Miscellaneous Studies Are Not Right Effort

Our practice of Buddhism is aimed at resolving the fundamental issue of birth and death in a practical manner, not for the sake of theoretical study. Acquiring some theoretical knowledge sufficient for practical cultivation is adequate; there is no need to delve excessively deeper. Focus your mind on what is essential. Once the wisdom of the mental faculty is developed, previously incomprehensible Dharma principles will become clear, and previously unknown knowledge will be understood. Then, your own wisdom, when synthesized and shared, transforms into the theoretical knowledge others need, bringing immeasurable benefit to both self and others. After attaining the fourth fruition Arhatship, Cūḍapanthaka still could not expound the Dharma eloquently; he was inarticulate. Yet he had accomplished the realization—possessing the wisdom of liberation and the wisdom of non-arising—even if he couldn't express it, and his breadth of knowledge was limited. Nevertheless, this did not hinder his status as a sage, possessing the wisdom to liberate himself from the cycle of birth and death within the three realms. The apple is eaten and digested—this is the tangible reality. How much more profound is this compared to those eloquent worldlings, burdened by greed, hatred, delusion, and afflictions, who can write a hundred books? Many people misunderstand Buddhist practice. They delight daily in collecting knowledge everywhere, diligently gathering everything regardless of its usefulness, picking up mere sesame seeds only to forget some afterward. They fail to tap into the inexhaustible treasury within, unaware of the golden key already in their hands. They appear diligent, but it is actually perverse diligence (mithyā-vyāyāma); the more diligent they are in this way, the further they stray from the Path. Some are like those obsessed with studying the patterns in a kaleidoscope. Before deciphering the first pattern, they switch to the second. They chase after ten thousand shifting patterns, dazzling their eyes yet never truly understanding any. The unwise fail to realize they should study how to make the kaleidoscope. Wouldn't it be joyful to possess the kaleidoscope itself, enabling them to grasp any pattern at will? Worldly knowledge is limitless, exploding exponentially. What can be gained by chasing it daily? Generate the great bodhicitta! Strive to become a reservoir of knowledge, from which all knowledge flows ceaselessly from your own mind. How wonderful would it be if all beings could draw nourishment from your knowledge reservoir? Why is it that some practitioners, after not long in practice, attain deep concentration (dhyāna), possess penetrating insight (vipaśyanā-prajñā), and maintain unwavering samadhi, while others practice for decades without attaining concentration, their wisdom weak? Like a foolish dog chasing after clods of earth, they focus on and are interested in everything external, scrolling daily through various platforms, learning all sorts of knowledge, yet achieving nothing to this day. Often, those who achieve the least are the most confident. On what basis is this confidence? If you could open the back of some people's heads, you'd find a tangled mess of thread ends—chaotic and disorganized. Their thoughts lack logic; one sentence doesn't connect to the next. Yet they go out and recklessly study illogical things, adding more tangled threads to their minds. Human thought patterns and methods are contagious; learning from someone means adopting their thought characteristics. Without discernment, haphazard study compounds the problem. When innate wisdom is already weak, adopting chaotic thought patterns further prevents straight, clear thinking. Speech becomes convoluted, missing the root and the point. With an incorrect thought process, how can one attain fruition (phalaprapti) or realize the mind (cittāvabodha)? Those who practice well abide predominantly in concentration (samādhi) and insight (vipaśyanā). They neither learn nor look at external distractions; they don't even have the mind to listen when I, the teacher, speak. While I am speaking, their minds are engaged in insight—after all, the work of practice is urgent; the great matter of birth and death is urgent. Conversely, those who achieve nothing after decades are busy every day chaotically absorbing all sorts of miscellaneous knowledge, delighting in their busyness. What exactly is there to delight in? Their brains are utterly clogged, without a single clear line.