The Archer

A teaching on the New Year, on love, on impermanence (anicca), and above all on the duty of a Buddhist: to become a master archer, using the arrow of truth to strike the hearts of those who do not yet know the way.

On the second day of the Lunar New Year, a few petals of apricot blossom still drifted across the temple courtyard after the night's rain. In the lecture hall, as the sound of the bell faded, Venerable Thích Chân Quang took his seat on the dharma throne and looked down at the assembly of Buddhists with warm eyes. He smiled, and his deep, gentle voice rose in the quiet space:

"In the new year, whenever we meet, we must smile, and we must love one another. Even if we have been angry all year long, on Tet we must still show our teeth and smile—even if the teeth have not yet grown back in, smile anyway."

The whole assembly burst into laughter. He looked around, and his gaze came to rest on the last row of seats, where an elderly woman sat with her palms trembling in reverence:

"Those of you who have traveled from far away to visit the temple, this shows such devotion. There are people I have not seen for ten years. It is precisely this love, this kindness toward one another, that our ancestors skillfully wrapped into the three days of Tet."

He spoke of the Tet of old, when parents and grandparents required their children to love one another, to wish each other beautiful words. When we love someone, we want them to be happy. But loving all people, we lack the strength to help them all, and so that love settles into words of blessing. A blessing is an imitation of love, a momentum that carries us through the whole year.

Then he slowly turned to another story, and the room fell silent:

"People wish each other health, wealth, clever children, and a peaceful family. But a Buddhist looks at the new year a little differently. We look back at the old year and ask how many blessings from merit we have created. Because we know that time is impermanence (anicca), and everything passes away. There are things we leave behind when we die, and there are things we can carry with us."

He paused, emphasizing each word:

"Health, illness, wisdom, power, sin and merit—all of these are carried across the threshold of death. A person who lived in health becomes a strong spirit after death. A person who suffered illness still aches after death. A person of wisdom remains wise on the other side. Therefore we must treasure our time and not waste a single hour."

His voice grew lower, like a gentle reminder:

"One who idles away and wastes time carries a burden of fault. Heaven and the Buddhas do not grant long life for free. But one who treasures time and uses it for beneficial work will live long, even amid illness."

Then suddenly his tone changed, bright with the joy of a storyteller:

"Now let me speak of the archer. In this world there are three kinds of hunters. The first hunts animals in the forest, carrying bow and arrow, shooting game to eat. The second hunts heads—that is, hunts intelligence—when large companies send people out to seek talented students and gifted specialists to serve them. And the third kind of hunter is the disciple of the Buddha."

The room listened intently. He continued, his voice full of vigor:

"The disciple of the Buddha also carries a bow and arrows, but walks into the world seeking someone to shoot. Shoot whom? Those who do not yet know the way. Whoever has not yet known the way—string the bow, aim at the heart, and shoot them down with a single arrow. When the arrow strikes true, they kneel before the truth, before the altar of the Buddha. That is the arrow of truth."

He looked around and smiled gently:

"In the West there is a legend about the god of love, who draws his bow and shoots the arrow of love into people's hearts, making them infatuated for a lifetime. But we shoot the arrow of truth. One true strike, and a person falls at once, kneeling before what is right. From then on they know how to love others, to yield, to respect their elders and be kind to those below."

He spoke slowly, stressing each condition:

"To strike down whoever you aim at, three things are required. First, you must be skilled at winning affection. When you bring the Buddha's teachings (Dharma) to someone, you must be graceful, clever, humble, earnest, and persistent. If they say, 'No, I don't practice,' do not be discouraged—keep close and win their heart. Second, you must be skilled in reasoning. People will twist and turn in every way, saying, 'Why practice? I'm already a good person,' or 'Even the monks misbehave.' You must know how to answer. To be skilled in reasoning, you must listen to many teachings. Listen often, and naturally, whatever comes up, you will have something to say."

He paused, smiling at the whole assembly:

"From this day forward, each of us must vow to become a master archer, hitting the target with every shot. Carry your bow and arrows into the world, and whoever does not yet know the way, shoot at once. Shoot to strike true, shoot to bring them down. That is the greatest of blessings from merit, the merit of directly guiding those who do not yet know the way."

His voice grew deep and warm, pouring into the hearts of his listeners a longing:

"Be an archer of the highest skill. Do not let a single arrow fly past and miss its mark. For every arrow that strikes true is a soul awakened, a life transformed."

The Meaning of the Story

The story reminds every Buddhist of their noble duty: to become a master archer, using the arrow of truth to awaken souls that do not yet know the way. To do this, we must cultivate both a compassionate heart (winning affection) and wisdom (skill in reasoning), and we must be patient and persistent. The merit of directly guiding others is the greatest blessing from merit, allowing us to benefit the world while accumulating blessings from merit for ourselves on the path of practice.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang