Sutta Nipata

The seen, heard, or thought, <j>or precepts or vows— based on these they show disdain. Standing in judgment, they scoff, saying, ‘The other is a fool, an amateur!’

They take the other as a fool on the same grounds that they speak of themselves as an expert. Professing to be expert on their own authority, they disdain the other while saying the same thing.

They are perfect, <j>according to their own extreme view; drunk on conceit, imagining themselves proficient. They have anointed themselves in their own mind, for such is the view they have embraced.

If the word of your opponent makes you deficient, then they too are lacking wisdom. But if on your own authority <j>you’re a knowledge master, an attentive one, then there are no fools among the ascetics.

‘Those who proclaim a teaching other than this have fallen short of purity, and are inadequate’: so say each one of the sectarians, for they are deeply attached to their own view.

‘Here alone is purity,’ they say, denying that there is purification in other teachings. Thus each one of the sectarians, being dogmatic, speaks forcefully within the context <j>of their own journey.

But in that case, so long as they are speaking forcefully <j>of their own journey, how can they take the other as a fool? They are the ones who provoke conflict when they call the other a fool <j>with an impure teaching.

Standing in judgment, <j>measuring by their own standard, they dispute with the world more and more. But a personage who has given up all judgments creates no conflict in the world.”

“Regarding those who maintain their own view, disputing that, ‘This is the only truth’: are all of them subject only to criticism, or do some also win praise for that?”

“That is a small thing, insufficient for peace, these two fruits of dispute, I say. Seeing this, one ought not dispute, looking for sanctuary in the land of no dispute.

One who knows does not get involved with any of the many different conventions. Why would the uninvolved get involved, since they do not believe <j>based on the seen or the heard?

Those for whom ethics are the highest speak of purity through self-control; having undertaken a vow, they stick to it: ‘Let us train right here, then we will be pure.’ Professing to be experts, they are led on to future lives.

If they fall away from their precepts and vows, they tremble, having failed in their task. They pray and long for purity, like one who has lost their caravan <j>while journeying far from home.

But having given up all precepts and vows, and these deeds blameworthy or blameless; not longing for ‘purity’ or ‘impurity’, live detached, fostering peace.

Relying on mortification in disgust of sin, or else on what is seen, heard, or thought, they moan that purification <j>comes through heading upstream, not rid of craving for life after life.

For one who longs there are muttered prayers, and trembling too over ideas they have formed. But one here for whom there is no passing away <j>or reappearing: why would they tremble? For what would they pray?”

“The very same teaching that some say is ‘ultimate’, others say is inferior. Which of these statements is true, for all of them profess to be experts?”

“They say their own teaching is perfect, while the teaching of others is inferior. So arguing, they dispute, each saying their own conventions are the truth.

If someone else’s disparagement makes you inferior, no one in any teaching would be distinguished. For each of them says the other’s teaching is lacking, while forcefully advocating their own.

But if they honor their own teachings just as they praise their own journeys, then all doctrines would be equally valid, and purity would be specific to them.

After judging among the teachings, <j>a brahmin has adopted nothing that requires interpretation by another. That’s why they’ve gotten over disputes, for they see no other doctrine as best.

Saying, ‘I know, I see, that’s how it is’, some believe that purity stems from view. But if they’ve really seen, <j>what use is that view to them? Overlooking what matters, <j>they say purity comes from another.

When a person sees, they see name and form, and having seen, they will know just these things. Gladly let them see much or little, for those who are skilled say this is no way to purity.

It’s not easy to educate someone who is dogmatic, promoting a view they have formulated. Speaking of the beauty <j>in that on which they depend, they talk of purity in accord with what they saw there.

The brahmin does not get involved <j>with formulating and calculating; they’re not followers of views, <j>nor kinsmen of notions. Having understood the many different conventions, they look on when others grasp.

Having untied the knots here in the world, the sage takes no side among disputes. Peaceful among the peaceless, equanimous, they don’t grasp when others grasp.

Having given up former defilements <j>and not making new ones, not swayed by preference, <j>nor a proponent of dogma, that attentive one is released from views, not clinging to the world, <j>nor reproaching themselves.

They are remote from all things seen, heard, or thought. With burden put down, the sage is released: not formulating, not abstaining, not longing.”

“Great seer, I ask you, the Kinsman of the Sun, about seclusion and the state of peace. How, having seen, is a mendicant extinguished, not grasping anything in this world?”

“They would cut off the idea, ‘I am the thinker’,” said the Buddha, “which is the root of all judgments <j>that emerge from proliferation. Ever mindful, they would train to remove any internal cravings.

Regardless of what things they know, whether internal or external, they wouldn’t be proud because of that, for that is not quenching, say the good.

They wouldn’t let that make them conceited, thinking themselves better or worse or alike. When questioned in many ways, they wouldn’t keep justifying themselves.

A mendicant would be settled internally, and not seek peace from another. For one at peace inside themselves, there’s no picking up, whence putting down?

Just as, in the middle of the ocean, no waves arise, it stays still; so too one unstirred is still— a mendicant would make <j>no pretension regarding anything.”

“He whose eyes are open has explained the truth he witnessed, <j>where adversities are removed. Please now speak of the practice, sir, the monastic code and immersion in samādhi.”

“With eyes not wanton, they’d turn their ears from village gossip. They wouldn’t be greedy for flavors, nor possessive about anything in the world.

Though struck by contacts, a mendicant would not lament at all. They wouldn’t pray for another life, nor tremble in the face of dangers.

When they receive food and drink, edibles and clothes, they wouldn’t store them up, nor worry about not getting them.

Meditative, not footloose, they’d avoid remorse and not be negligent. Then a mendicant would stay in quiet places to sit and rest.

They wouldn’t take much sleep, but, being keen, <j>would apply themselves to wakefulness. They’d give up sloth, illusion, mirth, and play, and sex and ornamentation.

They wouldn’t cast Artharvaṇa spells, <j>interpret dreams or omens, or practice astrology. My followers would not study ominous animal cries, work as a doctor, or treat an impacted fetus.

Not shaken by criticism, a mendicant would not gloat when praised. They’d cast aside greed and stinginess, anger, and slander.

They’d not stand for buying and selling; a mendicant would not speak ill at all. They wouldn’t linger in the village, nor cajole people from desire for profit.

A mendicant would be no boaster, nor would they speak suggestively. They wouldn’t train in impudence, nor speak argumentatively.

They wouldn’t be led into lying, nor be deliberately devious. And they’d never look down on another because of livelihood, wisdom, or precepts and vows.

Though provoked from hearing much talk from ascetics saying all different things, they wouldn’t react harshly, for the virtuous do not retaliate.

Having understood this teaching, inquiring, a mendicant would always train mindfully. Knowing quenching as peace, they’d not be negligent in Gotama’s bidding.

For he is the vanquisher, the unvanquished, seer of the truth as witness, not by legends— that’s why, being diligent, they would always train respectfully in the Buddha’s teaching.”

Peril stems from those who take up arms— just look how people conflict! I shall extol how I came to be stirred with a sense of urgency.

I saw this population flounder, like a fish in a little puddle. Seeing them at odds with each other, fear came upon me.

The world around was volatile, all directions were in turmoil. Wanting a home for myself, I saw nowhere unsettled.

Yet even in their settlement they were at odds— seeing that, I grew uneasy. Then I saw a dart there, so hard to see, stuck in the heart.

When struck by that dart, you run around in all directions. But when that same dart has been plucked out, you neither run around nor sink down.

(On that topic, the trainings are recited.) Whatever attachments there are in the world, don’t pursue them. Having pierced through sensual pleasures <j>in every way, train yourself for extinguishment.

Be truthful, not rude, free of deceit, and rid of slander; without anger, a sage would cross over the evils of greed and avarice.

Prevail over sleepiness, sloth, and drowsiness, don’t abide in negligence, A person intent on quenching would not stand for arrogance.

Don’t be led into lying, or get caught up in affection for form. Completely understand conceit, and desist from hasty conduct.

Don’t relish the old, or welcome the new. Don’t grieve for what is running out, or get attached to things that pull you in.

Greed, I say, is the great flood, and longing is the current— the basis, the compulsion, the swamp of sensuality so hard to get past.

The sage never strays from the truth; the brahmin stands on solid ground. Having given up everything, they are said to be at peace.

They have truly known, they’re a knowledge master, understanding the teaching, they are independent. They rightly proceed in the world, not coveting anything here.

One who has crossed over sensuality here, the chain in the world so hard to get past, grieves not, nor hopes; they’ve cut the strings, they’re no longer bound.

What came before, let wither away, and after, let there be nothing. If you don’t grasp at the middle, you will live at peace.

One who has no sense of ownership in the whole realm of name and form, does not grieve for that which is not, they suffer no loss in the world.

If you don’t think of anything as belonging to yourself or others, not finding any possessiveness, you won’t grieve, thinking “I don’t have it”.

Not bitter, not fawning, unstirred, everywhere even; when asked about one who is unwavering, I declare that that is the benefit.

For the unstirred who understand, there’s no performance of deeds. Desisting from instigation, they see sanctuary everywhere.

A sage doesn’t speak of themselves as being among superiors, inferiors, or equals. Peaceful, rid of stinginess, they are neither ditching nor taking up.

“Never before have I seen,” said Venerable Sāriputta, “or heard from anyone about a teacher of such graceful speech, come from Tusita heaven to lead a community.

To all the world with its gods he appears as a Clear-eyed One who has dispelled all darkness, and alone attained to bliss.

On behalf of the many here still bound, I have come seeking with a question to that Buddha, unattached and impartial, free of deceit, come to lead a community.

Suppose a mendicant who loathes attachment frequents a lonely lodging— the root of a tree, a charnel ground, on mountains, or in caves.

In these many different lodgings, how many dangers are there at which a mendicant in their silent lodging ought not tremble?

On their journey to the untrodden place, how many adversities are there in the world that must they overcome in their remote lodging?

What ways of speech should they have? Of what kind is their alms resort? What precepts and vows should a resolute mendicant uphold?

Having undertaken what training, unified, alert, and mindful, would they purge their own stains, like a smith smelting silver?”

“If one who loathes attachment <j>frequents a lonely lodging,” said the Buddha to Sāriputta, “in their search for awakening—<j>as accords with the teaching— I shall tell you, as I understand it, what is comfortable for them.

An attentive one, a mindful mendicant <j>living on the periphery should not be afraid of five perils: flies, mosquitoes, reptiles, human contact, or four-legged creatures.

Nor should they fear followers of other teachings, even having seen the many threats they pose. And then one seeking the good should overcome any other adversities.

Afflicted by illness and hunger, they should endure cold and excessive heat. Though afflicted by many such things, <j>the homeless one should exert energy, firmly striving.

They must not steal or lie; and should touch creatures firm or frail with love. If they notice any clouding of the mind, they should dispel it as Māra’s ally.

They must not fall under the sway <j>of anger or arrogance; having dug them out by the root, <j>they would stand firm. Then, faced with likes and dislikes, they would surely overcome.

Putting wisdom in the foremost place, <j>rejoicing in goodness, they would put an end to those adversities. They’d vanquish discontent in their remote lodging. And they’d vanquish the four lamentations:

‘What will I eat? Where will I eat? Oh, I slept badly! Where will I sleep?’ The trainee, the migrant without abode, would dispel these lamentable thoughts.

Receiving food and clothes in due season, they would know moderation <j>for the sake of contentment. Guarded in these things, <j>walking restrained in the village, they wouldn’t speak harshly even when provoked.

Eyes downcast, not footloose, devoted to absorption, they’d be very wakeful. Grounded in equanimity, serene, they should cut off worrisome habits of thought.

A mindful one would welcome reproach, and would dissolve hard-heartedness <j>toward their spiritual companions. They may utter skillful speech, but not for too long, and they shouldn’t provoke people to blame.

And there are five more taints in the world, for the removal of which <j>the mindful one should train, vanquishing desire for sights, sounds, flavors, smells, and touches.

Having removed desire for these things, a mindful mendicant, their heart well freed, rightly investigating the Dhamma in good time, at one, would banish the darkness.”

From the fair city of the Kosalans to the southern region came a brahmin expert in hymns, aspiring to nothingness.

He settled in a region under the shared dominion of Assaka and Muḷaka, where he lived on the bank of the Godāvarī River, getting by on gleanings and fruit.

He was supported by a prosperous village nearby. With the revenue earned from there he performed a great sacrifice.

When he had completed the great sacrifice, he returned to his hermitage once more. Upon his return, another brahmin arrived.

Foot-sore and thirsty, with grotty teeth and dusty head, he approached the other and asked for five hundred coins.

When Bāvari saw him, he invited him to sit down, asked of his happiness and well-being, and said the following.

“Whatever I had available to give, I have already distributed. Believe me, brahmin, I don’t have five hundred coins.”

“If, good fellow, you do not give me what I ask, then on the seventh day, let your head explode in seven!”

After performing a ritual, that charlatan uttered his dreadful curse. When he heard these words, Bāvari became distressed.

Not eating, he grew emaciated, stricken by the dart of sorrow. And in such a state of mind, he could not enjoy absorption.

Seeing him anxious and distraught, a goddess wishing to help, approached Bāvari and said the following.