The Jar of White Beans and the Pot of Black Sweet Soup

In the late afternoon, pale golden sunlight slanted through the window frame, falling upon the wooden table where two clear glass jars stood. On the left were round, glossy white beans, shining like pearls. On the right were dark black beans, heavy and somber. The man sitting before the two jars sighed, holding a black bean in his hand, hesitating over whether to drop it in. In his mind echoed the mocking laughter of crowds whenever someone made a mistake, and the rare warmth he felt whenever he received a sincere word of praise.

"How am I living my life?" he asked himself, looking back over the days just past. Each time he saw someone do something wrong, his mouth moved faster than his mind, spitting out harsh words of criticism. The black beans kept clattering into the jar on the right, piling higher and higher. Meanwhile, the white beans—symbols of praise and admiration—had grown pitifully scarce. He remembered scrolling through social media, seeing a video of a strange nighttime phenomenon. Without pausing to consider, his fingers had already typed a comment: "Fake! Totally staged!" That recklessness made him feel a pang of guilt. His teacher had once taught that to speak the truth one must have proof, and to speak falsely one must also have proof; one cannot judge others based on mere feelings.

He stood up and walked out onto the street. After the rain, the city still held small puddles of water. On the crowded street, litter lay scattered everywhere, especially in the hidden corners where street vendors had packed up. Suddenly, his eyes stopped on a simple yet weighty image. A middle-aged woman, dressed in worn sanitation worker's clothes, was quietly bending down to pick up pieces of trash, one by one, into a large sack. His motorbike glided past in just a few seconds. His heart tightened. In the old days, he would not have bothered to look, or worse, he would have thought to himself, "Why so slow?" But today, a different feeling rose within him. It was admiration. Though he could not stop to offer a word of thanks, a silent word of praise arose in his heart. He understood that it was precisely that fleeting moment of "a few seconds" that revealed the level of his soul. To see the goodness in others while the heart remains cold, frozen, and indifferent—that is the mind of a lowly ordinary person. But to see goodness and rejoice in it, wanting to spread it—that is the mind of the noble ones.

Returning home, he picked up his phone and found an old recording of a dharma talk from years past. His teacher's deep, warm voice told of a crowded bus ride from his childhood. On that bus, packed "like a pig truck," two village philosophers were debating heatedly. The young one talked a great deal, his arguments sharp but dry. The old one spoke little, his northern accent deep and resonant, when suddenly he told a very short story about the Buddha:

"A Brahmin once asked the Buddha: 'Ascetic Gotama, what will become of me?' The Buddha replied: 'What happens five minutes from now, the Tathagata has no need to know.'"

Just those few short sentences, yet they struck straight into the heart of the child sitting in the back. They planted in the boy's heart a profound impression of peace in the present moment, of the transcendent wisdom of the Buddha. The boy did not remember the young man's complicated theories, but he remembered the old man's story forever. The lesson was clear: words of praise and admiration need not be flowery; if they are sincere and timely, they can become "true gold" in the listener's heart, more precious than all fleeting material things.

He looked over at the two jars of beans. He decided to start again. From today on, whenever he saw something good—no matter how small, like a child folding their hands in a respectful greeting, or a sanitation worker quietly keeping the streets clean—he would drop a white bean into the jar. He would cultivate the habit of "rejoicing as if finding gold" upon seeing the virtues of others, and more importantly, he would turn that feeling into words, into actions that spread reverence. For between criticism and praise, our choice is the very map that guides the future of our own moral character.

The Meaning of the Story

This story emphasizes the importance of the practice of "Praising the Tathagata" (extolling the Buddha), and more broadly, the ability to recognize and praise the goodness in others. Hasty criticism and judgment arise from an ordinary mind lacking proof and refinement, leading to bad karma. In contrast, knowing how to appreciate, admire, and spread good things—including praising the Buddha so that all beings may hear—nurtures a reverent heart, the root of life's ideals and the motivation for spiritual practice. A sincere word of praise, even if it lasts only a few fleeting seconds, if it arises from a heart that can be moved by goodness, will accumulate great merit, drawing a person closer to the qualities of the noble ones.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang