More and Less

On a late weekend afternoon, in the familiar temple, the bell rang long and then faded into silence. Lay Buddhists filled the rows of seats, their gaze turned toward the dharma seat. The teacher sat there, kind eyes sweeping over the assembly, and began:

"Today we will speak about the difference between having more and having less. In classical Chinese, these are called thắng and liệt. Thắng means more, liệt means less. This is a constant concern of sentient beings."

The teacher paused for a moment, then slowly explained: From ancient times until now, people have dreamed of an equal society where everyone is equally well-fed and warm. But in reality, there are still those of the utmost wealth and those in the deepest poverty. The teacher told of the feudal landlord era, when land stretched so vast that birds could fly with wings outstretched, while tenant farmers toiled endlessly without enough rice to eat. Then came the era of Western industrialization, when factory chimneys belched thick black smoke and workers labored day and night, oppressed in every way. These injustices festered into resentment, leading to struggle and revolution, yet the rich remained rich and the poor remained poor.

The teacher looked around, his voice lowering:

"Why is this so? Because the law of cause and effect (karmic law) governs all. People must address the root of the problem; resentment at the surface accomplishes nothing."

He told of the knights of old who dressed in black at night, robbing the rich to give to the poor, believing they could erase the line between wealth and poverty, yet in the end things remained as they were. This is because having more or less is not a matter of money, but of merit accumulated from past lives.

The teacher emphasized: "Willing to suffer a little more" — a simple phrase full of meaning. Most of us trail behind our own karma, dragged along by the need for food and clothing. Few take the initiative to step forward and do charitable work, helping others without being compelled. The teacher gave an example: a road worker, if willing to endure a little more hardship, doing the work with greater care, installing water pipes skillfully so that passersby avoid danger, is creating merit. But if the work is done carelessly, with only thoughts of quitting time, then the country remains poor, and future lives will be lesser.

The teacher smiled lightly and told a humorous story: "Some Westerners made a film about twin brothers. One was tall, virtuous, and gifted, able to speak seven languages. The other was small and went in and out of prison. When he met the scientist leading the experiment, he said: 'We succeeded by half and failed by half. The success was creating an outstanding human being. The failure is that the most wicked dregs of humanity reside in that small one.'" The teacher paused and looked at the assembly:

"So you see, each day when we look in the mirror, we know whether we have merit or not. But do not be overconfident — everyone sees themselves as beautiful. Once I asked the person beside me: 'How do I look?' They said: 'You remind me so much of my great-grandmother!' I knew I was old, so I stopped asking!"

Gentle laughter spread through the room. The teacher returned to the main theme: the difference between humans and animals. He said:

"Watching an ant crawl along the road, a bird hopping from branch to branch, we find it poetic. But we do not realize they are searching for food. All day long they only seek sustenance, with no time for play. The obsession with food weighs heavily upon their souls."

The teacher made a comparison: if we were poor people who did not know what we would eat tomorrow, thinking from morning to evening only of earning money to buy rice, how terrible that suffering would be. At that point we would no longer truly live as human beings, because humans have many higher needs: eating well, dressing nicely, having a home, receiving education, enjoying life. If we are fixated only on food, how are we different from animals?

The teacher continued: "Animals have moments of fullness too, when they make friends and play. Dolphins and whales have such keen spiritual sensitivity that they may surpass humans. They recognize distress signals from people on boats and actively guide ships to shore. That is having even more merit."

Then the teacher elevated the teaching:

"When we look at an ant, we see a life that seems meaningless, knowing only how to find food. But when the celestial beings and bodhisattvas look down upon us, they see the same. What we consider glorious — building a three-story house, laying ceramic tiles, hanging chandeliers — to them is merely a bird's nest. One squeeze and it crumbles. An earthquake, a flood, an untimely death, and it is all gone. The things we pursue our whole lives, saving every penny, are in truth insignificant."

The teacher concluded: "Those with merit can fulfill their many needs with ease. Those with little merit are haunted by the worry of food. But human beings can rise above their circumstances through the Dharma, becoming noble ones — not through politics or sociology. That we sit here today, setting aside concerns of food and clothing to listen to the teachings, means we have more merit than those who spend all day worrying only about their next meal and their clothes."

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows onto the dharma seat. The assembly listened in silence, each turning inward to reflect upon themselves.

The Meaning of the Story

The differences between sentient beings do not come from luck, but from merit rooted in the cause and effect (karmic law) of past lives. To rise above a humble station, one must be "willing to suffer a little more" — doing good deeds and helping others willingly, not merely chasing after food. At the same time, do not be too proud of what you have, for compared to the noble ones, such things are only like a bird's nest — subject to impermanence (anicca) and easily lost.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang