The Four Armies That Reclaim the Fortress

That night, beneath the roof of the Quang meditation hall, thousands of people sat shoulder to shoulder, feet touching feet. The cold winter air seemed to melt away in the warmth radiating from the still, motionless bodies. As the sound of the bell faded, everyone turned toward the dharma seat, where an elderly teacher was slowly beginning to speak. His voice was deep and warm, yet each word fell like a heavy stone: "The Buddha attained enlightenment through meditative concentration, and throughout his life he taught meditative concentration. As long as there are those who practice meditation, the Buddha's teachings (Dharma) will endure."

The teacher told of a time long ago, when the Buddha was still alive, he traveled to the land of Kuru. There, a great practice center stood, larger even than Jetavana Monastery, founded by an elderly priest named Agitata. He had once been the spiritual advisor to King Prasenajit's father, with the ability to contact spirits and hear them reveal this and that. Because of this, his words were remarkably accurate, and tens of thousands believed in him. When the old king passed away, he asked to leave the royal palace, traveled far away, and built his practice center by the river in the land of Kuru. More than ten thousand people abandoned the city of Shravasti to follow him. But though his teachings seemed effective, they stood right at the edge of wrong view. Only because his heart was still good had he not become a false teacher.

One day, after attaining enlightenment, the Buddha entered deep meditative concentration and saw that Agitata had the conditions to realize the fruit of an Arhat. If he could convert him, then his more than ten thousand disciples would also follow the Buddha's teachings (Dharma). So the Buddha decided to travel to the land of Kuru. But this was no easy task. First, Venerable Moggallana had to go ahead and prepare the way, and only then did the Buddha arrive to teach. The story grew so gripping that the teacher paused and smiled: "As for just how difficult and dramatic it was, please read volume forty-two of the comic series Dinh Tuyet!" Thunderous applause filled the hall.

After converting the entire practice center, with more than ten thousand people ordaining and following the Buddha, he remained in the land of Kuru and taught an extraordinarily important sutra: the Four Foundations of Mindfulness. The teacher explained: "Four means four. Mindfulness means to remember. Foundation means the place. Four places we must always remember." But why four places, when many meditation masters teach focusing on just one? The teacher offered an analogy: "It is like a fortress occupied by the enemy of delusion. We send one army to attack for ten years, and the enemy does not budge. We add a second army, and after another ten years, it still stands firm. We add a third army, and after another ten years, still no success. The Buddha taught that we must have all four armies, four lines of attack, to be certain of destroying the enemy. That is the Buddha's solemn promise."

Many in the audience stirred quietly. Some thought: "With four armies like that, wouldn't the mind become tense and agitated? Might these very four armies become delusion itself?" As if reading their thoughts, the teacher said gently: "Do not worry. Place your trust in the Buddha, place your life in the palm of the Buddha's hand. The Buddha taught that these four armies are precisely the Four Foundations of Mindfulness: contemplating the body in the body, contemplating the feelings in the feelings, contemplating the mind in the mind, contemplating the phenomena in the phenomena."

The teacher paused and looked around: "Does anyone understand what that means?" The whole hall fell silent. The teacher smiled: "That is language from India two thousand five hundred years ago. Imagine meeting a venerable monk today and saying to him: 'I see the venerable one in the venerable one.' Would he understand? No. He would be bewildered. I would have to apologize: 'Forgive me, I was speaking the language of India two thousand five hundred years ago.'" The whole assembly burst into laughter, and the atmosphere suddenly lightened.

But the teacher quickly grew serious again: "Before we can use the four armies to attack the fortress, what must be done first? We must feed the soldiers. A hungry army cannot fight. So before practicing the Four Foundations of Mindfulness, one must practice the method of breathing. The breath is the supply line that nourishes the army. Without mastery of the breath, the Four Foundations of Mindfulness will not work — like sending a starving army into battle, collapsing before the fight even begins."

The teacher gave detailed instructions: sit in full lotus posture, unmoving, feel the whole body, know its lowest point and its deepest recesses. Know the in-breath as it enters, know the out-breath as it leaves, without deliberately controlling it. "The breath reflects the inner mind. A person with a calm mind breathes gently. A person with an agitated mind breathes rapidly. To master the breath is to master your own inner mind."

Then the teacher entered the heart of the teaching. "Contemplating the body in the body means knowing the four-element body exactly as it is. This body consists of skin, flesh, sinews, bones, blood, brain, and so on. Like a butcher carving up an animal and laying out each part, seeing everything clearly with nothing left hidden. Is this body sick or healthy, dirty or clean? Who would dare claim they have no hidden illness? This body will grow old, will fall sick, will die, then decay, decompose, and turn to dust. That is the truth, nothing more and nothing less."

The teacher asked: "Anyone who finds their own body beautiful, raise your hand." A few hands rose timidly. The teacher smiled: "This body is quite ugly. The celestial beings in the heavens are ten thousand times more beautiful than we are. On a day when you look in the mirror and find yourself beautiful, that is merely a regrettable misunderstanding." The hall rang with laughter again.

On contemplating the feelings in the feelings, the teacher explained: "Feelings are emotions, divided into three: suffering (dukkha), joy, and neutrality. Every joy eventually ends, every suffering (dukkha) eventually passes. People chase after the five sensual desires in search of pleasure, but they pay an enormous price. When they no longer have the strength to pay, suffering (dukkha) floods in. There are people with wealth and fame who keep chasing pleasure, then suddenly take their own lives, because they can no longer bear it."

But contemplating the mind in the mind is the real secret. The teacher emphasized: "Know the mind exactly as it is, without interfering. We usually make two mistakes: one is not following the mind, the other is wanting to interfere. Both are wrong. The Buddha taught us to know the mind as it truly is."

The teacher analyzed the mind into three pairs: alert or agitated, wholesome or unwholesome, clear or deluded. On alertness and agitation, he said: "When the mind is agitated, know that it is agitated. When the mind seems calm, do not rush to conclude that it has become pure. That calmness is only foam on the surface, shallow and thin. Countless undercurrents of agitation still churn beneath. Whoever understands this is the true child of the Buddha. Whoever practices a little and declares themselves pure is the stepchild."

The teacher continued: "It is like a traveler arriving at a crossroads. Behind is the road already traveled; ahead lie three paths. The one who turns right is the one who sees the mind has become peaceful and immediately praises, celebrates, and exalts it — that person falls into a deep abyss. The one who turns left is the one who wavers and becomes confused, not knowing where to go — lost among thorns. The one who turns back is the one who feels they have had enough and stops practicing. Only the one who goes straight is the one who understands that this peacefulness is still very shallow, that undercurrents of agitation still churn within. That person crosses the crossroads and keeps going."

On wholesomeness and unwholesomeness, the teacher asked: "Anyone who sees their own mind as wholesome, raise your hand." A three-year-old boy raised his hand honestly. Not a single adult dared to. The teacher nodded with a smile: "Those who did not raise their hands are the ones with wisdom. Why? Because true goodness in Buddhism is something immensely great, inseparable from sainthood. As long as we are not saints, our minds are not truly wholesome. Even if we harm no one, live kindly, and keep the precepts, we still have no right to call ourselves good. To see that we have no faults and yet still know we are not yet wholesome — that is wisdom, and that is what allows us to go far."

The teacher concluded: "These four armies, if used correctly, will shatter the fortress of delusion. But remember, never become complacent. When the mind has just settled a little, do not rush to rejoice. Know that it is still agitated within. Keep going straight like that — do not turn right, do not turn left, do not turn back. That is what it means to be a true child of the Buddha."

Thunderous applause filled the hall. Many people sat there, quietly looking back at themselves. Some suddenly realized that after years of practice, they had stopped at the crossroads while believing they had arrived. Some saw that they had turned right many times, praising their own small measure of peace. But now they understood that the road is still long, and only by going straight, with clear knowing, can one ever hope to reclaim the fortress one day and build a kingdom of true happiness for oneself.

The Meaning of the Story

The Four Foundations of Mindfulness are the four armies attacking the fortress of delusion, but first one must train the breath as the supply line. The core secret is to know the mind as it truly is, without interfering and without complacency. When the mind seems peaceful, do not rush to celebrate or stop, but recognize that this peacefulness is still shallow, with undercurrents of agitation still churning beneath. Only those who always see themselves as not yet wholesome, not yet pure, are the ones walking straight on the path to enlightenment.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang