The Man Who Looks to the Future

The morning sun shone brightly through the wooden lattice of the ancient temple. The sound of the early bell had long faded, leaving only the rustle of ginkgo leaves in the wind and the steady chanting from the main hall. In a small room behind the monastery’s living quarters, an elderly monk sat in meditation, his eyes closed, his face serene yet etched with a deep, hidden concern.

This senior monk had been with the temple since his childhood, growing up alongside his younger dharma brother under the guidance of their old master. When the master passed away, it was traditionally understood that the senior brother would inherit the position of abbot. But his junior brother could not accept this. He believed he was more capable, that the temple would flourish better under his management. To secure the role of abbot, the junior brother began secretly rallying key lay supporters, meeting with local authorities, contacting the Buddhist association, and slandering his elder brother.

“Let me tell you the truth,” the junior brother said to a wealthy lay supporter who often made offerings. “Our master is gone, and now there are just the two of us brothers. I worry terribly about the fate of this temple. If my senior brother becomes abbot, the place will fall to ruin. He doesn’t know how to teach the Dharma, the devotees will become discouraged and leave, wasting all our masters’ previous efforts.”

Seeing his words lacked enough weight, he escalated his slander: “My senior brother may appear devout, but his practice is not pure. He keeps charms and amulets, and has a secret wife and children.” The defamations grew worse, describing the senior monk as “looking kind but actually treacherous, greedy, and cruel,” and accusing him of the most serious moral violations. The lay followers began to feel shocked and confused.

When these words reached the senior monk, he was sweeping the temple courtyard beneath an ancient Bodhi tree. Golden leaves covered the ground, and the bamboo broom in his hands paused. If he were an ordinary person, he would have retaliated immediately. He would have recounted his brother’s misdeeds from childhood, all the times he had yielded and accommodated him. But then he stayed his hand and looked up at the clear, cloudless sky.

One afternoon, an elderly lay follower approached the senior monk, his face full of doubt. “Venerable Sir, I have heard some things about you… I don’t know what to believe.” The senior monk smiled gently, his voice calm. “Do not worry. What my dharma brother says is also true. He is sharp and capable; he might run the temple better than I. I have learned much from him.” The layperson was surprised, but as he left, he felt a sense of relief. He began to compare: one man only speaks ill, while the other praises his rival. Clearly, who is more virtuous?

Then one night, in the deep silence around three in the morning, the senior monk quietly awoke. He took two simple sets of robes, left his room, and without a word, departed the temple, ceding it entirely to his brother. There was no reproach, no explanation. His silence was so complete that his junior brother did not even know until the next morning.

When the brother discovered he was gone, everyone in the temple was stunned. As rumors spread about the junior brother’s slanderous plot to take over the temple, the people began to look at him with entirely different eyes. The wiser devotees compared the two: one suffered in silence to protect the image of the Dharma, the other spoke ill to serve his personal ambition. Their faith in the Buddha’s teachings was restored, for they saw that within the path, there were still those who practiced with true integrity.

As for the junior brother, he became the temple’s abbot. But every time he swept the courtyard under the Bodhi tree, every time he heard the bell ring, he thought of his elder brother. He recalled that absolute silence, that gentle gaze when he had praised him before the devotees. He began to ask himself: Did I truly win? Or did I lose a battle my brother never even entered?

Many years later, when the junior brother had grown old, he finally understood the most precious lesson: a person who lives with the future in mind is not one who achieves their desires at any cost, but one who considers the long-term consequences, the faith of others in morality, and the image of the Dharma in the hearts of all beings. His senior brother had embodied this perfectly, even at the cost of leaving a temple he had known his entire life.

**Meaning of the Story**

This story illustrates the concept of “living with the future in mind” within the Buddha’s teachings. It is about a person who considers the future, the distant results of their actions, and the long-term benefit for all, rather than chasing immediate gain. The senior monk in the story demonstrated bodhisattva wisdom by restraining his own ego, enduring slander to protect everyone’s faith in the Dharma. He knew that if he argued back, the brothers’ public dispute would damage the image of Buddhism, causing people to lose faith and abandon the path. Instead, he chose silence and departure, allowing a natural comparison between the two ways of living. The lesson is this: when we act, we should consider the “future”—what lies ahead, the consequences for tomorrow—rather than focusing only on immediate benefit. This is the delicate boundary between an ordinary person and a bodhisattva, between living superficially and living with the future in mind.

*Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang.*