“I do not, O Reverend One.”
“Then it may be, my friend, that the body and the mind taken together are the Perfect One.”
“I do not look upon them in that light, O Reverend One.”
“Dost thou think, then, that the Perfect One exists apart from his body or from his mind, or mayhap from both? Is that thy view, my friend?”
“He is in so far apart from them, that his being is not fully comprehended in these elements.”
“What elements or powers hast thou then, my friend, apart from those of the body with all its qualities of which we have become aware through the senses, and apart from those of the mind with all its sensations, perceptions, and ideas—what powers hast thou beyond these, by means of which thou canst fully apprehend what thou hast not yet apprehended in the being of the Perfect One?”
“Such further powers, O Reverend One, I must acknowledge I do not possess—”
“Then even here, friend Kamanita, in the world of sense, the Perfect One is not, in truth, and in his very essence, to be apprehended by thee. Hast thou, then, a right to say that the Perfect One—or the monk who has freed himself from all impurity—is doomed to annihilation when his life ends, that he does not exist beyond death; and solely because thou art in possession of no powers by which thou canst, in truth, and in his very essence, apprehend him there?”
Questioned in such fashion, Kamanita sat for some time speechless, his body bent, his head bowed.
“Even if I have no right to make that assertion,” he said finally, “it yet seems to me to be implied plainly enough in the silence of the Perfect One. For he certainly would not have maintained such a silence if he had had anything joyous to communicate, which would of course be the case if he knew that for the monk who had conquered suffering there remained after death not only not annihilation, but eternal and blessed life. Certain it is that such a communication could only serve as a spur to his disciples and be a help to them in all true effort.”
“Dost thou think so, my friend? But how if the Perfect One 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 set himself to extol an eternal and blessed 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 with the passionate longing which disturbs all cheerfulness and serenity of thought; but would they not also have been involved unperceived in the meshes of the powerful net of Life’s desire? And while clinging to a beyond for which of necessity they had to borrow all the colouring from this life, would they not, the more they pursued that Beyond, have but clung the more to the Present?
“Like the watchdog that, bound to a post and trying to free himself, rushes in a circle round the post—even so those worthy disciples, out of sheer hatred for this life, would have rushed in an endless circle around it.”
“Though I am certainly compelled to acknowledge this danger,” was Kamanita’s answer, “I yet hold that the other danger, the uncertainty evoked by silence, is by much 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, with decision, and courage, to overcome all suffering, if he doesn’t know what is to follow, whether eternal bliss or nonexistence?”
“My friend, what wouldst thou think in such a case as this? Let us say that a house is burning, and that the servant runs to waken his master: ‘Get up, sir! Fly! the house is on fire. Already the rafters are burning and 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 without, or whether it is a fine moonlit night. In the latter case we will betake ourselves outside?’ ”
“But how, O Reverend One, could the master give such an answer? For the servant had called to him in terror: ‘Fly, sir! The house is on fire. Already the rafters are burning and the roof threatens to fall in.’ ”
“Of course the servant had called to him. But if, in spite of that, the master answered: ‘Go, my good fellow, and see whether there is rain and storm without or whether it is a fine moonlit night. In the latter case we will betake ourselves outside,’ wouldst thou not conclude from it that the master had not heard aright what his faithful servant had said—that the mortal danger which hung over his head had by no means become clear to him?”
“I should certainly have been forced to that conclusion, O Reverend One, as it would otherwise be unthinkable that the man could give such a foolish answer.”
“Even so, pilgrim—therefore go thou also forth as if thy head were encompassed by flames, for thy house is 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 flame, the whole world is enveloped in smoke, the whole world rocks to its foundations.”
Addressed thus, the pilgrim Kamanita trembled as does a young buffalo when he hears for the first time the roar of the lion in the 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 made answer—
“It in no way pleases me, however, that the Master has revealed nothing concerning this matter, that
