The Excuse of the Law of Cause and Effect

One afternoon at an ancient temple in Vietnam, pale golden sunlight slanted through the leaves of a bodhi tree. It created dancing spots of light on the cool ceramic tiles. The air was so still that one could hear the rustle of falling leaves and the faint chime of wind bells. In the solemn guest room, two people sat facing each other. A steaming cup of tea released a pure fragrance into the quiet space.

The first person was a young monk with a gentle face, though his eyes held deep contemplation. The second was a foreign guest named Jan, with white hair and a relaxed demeanor, yet his gaze was sharp and thoughtful. Jan was a Dutchman who had spent his life studying Eastern philosophy, particularly Buddhism and Yoga. He maintained a strict vegetarian diet, practiced meditative concentration daily, and traveled everywhere in search of truth.

The conversation began when the young monk shared insights about the relationship between meditative concentration and ethics. He emphasized, "Dear Uncle Jan, in the Buddha's teachings, meditative concentration and ethics are never separate. A practitioner who lacks compassion and concern for sentient beings is merely practicing sophisticated selfishness, even if they sit in meditation for hours."

Jan nodded slowly, took a sip of tea, and recounted a painful experience from several years prior. "I vividly remember my trip to India," he said, his voice lowering. "That country was both magnificent and harsh. I met a famous master, revered as a living saint. He lived in a very wealthy area surrounded by grand palaces. Yet just outside the temple gates, only a few steps away, were squalid slums where people starved to death day after day."

The young monk listened intently, gripping his teacup tightly. Jan continued, his eyes gazing into the distance. "During our consultation, I asked him: 'Master, why are there so many poor and sick people around you while the temple has abundant resources? Why do you not share some with them?'"

The atmosphere in the room suddenly grew heavy. The young monk held his breath, waiting for the answer. Jan mimicked the tone of that master, a voice calm to the point of indifference. "The master looked at me, smiled gently, and replied: 'My child, that is their karma. They must endure this because of what they created in past lives. If I give them money or material goods, I will interfere with the law of cause and effect, preventing them from exhausting their karma. That would violate the universal law.'"

Jan paused, looking directly into the young monk’s eyes. "At that moment, I was convinced by his apparent wisdom. It sounded logical, did it not? The law of cause and effect is immutable. But later, returning home and sitting in meditation late at night, I felt a strange unease. Something was wrong, but I could not pinpoint where. It was like a small crack in a perfect wall—initially insignificant, but gradually spreading."

The young monk set down his cup, stood up, and walked to the window, looking out at the lush green garden. After pondering for a long time, he turned back, his eyes bright with understanding. "Uncle," he said firmly, "the absurdity lies precisely in the so-called 'law of cause and effect' that master used as a shield to cover his indifference."

Jan tilted his head, curious. "Please explain further."

"The law of cause and effect teaches that we reap what we sow," the young monk analyzed, his voice steady. "It is true that poverty stems from old karma. But if we, those with the ability to help, turn a blind eye, we are planting new causes. These are causes of apathy and abandoning our fellow beings in suffering. What will be the result of these causes? Spiritual blindness, isolation, and the loss of opportunity to form good conditions with sentient beings."

He stepped forward, placing a hand on Jan’s shoulder, and continued. "Moreover, Uncle, poor people often lack the conditions to learn about morality and the law of cause and effect. They are drowning in the darkness of deprivation. If we do not offer them a lifeline—that is, practical generosity and assistance—how can they rise up to hear the Dharma? We must plant the seeds of connection first. Generosity is the way to open the door of their hearts, making them ready to receive advice on ethics and karmic law."

Jan fell silent, his eyes shining. The young monk’s words were like a cool breeze dispersing the thick fog that had clouded his mind for years. He realized that the master had exploited the concept of cause and effect to justify his own selfishness and luxury, turning a natural law into a tool to maintain class distance and insensitivity.

"The law of cause and effect is not an excuse for us to turn our backs on the poor," the young monk affirmed resolutely. "On the contrary, it demands that we act virtuously right now to create a better future for everyone."

Jan nodded, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips. "Thank you," he said, moved. "Today’s lesson is more precious than all the books I have read. I will carry this story home to remind myself and my friends that ethics is not empty theory, but concrete action born from compassion."

The Meaning of the Story

This story illustrates that the law of cause and effect is not an excuse to justify indifference, selfishness, or turning away from the suffering of others. Conversely, practitioners must understand that helping and giving are ways to plant good conditions, creating opportunities for others to access moral teachings and transform their karma. True ethics must manifest through altruistic action, not through metaphysical reasoning that hides a lack of responsibility toward the community.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang