Why the Eight Precepts, and a King Who Would Not Die

Question: "The king's own reverence from afar was directed first, in homage, toward the World-Honored One himself — and yet, when it came to actually receiving the precepts, he requested Maudgalyāyana instead. What is the reason for this?"

Answer: "Among ordinary beings and sages alike, none is more honored than the Buddha himself — and so, pouring out his own heart and making his vow, the king paid homage first to the great teacher. Receiving the precepts, however, is a lesser matter, and so he requested only that Maudgalyāyana come to grant them. The king's own intention, in truth, was simply to obtain the precepts themselves — this alone would fulfill the meaning of the request in full. Why should he trouble himself to inconvenience the World-Honored One over so small a matter?"

Question: "The Tathāgata's own precepts are measureless in number. Why did the king request only the eight precepts, and none of the others?"

Answer: "Other precepts are somewhat more lenient in scope, and extend over a long span of time — and there was a real fear that, somewhere in the midst of that long span, mindfulness might lapse, and one might drift back into birth and death regardless. As for the eight precepts: as other sūtras of the Buddha's own teaching say, these are precepts by which a layperson holds to the discipline of a monastic. Keeping this precept demands a mind extremely fine and extremely urgent in its own attention. Why is this so? Because its own span of time is quite brief, limited to only a single day and night, after which the observance is simply set aside. How do we know that keeping this precept demands such fine, careful attention? This is made fully plain in the precept-text itself, which says: 'Child of the Buddha, from this morning until tomorrow morning, for one day and one night, will you, as every buddha does, refrain from killing any living being — can you keep this?' And one answers: 'I can keep it.' And a second time it says: 'Child of the Buddha, from this morning until tomorrow morning, for one day and one night, will you, as every buddha does, refrain from stealing, from sexual conduct, from false speech, from intoxicating drink, from applying rouge or powder to your own body, from singing, dancing, or performing, or from going to watch or listen to such performances, and from sitting or lying upon a high and broad, luxurious bed?' These eight above are the precepts proper, not the fast.

"And will you refrain from eating past noon?" — this one alone is the fast, not a precept. Every one of these precepts, moreover, calls upon the buddhas themselves as its own witness. Why is this so? Because only a buddha, and no one but a buddha, has entirely exhausted every habitual tendency of affliction at all — below the rank of buddha, such habitual tendencies still remain in some measure, and so they are not called upon as witness in this way. From this alone, one can know that keeping this precept, in the very way one holds the mind and carries out the practice, demands the utmost fineness and urgency. And further, the Buddha himself taught that this precept carries eight kinds of excellent benefit. Should a person keep it fully, without a single violation, for even a single day and night, the merit thereby obtained surpasses the very state of gods, humans, and the two lesser vehicles alike. As the sūtras explain this at length, and given such benefit as this, it was precisely for this reason that the king took up this precept anew, day after day."

Sixth, from "at that time the great Maudgalyāyana" down through "expounded the Dharma for the king," this makes plain that the king, through his own request, came to receive the sacred teaching. This makes plain that Maudgalyāyana, having attained the wisdom to know the minds of others, perceived from afar the very intent of the king's own request, and at once exercised his own spiritual power, arriving at the king's own place as swiftly as the snap of a finger.

And fearing that people might not recognize the true nature of such spiritual power, the sūtra offers the image of a swift hawk as a comparison. Yet Maudgalyāyana's own spiritual power could circle the four continents hundreds and thousands of times within the span of a single thought — how, then, could this possibly be classed together with a mere hawk? Comparisons of this kind are numerous, and cannot all be cited here in full — they are set out at length in the Sūtra of the Wise and the Foolish. As for "granting the king the eight precepts, day after day, in this way": this makes plain that the king's own life was thereby prolonged, and it was for this reason that Maudgalyāyana came repeatedly to grant him the precepts anew.

Question: "If the eight precepts are indeed said to be so excellent, then receiving them once should be sufficient — why should the king need to receive them anew, day after day?"

Answer: "A mountain is never too high; the sea is never too deep; a blade is never too sharp; the sun is never too bright; a person is never too good; an offense is never too thoroughly removed; a worthy is never too virtuous; a buddha is never too sagely. As for the king's own intention: having been imprisoned, he no longer received any word at all of what might come next — in thought after thought, he feared that someone might be sent to kill him. It was for this very reason that, day and night, he poured out his whole heart, relying wholly on these eight precepts, hoping that his accumulated goodness might grow ever higher, to provide for whatever karma might come to him next."

As for "the World-Honored One also sent Pūrṇa to expound the Dharma for the king": this makes plain how deeply weighted with compassion the World-Honored One's own intent was, grieving that the king's body had so suddenly met with the toil of imprisonment, and fearing that this might give rise to grief and further suffering. Now, Pūrṇa, among all the noble disciples, was the most skilled in expounding the Dharma, adept in skillful means for opening and awakening the human mind. It was for this reason that the Tathāgata sent him to expound the Dharma for the king, so as to remove his grief and vexation.

Seventh, from "in this way, for some time" down through "his countenance grew calm and pleased," this makes plain that the king, through this food and this teaching, did not die for many days. This makes plain that the queen, over a long span of time, presented him with food, thereby relieving his hunger and thirst; and that these two sages, moreover, nourished him inwardly through the precepts and the Dharma, skillfully opening his own mind. Food is able to prolong life; the precepts and the Dharma nourish the spirit — and it was through the loss of his own suffering and grief that his countenance came to grow calm and pleased.

Though the above has unfolded across seven distinct points, this concludes the full explanation of the condition of the father's imprisonment.