While Fools Can Attain Arhatship, the Wise Cannot Avoid the Three Evil Realms

Kshudrapanthaka's consciousness was exceedingly dull; he could not memorize even a single Buddhist doctrine, his power of contemplation was weak, and he was incapable of reasoning, organizing, summarizing, generalizing, analyzing, or comparing. Yet, merely by observing his breath, why did he attain the fruition of a fourth-stage arhat? Throughout history and across the world, literary scholars have exhaustively studied the Tripitaka, producing numerous writings, with poetic verses and eloquent phrases flowing like pearls. Why is there no trace of them attaining any fruition? The Dharma does not lie in speaking, nor in intellectual understanding, nor in the elegance or charm of the words. The true essence is in its practical application. It is like eating an apple: putting it in your mouth, swallowing it into your stomach, and filling your belly is the greatest benefit. This is far more substantial than studying the apple or writing award-winning papers about it.

Kshudrapanthaka, being so foolish and ignorant of theory, found that during breath observation, the various meritorious functions of consciousness were essentially unusable. During the practice of observation, there was no room for clever shortcuts. Unable to analyze the arising and ceasing of the breath and other conditioned phenomena, their nature of suffering, emptiness, impermanence, and non-self, and unable to infer the non-self of all conditioned phenomena or the non-self of the five aggregates, he was precisely spared the conceptual interpretations of consciousness. Consequently, the functional role of the mental faculty (manas) was able to fully manifest. The result was that he not only severed the view of self but directly attained the fruition of a fourth-stage arhat. This clearly shows that the ultimate realization in the Dharma is not achieved through exertion within the realm of consciousness. Not understanding theory does not matter; as long as the method and direction of practice are correct, and one can diligently cultivate, it is still possible to awaken to the truth.

In contrast, the great theorists and researchers, who are thoroughly versed in the Tripitaka and possess immense learning, can only exert effort within the realm of consciousness. Though they may be eloquent, use flowery language, receive admiration, enjoy boundless prestige, and possess illustrious reputations, they ultimately gain nothing. The very place they gain advantage is precisely where they lose it. For example, no matter how much Su Dongpo understood the Dharma or how many insights he had, he was utterly deficient in actual realization. The habits of literary scholars are serious hindrances to the path, difficult to overcome. All worldly skills like music, chess, calligraphy, and painting are hindrances to the path. Yet, worldly people take pride in these, which is truly perverse. Shouldn't those students who love theory and crave intellectual acquisition reflect on this?