The Turning of the Dharma Wheel

Buddhacarita, Chapter Fifteen: The Turning of the Dharma Wheel

The Tathāgata, deeply at peace and radiant with his own light, walked on alone in dignified bearing, as though a great multitude followed close behind him nonetheless.

Along the road he encountered a wandering ascetic named Upaka, who bore himself with a monk's own deportment, and who stood there reverently at the roadside.

Delighted at so rare an encounter, he joined his palms and asked: "Every living creature is caught in some attachment, and yet your own bearing shows none at all; the hearts of this world are forever restless, and yet your faculties alone remain perfectly still; your radiant countenance is like the full moon, as though tasting the very dew of immortality; your form carries every mark of a great being, and the power of your wisdom is that of a sovereign lord entirely free — whatever you have set out to do must surely already be accomplished. Under what tradition, and under what teacher, did you attain this?"

He answered: "I have no teacher, no tradition, and nothing I hold as supreme above myself — I awakened of myself to a Dharma most profound, attaining what no other person has ever attained.

What every person ought to awaken to, no one in the entire world has yet awakened to — I alone have now awakened to it fully of myself, and it is for this reason that I am called one of perfect and complete awakening.

The afflictions are themselves like an enemy, and I have subdued them with the very sword of wisdom — and it is for this reason that the world calls me the most excellent and victorious one.

I mean now to go to Vārāṇasī, and there to beat the very drum of the Dharma of immortality — not out of pride, nor for the sake of my own renown, nor in pursuit of any personal gain or pleasure,

but solely to proclaim the true Dharma, and to rescue suffering sentient beings — for I made, long ago, a great and solemn vow to carry across every being not yet carried across.

That vow now bears its fruit this very day, and I must fulfill the original wish it contained. To provide for oneself alone with one's own wealth does not deserve to be called the conduct of a righteous man.

Only one who benefits the whole world together with himself deserves to be called a truly great man — for when one meets another drowning and does not go to save him, how could such a man be called brave and capable at all?

One who sees illness and does not attempt to heal it — how could such a person be called a good physician?

One who sees another lost and does not show him the way — who would call such a person a good guide?

Just as a lamp shining in the darkness needs no deliberate intention to give off its own light, so the Tathāgata, having kindled the very lamp of wisdom, holds no thought at all of personal desire or gain in doing so.

Friction applied to a fire-drill is certain to produce fire; wind arises naturally within a hollow space; and digging into the earth is certain to yield water — all of this is simply the natural order of things.

Every great sage, without exception, has attained the path at Gayā, and, in that very same country of Kāśī, has turned the wheel of the true Dharma."

The ascetic Upaka, sighing in wonder at this extraordinary encounter, went on his own way according to what he had already resolved beforehand, and the two parted along the road — yet he found himself, at every step, looking back and hesitating, unable to stop thinking of what he had just witnessed.

The Tathāgata continued gradually onward until he reached the city of Kāśī, a land magnificently adorned, like the very palace of Śakra, lord of the gods, lying between the twin flowing waters of the Ganges and the Vārāṇasī River.

Its groves and trees flourished with flower and fruit, and birds and beasts wandered there together in their own herds — a place of quiet and stillness, free of worldly clamor, where the seers of old had once made their dwelling.

As the Tathāgata's own radiance shone forth there, growing brighter still, he came upon Ājñāta Kauṇḍinya, of a family of that same clan, and next, Daśabala Kāśyapa; the third was named Vāṣpa; the fourth, Aśvajit; and the fifth, Bhadrika — all of them long accustomed to the practice of austerity in the mountain forests there.

Seeing the Tathāgata approach from a distance, they gathered together and deliberated among themselves: "Gautama has grown attached to worldly pleasure, and abandoned his ascetic practice entirely — and now he has come back here again. Take care not to rise up to greet him, nor to bow or ask after his well-being, nor to provide him with anything he might need — for having already broken his original vow, he no longer deserves to receive our offerings.

Yet, as is proper when an ordinary guest arrives, we ought still to observe the customary courtesies in their due order — let us at least prepare a seat for him, and let him settle himself as he sees fit."

Having agreed upon these terms, each of them sat down firmly in his own place; yet as the Tathāgata gradually drew near, they found themselves, without even realizing it, going entirely against what they had just agreed — one offering to yield his own seat, another gathering up his robe and bowl, another washing and massaging his feet, another asking what he might need — every one of these gestures of the deepest reverence and service toward their teacher, and yet they still could not bring themselves to set aside his family name, still addressing him as "Gautama."

The World-Honored One said to them: "Do not address me by my original clan name, giving rise, in the presence of an arhat, to words of such disrespect and contempt.

Toward those who show me reverence and those who do not, my own heart remains entirely impartial — yet should your own hearts remain lacking in reverence, you will surely bring this fault upon yourselves.

A buddha is one who is able to carry the world across — and it is for this reason that he is called 'Buddha.'

Toward every sentient being, I hold an equal heart, as toward my own children — and to address me still by my former name is no different from the fault of one who shows contempt toward his own father."

The Buddha, moved by great compassion, spoke to them with this same compassionate concern; yet, caught still in their own foolish and obstinate hearts, they did not yet believe in his true and perfect awakening.

They said: "You practiced ascetic austerity before this, and still attained nothing at all by it — now that you have given yourself over freely to the pleasures of body and speech instead, by what possible means could you have become a buddha?"

Caught in such doubt and confusion as this, they did not believe that he had attained the way of buddhahood, penetrated ultimate truth to its very end, and become complete in omniscient wisdom.

The Tathāgata then explained to them, in brief, the essential path: "The foolish practice austerity on one side, and delight in pleasure on the other, gratifying their own faculties — and to see these two as fundamentally different is itself a grave error, for neither one is the true and correct path, since both alike run contrary to liberation.

To exhaust the body in ascetic practice only leaves the heart still racing in confusion — such a state fails even to produce ordinary worldly wisdom, let alone the capacity to transcend the very faculties themselves.

It is like trying to light a lamp with water — there is no hope, in the end, of dispelling darkness that way; and exhausting the body in the pursuit of the lamp of wisdom is, in just this same way, incapable of destroying ignorance.

Seeking fire from rotten wood is labor spent for nothing, gaining nothing at all; but a person applying the proper skillful means of friction obtains fire fit for actual use.

Seeking the path is not accomplished by afflicting the body, and yet neither is the Dharma of immortality attained by clinging to desire, which is itself contrary to what is right, since ignorance itself obstructs the very light of wisdom.

If one cannot even fully grasp scripture and treatise through mere pleasure-seeking, how much less could one attain the path of freedom from desire that way?

It is like a person suffering from a grave illness who fails to eat according to what that illness requires — how, then, could clinging to desire possibly cure the grave illness of ignorance?

It is like setting fire to a vast, open wilderness, where dry grass only feeds a fierce and rising wind — once the fire has grown this fierce, who could possibly extinguish it? The fire of craving and desire is exactly the same.

I myself have already departed from both of these extremes, and my heart now abides instead in the middle way — every kind of suffering has, at last, come entirely to rest, in a peace and stillness free of every fault.

Right view surpasses even the light of the sun, awakening equally to the Buddha through direct contemplation; right speech is its very dwelling-house; one moves freely through the very grove of right action; right livelihood is its rich and flourishing form; right effort is the proper path one travels by skillful means; right mindfulness is its city wall; right concentration is its very seat and resting-place — this eightfold path, level and even, leads one free of the suffering of birth and death entirely. Whoever emerges by this road has brought what needs to be done to its final completion, and falls into neither one extreme nor the other.

Amid the countless sufferings of this life and the next, the three realms of existence are nothing but a pure accumulation of suffering — and it is this path alone that is able to extinguish it, a thing never before heard in this world. The pure eye of the true Dharma sees, with perfect equality, the very path of liberation — and I myself am only now, for the first time, transcending it. The suffering of birth, old age, sickness, and death; being parted from what one loves and joined with what one hates; failing to obtain what one seeks; and every other kind of suffering besides — whether one is free of desire or not yet free of it, whether one has a body or has none, and even for one who has set aside every impure quality — all of this, in brief, is suffering. It is like a great fire brought to rest: though the flame itself grows faint, its heat is not yet entirely gone — and in just this same way, even once the coarser self has been stilled, the subtler self, and the very substance of great suffering, still remain. Craving and the other afflictions, together with every fault of karmic action, are themselves the true cause of this suffering — and once these are abandoned, suffering itself is extinguished. It is like every kind of seed: apart from earth, water, and the other necessary conditions, when these many conditions fail to come together, no sprout or leaf can possibly grow. The continuous succession of conditioned existence, from the heavens down to the evil destinies, turns on and on without rest — and this arises entirely from craving and desire, differing only in whether it is weak, moderate, or strong, with various karmic actions as its cause. Should craving and the rest be extinguished, this succession would have nothing left to continue it, and once these various karmic actions are exhausted, this suffering, in all its distinctions, comes to its long and final rest. When this exists, that comes to be; when this ceases, that too ceases — with no more birth, old age, sickness, or death, and no more earth, water, fire, or wind. There is here no beginning, middle, or end at all, nor is this any deceptive or illusory teaching — it is the very dwelling-place of the sages and the wise, the inexhaustible quiescence beyond all further extinguishing. And the eightfold right path I have just taught is the skillful means to reach it, and none other — a thing the world has never seen, in which one being after another has remained confused for so long. I myself have known suffering, cut off its origin, realized its cessation, and cultivated the right path — and it was through directly observing these four noble truths that I came, at last, to accomplish perfect and complete awakening.

This means: I have already known suffering; I have already cut off the cause of every defiled outflow; I have already realized cessation and made this my direct experience; and I have already cultivated the eightfold right path in full.

Yet merely knowing these four noble truths in this way, though it produces the pure Dharma-eye, does not yet, on its own, give rise to a perfectly equal vision with respect to these same four truths.

One cannot yet, on that basis alone, be said to have attained liberation, nor can one yet say that what needed to be done has been done, nor can one yet say that true and complete knowledge and realization have been accomplished in every respect.

It is only once one knows these truths in this complete sense that one knows, of oneself, that liberation has been attained; knows, of oneself, that what needed to be done has been done; and knows, of oneself, that perfect and complete awakening has been accomplished."

As he spoke this truth, Kauṇḍinya of that same clan, together with eighty thousand gods, penetrated its ultimate meaning fully, and, far removed now from every trace of defilement, attained the pure Dharma-eye.

The Teacher of Gods and Humans, knowing that what needed to be done had now been done for him, roared joyfully with the very roar of a lion, and asked Kauṇḍinya directly.

Kauṇḍinya then said to the Buddha: "I have already understood the Dharma taught by the great teacher."

And because he had understood the Dharma in this way, he was named Ājñāta Kauṇḍinya — "Kauṇḍinya Who Has Understood" — and among all the Buddha's disciples, he was the very first to attain awakening.

The very sound of this true Dharma, once understood, was heard by the spirits of the earth, who all together cried out with one voice: "How wonderful — this profound Dharma has now been seen!

The Tathāgata has this very day turned a wheel never before turned, opening wide, for the sake of every god and human being, the very gate of immortality.

Pure moral discipline forms its many spokes, the discipline of quiet stillness and concentration forms its rim, firm and unshakable wisdom forms its felloe, and a sense of conscience and shame is fitted like a wedge between them.

Right mindfulness forms its very hub — and thus is accomplished the true and genuine wheel of the Dharma, carrying one, in perfect truth, beyond the three realms of existence, never again to turn back and follow after some false and mistaken teacher."

As the earth spirits proclaimed this, the spirits of the open sky took up the same cry in turn, and every heaven, one after another, joined in the same praise, until it reached all the way up to the Brahmā heaven itself.

The gods and spirits of all three realms of existence, hearing for the first time this teaching of the great sage, passed the news along to one another in astonishment, until the whole of creation had heard that a buddha had arisen in the world.

Turning this wheel of quiescent stillness widely for the sake of every kind of living being, the wind grew calm and the clouds and mist cleared away; heavenly flowers rained down from the sky, and the gods played heavenly music, praising this wonder such as had never before been seen.