The Search for the Prince (II)

The minister thought to himself: "This prince is truly a great man; his understanding of virtue and his conduct both run deep, and what he has said has its own sound reasoning behind it."

Yet he still said to the prince: "As you yourself have said, the pursuit of the Dharma ought indeed to be as you describe it — but now is simply not the right time for it.

Your father the king is already advanced in years, and his longing for you only deepens his grief and sorrow; even if you call this a delight in liberation, it becomes, in effect, a going against the true Dharma instead.

To take delight in going forth without true wisdom, without reflecting on the deep and subtle principles involved, failing to see how a cause must be examined before its fruit is sought — this is merely to abandon, for nothing, the joys one already has in this present life.

Some say there is a life to come, and others say there is none — but since the question of its existence or non-existence cannot even be settled, why should one abandon the pleasures one has right now for its sake?

Should there indeed be a life to come, one ought simply to accept whatever comes of it in due course; and should it be said there is no life to come at all, then this very non-existence would itself already be liberation.

And even those who say there is a life to come do not, on that basis, explain any actual cause of liberation — for just as earth is naturally hard, fire naturally warm, water naturally moist, and wind naturally given to motion, so too is the life to come: this is simply the nature of things, exactly as it is.

Some say that purity and impurity each arise from one's own inherent nature, and that this can nonetheless be altered by some skillful means or another — but this is nothing but a foolish and confused claim.

The faculties, and the very objects and realms in which they operate, are all fixed entirely by their own inherent nature; what is held dear and what is not are likewise fixed by that same inherent nature — so who, then, could possibly employ some skillful means to bring about old age, sickness, death, and every such suffering?

It is said that water is able to extinguish fire, while fire in turn boils water away entirely — inherent natures increase or destroy one another in just this way, and it is through the harmonizing of these very natures that sentient beings come to be.

Consider a person still within the womb: the hands, the feet, every part of the body, and the very consciousness that inhabits it — all of this forms of itself entirely naturally; who, then, is the one actually bringing this about?

Who is it that makes the thorn sharp? This, too, is simply its own inherent nature, and it is the same with every kind of bird and beast — there is no one who deliberately wills them to be as they are.

As for those who are born into heaven, this is the doing of Īśvara, the Sovereign God, or of whatever other creator-deity there may be — it is not accomplished through anyone's own individual effort or skillful means.

And if there is indeed some cause by which a thing comes to be, then that very same cause is equally capable of bringing about its cessation — so what need is there, then, to seek liberation through some deliberate effort of one's own?

Some say: it is I myself who bring about arising, and I myself, too, who bring about cessation. Others say: there is no cause at all for arising, yet cessation still requires some deliberate means.

Consider, then, these three: a man who fathers and raises children thereby discharges his debt to his ancestors; one who studies the teachings handed down by the sages of old, and one who reverently performs the great sacrificial rites to the gods — in fulfilling these three duties, with no debt left outstanding, this alone is what may rightly be called liberation.

This is what has been handed down from ancient times to the present as the true path to liberation, through these three alone — should one seek it instead by any other means, one's efforts will prove nothing but wasted labor, without any real substance to them.

If you truly wish to seek liberation, you need only take up this supreme means I have described: let your father the king's grief and sorrow come to rest, and the path of liberation will still remain open to you fully — for to leave home and wander the mountain forests, only to return again afterward, is itself no fault at all.

In ages past, King Ambarīṣa dwelt long in a forest of ascetic practice, and yet, in the end, set aside his own band of followers and returned home to take up the throne once more.

The royal prince Rāma, too, once left his own kingdom to dwell in the mountain forests, but on hearing that the customs of his own land were falling into disarray, he returned home and restored its true governance.

The king of the country of Śālva, named Dilīpa, and his own son, both once wandered the mountain forests together, and yet, in the end, both returned to their kingdom as well.

The sage Vasiṣṭha and the sage Antideva likewise once cultivated the holy life in the mountain forests, and Antideva's own father returned to his own kingdom afterward as well.

All these excellent kings of ages past, renowned for their true and virtuous rule, in every case returned in the end to govern their own kingdoms, shining upon the world like a lamp.

This being so, to leave the mountain forest and take up the transformative rule of the true Dharma is itself no fault at all."

The prince, hearing the minister's kind and well-meaning counsel, spoken with unwavering logic and orderly, unhindered reasoning, answered him calmly and with a resolve unshaken, saying: "Whether there is or is not a life to come remains a matter of doubt and uncertainty, and a mind divided between the two only deepens its own confusion — as for these claims made about existence and non-existence, I myself take no fixed position on either one; through pure wisdom and the practice of ascetic effort, I shall come to know this for myself, with certainty.

The doubtful theories of this world are merely passed on from one person to another, generation after generation, with no true or ultimate meaning in them at all — and it is exactly this that leaves me unsettled; for a person of true clarity distinguishes truth from falsehood for himself — how could genuine conviction ever arise merely from what another person tells him?

It is like a man born blind, taking another blind man as his guide — in the depths of night, in utter darkness, where could either of them possibly find their way?

Where the world itself remains in doubt over what is pure and what is impure, then, even should one fail to see the ultimate truth of the matter with certainty, one ought still to follow the path of purity regardless — better to labor at a practice that is at least pure, than to take pleasure in one that is impure.

Examining these various teachings handed down one after another, I find not a single one of them offers any truly fixed and certain mark — to accept a teaching as true with an open but undiscerning heart, without ever genuinely freeing oneself from every possible fault in it, is itself a fault of speech, an empty and false kind of teaching, and the wise do not speak in such a way.

As for what you have said of Rāma and the others — that they left home to cultivate the holy life, only to return in the end to their own kingdoms and take up again the practice of the five desires — such conduct is itself base and unworthy, and the wise do not rely upon it as any model.

Let me now explain to you, in brief, the essential point of the matter.

Sooner would the sun and moon fall to the earth, sooner would Mount Sumeru and the snowy mountains themselves be overturned, than my own resolve ever be changed, or ever retreat back into what is not the true path.

I would sooner throw my own body into a raging fire than, my true purpose left unfulfilled, return to my own kingdom and cast myself into the fire of the five desires instead."

Having declared this solemn vow, he rose slowly, and took his long and final leave of them.

The prince's own sharp eloquence blazed like the full brilliance of the sun, and neither the king's teacher nor his minister could prevail against him in argument.

Turning to one another, they agreed that every possible argument had now been exhausted, and that they had no choice but to take their leave and return; filled with deep reverence and admiration for the prince, they did not dare to press him further or force him to stay.

Yet, mindful still of their duty to the king's own command, they did not dare to hurry back too quickly either; they lingered along the way, walking on slowly, looking back again and again.

They chose a clever and perceptive man, one of keen discernment and quick understanding, to remain behind in hiding and watch over him in secret, and only then did they finally take their leave and return home.