The Harm Of Preaching

‘Venerable Nāgasena, you Bhikkhus say that the Tathāgata averts harm from all beings, and does them good. And again you say that when he was preaching the discourse based on the simile of the burning fire hot blood was ejected from the mouths of about sixty Bhikkhus. By his delivery of that discourse he did those Bhikkhus harm and not good. So if the first statement is correct, the second is false; and if the second is correct, the first is false. This too is a double-pointed problem put to you, which you have to solve.’
‘Both are true. What happened to them was not the Tathāgata’s doing, but their own.’
‘But, Nāgasena, if the Tathāgata had not delivered that discourse, then would they have vomited up hot blood?’
‘No. When they took wrongly what he said, then was there a burning kindled within them, and hot blood was ejected from their mouths.’
‘Then that must have happened, Nāgasena, through the act of the Tathāgata, it must have been the Tathāgata who was the chief cause to destroy them. Suppose a serpent, Nāgasena, had crept into an anthill, and a man in want of earth were to break into the anthill, and take the earth of it away. And by his doing so the entrance-hole to the anthill were closed up, and the snake were to die in consequence from want of air. Would not the serpent have been killed by that man’s action?’
‘Yes, O king.’
‘Just so, Nāgasena, was the Tathāgata the prime cause of their destruction.’
‘When the Tathāgata delivered a discourse, O king, he never did so either in flattery or in malice. In freedom both from the one and from the other did he speak. And they who received it aright were made wise, but they who received it wrongly, fell. Just, O king, as when a man shakes a mango tree or a jambu tree or a mee tree, such of the fruits on it as are full of sap and strongly fastened to it remain undisturbed, but such as have rotten stalks, and are loosely attached, fall to the ground— so was it with his preaching. It was, O king, as when a husbandman, wanting to grow a crop of wheat, ploughs the field, but by that ploughing many hundreds and thousands of blades of grass are killed—or it was as when men, for the sake of sweetness, crush sugarcane in a mill, and by their doing so such small creatures as pass into the mouth of the mill are crushed also—so was it that the Tathāgata making wise those whose minds were prepared, preached the Dhamma without flattery and without malice. And they who received it aright were made wise, but they who received it wrongly, fell.’
Then did not those Bhikkhus fall, Nāgasena, just because of that discourse?’
‘How, then, could a carpenter by doing nothing to a piece of timber, and simply laying it by, make it straight and fit for use?’
‘No, Sir. He would have to get rid of the bends out of it, if he wanted it straight and ready for use.’
‘Just so, O king, the Tathāgata could not, by merely watching over his disciples, have opened the eyes of those who were ready to see. But by getting rid of those who took the word wrongly he saved those prepared to be saved. And it was by their own act and deed, O king, that the evil-minded fell; just as a plantain tree, or a bambū, or a she-mule are destroyed by that to which they themselves give birth. And just, O king, as it is by their own acts that robbers come to have their eyes plucked out, or to impalement, or to the scaffold, just so were the evil-minded destroyed by their own act, and fell from the teaching of the Conqueror.’
‘And so with those sixty Bhikkhus, they fell neither by the act of the Tathāgata nor of any one else, but solely by their own deed. Suppose, O king, a man were to give ambrosia to all the people, and they, eating of it, were to become healthy and long-lived and free from every bodily ill. But one man, on eating it, were by his own bad digestion, to die. Would then, O king, the man who gave away the ambrosia be guilty therein of any offence?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Just so, O king, does the Tathāgata present the gift of his ambrosia to the men and gods in the ten thousand world systems; and those beings who are capable of doing so are made wise by the nectar of his law, while they who are not are destroyed and fall. Food, O king, preserves the lives of all beings. But some who eat of it die of cholera. Is the man who feeds the hungry guilty therein of any offence?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Just so, O king, does the Tathāgata present the gift of his ambrosia to the men and gods in the ten thousand world systems; and those beings who are capable of doing so are made wise by the nectar of his law, while they who are not are destroyed and fall.’
‘Very good, Nāgasena! That is so, and I accept it as you say.’
Here ends the dilemma on the harm resulting from preaching.