Moving Mountains
This winter I’m participating in a reading group that’s exploring the Pāli Canon. The canon is the oldest surviving and arguably comprehensive collection of Buddhist teachings. Some even regard the Pāli Canon as Buddhavacana or the “Words of the Buddha.” I suspend judgment about this last claim—I’m not sure just what it means and I’m not sure whether the claim’s truth matters much either.
What I am sure of is my interest in a story from the Saṃyutta Nikāya. The story concerns moving mountains and it’s designed in part to remind us that in this life there is old age and death. When Siddhartha Gautama encountered an old person and a corpse during a brief trip beyond the palace walls, these sights spurred him—along with two other sights—to set his comfortable, luxurious life aside. He would adopt the life of a wandering ascetic instead and, after some time, become a religious teacher.
The story about moving mountains features King Pasendai of Kosala, though it could just as well feature you—and you’ll see why momentarily. The king sits down with the Buddha and shares where he has been, what activities have occupied him. The Buddha then asks King Pasendai
What do you think, great king? Suppose a man would come to you from the east, one who is trustworthy and reliable, and would tell you: “For sure, great king, you should know this: I am coming from the east, and there I saw a great mountain high as the clouds coming this way, crushing all living beings. Do whatever you think should be done, great king.
It’s not just a great mountain coming from the east, though. As we read on, we find, as part of the Buddha’s hypothetical scenario, that there are identical mountains coming from the west, the north, and the south. The king and all his subjects within their “great sphere of territory” are surrounded—there is no possible escape. The Buddha then says
If, great king, such a great peril should arise, such a terrible destruction of human life, the human state being so difficult to obtain, what should be done?
King Pasendai replies, “[…] what else should be done but to live by the Dhamma, to live righteously, and to do wholesome and meritorious deeds?”
At this point in the story, the Buddha turns away from mighty moving mountains and towards undeniable truths of the human condition. He announces to the great king that “aging and death are rolling in on you,” as though they were great mountains. There is “no hope of victory by […] battles” against aging and death; there is “no hope of victory by subterfuge” against aging and death; and there is “no hope of victory by wealth” against aging and death. Just as “elephant troops, chariots, and infantry,” cunning counselors, and vaults filled with riches are useless against great mountains that crush all things in their path, so too are these things useless against aging and death.
Just as mountains of solid rock, Massive, reaching to the sky, Might draw together from all sides, Crushing all in the four quarters— So aging and death come Rolling over living beings […] There's no hope for victory By elephant troops, chariots, and infantry. One can't defeat them by subterfuge, Or buy them off by means of wealth.
As the Buddha moves through each step of the simile, King Pasendai repeats, if not reaffirms, “[…] what else should be done but to live by the Dhamma, to live righteously, and to do wholesome and meritorious deeds?” The Buddha agrees.
The story invites our attention, in part because of what the Buddha says and in part because of what the Buddha does not say. We are not told, for instance, how quickly the mountains are closing in on the king and his territory, whether it’s a matter of days, weeks, months, or years. Or even hours—we are talking about moving mountains, after all. We’re also not told of the way in which the mountains crush all living beings in their path. Is it quickly or slowly? Is there much suffering as the mountains roll over human beings, horses, and cattle—can their screams and wails be heard in the distance—or is the suffering comparatively minor? Perhaps there is a single and small whimper.
These questions and more, of course, are the same sorts of questions we ask about our inevitable death and potential old age. Once more: inevitable death and potential old age—the order is important. We will die; we may not, however, grow into old age. When will I die? Will it come tomorrow, next month, or twenty or forty years from this day? If not soon, then how will my life change as I age from my thirties, into my fifties, then into my seventies? Will the process be gentle or harsh? Will I retain relatively good use of my body and its several faculties? The possible questions are endless.
We might expect that the answers to these and other questions would (or: should) affect our response to the Buddha’s question. “When aging and death are rolling in on you […] what should be done?” Yes, our response—your response, really. As I hinted above, you are King Pasendi. The Buddha is talking with you; the mountains—old age and death—are closing in around you. Yet the story suggests that when we will die is irrelevant and how we will age is of no consequence. The situation is plain. You are going to die; maybe you’ll be old when that happens. So, now what?
That’s the whole of Zen, right there. So, now what?
Would you say, in company with King Pasendi, “[…] what else should be done but to live by the Dhamma, to live righteously, and to do wholesome and meritorious deeds?” It might be worthwhile to sit with this question for a time. My suggestion is not intended to raise feelings of guilt or shame should the response be No. It’s all right if the response is No. In fact, if the response is No, that’s excellent. Sometimes we hear that No is a complete sentence—meaning no further explanation is necessary. But sometimes No is an invitation to investigation. From where comes this No? Both are pregnant, it seems to me; in neither case do things end just because those two letters are said in rapid succession, and sometimes with great force.
There are 84,000 Dharma gates. The gate through which you enter the path (or recommit to your vows) need not be the inevitability of death and possibility of old age. It wasn’t for me. There are 83,999 other Dharma gates that, in their own way, raise the all-important question:
So, now what?
The translations and quotations of SN 3:25 are from “In the Buddha’s Words: An Anthology of Discourses from the Pāli Canon,” edited and introduced by Bhikkhu Bodhi.