“Such further powers, Venerable Sir, I must acknow‐
of
hilation
hen
n if I have no right to make that assertion,” he
aid f
ly
he had had
d
e
the powerful net of craving for existence? And
hile
ledge I do not possess.”
“Then even here, friend Kāmanīta, in the world
senses, the Tathāgata is not in truth and in his very es‐
sence, apprehendible by you. Is it then right to say that
the Tathāgata — or any one of those who have freed
themselves from all delusion — is doomed to anni
w
his life ends, that he does not exist beyond death,
solely because you are not in possession of any powers by
which you can, in truth, apprehend him in his very es‐
sence there?”
Questioned in such fashion, Kāmanīta sat speech‐
less for some time, his body bent, his head bowed.
“Eve
s
inally, “it still seems to me to be implied plainly
enough in the silence of the Tathāgata. For he certain
would not have maintained such a silence if
anything joyous to communicate, which would of course
be the case if he knew that for the one who had conque‐
red suffering there remained after death not only not
annihilation, but eternal and blessèd life. It is certain that
such a communication could only serve as a spur to his
disciples and be a help to them in their spiritual efforts.”
“Do you think so, my friend? How would it be if
the Tathāgata had not pointed to the end of all suffering as
the final Goal — even as he also began with suffering in
the beginning — but had extolled an eternal and blessè
life out beyond it and beyond this life of ours. Many of his
disciples would assuredly have been delighted with the
idea, would have clung to it eagerly, would have longed
for its fulfilment but with the passionate longing which
disturbs all true cheerfulness and serenity. So would they
not also then have been involved unperceived in th
meshes of
w
clinging to a Beyond, for which by necessity they
162
had to borrow all the colouring from this life, would they
not have only clung even more to the present the more
they pursued that Beyond?
“Whatever kinds of existence there are, in any way,
anywhere, all are impermanent, pain‐haunted and subject
s Reality? They see whatever has
ome
with vision sees.
n though they
ll
, “I still hold that the
ther
as
ly!
d
to change. So, one who sees this as it is abandons craving
for existence without relishing non‐existence. And how
does such a one see thi
c
into being as simply having come into being. By
seeing it thus they have entered upon the way to dispass‐
ion for it, to the fading and cessation of craving for it. That
is how one
“For, like a watch‐dog that, bound to a post and
trying to free itself, rushes in a circle around about it —
even so those worthy disciples who, eve
dearly long to transcend this body and the world, they sti
remain bound to it whether they love it or they hate it,
rushing in endless circles around it.”
“Though I am certainly compelled to acknowledge
this danger,” Kāmanīta answered
o
danger, the uncertainty evoked by silence, is by far
the more dangerous, inasmuch as it cripples the energies
from the very beginning. For how can the disciple be
expected to exert himself with all his might to overcome
all suffering, with decision and courage, if he doesn’t
know what is to follow: eternal bliss or non‐existence?”
“My friend, what would you think in such a case
this? Let us say that a house is burning, and that the ser‐
vant runs to waken his master, saying — ‘Get up, sir! F
The house is on fire! Already the rafters are burning an
the roof is about to fall in.’ Would the master be likely to
answer — ‘Go, my good fellow, and see whether there is
rain and storm outside, or whether it is a fine moonlit
night. In the latter case we will take ourselves outside?’”
“How, Venerable Sir, could the master give such an
163
answer? For the servant had called to him in terror — ‘Fly,
re burning
nd th
ide,’
you not conclude from it that the master had not
eard
at
ich hung over his head had by no
eans become clear to him?”
“I would certainly be forced to that conclusion,
enerable Sir, otherwise it would be unthinkable that the
could give such a foolish answer.”
“Even so, friend — you should therefore also act as
if your head were encompassed by flames, as if your
house were on fire. And what house? The world! And set
on fire by what flame? By the flame of desire, by the flame
of hate, by the flame of delusion. The whole world is
being consumed by flames, the whole world is enveloped
in smoke, the whole world rocks to its foundations!”
Addressed thus, Kāmanīta trembled as does a
young buffalo when it hears for the first time the roar of
the tiger in a neighbouring thicket. With bent body, head
sunk on his breast, his face suffused with burning colour,
he sat for some time without uttering a word.
Then in a gruff although somewhat tremulous
voice, he answered:
“It still does not please me that the Master has
revealed nothing concerning this matter. That is, if he was
able to give any information which would have been full
of promise — and even if he has been silent because what
he knew was comfortless and terrifying, or because he
knew absolutely nothing, I am still no better pleased. For
the thoughts and the efforts of human beings are directed
towards happiness and pleasure, a tendency which has its
sir! The house is on fire! Already the rafters a
a
e roof threatens to fall in.’”
“Indeed the servant had called to him thus. But if,
in spite of that, the master answered — ‘Go, my good
fellow, and see whether there is rain and storm outs
would
h
correctly what his faithful servant had said — th
the mortal danger wh
m
V
man
164
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