The Three Blessings, and a Monk's Three Robes

Third, from "and also causing sentient beings of future ages" down through "the Land of Ultimate Bliss," this makes plain the raising up of this teaching, exhorting cultivation, so that its benefit might be gained. This makes plain that the benefit the queen had requested runs deeper still, extending even to future beings who turn their own minds toward it — every one of whom shall likewise arrive there.

Fourth, from "those who wish to be reborn in that land" down through "this is called pure karma," this makes plain the exhortation to cultivate the practice of the three blessings. This makes plain that all sentient beings' own capacities are of two kinds: the first, contemplative; the second, dispersed. Were the teaching to rely on contemplative practice alone, it could not gather in every being without exception — and so the Tathāgata, through skillful means, revealed and opened wide the three blessings, so as to accord with those of a more dispersed and scattered capacity. As for "those who wish to be reborn in that land": this marks out directly the destination itself.

As for "you should now cultivate the three blessings": this generally marks out the very gate of practice itself. What are these three called? The first is filial devotion in nurturing one's own parents. Within this there are four points.

First, as for "filial devotion in nurturing one's own parents": this makes plain that every ordinary being is born only by relying on conditions. What is meant by relying on conditions? Some are born by transformation, some are born from moisture, some are born from eggs, some are born from a womb. Within each of these four modes of birth there are again four further modes, as the sūtras explain at length — but in every case, birth comes about through a mutual cause, and so there are parents. Once there are parents, there is a great debt of kindness owed to them: without a father, the very cause capable of engendering life would be lacking; without a mother, the very condition that gives rise to that life would be absent; and were both entirely absent, there would be no ground at all upon which to take rebirth — only when the conditions of both father and mother are complete together is there any place to receive a body at all. And once a body is to be received, one's own karmic consciousness serves as the inner cause, while the father's and mother's own seed and blood serve as the outer condition — it is through the union of this cause and this condition that this body comes to exist. For this very reason, the debt owed to one's parents is heavy indeed. A mother carries her child in the womb for a full ten months, and in walking, standing, sitting, and lying down alike, she continually suffers hardship, and further dreads the danger of death at the moment of birth. Once the child is born, for three full years she must constantly lie amid its urine and excrement, her bed, coverlets, and clothing all alike soiled. And yet, once the child has grown, and comes to love his own wife and cherish his own children, if he should instead give rise to resentment and enmity toward his own parents, and fail to repay them with gratitude and devotion, he is then no different at all from an animal. Further, one's parents are themselves the very highest field of merit within this mundane world; the Buddha is himself the very highest field of merit beyond this mundane world entirely.

Now, when the Buddha was in the world, he once encountered a year of famine and dearth, when people everywhere starved to death, their bleached bones strewn across the ground, and the monks found it exceedingly difficult to obtain alms of any kind. At that time, the World-Honored One, once the monks had gone out ahead of him, entered the city alone to beg for food, going from door to door from morning until noon, calling out at each one — yet none gave him anything to eat, and the Buddha returned with his own bowl still empty. The following day he went out again, and again returned without success; the day after that he went out once more, and again received nothing at all. Then, quite suddenly, a certain monk, meeting the Buddha along the road, saw that his complexion looked unusual, as though he bore the marks of hunger, and asked him: "World-Honored One, have you eaten yet today?" The Buddha replied: "Monk, for three days now I have begged for alms and have not obtained so much as a single spoonful; I am now so weak from hunger that I can scarcely speak with you." Hearing the Buddha's own words, the monk was overcome with grief and could not hold back his own tears, and thought to himself: "The Buddha is the supreme field of merit, the protector and shelter of all sentient beings — I shall sell these three robes of mine, and buy a single bowl of rice to offer up to the Buddha; now is truly the time to do this." Having resolved upon this thought, he bought a single bowl of rice and hurried to bring it before the Buddha. The Buddha, though he already knew, asked him deliberately: "Monk, in this year of famine and dearth, when people everywhere are starving to death, where did you manage to obtain this single bowl of pure, unmixed rice?" The monk explained to the World-Honored One in full, just as before. The Buddha then said: "Monk, these three robes are themselves the very banner and emblem of the buddhas of the three times; the causes and conditions bound up in this robe are supremely honored, supremely weighty, and represent a debt of supreme kindness. Though you have now so readily traded it away for this bowl of rice to give to me, I deeply appreciate your own good intention — but I cannot accept and consume this rice." The monk addressed the Buddha once more, saying: "The Buddha is the field of merit for the three realms, the very highest among the sages — if even the Buddha says he cannot accept this offering, then who besides the Buddha could possibly accept it?" The Buddha replied: "Monk, do you have parents living or not?" He answered: "I do." "Then take this and offer it to your own parents instead." The monk said: "If even the Buddha says he cannot accept it, how could my own parents possibly accept it?" The Buddha said: "They can indeed accept it. Why is this so? Because your parents are themselves able to give birth to your own body, and they bear toward you a debt of great and weighty kindness — for this very reason, they are able to accept it." The Buddha then further asked the monk: "Do your parents have any faith in the Buddha, or not?" The monk replied: "They have no faith in him at all." The Buddha said: "They shall now have faith. Seeing you offer them this rice, they will feel great joy, and on account of this, faith itself will arise within them. First teach them to receive the three refuges, and only then will they truly be able to accept and consume this food." The monk, having received the Buddha's own teaching, departed in reverent gratitude. It is for this very reason that filial devotion in nurturing one's own parents is so greatly necessary.

Further, the Buddha's own mother, Māyā, gave birth to the Buddha, and seven days later she herself died, and was reborn in the Trāyastriṃśa heaven. After the Buddha had attained the path, on the fifteenth day of the fourth month, he went up to the Trāyastriṃśa heaven and, for the full duration of one summer retreat, taught the Dharma to his own mother there, in repayment of the debt owed for her ten months of carrying him in her own womb. If even the Buddha himself thus gathered in this debt of gratitude and showed filial devotion to his own parents, how much more, then, should ordinary beings fail to show such devotion? One should therefore know that the debt owed to one's own parents runs deep and weighs heavy indeed.