Two Kinds of Beings on the Mid-Autumn Night

On a quiet Mid-Autumn night, a teacher tells his disciples about two kinds of beings: those who follow their instincts with ease, and those who struggle hard to hold them in check.

On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, the moon drew a streak of silver across the hilltop, spreading evenly over the bamboo groves rustling in the night wind. From the temple courtyard, the scent of incense mingled with the fragrance of wild grass drifting by, evoking a feeling of serenity unlike any other. Hundreds of Buddhist practitioners sat in silence beneath the trees, their eyes turned toward the warm, deep voice of the teacher seated on the dais.

They had not come for a show or a feast, but for a quiet longing for something profound in the teachings. Some had traveled from the city, others had walked the entire mountain road, just to sit and listen to the teacher speak beneath the clear moon and gentle breeze.

The teacher smiled softly, his gaze passing over each attentive face. His voice was gentle, yet every word was clear: "Tonight, I am going to say something that may touch a nerve... If it strikes at your own ailment, please forgive your old teacher."

A few soft laughs rose and then faded into silence. Everyone knew that what the teacher was about to say would reach the most tender places in their hearts.

"In truth, we have not yet attained enlightenment, so we are not saints. We are still ordinary beings—that is, sentient beings." The teacher continued, slowly, as if pouring drops of cold water into a cup. "And when we appear in this life, each kind of being carries different habits and instincts. They arise naturally, without needing to be taught."

The teacher spoke of the dog with its instinct of loyalty, the monkey with its gift for imitation, and the human being with a remarkable capacity for creativity. Then he spoke of the unwholesome instincts: greed, anger, jealousy—things hidden deep in our blood, in our genes, in our brains, present in us without any need to learn.

"But," the teacher said, his voice deepening, "which kind of being do we belong to? There are two kinds. The first kind: whatever instinct arises, we follow it at once. When it tells us to flare up in anger, we immediately scowl and glare. And there is a second kind: when the instinct arises, we struggle against it, we hold it back. So, do we belong to the first kind or the second?"

Silence fell over everything. No one dared to answer aloud, yet in every pair of eyes there was a visible struggle. An elderly woman in the front row gripped her prayer beads with trembling hands. A young man sitting behind her unconsciously squeezed his knees. All of them understood: being here, on this Mid-Autumn night, was itself proof that they belonged to the second kind—those who are fighting.

"Truly, it is like this," the teacher continued, his voice easing. "If you were not of the second kind, you would not be sitting here on this Mid-Autumn night. We are followers of the Buddha, people who know how to practice. What is practice? It is resisting that instinct and holding it in check. It is not finished yet—we are only just sitting here. If it were finished, well, you would be sitting up there already!"

A ripple of laughter rose and then settled. Everyone knew the teacher was joking, but it was a joke that pierced to the bone. Because each of them was carrying the fiercest battle of all: the one within.

A middle-aged man quietly wiped the sweat from his brow, though the autumn night air was cool. He thought of how he had lost his temper with his child that morning over something trivial. Then he thought of a colleague who had just been praised and rewarded, and of the uncomfortable feeling that had crept into his heart, even as he tried to deny it.

"But what is precious in us, what is lovely in us," the teacher said, his voice almost a whisper, "is the struggle against those instincts. It is exhausting work, not easy at all. When anger arises and we hold it back—is that easy? It is very hard. When jealousy arises, secretly in the heart, and we restrain it—is that easy? It is very hard."

Within each person, private battles were unfolding. Some were fighting greed as they thought of another's possessions. Some were restraining envy upon seeing a loved one cherished by someone else. All were weary, yet no one wished to stop.

"And," the teacher said, "we have been born as human beings precisely because we are fighting against those unwholesome tendencies. When we leave this body behind, we do not know where we may go—we could fall at once into the hell realms, the hungry ghosts, or the animal realms."

The wind blew stronger, lifting the hems of robes of some of the practitioners. The moon climbed higher, shining more brightly, illuminating each contemplative face. And in that space, amid the faint sound of chanting drifting from other temples, each person sat there with their own inner battle, feeling a strange kind of happiness: they were not alone on this path.