The One Who Dares to Correct Others

That afternoon, in Jetavana monastery, the atmosphere felt strangely heavy. The old bodhi trees along the path still swayed in the wind, but even the rustling of their leaves seemed less joyful. A group of young monks, newly ordained, had gathered beneath a tree, busily trimming branches, turning the soil, and planting little clusters of wildflowers along the path. They laughed and chatted cheerfully, paying no attention to the stern glances of the elders passing by.

The trouble had begun a few months earlier. These monks were disciples of the two great elders Sariputta and Moggallana. When they first entered the monastery, each of them was eager, pure in heart, and devoted to study and practice. But as time passed, their old habits began to stir. They grew lazy with the sutras and chants, preferring only to do as they pleased. From early morning they could be found out in the garden, planting ornamental trees, trimming leaves, and arranging the walkways to their own liking. Then they formed private attachments with lay devotees—inviting one into their rooms privately, accepting offerings from another privately—until cracks began to appear in the Sangha, and hearts grew divided.

One afternoon, after the chanting session, the great elder Sariputta called a young monk over. He looked straight into his disciple's eyes and spoke in a low but commanding voice:

"My child, why have you spent the whole morning trimming trees in the garden? Have you memorized the sutras yet?"

The young monk bowed his head, but his voice remained stubborn:

"Venerable teacher, the garden looked so desolate, and I wanted to make the monastery beautiful. What is wrong with that?"

"Beautifying the monastery is a good thing," Sariputta sighed, "but if you neglect your practice, form private attachments with lay devotees, and accept things from them privately, then you have broken the rules. Do you understand?"

The monk fell silent, but his eyes still burned with resentment. The elder knew that months of gentle counsel had made no impression at all. That group of monks continued to live defiantly, rarely obedient, doing only as they pleased, leaving the community unsettled.

Finally, the Buddha summoned the two great elders. Seated beneath the bodhi tree, his gaze compassionate yet stern, he declared:

"Sariputta, Moggallana, you must expel these people from the monastery. Be firm. Do not be so concerned with gentleness and mildness that you lack authority. You must regularly remind them, admonish them, and point out their faults."

Sariputta pressed his palms together, his heart heavy. He knew that expelling someone from the Sangha was a task no one wished for, but if they were allowed to continue living undisciplined, an entire generation would be corrupted. Then the Buddha recited this verse:

"Those who admonish others, encouraging goodness and restraining evil, Are loved and respected by the virtuous, but disliked by the wicked."

He paused, looked around at the assembly of monks, and continued:

"Remember this: one who dares to correct others, who dares to restrain evil, will surely be disliked. That is natural, and it must be accepted. But if, out of fear of being disliked, one dares not correct anyone, then a great fault arises: seeing another's wrongdoing and failing to stop it, one will in the future be born mute, or deaf, or blind."

The two great elders bowed their heads and received the teaching. They summoned the stubborn monks and solemnly announced their expulsion. The young men's faces turned pale; some burst into tears, but Sariputta stood firm. He spoke to them in a voice full of sorrow, yet unshaken:

"Go now, and reflect. When your hearts are purified and you know how to accept counsel, you may return. But remember: the advice of others is like gold and precious gems, an opportunity to correct yourselves. Do not, out of hatred for those who correct you, lose your path to enlightenment."

Years later, a few from that group returned and asked for repentance. They recounted that only during their days of exile did they truly grasp the value of those admonitions. They came to understand that the person who dares to correct us, who dares to make us uncomfortable, is the one who truly loves us.

And from that time on, within the Sangha, everyone learned the lesson of moral authority: goodness is not mere mildness, but the courage to speak, to restrain, and to advise—guided by compassion and wisdom. For only in this way can we help one another escape the ocean of suffering in samsara (cycle of rebirth).

The Meaning of the Story

Those who dare to admonish others, restraining evil and encouraging goodness, are often hated by the wicked but respected by the virtuous. This is the lesson of moral authority: to have such authority, one must bow to the Buddha often, love all beings vastly, and dare to correct others when seeing them go astray. Do not remain silent out of fear of being disliked, for silence in the face of evil is itself a fault.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang