Shortcuts
> Chanting as a Teaching and Learning Aid > Chanting for Doctrinal & Communal Cohesion > Chanting for Enlightenment > Chanting for Safety & Wellness > Rules Regarding Chanting
The Buddha taught his disciples using poetic verses and rhythmic, structured recitations - in a word: chanting. Chanting to preserve and deliver sacred truths was a pan-Indian custom. Long before the Buddha, there were the mysterious Indo-Aryans who chanted the Vedic hymns. The Brahmins of the Buddha’s time preserved and expanded these oral texts, and their priests were trained from youth to recite them during elaborate rituals. The Jains, known in the Buddha’s day as “niganthas,” also utilized chanting. The importance of chanting in Buddhism is not limited to cultural heritage, however: it serves several important functions for the community at large, as well as individual disciples.
Lazybones says:
『I ain't readin' this whole dang page! 』
_(:3 」∠)_
Here are the highlights:
1. The Buddha taught in such a way that sermons could be memorized and recited as chants to facilitate learning and spreading the teachings.
2. Group chanting served as an effective means of preserving doctrinal accuracy and uniting the monastic body, safeguarding against schisms (for as long as possible, at least).
3. Chanting can help a disciple progress towards the ultimate goal of enlightenment.
4. Some chants are used for more immediate, worldly benefits, such as protection from harm and recovery from illness.
5. Eventually, the Buddha established rules for how disciples should chant; in short, chanting should not be long, drawn-out, and excessively melodious, in the style of secular music; chants should be simple, clear, and conducive to concentration (as opposed to entertainment or excitement).
Chanting is an effective way to preserve and transmit teachings orally. It is easier to recall and repeat a formulaic, rehearsed set of words, recited in a memorized rhythm, than it is to recall plainly spoken words. In the suttas, there are tell-tale signs of composition meant to facilitate this kind of oral preservation, sometimes to the chagrin of modern readers: remember, these texts were not written texts, and they were not meant to be slogged through by solitary readers thumbing through a book or scrolling on a text-based webpage. They were meant to be heard! The Buddha called disciples "sāvakas" (sāvikās for women), which literally means "hearers." Individual sermons begin with the introduction "evam me sutam - ekam samayam..." which means "Thus have I heard: at one time..." That our narrator - traditionally understood as the Buddha's faithful attendant, Ānanda, who is said to have recited from memory all of the sermons during the first assembly after the Buddha's death - makes reference to having heard each particular teaching should not be lost on us. Neither should the poetic qualities of this introduction: when recited, "evam me sutam - ekam samayam" gives us a neat little rhyming couplet, with each line consisting of five syllables, and a sonically enticing repetition of sounds in both lines (the e, m, and s sounds, specifically).1
This sweet-sounding introduction eases us into the bodies of sermons which likewise possess poetic qualities that may be lost on those of us who only read translations of these sermons in English. For example, we find long strings of synonyms given for important terms to ensure accurate definitions, as well as numbered lists which serve to codify standard formulations of particular teachings. In many of these instances, we see what is called "the principle of waxing syllables," where items in strings and lists tend to progress from those with fewer syllables to those with more. This produces a metrical quality, like what we find in structured poetry, a sort of rhythmic "bounce" that smoothly guides the speaker and the listener.2
We also see frequent repetition throughout the sermons, in various different contexts, that can make reading these texts somewhat burdensome. This repetition, however, eased the burden of those who preserved these oral texts by allowing them to memorize pericopes, refrains, and formulas that would more readily "stick" in one's mind than unique chunks of prose. Listeners, as well, would be treated to the familiar sounds of these passages during recitals, in much the same way one enjoys the chorus of a song.
Of course, this discussion would be incomplete without touching on the literal poetry that appears so often in the Buddha's teachings! Instances of this are too frequent to warrant listing specific examples here. Sermons often conclude with a beautifully pithy summary of its contents in an explicitly poetic, metrical form, with occasional appearances of poetic verses being spoken by those involved in a particular sermon throughout as well. The poetic qualities which can be observed in the prose sections of the sermons are, unsurprisingly, even more pronounced in the verses, and many of these verses endure as popular chants and recitations today. Furthermore, there are certain works of the canon that consist entirely of poetry: the Dhammapada, the Theragāthā, and the Therīgāthā are some of the most beloved examples.
Specific individuals were celebrated for having memorized certain teachings. The Vinaya tells of a monk named Sona, who, upon meeting the Buddha for the first time, recited the entire Atthakavagga, the "Chapter of Eights" (Snp 4) - a collection of verses. The Buddha praised him for his clear articulation and accurate recollection.3 In AN 1.198-208, he is named as "Sona-Kutikanna," or "Sharp-Eared Sona," and declared to be the foremost of all monks in being an eloquent speaker. In the Nandamātā Sutta (AN 7.53), the god of the northern quarter, Great King Vessavana, was delighted to overhear a laywoman named Velukantakī reciting a collection of verses called the Pārāyanavagga, "The Chapter on the Way to the Other Shore" (Snp 5). Interestingly, in the Mahākaccāna Bhaddekaratta Sutta (MN 133), we see the story of a monk named Samiddhi, who was approached by an unnamed god that manifested before him specifically to ask if he had memorized the "Bhaddekaratta" verses and their accompanying explanation - both of which can be found in the preceding Bhaddekaratta Sutta (MN 131). After answering in the negative, he was urged by that god to make the effort to learn them.4 All of these examples show that, even within the Buddha's lifetime, the memorization of verses and sermons was considered to be an important achievement worthy of celebration, and that teachings were delivered with the express purpose of being preserved in this way.
The suttas also record the Buddha explicitly telling his community to chant: in the Pāsādika Sutta (DN 29), he declared that the community should "recite together, meaning with meaning and phrasing with phrasing" (atthena attham byañjanena byañjanam sangāyitabbam). Three key terms appear here: "attha," "byañjana," and "sangāyati."
"Attha" can be translated as meaning, purpose, or benefit. "Byañjana," and the more common variant "vyañjana," can be translated as phrasing, expression, or even more specifically as "letter" or "syllable." These two words often appear together in the same way we see the English phrase "the spirit and the letter" (of the law, for example). The former refers to the truths expressed by what the Buddha taught, which benefit those who understand them, while the latter refers to the formulations which the Buddha used to express those truths. "Sangāyati" means to chant or to rehearse. The Buddha even specificed seven sets of doctrinal topics that should be recited in this way, with both the meanings of these teachings and the specific formulations used for those teachings being formalized through repeated recitals. He also gave instructions for how the sangha should handle disputes that arise when monks disagree on either the meaning or the phrasing of a particular doctrine, or when they disagree on both the meaning and the phrasing. It is critical to note that the Buddha took care to distinguish these two dimensions of his teaching; elsewhere we are told that the meaning is most important (MN 103), but the Buddha's instructions clearly demonstrate that both are significant and should be preserved accurately.
Regular group recitals helped facilitate this preservation. In fact, the narrative framing for the Pāsādika Sutta explains that the Buddha gave that sermon after a schism among the Jains following the death of their leader; thus, he implored his own monks to chant his teachings together as a group to ensure the accuracy and longevity of those teachings. Maintaining doctrinal cohesion would help ensure communal cohesion by reducing disputes.
Origin
The Buddha also required monks to gather regularly to chant the major monastic precepts, called the "Pātimokkha," a tradition which endures to this day. The story of this practice's origin speaks to its importance. In the sangha's early days, there was no established set of rules, much less a regular practice of reciting them as a community. Eventually, the monk Sāriputta wondered about the teachings of various Buddhas in ages past; some of them were said to have teachings that endured for a long time, while others had teachings that disappeared soon after their deaths. Sāriputta went to the Buddha to ask why this was the case. The Buddha revealed that the dispensations of the past Buddhas named Vipassī, Sikhī, and Vessabhū didn't last long because those Buddhas: did not give detailed teachings; did not give many teachings in prose, verse, and other genres; did not establish rules for disciples; and their monastic communities did not recite the Pātimokkha precepts. Instead, those Buddhas taught primarily by reading the minds of their disciples and giving direct, pointed instructions to each individual. When these Buddhas and their immediate disciples died, the religious path they revealed was forgotten.
On the other hand, the dispensations of the past Buddhas named Kakusandha, Konāgamana, and Kassapa endured long after their deaths, and even the deaths of their immediate disciples, because they did give detailed teachings; they did give many teachings in prose, verse, and other genres; they did establish rules for disciples; and their monastic communities did recite the Pātimokkha precepts. At this time, the Buddha of our age had not yet established rules for disciples or instituted the Pātimokkha recital. Fearing the premature disappearance of the holy life, Sāriputta urged the Buddha to do those two things. The Buddha declined, saying, "Now is not the time; these things must wait until the sangha shows signs of corruption." The sangha was still young, with even the least spiritually advanced monks having attained the status known as "stream-entry" (sotāpanna), wherein one has gone irreversibly beyond rebirth in the lower realms, firmly established in a trajectory towards enlightenment at some point in the future.5
As time went on, the behaviors of certain monks and nuns caused problems which necessitated particular rules and regulations. In this way, the monastic code was established piecemeal, on a case-by-case basis to address specific problems. Eventually, the King of Magadha, Seniya Bimbisāra - a devoted disciple of the Buddha - became curious about something: it was common for various religious traditions to observe something called "uposatha" on certain days in the lunar calendar. On these days, disciples would engage in special practices; specifically, they would gather together and deliver teachings, often winning converts. However, the Buddha's community did not observe this tradition. Bimbisāra visited the Buddha and suggested that he and his monastic followers would implement this practice, since it seemed to work so well for the rival teachers. The Buddha gathered his monks and declared that they, too, should gather to observe uposatha days. At first, however, they only gathered in silence, so when people began to attend these gatherings expecting to hear teachings like they did elsewhere from other teachers, they were disappointed. The monks relayed these frustrations to the Buddha, so he told the monks to begin delivering sermons during their uposatha gatherings. This would be beneficial to the laypeople, who sought to attend the gatherings of the various religious teachers who wandered India at the time, and it would also win their favor and support. As he reflected further, the Buddha realized that the uposatha gatherings would be the perfect times for monks and nuns to recite the Pātimokkha precepts, now firmly established.6 Sāriputta had no need to concern himself with the longevity of his teacher's message now; the Buddha had finally performed all four acts which ensure that the message of the Dhamma would long-endure, which is why we are still able to study it to this day!
Importance
Now that the Pātimokkha recital had been implemented, the Buddha made no bones about its importance. For instance, although some monks lived in crowded residences, others chose to live far away, secluded in wilderness retreats. Both options were seen as legitimate ways to be a monastic disciple, but on uposatha days, even the most secluded and distant of monks and nuns were expected to show up for the Pātimokkha recital.7 An amusing story tells us of a monk named Mahākappina, who considered skipping out on an upcoming gathering. "Do I really need to go? After all, I've already reached the highest attainments; surely there's no need for me to attend..." The Buddha, having the ability to detect the activities of others' minds, perceived this train of thought, and immediately manifested before the monk. He took a seat and said "Kappina, you were just considering whether or not to come to the uposatha gathering, weren't you?" Kappina answered directly, "Yes, Venerable, I was." In response, the Buddha said, "If holy men like you don't keep the uposatha observances, how can we expect others to do so? Attend the gathering!"8
During these gatherings, monks and nuns would assemble as a community and chant the precepts they had vowed to observe together, but only after holding themselves accountable for any transgressions they may have engaged in. Doing this strengthened the bond of the monastic body, prevented the isolation of even its most distant members, and made sure that misbehavior was addressed and corrected.
We have already seen that chanting served the important functions of preserving doctrines, maintaining consistency in the methods of their delivery, and ensuring communal cohesion. Beyond these things, chanting is also an important religious practice.
The Buddha gave a sermon (AN 5.26) about five possible "opportunities for enlightenment" (vimuttāyatanāni). These are circumstances that provide monks with the chance to really "lock in" and put forth the effort to liberate the mind and destroy the mental defilements that typically act as obstacles to our awakening. The first of these is listening to a Dhamma teaching from the Buddha or an esteemed disciple. Heedfully listening to an exposition and taking its meaning to heart kickstarts a successive chain of factors that gradually place the individual in a state primed for the breakthrough to enlightenment. First, joy (pāmojja) arises, then blissful rapture of the mind (pīti), which causes bodily tranquility (passaddhakāyo), producing a contended, wholesome pleasure (sukha). This wholesome pleasure, unlike the more typical sensual pleasures we are familiar with, allows the mind to become immersed in a state known as "samādhi," which is likely best left untranslated; it's a highly refined state of calm, collected concentration. Here, in samādhi, the mind is in the perfect shape to "do the work" of attaining enlightenment.
This same chain of factors arises in just the same way with the other opportunities, the second of which is when a disciple teaches the Dhamma in detail to others, "as they have learned and memorized it." The third opportunity is specifically "reciting/chanting" (sajjhāya) the Dhamma in detail, as one has learned and memorized, regardless of whether or not someone else is listening. The term sajjhāya is much more indicative of a rehearsed recital, a chant, than the language used for the previous two opportunities, which could include chanting, but could just as easily refer to less performative explanations. In any case, this sutta establishes that chanting is no mere formality or hollow ritual practice; it is a bonafide means of readying oneself to attain nibbāna!
Throughout the suttas, we find records of monks chanting in much the same way we would expect to find them meditating: early in the morning, before the break of dawn, a yakkhinī - a female being, something like a nature spirit or a lesser god - and her child, Piyankara, stumbled upon the Venerable Anuruddha chanting by himself. This, of course, demonstrates that chanting was practiced even by advanced disciples such as Anuruddha, even when they were in solitude. Crucially, we should make note of the yakkhinī's response - she excitedly stopped, hushed her little son, and spoke to him with verses of her own! In summary, she expressed how fortunate they were to come across a monk chanting, because if they quietly listened to the meaning of the verses, they could take it to heart and put it into practice, which may eventually lead to a more fortunate rebirth (SN 20.6).
Another story tells of a time when the Buddha had gone into secluded retreat. He began to recite an exposition on the doctrine of dependent origination; that he would do such a thing after seeking solitude should not be lost on us. However, a nosy monk was eavesdropping nearby, and the Buddha spotted him. "Monk," he said, "did you hear me just now?" "Yes, Venerable," answered the monk. The Buddha simply responded by saying "Memorize that teaching, monk; it would be beneficial, as it is fundamental to the holy life" (SN 12.45).9
Two of the Buddha's most important monks were converted thanks to the chanting of a simple stanza. Upatissa, later known as the Venerable Sāriputta, came across Assaji, one of the Buddha's first five disciples, and was immediately moved by how peaceful the monk appeared. Upatissa followed Assaji as he walked around begging for almsfood; when the monk had gathered his food and was about to eat, Upatissa prepared a seat, offered it, and served him water. Then, he took the opportunity to ask the serene monk who had taught him and what doctrine he had been taught. Assaji told him about the Buddha, and recited the following lines: "Regarding phenomena that arise causally, the Tathāgata has taught their causes / As well as their cessation; this is the Great Mendicant's doctrine." So profound was the impact of this stanza that Upatissa had become a stream-enterer, a sotāpanna, before its conclusion. He was immediately firm in his faith that the Buddha, whom he had only just heard about, was the real deal. "Say no more!" he told the monk, "Where is the master now?" Before he left to meet the Buddha in person and request to join his order of monks, he went to find his dearest friend, Kolita - later known as the Venerable Mahā Moggallāna. A similar scene played out, where Kolita noticed his friend's striking serenity, and Upatissa told him everything that had just happened. Upatissa's repetition of the stanza he heard from Assaji also caused Kolita to achieve stream-entry. They both became two of the most important figures in Buddhist history, and it all began with hearing one brief chant.10
As we have seen, chanting is an important part of preserving the Dhamma, strengthining the sangha, and bringing disciples closer to enlightenment. In addition, chanting has been used throughout the tradition's history to address practical, worldly concerns, with particular verses and stanzas being recited to manifest effects here-and-now. Chants used in this way are understood to be effective for various reasons. Sometimes, their utility lies in the inherent power of declaring the truth - in Pali, this is "saccakiriya," which means something like "an act of truth."11 Others invoke the power of mighty beings, calling on their names to ward off malicious forces that understand the consequences of harming someone under their guardianship. Some chants are said to bring one's mind to a state which brings about liberation from their ailments.
An exhaustive analysis of this material goes beyond the scope of this page, but we may briefly discuss two dimensions: chants for protection, and those for healing.
There are many verses and stanzas used as protective charms in Buddhism, known as "paritta." The term literally means "protection," and can refer to objects like amulets worn as magical safeguards, though it most often refers to the textual material with which we are now concerned. Sometimes these texts use the synonym "rakkhā" as well. Many such texts are found dispersed throughout the Canon, but it is not until the post-canonical period that we find curated paritta collections. These are some choice selections:
The Ātānātiya Rakkhā ("The Ward of Ātānātā") - (from the Ātānātiya Sutta (DN 32)
The god of the Northern Quarter, the Great King Vessavana, provided the Buddha with a lengthy set of verses to teach his disciples. These verses act to safeguard them from inhuman beings who harbor ill-will for the virtuous people who venture into the wilderness seeking solitude. The protective verses begin with declarations of adoration for seven Buddhas (six from past ages, with the seventh being Gautama Buddha himself). Following this are descriptions of the Four Quarters, the divine Great Kings that watch over them, and the various sorts of beings that live in those lands. The title of the chant itself comes from a mythical city in the Northern Quarter - Vessavana's domain - called Ātānātā. After reciting the paritta verses proper, Vessavanna assured that if an inhuman being should maliciously approach a disciple who has memorized the charm, that being would be subject to a long list of consequences, including violent retribution. In addition, Vessavana provided a list of powerful spirits and deities whom one should call upon if they find themselves in danger at the hands of any harmful inhuman.
Angulimāla's Blessing - from the Angulimāla Sutta (MN 86)
One morning, as the Venerable Angulimāla - a former murderer redeemed as a monk under the Buddha's guidance - was begging for food, he came across a woman in labor whose newborn wasn't coming out. This made him reflect on the plights living beings must endure, and later, he told the Buddha what he saw. The Buddha instructed him to return to the woman and say, "Since my birth, sister, I don't know of any life I've taken intentionally. By this truth, may you and your womb (referring to the child) be well." Angulimāla asked if this would be appropriate, since he had taken the lives of many people before his conversion. The Buddha amended the statement, instructing him to say this instead: "Since my birth, sister, into the noble lineage, I don't know of any life I've taken intentionally. By this truth, may you and your womb be well." Angulimāla did so, and the woman safely delivered her baby. To this day, Angulimāla's Blessing is recited for the wellbeing of pregnant women and their unborn children.
Candima/Sūriya Gātha (The Moon's Verse/The Sun's Verse) - from the Candima/Sūriya Suttas (SN 2.9 & SN 2.10)
Two stories tell of times when the gods of the moon and the sun were seized by Rāhu, the lord of the asuras. In both cases, the deities brought the Buddha to their minds, and recited, "Homage to you, the Buddha, the Hero! / You are liberated in every way! / I've fallen into trouble! / Be my refuge!" In both cases, the Buddha heard their pleas, and commanded Rāhu to release the deities, speaking in verse himself. The short verse used by the two stellar gods is chanted as a protection charm.
Dhajagga Paritta (The Flag's Crest Protection) - from the Dhajagga Sutta (SN 11.3)
The Buddha told some monks about a time when the deities known as "The Gods of the 33" and the asuras were doing battle. Sakka, the lord of those gods, rallied them by instructing them to look up at the crest of his battle flag if they should feel scared. Doing so, he assured them, would make their fear subside. He then gave a successive list of other great gods whose battle flags they should look for, should they not be able to see his. The Buddha then told his monks that, in fact, it wasn't certain that the fear of any of those gods would subside if they should look up at the crest of Sakka's battle flag, because Sakka himself was still under the sway of greed, hatred, and delusion, and as such, was not fearless himself. The monks, on the other hand, could have confidence that if they found themselves overcome with fear while in solitude, they could subdue their fright by reciting a formula for Buddhānussati, "recollection of the Buddha." Similarly, if they could not recollect the Buddha, they could recollect the Dhamma, and if not the Dhamma, the Sangha, each with their own formulas as well. Since the Buddha was fearless, the monks could be certain they would overcome their fear, unlike those gods in Sakka's army. The sutta concludes with verses summarizing his instructions.
Khandha Paritta (The Group Protection) - from the Ahirāja Sutta (AN 4.67)
After a monk was fatally bitten by a snake, the Buddha told some monks that they could avoid this fate by mentally spreading loving-kindness (metta) to four royal snake clans - by name, the clans of Virūpakkha, Erāpatha, Chabyāputta, and Kanhāgotamaka. The protection chant, given afterwards, names these clans as the recepients of one's loving-kindness, followed by the all-inclusive categories of crawling creatures, bipedal creatures, four-footed creatures, and those with many feet. This is followed by lines impoloring all such creatures to refrain from harming the subject, then well-wishes for all living things. The greatness of the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha is contrasted with the limits of the sorts of creatures that might cause harm to the subject, so as to ward them off, concluding with praise for the Buddha as well as the six previous Buddhas.
Ratana Sutta - (from Snp 2.1)
These verses begin with a call to "whatever beings have assembled, earthbound or airborne," followed by wishes for all living beings to be happy and listen carefully to the recitation being offered. The chant involves the subject urging all of those beings to have loving-kindness for humankind and protect us. The rest of the recitation consists of praise for the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha - the three "gems," or "ratana," giving the text its name. The truth of those statements is invoked to bring wellness to those beings in exchange for their protection.
At least four suttas record instances of chants being used to help someone recover from sickness. The Girimānanda Sutta (AN 10.60) is named after the Venerable Girimānanda, who once became severely ill. Ānanda asked the Buddha to visit him, but the Buddha instead told Ānanda that he should go see Girimānanda himself and perform a recitation, saying that doing so may help the monk's sickness subside. Specifically, Ānanda was to recite a passage about ten conceptual perceptions, the specifics of which are quite complicated, so I'll avoid a detailed analysis here. Ānanda visited Girimānanda, recited the passage about those ten perceptions, and the sick monk immediately became well.
Three successive suttas in the Samyutta Nikāya tell of instances when a different passage about the "seven factors of enlightenment," activities and qualities which must be cultivated along the path to nibbāna, was recited instead. In the Pathamagilāna Sutta (SN 46.14), we are told that the Venerable Mahākassapa was weathering a grave illness while staying in a cave. The Buddha emerged from his retreat, sat down beside him, and said, "I hope you're well, Mahākassapa; I hope your pain is going away." "I'm not well," Mahākassapa responded, "this pain is terrible, and it is not fading." Immediately, the Buddha began reciting the passage about the seven factors of enlightenment, and when he finished, Mahākassapa was delighted. Focusing on those activities and qualities, and how they lead to enlightenment, was enough to mentally bolster him to such a degree that he could shake off the effects of the sickness.
Likewise, the Dutiyagilāna Sutta (SN 46.15) features a story about Mahāmoggallāna, who was sick while staying on the famous Vulture's Peak, and recovered after the Buddha recited the seven factors for him. Finally, the Tatiyagilāna Sutta (SN 46.16) tells of a time when the Buddha had become seriously ill while staying in the Bamboo Grove. When the Venerable Mahācunda approached him, he asked the monk to recite the seven factors to him, and thereafter he recovered just like the monks in the preceding stories.12
It seems that there were no hard rules regarding the method of chanting or recitation in the early days of the sangha. It’s reasonable to assume that the Buddha delivered his sermons in whatever way he saw fit, and the earliest disciples simply followed suit. As the sangha grew, however, variations in style must have emerged. Perhaps converts from other traditions chanted in the ways their previous teachers had taught them. Once the sangha grew to the point that some disciples could join without having met the Buddha himself, it is possible that they would go on to recite in unorthodox ways, completely unaware of the style the Buddha and his immediate disciples would have used.
In any case, the Vinaya records that this all changed after an incident involving "the monks from the group of six," an archetypal set of unnamed monastics whose troublesome behavior is often attributed as the reason many of the monastic rules were established. In the city of Rājagaha, capital of the Kingdom of Magadha, there was a lavish festival being held on the top of a mountain (or perhaps a hill). These monks attended and watched the dancing, singing, and musical performances. Around the same time, they had also been delivering Dhamma teachings as songs, singing them in "long, drawn-out tones" (āyatakena gītassarena). Their behavior offended the locals - after all, these were supposed to be disciples of the highly-celebrated Sakyan sage! What were they doing attending festivals and singing songs like some local buskers? When these concerns were brought to the Buddha, he laid down rules banning those behaviors.
Regarding the rule against delivering the Dhamma through singing, the Buddha had a bit more to say, and this elaboration was preserved in the Anguttara Nikāya as well as the Vinaya. He told his monks that there were five reasons not to teach the Dhamma through singing: 1) the singer becomes preoccupied by the sound of their own voice. 2) listeners become preoccupied by the sound of the singer's voice. 3) laypeople will be offended to see ordained disciples performing like secular musicians. 4) being distracted by melody breaks concentration (samādhi). 5) normalizing this practice ensures that future disciples would also engage in this behavior, perpetuating a cycle of improper (and ineffective!) teaching.
For a short time after this rule was laid down, it seems monks avoided reciting the Dhamma altogether, fearing that they would be breaking the rule. When the Buddha was made aware of this, he clarified that "chanting" was distinct from "singing," and chanting the Dhamma was perfectly fine.13
The Pali term for the approved method of recitation is "sarabhañña," while the word for the forbidden behavior is "gītassara." It can't be said for certain precisely how "sarabhañña" chanting sounded. The word is a compound, with "sara" simply meaning "sound," or more precisely, "vowel." The second part of the term is related to "bhāna," or "reciting." The term altogether, then, conveys the sense of a particular method of voicing sounds, likely one that emphasizes vowel syllables; this is certainly the case in traditional forms of chanting that are practiced today.
That term, "sara," also makes up the second half of the compound "gītassara," but "gīta" is a more explicitly musical word. As a verb, it may mean "singing," or as a noun, "song." This, combined with the context clues from the Vinaya story of the rule's origin, allows us to conclude, at least generally, that "sarabhañña" chanting was not primarily musical, even if it involved some degree of tonality and rhythm. The gītassara style, on the other hand, must have been more akin to a singing performance, something better suited to festival entertainment than sacred teachings.
Despite the historical importance of chanting in Buddhism, stretching back to the Buddha's very lifetime and enduring strong in many Buddhist cultures to this day, it is often overlooked by outsiders who become interested in Buddhism. I encourage everyone to reconsider the way they view chanting: participating in ritual group recitations or joining one's palms together and intoning verses in solitude are every bit as "Buddhist" as sitting and meditating!
Notes
[1] Anālayo, DĀ Studies
[2] ibid.
[3] Ud 5.6 & Vin i 196,34, cited by Anālayo in DĀ Studies
[4] These texts were cited by Hecker & Nyanaponika
[5] This story was cited by Hecker & Nyanaponika; for the full Vinaya text, see this page on SuttaCentral.
[6] For the full Vinaya text, see this page on SuttaCentral.
[7] This expectation is mentioned in MN 77, referenced by Anālayo in DĀ Studies
[8] I am once again asking you to see this page on SuttaCentral.
[9] These two examples were cited by Anālayo in DĀ Studies.
[10] Vin 1:39, cited by Hecker & Nyanaponika
[11] Piyadassi Thera
[12] These stories about chanting to help someone recover from illness were cited by Anālayo in A Comparitive Study.
[13] For these texts, see this section of the Vinaya & AN 5.209.
Bibliography
[1] Anālayo (Bhikkhu) : A Comparative Study of the Majjhima-nikāya, Vol. 2
[2] Anālayo (Bhikkhu) : Dīrgha-āgama Studies
[3] Hecker, Hellmuth & Nyanaponika Thera : Great Disciples of the Buddha (ed. Bhikkhu Bodhi)
[4] Piyadassi (Thera) : The Book of Protection