The Two Rivers and the White Path
Shandao turns from argument to image — a parable he offers explicitly "to guard the practitioner's own faith." A traveler, alone in a vast and desolate place, finds every direction closed off at once: bandits behind, a river of fire to the south, a river of water to the north, and between them only a path so narrow it seems impossible to walk.
Two Rivers, and a Narrow Path Between Them
又白一切往生人等，今更為行者說一譬喻守護信心，以防外邪異見之難。何者是也？譬如有人欲向西行百千之里，忽然中路見有二河：一是火河在南，二是水河在北。二河各闊百步，各深無底，南北無邊。正水火中間有一白道，可闊四五寸許，此道從東岸至西岸，亦長百步，
Further, I address all those who seek rebirth: I shall now further offer the practitioner a parable, to guard their own faith against the danger of outer deviance and differing views. What is this parable? It is as though there were a person who wished to travel a hundred thousand li toward the West, and who, suddenly, midway along the road, beheld two rivers. The first, a river of fire, lay to the south; the second, a river of water, lay to the north. Each of these two rivers stretched a hundred paces across, each bottomless in depth, extending without limit to the north and to the south. Directly between this water and this fire lay a single white path, perhaps four or five inches wide, this path stretching from the eastern bank to the western bank, likewise a hundred paces in length.
Nowhere Left to Turn, and Two Voices Calling
其水波浪交過濕道，其火焰亦來燒道，水火相交常無休息。此人既至空曠逈處，更無人物，多有群賊惡獸，見此人單獨，競來欲殺。此人怖死，直走向西，忽然見此大河，即自念言：「此河南北不見邊畔，中間見一白道，極是狹小，二岸相去雖近，何由可行？今日定死不疑。」正欲到迴，群賊惡獸漸漸來逼，正欲南北避走，惡獸毒蟲競來向我，正欲向西尋道而去，復恐墮此水火二河，當時惶怖不復可言。即自思念：「我今迴亦死，住亦死，去亦死。一種不勉死者，我寧尋此道向前而去，既有此道，必應可度。」作此念時，東岸忽聞人勸聲：「仁者，但決定尋此道行，必無死難，若住即死。」又西岸上有人喚言：「汝一心正念直來，我能護汝，眾不畏墮於水火之難。」
The water's own waves crossed over and dampened this path continually, and the fire's own flames likewise came to burn it, water and fire crossing over it in constant, unceasing alternation. This person, having arrived at this vast and desolate place, found no other person or living thing there at all, but many bands of bandits and fierce beasts, who, seeing this person alone, competed with one another to come and kill him. Fearing death, this person ran straight toward the West, and, suddenly beholding this great expanse of rivers, thought to himself: "These rivers stretch north and south with no visible end, and between them lies but a single white path, exceedingly narrow — though the distance between the two banks is not great, how could I possibly walk it? Today I shall surely die, without any doubt."
Just as he wished to turn back, the bands of bandits and fierce beasts drew gradually closer, pressing in upon him; just as he wished to flee north or south instead, fierce beasts and venomous creatures competed to come toward him from those directions too; and just as he wished to seek out the path and go west, he feared falling into these very rivers of water and fire — his own terror at that moment beyond all description. He thought to himself: "Should I turn back now, I shall die; should I remain here, I shall die; should I go forward, I shall die as well. Since I cannot escape death in any case, I would rather seek out this very path and go forward along it — since this path exists at all, it must surely be possible to cross by it."
The very moment he formed this thought, he suddenly heard, from the eastern bank, a voice urging him on: "Sir, simply resolve to seek out this path and walk it — there is certainly no danger of death; but should you remain where you are, you shall surely die." And, from the western bank, there was also a person calling out to him: "You should come directly, with a single, right mindfulness — I am able to protect you; have no fear at all of falling into the peril of this water and this fire."
This parable's own construction is worth noticing before its meaning is even unpacked: every one of the traveler's own possible directions closes off simultaneously and for a distinct reason — bandits and beasts behind and to the sides, drowning to the north, burning to the south, and even the narrow path itself seemingly too small to be walked. What breaks the paralysis is not the discovery of a safe option, since none exists, but the traveler's own reasoning that every remaining choice leads to death except one — "since this path exists at all, it must surely be possible to cross by it." Only once this resolve forms does help actually arrive, in the form of two voices calling from either shore, one urging him forward, one promising protection on arrival. This parable's own vividness made it, in later centuries, one of the most frequently painted scenes in all of Japanese Buddhist art, known simply as the "two rivers, white path."
Part 81 Complete
This closes Part 81. Part 82 continues the parable to its resolution: the traveler's own crossing, undeterred even by the bandits' own final attempt to call him back, and his arrival on the western shore, reunited at last with a companion he has waited for across countless ages.
Continue to Part 82 — Crossing the Path →