What Is Dāna, Really?
I was speaking to BCBS’s auditors recently, and they asked me to explain “dāna.” I sighed. This is a question I get a lot from people in my world who are not in the Dharma world.
Telling them it is a donation does not quite capture its spirit. Words like offering, tithe, tzedakah, or zakat work, but only for people who are familiar with one of these religious traditions. Translating it as “generosity” doesn’t help.
I turned to the resources on our website and found an informative, sutta-based explanation: There’s More to Giving Than We Think by Gloria Taraniya Ambrosia. One of her instructions was to tune into your own experience of giving, including your motives and felt experience.
I got an email letting me know that my monthly donation to a start-up nonprofit had been paid. I smiled as I read it. It reminded me of the good in the world.
I dropped off bags (and bags) of clothes at a donation center after cleaning out my parents’ house. It gladdened my heart to think that their good taste in clothes would be appreciated by someone of the next generation.
We gave away the 1973 Super Beetle my husband bought me for our first Christmas together. It had been gathering dust in our garage for 24 years. It was hard to let go of. And the excitement in the voice of the young person who took it made it worth it.
For me, dāna generates muditā, the joy that comes from being able to give so others can experience joy.
I am curious to hear from each of you. Where does dāna fit in your practice? How do you understand it? I’d love to hear from you at melissag@buddhistinquiry.org.
Telling the auditors it is about joy is not going to be helpful. I will have to stick to the simple translation of “donation.” But for me, remembering that it is about joy will support me through this coming fall giving season.
Melissa
P.S. While preparing this piece, I came across a quote that was attributed to many people. I went down an internet rabbit hole and found that the earliest reference dates from 1866, in a speech given in Paris by Père Hyacinthe, a liberal and radical cleric in his time. I couldn’t resist ending with it:
“Ces arbres qu’il plante et à l’ombre desquels il ne s’assoira pas, il les aime pour eux-mêmes et pour ses enfants, et pour les enfants de ses enfants, sur qui s’étendront leurs rameaux.” — Père Hyacinthe, Paris, 1866
Melissa’s translation: These trees which we plant, and under whose shade we shall never sit, we love the trees for themselves, and for the sake of our children and our children’s children over whom their branches will spread.
