The Man Who Bowed to Everyone
In the Lotus Sutra, there was a monk with no special powers who bowed to everyone he met, saying "I would never look down on you. You will all become Buddhas." Mocked and beaten, he never stopped. This story made me sit with something uncomfortable — how often I look down on people without even noticing.
The Man Who Bowed to Everyone
Today I was leafing through the Lotus Sutra, and when I reached the chapter on Bodhisattva Never Disparage, I stopped for a long time.
Not because the story is profound. Quite the opposite — it's so simple it makes you a little uncomfortable.
Here's the story.
A long time ago, there was a monk. He had no supernatural powers, no gift for debate, no remarkable level of spiritual attainment. In today's terms, he was just a very ordinary person.
But he had one habit — he bowed to everyone he met.
Monks, laypeople, men, women, old, young — whoever he encountered, he would respectfully press his palms together and say the same words:
"I would never look down on you. You will all become Buddhas."
That was it. He said it to everyone. Day after day, year after year.
When I first read this story, honestly, I thought the guy was kind of foolish.
Think about it. If you went around bowing to strangers on the street, telling them "you will become a Buddha," what would people think of you?
Sure enough, the people in the story didn't understand either. Some mocked him, some cursed at him, some threw stones and beat him with sticks. They called him "Never Disparage" — meaning "the one who never looks down on others" — but their tone was full of mockery.
When he was cursed at, he would stand at a distance and still shout: "I would never look down on you!"
When he was beaten, he would run away, and once he was safe, he would keep shouting: "You will all become Buddhas!"
Reading this, I closed the book and sat there thinking for a long time.
I'm an ordinary lay Buddhist. I go to work, I buy groceries, I worry about things. Practice, for me, isn't something grand — it's just trying to be a little more aware of my own mind each day.
But I've noticed something. The more I observe, the more I realize the hardest thing to catch is this: looking down on people.
Not on purpose. Most of the time, I don't even notice it.
Like on the subway, when someone is talking loudly on the phone, I think: "This person has no manners."
At work, when a colleague makes a basic mistake, I say it's fine but think: "How can you not know this?"
Scrolling through my phone, when someone's opinion differs from mine, my first reaction isn't to understand — it's to think they're "not very bright."
These thoughts flash by so fast you can't catch them. But I've slowly realized that these tiny, fleeting moments of disdain put a wall between me and others. The wall is thin, almost invisible, but it's there.
What Bodhisattva Never Disparage did was actually very simple — he used an extreme method to break this habit.
Bowing to everyone.
Not bowing to their appearance, status, or abilities. He was bowing to the "Buddha-nature" in each person that hadn't yet been seen.
The word Buddha-nature sounds big. But my understanding is simple: every person, no matter what they look like right now, has the capacity to become better. To wake up. To be worth taking seriously.
Not because they've done something remarkable, but because they are a human being.
Everyone knows this when you say it out loud. But to actually do it? It's so hard.
I've tried.
Not bowing to everyone — I really can't do that, and it would be too strange. But I've tried, in my heart, when I meet someone, to silently remind myself: this person has their own struggles too.
The person talking loudly on the subway might have just received an important call. They might be frantic with worry.
The colleague who made the basic mistake might not have slept well. They might have something going on at home.
The person with a different opinion might have their own experiences and hardships.
Thinking this way doesn't change anything on the outside. But my heart softens a little. Just a little.
When my heart softens, I don't get angry as easily. When I'm not angry, I don't say things that hurt. When I don't say hurtful things, relationships don't break as easily.
It's such a tiny thing. Bodhisattva Never Disparage spent his entire life doing just this one thing.
The second half of the story has a kind of happy ending.
Because he kept doing this, the bodhisattva eventually attained a very high level of practice. He lived for an incredibly long time, and ultimately became a Buddha. And the people who had mocked him, beaten him, and cursed at him all later became his disciples and were each liberated.
But I don't think the point is the ending.
The point is that when he was being mocked, beaten, and ridiculed, he never stopped.
He never said: "These people are too ignorant. They don't deserve my respect."
He never thought: "What's the point of doing this? They don't even appreciate it."
He just kept going.
Standing at a distance, shouting. Running away, and still shouting.
Sometimes I wonder, what is practice really about?
Maybe it's not sitting on a cushion watching your breath. Maybe it's not reading a lot of sutras. Maybe it's not visiting how many temples or bowing to how many Buddhas.
Maybe it's just this: when someone insults you, can your heart still see the goodness in them?
That's so hard. Truly, so hard.
But being hard doesn't mean it's not worth trying.
I looked into it later and learned that Bodhisattva Never Disparage was actually a past life of Shakyamuni Buddha. In other words, before he became the Buddha, he did something that seemed kind of silly.
Knowing this made the story feel even closer somehow.
Becoming a Buddha isn't about sitting somewhere and suddenly having a great enlightenment. It starts from something very small, something that seems a bit foolish — taking every single person seriously.
Even when they don't appreciate it.
Even when they mock you.
Even when you yourself wonder if it means anything.
Holding my mala beads today, when my fingers reached "Never Disparage," I turned those beads a few extra times.
I wasn't practicing any special method. I was just thinking: who did I look down on today? Who did I label in my mind? Was there any moment today when I genuinely felt that the person in front of me was worth taking seriously?
The answers weren't great.
But I can try again tomorrow.
Three questions for myself, and for you:
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Was there a moment today when you looked down on someone? What was that thought?
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If you told every person you met "I would never look down on you," how would your life be different?
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When you're misunderstood or mocked, can your heart stay soft?
