When Hungry, Just Be Hungry; When Practicing, Just Practice

**Summary:** A story of a dialogue between a senior monastic and a layperson about practicing amidst hardship, and the lesson on the connection between conditioned merit and unconditioned merit.

That afternoon, the temple was quiet, with only the sound of the wind blowing through the old pine trees. A senior monastic sat on a bamboo chair under the eaves, fingers moving over his prayer beads, his gaze lost in the distance. A young layperson, looking busy, walked in, bowed respectfully, and sat down in the chair opposite. The atmosphere was so still that one could hear the dry leaves falling in the courtyard.

The layperson pressed his palms together and asked:

"Venerable Sir, I have long had a question. If a person is so poor, with hunger looming before them, how can they practice meditative concentration?"

The senior monastic smiled, his voice unhurried as if reciting a verse:

"When hungry, just be hungry; when practicing, just practice."

He spoke as if it were an obvious truth, as if hunger had nothing to do with practice. Hearing this, the layperson looked slightly surprised, then lowered his eyes in silence for a long while. Finally, he looked up, straight at the senior monastic, his voice somewhat resolute:

"Venerable Sir, I do not share your view."

He said only that and stopped. The air seemed to thicken. The senior monastic maintained his smile, adding no more words. The layperson, not wishing to argue further, simply bowed his head, rose, and left, leaving behind an unanswered statement.

Standing outside, listening to this exchange, was a young novice at the time. He could only stand silently and watch. A nameless wonder arose in his heart: who was ultimately right, and who was wrong? The senior monastic saw life as illusory, where even hunger was a small matter, not worth troubling over. The layperson, however, must have had his reasons for disagreeing. But at that time, the novice did not have enough wisdom to judge.

Time passed, the novice grew up, became a lecturer, and also experienced his own difficult periods. Once, due to circumstances, he had to take his bowl and go begging for food. People saw him walking silently amidst the crowd, mistook him for a beggar, and tossed a few coins into his bowl. He said nothing, only smiled, but in his heart, he suddenly understood: when hunger gnaws deeply, when the most basic needs are unmet, a person’s mind cannot calmly sit in meditation. Hunger strikes at the core of one’s being; it does not allow for peace.

He recalled the story from the past and suddenly grasped the layperson’s perspective. When a father in a family has eaten his morning meal but does not know what he will eat at noon, how can he sit calmly? He still has to worry for his wife and children. That responsibility does not permit him to be at ease. That is precisely why the Buddha advised monastics not to establish a family; alone, one can live by begging, but a layperson cannot.

Then, he also heard another senior monastic teach: "First, one should cultivate the Five Precepts and the Ten Wholesome Actions to create foundational merit. Once one’s circumstances are stable, then one can consider practicing meditative concentration." That teaching truly made sense. He felt admiration for both senior monastics: one urged people to practice vigorously regardless of whether conditions were difficult or easy; the other advised creating merit first to avoid falling into extreme hardship. Both were correct, but each viewed one aspect of the truth.

Over the years, the lecturer gradually realized a deeper truth: the boundary between worldly merit and unconditioned merit does not lie in external actions, but in the inner intention of the mind. If a person practices giving solely to seek rewards in the human or heavenly realms, that is conditioned merit. But if, with the same action, it arises from true love and compassion, without concern for karmic rewards, it becomes unconditioned merit. Conversely, if a person sits in meditation but their mind still craves fame, fortune, or supernatural powers, it is also only conditioned merit.

It is like a tree; the roots and the crown seem like opposites, yet they are a unified whole. Without roots, there can be no crown. Likewise, conditioned merit and unconditioned merit are a continuous process. One needs material merit to live, from which one gains the conditions for spiritual practice, and finally, one can attain spiritual liberation. Skipping any stage is not possible.

The lecturer remembered the old story and smiled. If he met that layperson again, he would say: "I understand why you did not share the view. But if possible, I ask you to show compassion for the hungry and help them first, before advising them to practice." Because for a person who is hungry, the first thing they need is a meal, not teachings on meditative concentration.

**The Meaning of the Story:**

Worldly merit (material merit, helping others) and unconditioned merit (spiritual merit, liberation) are not two separate things, but a sequential process. One needs foundational merit to live, and only then can one engage in higher practice. The most important factor is the intention when acting: if one acts with love and compassion, without seeking rewards, then even a small action becomes unconditioned merit.

*Compiled from a Dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang*