A Missing Seat and the Lesson of the Self

**Summary:** A story about a Buddhist devotee attending a temple ceremony, who encounters a shortage of seating and struggles inwardly between preserving self-image and practicing non-self.

The atmosphere inside the main hall that afternoon was vibrant. The bell’s resonance lingered in the air, its sound mingling with the fragrance of incense with every breath. Yet outside in the courtyard, the crowd continued to swell beyond expectations. The abbot, his face thoughtful, was hurriedly directing young novices to lay out some old woven mats onto the cold ceramic tile floor in a corner of the lecture hall. The vegetarian meal on this festive day was meant for communal gathering, but the unexpected surge in guests made the few wooden tables that had been prepared seem woefully insufficient.

I stood among the crowd, holding a bowl of piping hot rice, my eyes scanning for a "worthy" seat. A silent battle was waging within my mind. A part of my reason reminded me that I was a long-standing devotee, frequently making offerings of merit to the temple, and surely I should be given a seat at one of the proper tables the abbot had personally arranged. But the harsh reality was that every table was fully occupied. Only the empty spaces on the ground remained, and if I were to sit there, I feared the judging gazes of those around would mark me as "lesser," without standing in this community of practice.

My hands trembled slightly as I held the bowl of rice, and sweat beaded on my forehead despite the lack of heat. I asked myself: "Am I truly that important? Why do I need validation from a chair more than peace within my own heart?" The image of the ego—that proud self—loomed large, demanding its rights and honors. It whispered in my ear that if I sat on the ground, I would lose the respect I believed I deserved.

Just then, a young novice ran past. Seeing me hesitate, he asked softly:

"Venerable sir, do you not have a seat? There are a few empty spots on the floor over there. Would you like me to lead you down?"

Those innocent words were like a splash of cold water on my inflamed ego. I looked down at the novice’s bare feet, then back at my own well-ordered clothes. A sharp, clear thought flashed through my mind: If every day I chant sutras and recite the Buddha’s name with the aspiration, "May I see myself as only weeds, as dust," then why am I now behaving in the opposite way? Why am I valuing the material shell over the spiritual core?

I took a deep breath, relaxed my shoulders, and smiled in reply:

"No, dear child. I won’t be sitting at all. Please give this bowl of rice to someone who hasn’t found a seat. I will go and serve everyone first."

Having said that, I set down my bowl, rolled up my sleeves, and began moving around the room. I brought extra bowls, cleared away chopsticks, bent to pick up scattered bits of paper, and invited the elderly and weary to sit in the most comfortable spots. While doing these things, I felt no pretense or struggle to "humble" myself. On the contrary, a strange, gentle sense of peace spread through my chest. I saw the joyful faces of my fellow practitioners, heard their lively chatter, and realized that happiness does not lie in a high or low seat, but in selfless contribution.

Only after the meal concluded did I find a small corner to sit and eat with everyone. No one noticed where I sat, and frankly, I no longer cared either. The proud ego from earlier had dissolved, replaced by a complete sense of oneness with the assembly. I understood that if we are constantly calculating our place, we will lose the opportunity to practice non-self in our very daily lives.

**Meaning of the Story**

This story illustrates the lesson about the hidden dangers of the ego within the guise of spiritual practice. Many mistakenly believe that "non-action, non-doing" means doing nothing, leading to laziness and selfishness. In truth, Buddhism teaches "serenity coupled with diligence." Serenity is a state of mind free from attachment, free from calculating gains and losses (like choosing a seat), while diligence is actively serving and contributing to others. When we habituate the concept of non-self through our daily recitations and prayers, we will naturally let go of our self-importance, readily serving others without feeling injured or that our own worth is diminished. This is the true mark of a person on the path, far removed from laziness justified by mere empty theory.

*Compiled from a Dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang*