Although I do not intend to suggest that the Vinaya is no longer
important in contemporary society or that the forest-dwelling monastics are no
longer popular, I have posited in this article that, for most lay people with whom I
spoke, fulfilling the laity’s religious needs, treating them well, speaking kindly to
them, and pleasing them by their appearance and demeanor are the very qualities
that attract the hita and, thus, provide the laity with the opportunity to make merit.

The final objective has to do with methodology. In avoiding an attempt to

relate contemporary practices to preconceived conceptions of orthodox
Buddhism as well as to compare Buddhism on the ground with a particular and,
possibly, limited canonical ideal, I have endeavored to present a more holistic
vision of this important Buddhist practice, thereby restoring the phenomen-
ological feel of the religion. By focusing heavily on how the laity and monastics
understand merit-making, and accepting and presenting those understandings in
their words, on their ground, and from their background, I have sought to present
a more complex and nuanced glimpse merit-making practices that is predicated
on human agency and dependent upon particular places, contexts and time.

36

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

An earlier version of this article was presented at the South Asia Seminar Series,

University of Texas, Austin. The author would like to thank those who attended

for encouraging me to think in new directions. The author would particularly like

to thank Oliver Freiberger, Janice Leoshko, Lester Kurtz, and Patrick Olivelle for

their suggestions and valuable insights. The author would also like to express

appreciation toward Kate Crosby and Jonathan Walters for their remarks as well

as Benedicte Bossut for her comments—both substantive and editorial.

NOTES

1. The 10 wholesome actions that are said to accrue merit are: (1) giving (da¯na),

(2) being morally upright (sı¯la), (3) meditating (bha¯vana¯), (4) giving/transferring

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137

merit ( patti ), (5) rejoicing in the merit of others ( patta¯numodana¯), (6) rendering
service (to others) (veyya¯vacca), (7) honoring others (apaca¯ya), (8) preaching
(desana¯), (9) listening (to the teachings) (suti), and (10) having correct views
(di

_

t

_

thiju).

2. Similar discussions of the pre-eminence of giving in making merit is found in

Tambiah (1970, 148), Keyes (1983, 274), and Spiro (1982, 103).

3. See note 18 below for an interesting interpretation of this commonly held view.
4. Although some scholarship on giving has made reference to the emotions, those

discussions have centered primarily on the wholesome activity of rejoicing in the

merit of others ( patta¯numodana¯).

5. As in several other Asian contexts (Brown 2001, 9), the term hita is most

appropriately translated as heart/mind. While this term, which is quite pervasive

in the daily conversations of monks and lay people, may be translated as mind, I

was told by most of my informants that the English term mind is too limited.

When I began asking lay people and monks to show me their hita, many of them,

after first pointing to their heart, pointed to their head, indicating both its

emotional and cognitive function. While the term hita—which refers to

something quite different from the Sinhala terms for mind (manasa, mana, or

mana

_

h) and heart (hada, hadavata, or hr

_

daya)—sometimes appears in phrases

that would warrant ‘mind’ as a more appropriate translation (such as to cultivate

or develop the hita [hita va¨

_

denewa ] or to think (hitanava¯/sitanava¯), in other

contexts (e.g. feeling hurt [hita ridenava¯ ]; feeling broken, as in a broken heart

[hita binduna ]; feeling happy or glad [hite¯ satu

_

ta ]; or falling for something

attractive, such as falling in love [hita vetuna ]), the term hita may be more

appropriately translated as ‘heart’. This dual function of hita may point back to

Indian conceptions of the mind as being located in the heart. I would like to

thank Patrick Olivelle for bringing this to my attention.

6. This point is raised in Philip Almond’s The British Discovery of Buddhism (1988, 37;

see also Collins 1998, 56) where he writes that: ‘Buddhism had become by the

middle of the nineteenth century a textual object based in Western institutions.

Buddhism as it came to be ideally spoken of through the editing, translating, and

studying of its ancient texts could then be compared with its contemporary

appearance in the Orient. And Buddhism, as it could be seen in the East,

compared unfavorably with its ideal textual exemplifications contained in the

libraries, universities, colonial offices, and missionary societies of the West. It was

possible then, as a result of this, to combine a positive evaluation of a Buddhism

textually located in the West with a negative evaluation of its Eastern instances.’

7. Steven Kemper (1978, 213) raises this point in his article on the Vinaya Vardhana

Society, where he writes: ‘In the end Gombrich’s stance is an “outside” one. What

finally interests him is an Indological question: can current precepts be judged to

be consistent with commentatorial Buddhism and thus be called orthodox . . .

[which] he appraises . . . not in terms of his informants’ sense of the religion but

in terms of his own acute knowledge of the Pa¯li texts.’ In another of his articles
(1971a), Gombrich is equally concerned with deducing the degree to which

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JEFFREY SAMUELS

Buddhist practices, in this case merit transference, correspond to canonical

Buddhism. For a different stance regarding how best to make sense of this

important Buddhist ritual, see Keyes (1983).

8. Although I will in the remainder of this article complicate somewhat Gombrich’s

understanding of cetana¯ as intentionality, it is important to note that his view of
the role that intention plays in merit-making is consonant with many sections of

the Pa¯li canonical texts. In the Sa

_

myutta Nika¯ya (I.32), for instance, we read that

when a person gives with faith and with a purified mind, then food accrues to

that one [who gives], both in this world and the next (ye na

_

m dadanti saddha¯ya

vippasannena cetasa¯, tameva anna

_

m bhajati asmi

_

m loke parambhi ca). Although

this passage points to the need for acts of giving to be accompanied by a pure

mind and thoughts of faith, other passages in the canon point to a much wider

range of factors that affect merit. In the Dı¯gha Nika¯ya (II.357), for example, we
read not only that giving without a sense of respect bears little fruit, but also that

one should give with proper care, with one’s hands, with proper respect, and

with attention (‘sakkacca

_

m da¯na

_

m detha, sahattha¯ da¯na

_

m detha, cittikata

_

m

da¯na

_

m detha, anapaviddha

_

m da¯na

_

m detha’). In the A _nguttara Nika¯ya (III.415), for

example, not only do we find a statement that intention is karma (literally: I call

intention, oh monks, karma [cetana¯ha

_

m bhikkhave kamma

_

m vada¯mi ]) but also

(III.172) that a good person should give with faith (saddha¯ya da¯nam deti),
carefully (sakkaccam da¯nam deti), at the proper time (ka¯lena da¯nam deti), with an

unconstrained mind (anuggahitacitto da¯nam deti), and without hurting oneself

or others (atta¯nan˜ ca paran˜ ca anupahacca da¯nam deti). Finally, in the Majjhima
Nika¯ya (III.24) we find a passage about how a good person gives gifts carefully,
with his hands, with respect, with purity (of mind), and with a view that

something will come (of it) (‘sappuriso sakkacca

_

m da¯na

_

m deti, sahattha¯ da¯na

_

m

deti, cittı¯katva¯ da¯na

_

m deti, parisuddha

_

m da¯na

_

m deti, a¯gamanadi

_

t

_

thiko da¯na

_

m

deti. Eva

_

m kho bhikkhave, sappuriso sappurisada¯na

_

m deti’). All translations of Pa¯li

and Sinhala phrases are mine unless otherwise noted.

9. In the following chapter, Gombrich (1971b, 46) similarly writes: ‘Buddhist

doctrine agrees with Kant that what counts is intention, not effect . . . Karma is

nothing more or less than intention (ce¯tana¯va)’.

10. The same two factors—the size of the gift and the spiritual recipient—are also

discussed in Melford Spiro’s (1982, 106f. and 112) study of Burmese Buddhism.

11. Besides mentioning the often-recited ‘iti pi so’ formula that describes the sa _ngha

as an unsurpassable field of merit of this world, Gombrich does not discuss with

any great detail the passages where the need to locate a virtuous recipient is

discussed. Suffice it to say, however, that there are a number of passages in

which the need to locate a virtuous recipient is raised. In a conversation ensuing

between the Buddha and King Pasenadi, for instance, the king asks the Buddha

‘Verily, where, oh venerable one, does giving result in great fruit (kattha pana

bhante dinna

_

m mahapphalam’ti)?’ The Buddha is purported to have responded

to this questions by saying ‘Giving to a person who is virtuous, oh king, bears

great fruit, not to someone who lacks virtue (sı¯lvato kho maha¯ra¯ja dinna

_

m

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mahapphala

_

m no tatha¯ dussı¯le)’. The same sutta (Sa

_

myutta Nika¯ya I.99f.) goes on

by describing a worthy recipient as one who has gone forth from household life

(aga¯rasma¯ anaga¯riyam pabbajito) and who has abolished the five hindrances
(nı¯vara

_

na¯): desire, ill-will, sloth, restlessness, and doubt.

12. These block quotes are in the original text. Although the focus of this article is

Sinhalese Therava¯da, it may be worthwhile to point out that Melford Spiro
perceives a similar tension in regards to how Burmese Buddhists understand

merit and meritorious giving. He writes, for instance, ‘Monks, who frequently

preach on da¯na, often remind their audience that the merit derived from giving
depends on this pure intention, i.e., the spiritual quality of the benefactor. For

the most part, however, the Burmese have reversed this relationship between

donor and recipient. For them the merit deriving from da¯na is proportional to
the spiritual quality of the recipient rather than that of the donor’ (Spiro 1982,

106f.). Whereas Gombrich finds the latter view pervasive among monastics and

lay people, Spiro argues that that same view is more widespread among the

Burmese laity.

13. I use the expression ‘particular reading of the canonical and commentarial texts’

because, as Freiberger (2004) notes, the Pa¯li canon is not oftentimes consistent
and one-dimensional but represents a multiplicity of views and understandings.

Some of those views will be presented below.

14. Martin Southwold (1983, 182) levels a similar critique against Gombrich’s study

of Sinhalese Buddhism when he, in making reference to Gombrich’s tendency to

view beliefs as primary and practices as derivatives, writes: ‘The last chapter of

Gombrich’s book, “Conclusion”, is an admirably sensitive and insightful

discussion of two main tendencies in contemporary and historical Buddhism,

framed largely in terms of his contrast between cognitive and affective religion.

It may be that his reliance on this too easy and superficial distinction cocooned

Gombrich from facing up to the real challange that the evidence, his evidence,

presents, so that he states the conclusion it points to, that the voice of the

people is the voice of the Buddha, not definitely, but as an extremely tentative

query. Whether or not this is a case in point, the real objection to giving primacy

to belief in the analysis of religion is not so much that it is ill-warranted by fact

and by logic, as that it diverts us from the kind of analysis which produces better

understanding’ (emphasis added).

15. The role of emotions, such as joy or happiness, in Buddhist rituals or in the

making merit process is discussed in Jon Walters’ forthcoming publication

where he compares Buddhist and theistic rituals in contemporary Sri Lanka.

Despite suggesting that Buddhist-layer rituals oriented toward the Buddha are

almost devoid of a type of playfulness (sellam) that characterizes rituals that

focus on or deal with the gods, Walters nonetheless points out that ‘Sinhala

literature provides a wonderfully rich vocabulary for the rarefied “happiness”

(satu

_

ta) which ideally is experienced in Buddhist-layer rituals’. In an earlier

publication (1997, 179f.), Walters also discusses the roles that some of these

same and related emotions—laughter, delight, pleasure, satisfaction, being

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JEFFREY SAMUELS

overjoyed, and being thrilled—have in large-scale Buddhist festivals in the early-

post-As´okan era.

16. Although the terms satu

_

ta and santo¯

_

sa are most commonly translated as

happiness, the words encompass a range of emotions that include gladness,

pleasure, contentment, and satisfaction.

17. This crass-calculus model is possibly best exemplified in Spiro’s ethnographic

study (1982, 112; see also 412), where he writes: ‘Poor or wealthy, whether he

recites from memory or from an account book, almost any villager can say to the

last penny how much (and for what) he has expended on giving . . . It is as if

each unit of da¯na—however it be calculated—produces a commensurate unit of
merit, so that in order to calculate one’s store of merit and hence predict

one’s future existence, it is merely necessary to keep a cumulative account

of one’s giving’.

18. Even though the head monk did not make any references to specific passages ‘in

the teachings’ where a connection between making merit and happiness is

made, a cursory examination of a number of texts in the Sutta Pi

_

taka reveals

such a relationship. In one section of the A _nguttara Nika¯ya (III,336f.), for instance,
we read that the three characteristics of a gift given by a donor that bears the

best results are being happy (sumano) before giving, pleased ( pasa¯deti) while
giving, and delighted (attamano) after giving a gift (da¯yako pubbeva da¯na¯
sumano hoti, dada

_

m citta

_

m pasa¯deti, datva¯ attamano hoti). In the conversation

between the Buddha and King Pasenadi found in the Kosala Sa

_

myutta of the

Sa

_

myutta Nika¯ya (I.98) mentioned above, a similar point is also raised. In

response to the King’s question ‘where should da¯na be given (kattha nu kho
bhante da¯na

_

m da¯tabban’ti)?’, the Buddha is purported to have said: ‘da¯na should

be given where the mind is happy or pleased (yattha kho maha¯ra¯ja citta

_

m

pası¯datı¯’ti)’.

19. The term mun˜cana is related to Sinhala verb mideneva¯, which (similar to the Pa¯li

verb and word mun˜cati and mun˜cana) means ‘released’ or ‘delivered’ (Sorata

Thera 1998, 780).

20. For instance, in his article ‘The Buddhist Canon and the Canon of Buddhist

Studies’, Freiberger (2004, 262) convincingly argues through a discussion of the

multifarious images of the laity in the Pa¯li canon that ‘canonical texts are, in
contrast to the common view, a rich source for current scholarship interests

(such as the issues of religious practice and diversity) . . . [and that] the image of

the canon as being consistent, one-dimensional, and purely normative . . . is to a
large extent the product of a “canonization” carried out by early generations of

scholars’. In terms of making merit, Freiberger points out that canonical texts

contain much more sophisticated and complex images of the laity than those

suggested by earlier scholarship: ‘as self-confident persons who have the ability

to assess the ethical and ‘spiritual’ status of the recipients of their gifts. They do

not trust the promise that the best recipient is, by way of ordination, the

Buddhist monk or nun; they reject the concept of the sa _ngha as a field of merit

that is, by definition, unsurpassable’ (2004, 273).

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141

21. Gombrich also points out that the relationship drawn between the recipient’s

piousness, by which is commonly understood their asceticism and high level of

moral purity, and the amount of merit accrued from a donative act is something

that is also borne out in the canonical texts. In the Sa

_

myutta Nika¯ya (I.175), for

instance, we read how gifts given to a sage who knows his former lives, who has

seen heaven and hell, who has attained nibba¯na or the destruction of birth (atho
ja¯tikkhayam patto), and who has acquired certain supernatural powers

(abhin˜n˜a¯vosito muni) bears great fruit (mahapphalam). In the Dhammapada
(vs. 356ff.) as well, we read that gifts offered to a person free from greed, hatred,

and ignorance bears great fruit.

22. Although the focus of this article is on Sinhalese Buddhism, it is worth pointing

out a similar conclusion that Spiro draws based upon discussions with his

Burmese informants. He writes that, for instance, for the majority of Burmese

donors, ‘the merit deriving from da¯na is proportional to the spiritual quality of

the recipient rather than that of the donor. It is for this reason primarily that they

insist, as we shall see, upon the piety of their monks’ (Spiro 1982, 107). In a later

chapter, Spiro (1982, 412) discusses what he means by piety: ‘As they view it, the

amount of merit acquired from alms-giving is proportional to the piety of the

recipient. Indeed, some Burmese . . . go so far as to say that, despite the fact that

he wears a yellow robe, no merit is acquired by giving alms to an impious monk.

This is a minority view, but everyone agrees that the greater the purity of the

monk, i.e., the stricter his observance of the Rule [Vinaya ], the greater the merit

accruing to the donor’.

23. At the same time, however, Seneviratne (1999, 278) also qualifies the above-

mentioned phenomenon by noting how lay people, in their greed to acquire a

storehouse of merit, often care little about the quality of the recipient: ‘The laity

wants merit, by hook or crook. Merit is the greater if the monk is virtuous. Often

lay devotees rush to provide the needs of “ascetic” monks because of this.

However, for purposes of merit-making, any traditionally ordained monk will

suffice; having access to a virtuous monk is just a bonus in the merit-making

investment. The only requirement is that the monk is properly ordained, his

inner state being immaterial. It thus follows that, however useful the monk is for

satisfying the lay greed for merit, or perhaps because the monk does that, the

laity’s true interest in the monk is narrowly defined. Hence the space within

which the monk is accorded respect is delimited. Outside that space, the monk

can be the butt of ridicule, or at least an irrelevance. Overt respect is accorded to

the monk at all times, but covert critique is never far away.’

24. I might qualify my statement by noting that all of the lay people interviewed

were patrons of village temples and, thus, represent only one segment of a large

spectrum of Buddhist devotees.

25. I should note in passing that my own view drawn from my conversations with

over a dozen donors of village temples is that the popularity of the forest-

dwellers of Sri Lanka is by no means shared by the whole population. This

layman, for instance, concerned as he is about having his religious needs fulfilled

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JEFFREY SAMUELS

by a group of willing and able monastics, was much more ambivalent about

more ascetically inclined monastics. For instance, when I asked him which type

of temple—a village or forest temple—would he be a patron of if he had to

choose, he (after diplomatically saying ‘both’) provided a very telling response:

‘If one goes to an aran˜n˜a (forest), then one can become enlightened. That is

done for oneself. One receives food, goes to a ku

_

ti, and meditates. That’s it.

However, in this [village] temple, they don’t do that. These monks teach worldly

people (lokaya¯

_

ta) about their faults, protect the temple, and perform social

service by telling the people “Don’t drink. Don’t steal. Don’t behave in a bad

manner.” They perform funeral ( pa _nsukula) rituals and preach (ba _na) . . . By

doing these things, the sa¯sana progresses. As a result, the sa¯sana will be long-

lasting. In the places like that (i.e., an aran˜n˜a), the monks don’t act incorrectly.

However, it is for oneself only.’ For further study of ambivalent attitudes toward

the ascetic-leaning forest monastics, see Silber (1981, 1995), Malalgoda (1976,

19, 60), and Geiger (1960, 202); for cases outside Sri Lanka, see Bunnag (1973,

54ff.) and Mulder (1968, 41).

26. Usually, after offering the food to the temple, the monk-recipients take a portion

of the da¯na and offer it to the Buddha (Buddhapu¯ja¯). The people bringing alms-

food to the temple take part in that offering, during which they are

administered, by one of the monks, the triple refuge and the five precepts. The

monk commonly gives a short sermon, oftentimes about the merit associated

with giving.

27. This particular ritual, which has grown in popularity over the past three decades,

is discussed in length in Seneviratne and Wickremeratne (1980), Gombrich

(1981), and Gombrich and Obeyesekere (1988).

28. Like the previous layman, this da¯yaka did not answer my question of which

temple—a village or forest temple—he would be a patron of were he forced to

choose only one. However, like the previous layman, this da¯yaka’s response

indicated an overall preference for the village temple and monks: ‘From my

perspective, aran˜n˜a monks protect morality (sil) one hundred to one hundred

and fifty percent. However, their attitude is “me only.” They think: “Me only.

Me only. Only I can attain nibba¯na.” They have the idea: “Only I can be shaped

(hadanava¯).” That is what I believe. They are unable to take other people along

with them. It is only about them. That is what shows.’

29. In one of my discussions with the three female devotees mentioned above, the

topic of faith also arose. According to the second upa¯sika¯, acts of generosity

should not only be accompanied by feelings of happiness in the heart, but also

with feelings of faith (s´raddha¯va). While I found the connection she drew

between happiness in the heart and faith to be quite interesting, I was surprised

to find that in the commentary to the Puggalapan˜n

˜ati, happiness (Pa¯li: pasa¯da)

is used as a synonym for faith (Pa¯li: saddha¯): ‘pasa¯do saddha¯ pasa¯do va’ and that,

in the Culla Niddesa, being joyful ( pası¯dati) also means having faith (saddahati).

The references to these two texts are highlighted in Endo’s study (1987, 39).

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30. This is quite different from what Andy Rotman found in his study of the

Divya¯vada¯na where certain objects—buddhas, images of buddhas, arhats, and
stu¯pas—are said to be agents of prasa¯da or feelings of faith and serene joy and
that feelings of prasa¯da in the mind are said to arise irrespective ‘of one’s
thoughts, feelings, or intentions’ (Rotman 2003, 561). Rotman (2003, 561f.)

further writes that ‘Individual tastes and habits are elided, as are, apparently,

differences in gender, age, race, and class’. What the conversations with lay

Buddhists and monastics indicates, however, is that notions of what results in

happiness and faith are largely dependent upon one’s particular circumstances:

one’s history, social class, and cultural milieu.

31. Oftentimes, it is through the dynamic relationship that exists between a group

of monastics and their lay patrons that ideas about what constitutes a pleasant

or unpleasant experience is discussed and worked out. One example of this

concerns the sixth precept: refraining from eating after midday. Even though

this is one of the 10 fundamental rules imposed on all monks and novices,

novices from one temple where I conducted research often ate in the evenings.

Even though I understood this to be a common practice in Sri Lanka, I was

surprised to find that when I spoke to lay donors of this temple about it, many of

them found no problem with novices eating after midday; in fact, several of the

key donors to the temple even provided evening meals to the young monastics

there. In my conversations with them, no da¯yaka expressed feeling disgust

toward the novices eating after midday. Why was this so? It was, I later found

out, because the head monk had discussed with the laity how important it is for

young children to eat in the evening. Commenting on how the head monk

shaped the laity’s views about what constitutes acceptable behavior and, hence,

a pleasing experience of Buddhism, a head monk from a neighboring temple—

who after mentioning how his own donors openly objected to monastics (young

or old) taking evening meals—said: ‘Unlike here, the head monk there made

people understand that it is all right for the novices to eat in the evening’.

32. The Niga

_

n

_

thas are a group of people who are said to be a follower of the teacher

Niga

_

n

_

tha Na¯t(h)aputta, described as a heretic in the Pali canonical texts (see

Majjhima Nika¯ya II.214ff.). A detailed account of Na¯taputta is given in
Malalasekera (1960, Vol. II, 61ff.).

33. Commenting on the connection between happiness in the heart and a monastic’s

appearance, the anuna¯yaka said: ‘People think “The monk who is our monk (ape¯
ha¯muduruwo) should live to please the people, with a beautifully shaven head and

beard.” They are not that concerned with his mental state (ma¯nasika). That

[appearance/demeanor] is what people consider to be good. That is their

expectations. When it is not fulfilled, a wrong picture (va¨radi citrayak) emerges in

their hita.’ While the anuna¯yaka remarked how the novices’ mental states were
immaterial to pleasing the hearts of donors and, thus, enabling the donors to earn

merit, some novices disagreed. Several novices, for example, suggested that the

recipients of da¯na need to cultivate proper mental states and attitudes when and
after they receive offerings. Speaking about how the thoughts of the recipients

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JEFFREY SAMUELS

affect the donors’ merit, one 19-year-old novice who entered the sa_ngha at the age

of eight said: ‘People give us food after having undergone a lot of difficulties. Some

may even give us alms while their own children go hungry. Some may give us

delicious food while they themselves eat only plain food (nika_n ka

¨ma). So, it is bad

for us think “this food is delicious, this food is not delicious” when we receive alms.

We should not categorize the meal or food as good or bad. If we categorize the food

like that, we would receive demerit ( pau). Such types of thoughts would mean that

our minds are not clean and would, in turn, affect the person who is offering the

food to us. Also, if we just sit around in the temple and do nothing or commit any

forms of misconduct after eating the food of the donors, we will receive demerit. As

a result, the donor who gave us the alms food will receive less merit.’

34. In fact, according to the Vinaya, monastics are allowed to grow their hair to a

length of two inches or finger-widths, a length that most Buddhists living in

contemporary Sri Lanka would find quite unsuitable.

35. Related to this, is the view that religious emotions and attitudes of devotion had

no place in early Buddhism. This point is well illustrated in Kevin Trainor’s (2003,

525) remark where he notes: ‘A further factor contributing to the neglect of

emotion in South Asian Buddhist studies is the tendency to associate religious

emotion with feelings of devotion and to regard such devotional attitudes as

inconsistent with early Buddhism . . . According to this perspective, which is

increasingly subject to serious challenge . . . , devotion to the Buddha and

ritualized veneration developed later as concessions to lay Buddhists who could

not or would not adhere to the ideal of emotional detachment that characterized

the Buddha’s original teaching.’ This view that attitudes of devotion is not part of

early Buddhism is exemplified in Richard Gombrich’s book Therava¯da Buddhism
(1988, 119f.) where he, in discussing the development that Buddhism underwent

in the years following the Buddha’s death, writes ‘[T]he stark contradiction

between “having no refuge other than yourselves” and “taking refuge” in the

Three Jewels is striking. It seems hard to argue that Buddhist lay religiosity as we

know it was just what he [i.e., the Buddha] intended. However, excellent a

consequence of his teaching, I submit that it was not the Buddha’s idea.’

36. I would like to thank Jonathan Walters again for helping me formulate this idea

more clearly.

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