The Two Masters and the Mathematics of Making Offerings

Late in the afternoon, in the main hall of a temple in the countryside, the fragrance of agarwood incense drifted softly through the air. A lay devotee in a brown robe, carrying a file of papers and looking somewhat anxious, came in to see the abbot. A bell tolled, and the quietness of the hall seemed to invite a person to look clearly into their own heart.

"Venerable sir, I would like to make offerings for an alms ceremony, inviting ten monks. Could you help me work out how much it will cost?"

The first master opened his ledger and counted on his fingers, speaking in a gentle, unhurried voice.

"Ten monks at five hundred thousand dong each comes to five million dong. Add the cost of the feast, the kitchen, and the lay volunteers who serve the meal, and the total is about twenty million dong. Prepare that amount, and you will have neither too much nor too little."

The devotee nodded, seeing that the master's face was gentle and sincere. But that same day, he stopped by another temple and met a second master. This one sat leaning back in his chair, prayer beads in hand, and as soon as he heard the request he said:

"Ten monks, a grand ceremony. You must bring thirty million dong, or it will not be done."

The devotee was stunned:

"But Venerable sir, that other temple calculated only twenty million?"

The master replied coldly:

"Their temple is poor. Mine is different. Thirty million, and not a coin less."

He walked out, his heart troubled with doubt. On the way home, he thought quietly to himself: the first master calculated as a favor, with a saintly face; the second master named a price with ten million dong of profit built in, his face cold as money itself. Both had given a number, but one was a mendicant helping with the sums, while the other was running a service for gain.

After that, he no longer visited the second master's temple, but brought rice and cloth to the first master's temple instead. The first master received them with serenity:

"Whatever you wish to offer, I will accept; and if you bring nothing, that is fine as well."

As for the second master, though devotees still came to him through conditions formed in the past, everyone who dealt with him could sense the shadow of commerce about him. Over time, the first master's temple, though few in number, kept its solemn dignity, while the other temple gradually earned an ill reputation.

The Meaning of the Story

For one who has left home to practice, right livelihood means living on alms freely given; a monastic may never set a price like a merchant offering a service. A master who calculates as a favor still keeps his practice true, while a master who names a price for profit has turned the temple into a business and lost the Way. Devotees can feel this attitude of accepting what is needed while demanding nothing, and by it they recognize a genuine practitioner.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Most Venerable Thích Chân Quang