I gave this talk on November 13, 2025, at our Full Moon Zen sesshin at Providence Zen Center. We had a Jukai ceremony the previous night, during which eight of our sangha members received Zen’s sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts. A recording follows the text.

It is wonderful to be here with you. I’m so happy. This feels like something of a reunion. I think we’ve all, if I’m not mistaken, come from out of state. Even Cheryl, who used to live a stone’s throw away. Some of us just traversed one state to get here, but others traversed several, and some even got on the plane. I’m just so happy that we’ve all made an effort to be here together in this beautiful place. I’m always awestruck sitting here and looking out of the windows, whatever the weather’s doing. It’s beautiful. I’m tempted to say we can’t make it any better with our words. But words are it, too.

Our theme for this sesshin is being a Buddha, and I want to explore the practice of living by vow as being Buddha. In our Jukai ceremony last night we said the precepts are not rigid commandments to be blindly followed but instead are a bridge—a bridge between the Buddha nature, the truth at the heart of our existence as we sense it wants to express itself, on the one hand, and the manifestation of its expression in our daily lives, on the other hand. 

I know from conversations with each of you, including a couple conversations last night, that some of us grew up in a Christian tradition with the notion of sin. And, if you did, maybe your tradition’s notion of sin; and its ethical principles, like the Ten Commandments designed to discourage sin; and the way people talked about and related to those things, did feel like rigid commandments. Maybe.

But what does this word sin mean, really? It has linguistic roots and it also has a theological gloss or interpretation. 

What are the linguistic roots? In both Old English and in precursor languages to German, it’s straightforward. Sin is moral wrongdoing, which was understood in terms of deviation from divine law. It meant deviation from God’s law in this early European context in which the notion of sin began to take shape. The word also conveyed a sense of “being” or “true existence,” suggesting that sin is deviation from truth or being itself. So, linguistically, etymologically, sin also suggests deviation from that which is true; deviating from being or existence itself—or, in Zen terms, we might say not being Buddha, not being oneself, not being one’s highest self.

When the Christian Bible was translated from Greek into Old English, the Greek word that was translated as sin is an archery term that means “missing the mark.” I kind of like that because I used to practice Kyudo, which is Zen archery. The archery reference is lovely, I think. Linguistically, and in theistic terms, sin is deviating from godliness or from ultimate truth. It’s missing the mark. 

In our non-theistic Zen idiom, we could think of God as oneness or the Absolute, which all relative things like you and me manifest and express. Missing the mark is thinking speaking or acting in some way that denies or obscures this reality of oneness. 

When we speak about the Three Treasures, Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha—which are the first three of our sixteen precepts—we sometimes translate Buddha as oneness. To be Buddha—which we can’t help but be, but which is a reality that we’re not always awake to, and which we can awaken to—means to know and to feel this oneness as ourselves, as others, and to live it. It’s to know that we’re distinct, but in no sense separate.

I said earlier that, in the Christian tradition, there’s a linguistic root to the notion of sin, but there’s also theologizing about it. Sin is sometimes theologized about in terms of separation; separation from what is ultimately true and real. And here we find a tight connection to Zen. If I had to pick just one word to sum up the Zen Way, it might well be non-separation. Or, to state it positively: oneness, wholeness, integration. Thich Nhat Hanh’s word for this was interbeing. 

Bernie Glassman, our Dharma great grandfather, in his book about the precepts, really summed it all up by saying that the precepts and all the teachings are about realizing that all is Buddha. Oneness. It’s no surprise that Nancy Mujo Baker titles her book on the precepts, which is the main text for our precepts study group, “Opening to Oneness.”

I’m a big fan of a contemporary philosopher whose name is Terry Warner. He taught at BYU. His “secular” philosophical work is deeply informed by his Christian faith. In one of his big philosophical themes, which lies at the intersection of philosophy and psychology, is self-deception. He says we almost always know when we are about to miss the mark, to separate. He says we very often have a flash of clear insight before we transgress or miss the mark, and that we betray the reality of oneness when we act in a way that’s contrary to that higher standard, to hitting the mark. We separate from our Buddha nature. We separate from others. We separate from truth itself or reality in that moment. 

Warner is very influenced by Martin Buber, the Jewish philosopher and mystic, who distinguished between what he called I-Thou and I-You modes of relating. I-Thou seeing the divinity, or we might call Buddha Nature, in others and in all things. When we’re in an I-You mode, we’re objectifying and instrumentalizing others; making ourselves separate from them. And you know what? We’re also objectifying ourselves when we do this, which is to say separating from our own true nature.

With all that as background, I thought we might just walk through each of the ten Grave Precepts, briefly, one by one, and look at how they encourage us to aim towards wholeness or interbeing; not to separate. Really, all 16 precepts are about non-separation. Each of the three treasure—Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha—is a different way of saying that all is Buddha. They are different angles on the reality of oneness, and we have a context, a community, in which we discover it and make it real. The Three Pure Precepts—ceasing from evil, doing good, and helping others—begin to make that reality of oneness more concrete. They help us think about it more concretely. And the ten Grave Precepts guide us on how to make the reality of Oneness concretely manifest in our daily lives.

Recognizing that I am not separate from all that is, I vow to take up the way of non-killing.

There you have it. In classic Zen fashion, we get right to the heart of the matter. Have you ever wished that someone or something would just go away? Even die. That is the pretense of separateness in the extreme. That is the most forceful desire to separate imaginable. Dogen’s version of this first precept on non-killing, which I just read, appropriately opens with the statement, “Recognizing that I am not separate from all that is . . .”.

Being satisfied with what I have, I vow to take up the way of not stealing.

Me, my, mine. My need, my thing. Being unsatisfied with what I have is separation. Appreciating what I have, working to satisfy my reasonable wants and my true needs such that others’ reasonable wants and true needs are respected and satisfied alongside mine: This is appreciating what I have; non-stealing. Getting what I want and need in a way that doesn’t separate myself from others, or me from the recognition of what’s sufficient, is to take up the way of non-stealing.

Honoring mutuality and respect and commitment, I vow to take up the way of not misusing sex.

Sex, needless to say, is a domain in which we see people instrumentalizing others, objectifying others, and so objectifying myself. What a shame; such a squandered opportunity to hold and conduct ourselves in a way that honors Oneness. Such wonderful potential to express beautifully the reality of Oneness. Such a shame when sex is not approached that way.

Listening and speaking from the heart, I vow to take up the way of not speaking falsely.

To speak falsely—saying things we know not to be true or even being reckless about the truth—is to separate from truth. Speaking carelessly is to separate from the truth and to separate ourselves from others. I love the way this Dogen’s version of this precept opens with “Listening and speaking from the heart.” When we’re doing that, we’re being present, present to others in this speech act, in this speech communion. It’s another way to express non-separation. Another word for this is presence. When we truly are present to ourselves and others, we’re not separate. We’re manifesting the reality of Oneness. 

Cultivating a mind that sees clearly, I vow to take up the way of not intoxicating mind and body.

Intoxicants of all varieties—anything we might overvalue, including work, TV, and Instagram, not just drugs and alcohol—can be a way of separating from our own lives and from others. Not being present, truly present. I drink wine. I enjoy it. And, with a nod towards Terry Warner’s idea of self-deception, it’s my practice to pay attention to that first impulse to have a glass of wine. What’s it about? Sometimes when it arises, I recognize it as a desire to separate from something that’s been difficult; that I don’t like about the day or about my experience presently. That doesn’t mean I don’t have the glass of wine necessarily, but I’ll do my best to shift into another mode around it if I do. At other times that glass of wine is so much about enjoying the company of others; communing; non-separation. Lovely.

Unconditionally accepting what each moment has to offer, I vow to take up the way of not finding fault in or with others.

“Unconditionally accepting what each moment has to offer”: right there, presence, non-separation. I don’t think too much more needs to be said about this one. This is just so common, isn’t it? Speaking for myself alone, I can and often tend towards separating myself from others in this way. Blame. Being blind to my own contributions to some difficulty.

Meeting others on equal ground, I vow to take up the way of not elevating myself at the expense of others.

In some ways, this is my favorite precept. It’s the hardest one in so many ways. It’s as if we needed a precept just to say, “It’s all about non-separation.” Elevating myself at the expense of others is the very move of the separation we’re talking about.

Using all the ingredients of my life, I vow to take up the way of not sparing the Dharma assets.

We can steal, take things from others, and we can also hoard what we have: our time, our capabilities, our talents, our resources. We can refuse to participate fully in the circle of life; in making the circle of life a virtuous circle. The circular economy, so to speak. By withholding our love. Withholding our truth; what we know to be true; not speaking up about our reasonable needs. When we’re doing that, we’re often actually elevating ourselves above others. We’re denying others the opportunity to meet us and to meet our needs, which they might want to do. Even if they don’t want to do it, they might need to learn to do it for there  to be a virtuous cycle.

Transforming suffering into wisdom, I vow to take up the way of not harboring ill will.

Anger. Anger is all about separation. In the version of the Four Vows we chant, we use the word hatred. In other translations, you’ll see that word as anger. I think hatred really makes a point. It’s about aversion. Aversion is about wanting to separate from something. It’s a helpful, adaptive impulse on some level. There are things we don’t perpetually want to abide; that we want to work skillfully, and perhaps collaboratively, to change. Yet that impulse can be taken too far when it manifests as outwardly expressed anger, even hatred. That can lead to missing the mark on other precepts we’ve looked at. Anger-driven killing is the most extreme example of that.

Honoring my life as an instrument of the Great Way, I vow to take up the way of not defaming the Three Treasures.

Well, this is just another way of saying everything we’ve said so far. We’re pointing back to Oneness. Non-separation. Separation is a fraud. Indulging in it is a pretense. It’s a story. It’s impossible. The precepts remind us of this truth and help guide us towards living in truth, living this truth.

So, we can see the precepts as a little instruction manual for how to be a Buddha. If we’re living our vows and living them from the right mindset and heartset, we are likely to be showing up as Buddha, not separating from our Buddha nature. We tend to think of other practices, like zazen and koans, as the centerpiece of our practice. Thy really are not the centerpiece of our practice. They’re all just ways to help us learn to show up as Buddha; to hit the mark. They are supportive of the heart of our practice, which truly is the precepts. 

Realizing, manifesting, living by them. This is being Buddha.