Compilation of Daily Discourses
Chapter 6: On Practice (2)
Eleven: Miscellaneous Learning Is Not Right Effort
We study Buddhism and cultivate practice in order to resolve the actual, fundamental problem of birth and death, not to learn theory. Mastering just enough theoretical knowledge to serve actual practice is sufficient; do not keep digging deeper into it. Apply your mind to what is crucial. As long as the wisdom of the manas is developed, the dharmas you previously did not understand will all become clear, and the knowledge you previously did not know will all become evident. Then, when you summarize it with your own wisdom and pass it on, it becomes the theoretical knowledge that others need—bringing immeasurable benefit to both others and yourself.
After Cūḍapanthaka attained the fourth fruit of arhatship, he still could not teach the Dharma; he was clumsy of speech. But he had accomplished everything that needed to be done: he had the wisdom of liberation but not the wisdom of arising, unable to express it, and his knowledge was also insufficient. Even so, this did not obstruct him from being a sage. He had the wisdom to liberate himself from birth and death in the three realms—the apple had been eaten and was in his belly; this was real and tangible. How many times stronger is that than those glib talkers who can write a hundred books yet are ordinary beings replete with the afflictions of greed, hatred, and delusion?
Many people do not understand how to study Buddhism and cultivate practice. Day after day they relish collecting knowledge everywhere, diligently gathering whatever is useful or useless, picking up nothing but sesame seeds, and then forgetting some of it after collecting it. They do not develop the inexhaustible treasure trove, and they do not know to take the golden key into their hands. They appear to be working hard, but in fact it is wrong effort (mithyā-vyāyāma): the more diligent they are, the farther they stray from the Path.
Some people just love studying the patterns in a kaleidoscope. Before they have figured out the first pattern, they switch to the second; through ten thousand pattern changes, chasing each design, their eyes end up dazzled and they still have not figured anything out. Those without wisdom simply do not know to study how to make the kaleidoscope itself. With a kaleidoscope in hand, wouldn't it be delightful to master all patterns and figures at will? The knowledge in the world is immeasurable and is developing explosively—what can you gain by chasing it day after day? Give rise to the great bodhi mind and strive to become a knowledge repository yourself, with all knowledge flowing forth continuously and abundantly from your own mind, so that all sentient beings can draw nourishment of knowledge from this repository of yours—how beautiful a thing that would be!
Why is it that some people, after practicing for only a short time, attain very deep meditative concentration (samādhi), with excellent contemplative practice (vipaśyanā-caryā) wisdom and without losing meditative absorption (samādhi), while others practice for decades without meditative concentration ever appearing and with weak power of wisdom? Like a foolish dog chasing thrown clods, they pay attention to and take interest in everything external, wandering through all the major platforms every day, learning every kind of knowledge, and to this day have achieved nothing. Often, the more a person has achieved nothing, the more confident they are—on what basis is that confidence?
If you could open up the back of some people's heads, you would find a pile of tangled threads there, disordered and chaotic, with no logic in their thinking; one sentence does not match the next. Yet they go out and wildly learn things that lack logic, and the more they learn, the more tangled threads accumulate in their brains. A person's pathways and modes of thinking are subject to perfuming: whoever you learn from, you will acquire that person's characteristics of thought. When one lacks discernment and learns indiscriminately, one's wisdom being weak to begin with, perfumed further by disordered modes of thinking, one's own thinking becomes even less able to run in a straight line; one's speech winds around and around, never reaching the root or the essential point. If the pathway of thinking is wrong, can one attain the fruits of realization or see the mind?
Those who cultivate well, whose strengths lie in meditative concentration and contemplative practice, will not only refuse to learn or look at external cluttered things—they do not even have the mind to listen to what I, the teacher, say. While I am speaking, their minds are engaged in contemplative practice; after all, doing the work is what matters most, and the great matter of birth and death is what matters most. Meanwhile, those who after decades cultivate nothing out spend every day busily and chaotically absorbing all sorts of disordered knowledge, busy to their heart's delight—but what exactly is there for you to delight in? Your brain is clogged into a complete mess, without a single clear thread.
Twelve: Does Keeping the Precepts Count as Practice?
Person A says: The ultimate aim of practice is to break the grasping at self, and further to break the grasping at dharmas. To break the grasping at self and dharmas requires prajñā wisdom; to accomplish prajñā wisdom, one must have the supporting condition of dhyāna; without the supporting condition of dhyāna, the mind will be scattered, and even if one has been perfumed by prajñā wisdom, one cannot apply its power—hence one needs the power of meditative concentration. And the foundation of dhyāna lies in the precepts: only through keeping the precepts can one obstruct and refrain from unwholesome karma, keeping the three karmas of body, speech, and mind pure. At that point one has the power to use prajñā wisdom to break through the greed, hatred, delusion, and grasping at self within the mind.
Person A's meaning is that keeping the precepts aids meditative concentration, maintains a pure mind, and avoids creating evil karma; under the power of meditative concentration one eradicates the afflictions of greed, hatred, and delusion and breaks the grasping at self and dharmas—such precept-keeping counts as practice. But I feel that precept-keeping that merely avoids creating evil karma is still not enough. Although from the perspective of one newly setting out to study Buddhism this is already quite good, one still has not entered the stage of practice, and therefore it does not yet count as practice.
"Cultivation" means correcting one's own views and concepts and one's bodily, verbal, and mental actions; "practice" means putting things into effect, concrete operation, engaging in wholesome dharmas and wholesome karma—merely not doing evil is not enough. The bodily, verbal, and mental actions of sentient beings are replete with the afflictions of greed, hatred, and delusion and replete with ignorance; these afflictions and ignorance need to be counteracted with wholesome dharmas. When the wholesome comes, the unwholesome goes; where there is the wholesome there is merit. Merit, first, aids keeping the precepts; second, aids the arising of meditative concentration and the subduing of afflictions; third, aids the arising of wisdom, changing erroneous views and concepts, purifying bodily, verbal, and mental actions, and transforming both body-mind and world. Merely keeping the precepts and not doing evil cannot fulfill wholesome dharmas and cannot produce great merit; therefore it does not yet count as practice.
Person B says: Keeping the Hīnayāna precepts is not truly practicing the Buddha Way; at most it counts as a safeguard for practice. Only keeping the Bodhisattva Precepts counts as practice. Practicing the Buddha Way is like a ship sailing on the sea of suffering: the direction and route of the ship's voyage are of first importance. The roadmap of practice taught by the World-Honored One is of first importance; the Dharma ship is second. Why does merely keeping the Hīnayāna precepts not count as practicing the Buddha Way? For example, one only protects one's own little boat from striking reefs and leaking, drifting alone on the sea of suffering—unable to benefit oneself and unable to benefit others. How could this count as practice that benefits both self and others?
Person B's view is that merely keeping the Hīnayāna precepts does not yet count as practice; only keeping the Mahāyāna precepts counts as practice. But as long as the initial resolve is pure, both Mahāyāna and Hīnayāna count as practice—only their respective goals differ: the Hīnayāna gets off the vehicle midway, while the Mahāyāna gets off at the terminal station. Whether keeping the precepts counts as practice depends on what kind of mental activity one keeps them with and what result the precept-keeping points toward. If one keeps the precepts for human and heavenly blessings, then having gained human and heavenly blessings one either creates evil karma or, when the blessings are exhausted, falls again—such precept-keeping can still lead to downfall, and so it is not practice. Non-Buddhists also keep precepts; many of them absolutely never violate the five precepts and their minds are pure, yet in the end they remain non-Buddhists, not walking the Buddha's path—such precept-keeping also does not count as practice.
The goal of Hīnayāna practice is to eradicate the view of self (satkāya-dṛṣṭi), to cultivate the realization of no-self, to change the view that the five aggregates (pañca-skandha) are the self, and to gain liberation from the bondage of the five aggregates. If one can keep the precepts with a selfless mind of no-self, one can eradicate the view of self and tend toward liberation, attaining the fruit of nirvāṇa—such precept-keeping belongs to practice. Conversely, with a mind that holds to self, not performing the deeds of no-self, calculating "I" everywhere in the heart—such precept-keeping is not practice; it cannot attain the fruit-virtue of no-self, and after receiving the blessings of precepts one will still fall. The Mahāyāna, with a mind of no-self, performs deeds that benefit others and gives rise to the great bodhi mind; such precept-keeping is the foundation of realization and verification, able to transform one's mental nature, increase concentration and wisdom, and lead to seeing the mind and attaining enlightenment—therefore it counts as practice.
Thirteen: What Is Wrong Effort?
Wrong effort (mithyā-vyāyāma) is the opposite of right effort (samyag-vyāyāma): the direction of one's striving is incorrect, and when the direction is incorrect, the harder one strives, the farther one gets from the goal. The direction of right effort is to realize no-self and realize emptiness/voidness (śūnyatā)—becoming ever more selfless, ever more empty, until complete and ultimate thoroughness—practicing the three unconditioned studies of precepts, concentration, and wisdom around this goal. But those of wrong effort have a flourishing self in their minds, attached to existence and non-emptiness; whatever they cultivate is all for the worldly benefit of that so-called self. Attached to worldly existence, they harbor hopes and pursuits for fame, praise, gain, and offerings, running directly counter to the Path. In that case, even if they sit in meditation, recite sutras, and recite the Buddha's name day and night without rest, study the Dharma and even propagate it, it is all self-centered and centered on their own benefit. As long as they themselves benefit and those related to them benefit, whether others fare well or not does not matter—even to the point of harming others' interests. With such practice, the more diligent one is, the farther one strays from the way of no-self, the farther from emptiness, the farther from the true reality of the dharmadhātu—and in the end one may easily cultivate oneself into a māra.
Effort without pure great vows and correct vows, though not counting as wrong effort, is also not right effort. In all practice, vows come first as the guide: without vows nothing is accomplished, and with vows one achieves twice the result with half the effort. Vows are like an accelerator, like a ladder in a deep pit, like a towrope in the mud; vows can break free from the entanglement of karmic power and reach the other shore of nirvāṇa directly. Small vows are for oneself; great vows are for sentient beings; wrong vows are for false existence; correct vows are for true emptiness and for purity. When great vows and correct vows cannot be brought forth, one's practice is still shallow; once the roots of goodness and merit have accumulated deeply, vows will naturally arise, and with vows, all is accomplished.
Fourteen: Why Do Śrāvakas Tire of Much Learning and Pratyekabuddhas Tire of Deliberation?
Original text of Volume One of the Upāsaka Precepts Sūtra: 声闻之人厌于多闻。缘觉之人厌于思惟。佛于是二心无疲厌。故名为佛。
Explanation: Why do people with the indriya (spiritual faculties) of śrāvakas tire of much learning? In the Hīnayāna sutras the Buddha once said that śrāvakas are called "hearers" precisely because they delight in much learning, yet here in the Mahāyāna the Buddha says śrāvakas tire of much learning—is the Buddha's teaching always contradictory? Actually it is not. Every definition has a precondition and is a definition within a certain scope; beyond that scope, the previous definition no longer applies, and so the definition must change. The śrāvakas' much learning is much learning within the scope of the Hīnayāna path of liberation, much learning within the scope of the Four Noble Truths and conventional truth. Beyond this scope, they no longer wish to know and hear more; they are content with the status quo, and they also believe that beyond this scope there are no more dharmas. This limitation of cognition stems from their initial resolve, from their breadth of mind and vision, and also from their not-too-deep wisdom and insight.
Śrāvakas, through listening to the Buddha teach the Dharma, recognized the suffering of the world of the five aggregates. Their resolve was small: they only wished to be liberated from worldly suffering. As long as they could be liberated from worldly suffering, that was enough. As for the distant buddha-path of three great immeasurable kalpas, they were not interested; some even believed that being liberated from the bondage of the three realms already constituted buddhahood, with nothing further to cultivate or realize. Due to the limitations of their roots of goodness, merit, and wisdom, when they studied the Four Noble Truths they could not touch the Mahāyāna principle of prajñā and tathāgatagarbha, and so they blindly believed that the Four Noble Truths were ultimate and final for liberation, with no other dharma beyond. It was precisely on the basis of such foolish "wisdom" that at the Lotus Sutra assembly five thousand bhikṣus withdrew from their seats: they did not believe or listen to the Mahāyāna Dharma, much less deliberate upon it. From this point one can see that śrāvakas in fact do not delight in much learning of the Buddha's Dharma.
The roots of goodness and wisdom of the pratyekabuddhas are somewhat deeper than those of the śrāvakas. They need not stay beside the Buddha to hear much of the Dharma, but upon encountering conditions they will independently deliberate on its ins and outs, tracing to the root and plumbing the very source of the Dharma. Thus they had the deliberation (manasikāra/manana) on the dharma of the twelve links of dependent origination, and through repeated forward and reverse deduction, they touched the Ālayavijñāna, the original source of all dharmas in the world of the five aggregates. Having deliberated as far as the Ālayavijñāna, due to their indriya and habitual tendencies they did not deliberate further, nor did they wish to realize this truth of the ultimate reality of the dharmadhātu; their wisdom stagnated at the level of being able to liberate themselves from the suffering of the three-realm world. Because they had not given rise to the great bodhi mind to accomplish the buddha-way, they only wished to be liberated from the bondage of the world of the five aggregates and sought nothing else; hence they were content with the status quo, content with eradicating the ignorance concerning liberation from the suffering of the world of the five aggregates, with no desire or plan to eradicate the deeper, subtler ignorance. That is why the Buddha says here that pratyekabuddhas tire of deliberation.
The Buddha differs from śrāvakas and pratyekabuddhas: in the practice of three great immeasurable kalpas, His resolve was vast—for immeasurable sentient beings to be freed from suffering, not for His own comfort and ease. With deep roots and a great vessel (suitable vessel for the Path), His wisdom was vast. To investigate the true principle of the dharmadhātu, He could practice what is hard to practice and endure what is hard to endure, never content with the small and shallow dharmas obtained in the present, continually deliberating more deeply, continually investigating the ultimate truth, never wearying in the pursuit of truth—only thus could He finally perfect omniscience/wisdom of all aspects (sarvākārajñatā) and accomplish the buddha-way.
To sum up: a person's indriya (spiritual faculties) is extremely important. Only with deep roots and a great vessel will branches flourish and leaves be luxuriant; only with a mind embracing the vast void will one's capacity pervade worlds as numerous as sands. How fortunate a bodhisattva is when able to deliver a sentient being of great indriya! Encountering a sentient being of great indriya—how precious that is! Who would willingly spend extra effort to deliver those useless, selfish śrāvakas, squandering one's precious energy for delivering sentient beings? With this energy, delivering one bodhisattva of initial resolve surpasses delivering hundreds of millions of koṭis of śrāvakas. This bodhisattva of initial resolve, when he attains accomplishment in the future, will be able to rescue immeasurable sentient beings from suffering and lead immeasurable sentient beings toward liberation. And if one can deliver a bodhisattva whose roots of goodness have already matured, that is an even more fortunate thing!
Therefore, if you see that I am partial, do not be surprised or misunderstand; look at why I am partial and where my partiality lies—wherever it lies, there are Mahāyāna bodhisattvas, whether bodhisattvas of initial resolve or long-cultivating bodhisattvas. In any case, they are bodhisattvas, destined to become buddhas, and immeasurable sentient beings will benefit from them and attain liberation—perhaps many sentient beings are already quietly benefiting right now. If I had no partiality, then I would have no mind of equality, and unfair things would appear—only such a mind would truly be biased. For example, if Person A contributes one hundred shares and Person B contributes only one share, and I give them the same treatment, that is clearly unreasonable, unfair, and unequal.
The Buddha likewise has partiality: the Buddha especially favors Mahāyāna bodhisattvas, especially favors the children of the Buddha. Who are the children of the Buddha? Bodhisattvas from the first bhūmi upward are the children of the Buddha. Although these bodhisattvas' wisdom of liberation within the world of the five aggregates is inferior to that of arhats and pratyekabuddhas—even differing from them greatly—the Buddha protects the bodhisattvas on the bhūmis, calls them His own sons, and has them inherit the family enterprise of the Tathāgata; whereas He calls arhats and pratyekabuddhas "sprouts scorched and seeds spoiled," and never says that śrāvakas and pratyekabuddhas are His sons, the children of the Buddha. When the Buddha came to the Sahā world to deliver sentient beings, those accompanying Him were all bodhisattvas of various stages whom He had delivered over immeasurable kalpas. Although these bodhisattvas dwelt in other worlds, they could follow the Buddha to the worlds of the ten directions to deliver sentient beings—among the Buddha's retinue there were no śrāvakas or pratyekabuddhas. When the Buddha taught the Dharma in the Sahā world, He taught the śrāvakas and pratyekabuddhas for only twelve years, but taught the bodhisattvas for more than thirty years. Within the Tripiṭaka and twelve divisions of the canon, there is only a small amount of śrāvaka and pratyekabuddha Dharma, while the great majority is Mahāyāna bodhisattva Dharma. And among the teachings not spoken forth, even more are bodhisattva dharmas.
Fifteen: Binding the Mind to Worldly Toils Is Not as Good as Awakening and Cultivating the Path
When karmic power brings sudden accidental death, the mind is unprepared, and generally rebirth is not easy; unable to be reborn, one becomes a lone wandering spirit. Especially for those whose corpses are incomplete or entirely absent at death, rebirth is even more impossible. Such sentient beings feel utterly without a sense of belonging in their minds, terrified and uneasy, in great suffering. Those who die by accident find rebirth difficult and often wait at the place of their death for an opportunity, or try to create accidental incidents, borrowing the soul of a newly deceased person to be reborn again—in common parlance, "seizing a substitute." Those who commit suicide are the same: only by seizing a substitute can they be reborn. Therefore, at places where accidents occur, accidents will recur after intervals of time, even happening again and again—not only on the ground; accidents in the air and in the water are the same. Many accidents are caused by the clinging thoughts of sentient beings.
To save and draw out (of suffering) these people who died violently and accidentally, so that they may be reborn as soon as possible, we should recite the Buddha's name and recite sutras for them, dedicating the merit (pariṇāma) to them, helping them understand principle, removing their attachments and clinging thoughts, increasing their merit, giving them the opportunity to be reborn whenever they wish to be reborn, instead of lingering endlessly at the place of their death. We should give rise to a compassionate mind and take some time to recite the Buddha's name and recite sutras, dedicating the merit to the victims of this air disaster. If they can be reborn within one month, then no more accidents will occur at the same location in the future.
Everyone will die sooner or later, but try not to die violently or accidentally; it is best to have a good death, a natural death, and at the very least to leave an intact corpse—only then will the next life go smoothly. A good death and a peaceful end are also brought about by merit and invited by wholesome karma. Therefore, in daily life, let us do our best to perform good deeds and accumulate virtue according to conditions, refrain from evil deeds, and absolutely avoid deeds that harm others. Especially toward the Three Jewels: if you can protect and support them, do so as much as possible; if you cannot, at least do not slander them or play a destructive role. Ensure that your words and deeds are without deficiency, so as to avoid major evil retribution in this and future lives.
Among the victims of this air disaster, many people's lives were fairly complete and happy, weren't they? Work, career, family—all quite good, enviable, right? But what was the outcome? A few decades of so-called complete happiness and joy, followed by thousands or even tens of millions of years of suffering in future lives—displaced and wandering, body and mind unable to find peace, and even having a material body again is difficult. Therefore, a person of wisdom must have a long-term vision, a broad perspective, a wide field of view, standing high and seeing far, using the strength of this lifetime to strive for the security of eternal life. Be a clever and wise person; do not be short-sighted, narrow-minded, and petty in capacity, caring only for the trifling benefits before your eyes while ignoring the suffering of birth and death over immeasurable kalpas to come.
How many people make excuses, saying, "I cannot leave home yet, cannot devote myself fully to practice, because I still have responsibilities and obligations in the world." But if your family and relatives and friends suddenly vanished, how would your responsibilities and obligations be reckoned? If you yourself suddenly vanished, what responsibilities and obligations would there be left to speak of? So while you are still alive, while you still have energy, you should do more things that are truly meaningful, more things beneficial over the long term. Do not care only about the next few decades—those few decades are truly very, very short, while the long kalpas of the future are very, very long, too long to calculate. Should you care more about the pleasures of these few decades of life, or should you weigh more the security of the long kalpas of future lives? Regarding worldly affairs, the mind should long ago have been clear as a mirror—what affairs could still confuse your eyes and mind? The wise should deliberate well.
Sixteen: Nothing More Than This
Moving mountains and filling seas, great engineering works, wielding sand and hauling stone, united in will as a city wall;
Towering buildings, grand and magnificent, living and working in peace, life's glory and splendor.
Viewed from heaven, it is like ants building nests, a swarm of ants joining forces, carrying sand and hauling earth;
The nest completed, they dwell together, brooding eggs and hatching; when disaster destroys it, they move and rebuild.
Your greatness—I am no less; through kalpas thus, cycling round and round;
A toiling life, ending at last in cessation; looking back—one gazes at the boundless vault of sky.
Sentient beings cling to it, wholly unaware; deluded, they contend for it—no more than dust and sand;
The body arises and perishes, dust illusory and motes vanishing; the only untransformed one is not even worth a clod of earth.
Seventeen: An Exhortation to Practice
When the New Year arrives, the villages begin slaughtering pigs and sheep. At the last feeding, the pigs still eat so gleefully, not in the least aware that this is the final meal of their lives. Having eaten a lifetime in idleness, they have grown fat only to lose their lives—the more ignorant the animal, the less awakened. Humans are the same: all the disasters of humanity are laid out before our eyes, glaringly bright, without the slightest concealment. Rely on mountains and the mountains collapse; rely on water and the water flows away; rely on people and the people run off—nothing can be relied upon. Yet at a time when disasters arise on all sides, people still have the heart to roam mountains and play in waters, gazing at mountains, waters, and snow; able to play, they play; able to enjoy, they enjoy—just like pigs savoring their last supper. Wherein lies the difference between humans and pigs?
Do not think a lifetime is long—that is an illusion; in the eyes of heavenly beings it is merely a few minutes or a few days. Do not think you are still young—on the road to the Yellow Springs there is neither old nor young; the white-haired sending off the black-haired happens all the time. Do not think you will be fine—among those struck by great calamities, many are very confident people, who only shed tears of regret when lying in bed unable to move—but by then it is too late.
Having encountered the Buddha's Dharma, yet still not awakening, still unwilling to strive in practice to change the sorrowful fate of birth and death—what medicine could save such people? When I say "who," that person should know who they are. If they still do not know, they are simply as stupid as a pig; and knowing yet not changing—what kind words could there be to say?
Eighteen: How Can One Make Good Use of One's Own Deliberation?
Question: When a person dies, do all the sentient beings within the body leave? After death, are there still sentient beings in the body, especially formless sentient beings?
Answer: To resolve this problem, one must first understand why sentient beings attach themselves to another's body and what they hope to achieve by using another's body. Then deliberate on what happens to the body after a person dies and whether it is still of use to sentient beings. Following this order of deliberation, once everything has been thought through clearly, one can understand whether, after death, various kinds of sentient beings still remain in the body.
Toward all kinds of problems, we must have a clear line of thought, and our deliberation must be logical—this far surpasses the solving of the problem itself. If one's deliberation lacks logic and one's thinking is unclear, then even if one can solve one problem, other problems still cannot be solved, and one must rely on others to solve them. But relying on anyone is not as good as relying on oneself—self-reliance is the foundation. If your own deliberation lacks logic and your thinking is always unclear, then you must analyze why this is so, what cause has led to your deliberative capacity being insufficient, and then find a way to resolve that cause, so as to give yourself a very powerful mind capable of solving many problems—whether crucial problems or simple, basic ones.
