Venerable Gangxiao Explains the Sixth Gatha of the Twenty Verses on Consciousness-Only

Sixth Gatha

Karma perfumes elsewhere; You hold that fruit arises in another place. If the perfumed consciousness bears fruit, What grounds are there to deny it?

What does this mean?

First, let me share Master Paramārtha’s translation of this verse. The “Chen” in his name refers to the Chen dynasty; Paramārtha is his dharma name. He rendered it: “Karma perfumes within consciousness, yet you hold results arise externally—why, in the place of perfuming, is the result not spoken of?” This is rather more straightforward than Master Xuanzang’s translation.

Karma perfumes the interior of consciousness, yet you claim its karmic fruit is experienced elsewhere. You wield this to reject my position that results lie within consciousness—your reasoning is utterly contrived.

There’s an old folk story. A married couple, both a little simple-minded, were asleep one night. The husband’s leg was bitten by a louse. He reached out, felt a leg, and started scratching. He scratched the whole night long without any relief, because he’d been scratching his wife’s leg the entire time. Can scratching someone else’s leg cure an itch on your own? You scratch where it itches! You experience the perfuming where it happens, and that is where you receive the karmic fruit.

The two instances of “elsewhere” in this verse are mutually referential.

Consciousness-only teaches that what can be perfumed is never the six consciousnesses, nor the material sense faculties—it must have a special capacity for this! The factors that perfume must meet four criteria: they must have arising and ceasing, a superior function, increase and decrease, and harmony with what is perfumed. What is perfumed must also meet four criteria: stability, neutrality, susceptibility to perfuming, and harmony with what perfumes. Only when these conditions align does perfuming work. I’ll explain these two categories briefly now.

First, the criteria for what is perfumed:

Stability. Take wind, for example: it blows one moment, stops the next—this lacks stability. To be stable means to have a continuous, unbroken flow from beginningless time, with no moment of cessation and no drastic shifts. As the saying goes, anyone who wants to accomplish great things must be steady. Young people are generally impetuous and unreliable—you can’t count on them. There’s a common saying: “No fuzz on the upper lip, not to be trusted to get things done.”

Neutrality. Why must what is perfumed be neutral? If it were wholesome, an unwholesome seed would arrive and it would reject it—just as pouring water on a fire puts it out. Fire and water can’t coexist. Or think of a computer: if the parts aren’t compatible, how can it run? The same goes for a person: if your mind is narrow and petty, you’ll never accomplish anything of consequence.

Susceptibility to perfuming.

Harmony with what perfumes. This “harmony” is what the Mahāyānasaṃgraha refers to as “correspondence.” Correspondence here means “simultaneous, in the same location, neither identical nor distinct, inseparable”—this is slightly different from the “correspondence” used for the mental formations not concomitant with mind. It’s like a person who is easygoing, not rigid or stubborn. Such a person gets along better with others, and when people are in harmony, success in any endeavor comes more easily.

Now, the criteria for what perfumes:

Arising and ceasing. To have arising and ceasing is to be impermanent. Something eternal cannot operate. This is why humans can never be equal to God—God is constant and unchanging. What is perfumed should be steady and stable; what perfumes should be lively and dynamic. The two complement each other, making up a complete causal process.

Superior function. This criterion mainly rules out the mental formations of the mature consciousness, as their power is too weak. If both what is perfumed and what perfumes are neutral, they both become mere “nice guys”—and that just won’t do. At our Jiuhua Mountain Buddhist Academy, when a student acted out, a teacher would always play bad cop—usually the class advisor. They’d give the student a thorough reprimand, then another teacher would play good cop, usually the vice dean, who would speak kindly to them. This way the issue was resolved, and the student was helped to correct their mistake. If everyone played good cop and was a “nice guy,” the student would never amend their fault. If everyone played bad cop, the issue could never be resolved either.

Increase and decrease. This is similar to the Matthew Effect: if you are poor, so poor that your last two coins jingle in your pocket, I will even take those two coins from you. If you are rich, overflowing with wealth, I will even give you the poor person’s two coins—making the good better and the bad worse.

Question: Doesn’t this go against God’s universal love?

No, it doesn’t. Precisely because God’s love is universal, He takes even the poor person’s last two coins, driving them completely into a corner. There’s an old Chinese saying: “Drive someone to a dead end, and they will find new life.”

Harmony with what is perfumed in location. This means not identical to, yet not separate from, what is perfumed.

This is why the first six consciousnesses and the material sense faculties simply cannot serve as what is perfumed.

Let me add a bit of context here.

The Smaller Vehicle acknowledges only the five sense consciousnesses (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body) and mental consciousness. The Great Vehicle acknowledges those six, plus the afflicted consciousness and the store consciousness. The Great Vehicle holds that the first six consciousnesses are intermittent, so they cannot serve as what is perfumed, while the Smaller Vehicle holds that they can. For example, the Smaller Vehicle asserts that mental consciousness definitely can serve as what is perfumed. Why this sharp difference between the two?

In the Smaller Vehicle, there are no terms for “afflicted consciousness” or “store consciousness.” They use “mental consciousness” to encompass all mental activity. Take “clinging to self.” Great Vehicle practitioners have this too: This is my book, my pen, my house… Smaller Vehicle followers also have “clinging to self”: This is my father, my son… The Smaller Vehicle holds that this “clinging to self” function can be included within mental consciousness. The Great Vehicle, however, gives this function a separate name: the afflicted consciousness. Think of mental consciousness as a mathematical set—a very broad, all-encompassing set. The afflicted consciousness is a smaller subset within that broad set; the store consciousness is also a smaller subset. In Great Vehicle teachings, what is left after removing the subsets of afflicted consciousness and store consciousness from the Smaller Vehicle’s broad set of mental consciousness is called “mental consciousness.” As a result, what the Great Vehicle calls mental consciousness and what the Smaller Vehicle calls mental consciousness are fundamentally different. This is why the Smaller Vehicle says mental consciousness can serve as what is perfumed, while the Great Vehicle denies this, holding that only the store consciousness can serve that role.

Why does the Great Vehicle go to the trouble of making these further divisions? It does make the terminology more complex, but this complexity actually makes it easier to grasp the nature of the universe and life, and more practical for practice and liberation. Most people find Consciousness-Only quite unfamiliar, so let me use a worldly example:

You’re all familiar with Freud, the founder of psychoanalysis. In his theory, he divided human consciousness into two parts, one of which he called the unconscious. You might say this makes things even more complicated. Yet, according to his framework, many psychological illnesses can be cured. His primary work was as a psychiatrist—this is where the theory’s practical value lies. The Great Vehicle works the same way: following this framework, one can cultivate with far greater confidence.

Take the Sautrāntika masters debating with Vasubandhu. They proposed that similar types of consciousness could perfume each other. Vasubandhu rejected this outright: mental consciousness is intermittent, so it cannot serve as what is perfumed. To the Sautrāntikas, this doesn’t make sense—their definition of mental consciousness is perfectly coherent. But according to Vasubandhu’s Great Vehicle understanding of consciousness, even though the same two characters are used, the meaning is entirely different, so it naturally cannot serve as what is perfumed.

Vasubandhu cuts them off: The “mental consciousness” you Sautrāntikas refer to, I simply do not accept as a valid basis for perfuming. What are you even debating? This violates the rules of Buddhist dialectics. Most of you may not be familiar with dialectics: its rules state that in any debate, the positions put forward must be “mutually accepted and established by both parties.” That means both sides must acknowledge and agree to the terms. For example, North and South Korea are at odds. If they want to negotiate, they meet in Beijing—a neutral third party. Holding talks in Pyongyang would be unacceptable to South Korea; holding them in Seoul would be unacceptable to North Korea. Beijing is neutral, so both sides feel their dignity is preserved. Similarly, in the story Mother-in-Law, Daughter-in-Law, and Little Sister-in-Law, the characters mistakenly believe Xiao Jiao and Teacher Lin are having an improper affair. Xiao Jiao flees to her parents’ home. Her mother asks the Chou family to meet at a restaurant to talk things through and clear up the misunderstanding. This makes sense too: meeting at Xiao Jiao’s parents’ home would be unacceptable to the Chou family; meeting at her marital home would be unacceptable to her mother. So they have to meet at a restaurant. As Xiao Jiao’s mother puts it, “We can’t let that old woman get the upper hand.”

The problem is, the “mental consciousness” the Sautrāntikas describe is not accepted by Vasubandhu as a valid basis for perfuming, and the “mental consciousness” Vasubandhu describes is not accepted by the Sautrāntikas. To resolve this contradiction, the two sides need to find common ground—a mutually accepted third party. But the Sautrāntikas didn’t do this. They went straight to stating that similar types of consciousness perfume each other, so Vasubandhu cut them off and wouldn’t let them continue.

This conflict between the Sautrāntika masters and Vasubandhu is purely a matter of dialectical debate, with no bearing on actual practice or liberation. I mention this to make a point to everyone: although the Twenty Verses refutes Smaller Vehicle and non-Buddhist systems, we must not look down on the Smaller Vehicle or dismiss its teachings as inferior simply because Vasubandhu won the debate. Following the Sautrāntika method also guarantees liberation, no question about it. Their “mental consciousness” refers to the broad set, which naturally can serve as what is perfumed, and the store consciousness is contained within that broad set. Following Vasubandhu’s method also guarantees liberation without doubt—when he says mental consciousness cannot serve as what is perfumed, he is referring to the narrow set, which naturally cannot. Vasubandhu’s framework simply makes it easier for ordinary people to make sense of the world.

The Sautrāntika masters were caught off guard and had to save face. The Twenty Verses records them saying: “This is based on the Buddha’s teaching—”

This isn’t us Sautrāntikas saying it; this is what Shakyamuni Buddha taught.

In the Shurangama Sutra, after the Buddha refutes Ānanda’s claims that the mind is inside or outside, Ānanda says: “You once instructed the fourfold assembly that when the mind arises, dharmas arise; when dharmas arise, the mind arises…” He tries to pass the buck back to the Buddha. After the Buddha refutes him again, Ānanda says: “I once heard you tell Mañjuśrī that the mind is neither inside nor outside…” These are all last-resort moves, using the Buddha as a shield when one has run out of arguments.

The Sautrāntika masters also had to invoke Śākyamuni to bolster their position: If all phenomena are manifestations of consciousness-only, with nothing external apart from consciousness—if eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, forms, sounds, smells, tastes, and tangibles are not separate from consciousness, but are transformations of mind—then why did the World-Honored One teach these phenomena at all? Was he just bored? Isn’t this creating unnecessary trouble?

Vasubandhu seized on the Sautrāntikas’ weak point and pressed his advantage without mercy, his words sharp and uncompromising. “This teaching is not a valid reason.” Put plainly: Stop using Śākyamuni as a shield. Read and understand the Buddha’s sutras and treatises before you quote them.

Vasubandhu’s single sentence remains just as relevant today—a warning for all of us who write. When we write, we quote Buddhist scriptures. But if your fundamental view is backwards, it doesn’t matter how many sutras you quote: it’s all useless. You haven’t actually read the Buddha’s teachings; you’ve misinterpreted them. If you twist the Buddha’s words, quoting them over and over changes nothing. Chan has a saying: “When a demon comes, kill the demon; when the Buddha comes, kill the Buddha.” The demon is affliction—kill it. The Buddha is purity—why kill him? Here, the “Buddha” refers to those “demons” wearing Buddhist robes. To outsiders they appear to be Buddhas, but they are actually demons. Take Falun Gong, for example: its quotes from Buddhist scriptures are countless…

Vasubandhu says: Granted, the World-Honored One did speak of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, forms, sounds, smells, tastes, and tangibles. But using this to prove the true existence of an external environment is a mistake. For example, if I tell you dipterex kills insects, and you use it to kill locusts, the effect will be poor. If I tell you sulfuric acid is an important chemical raw material, and you pour it on someone’s face—using the Buddha’s words about eyes and ears to prove a truly existent external environment is like a teacher telling you sulfuric acid is highly corrosive, and you then use it to corrode glass. How foolish! Each thing has a specific use—sulfuric acid cannot corrode glass. What you are doing is truly “taking a feather for an imperial edict.”

The Buddha teaches in response to the capacities of his listeners, with implicit, context-specific meaning.

One thing you’ll notice the more you read Buddhist sutras: nearly every classic opens by introducing the attendees of the Dharma assembly. Take the Amitabha Sutra: it opens by listing attendees like the elder Shariputra, the great Mahamaudgalyayana, the great Kasyapa, and others. Alongside them are great Bodhisattvas: Manjushri Bodhisattva, Ajita Bodhisattva (the one we usually call Maitreya Bodhisattva), Bodhisattva Sadāparibhūta (often called the Bodhisattva of Unflagging Effort), and others; the Ten Grounds Sutra lists attendees including Vajragarbha Bodhisattva, Ratnagarbha Bodhisattva, Padmagarbha Bodhisattva, Gunagarbha Bodhisattva, Padmaguna Bodhisattva, and others; the Sutra of Perfect Enlightenment lists attendees including Manjushri Bodhisattva, Samantabhadra Bodhisattva, Universal Eye Bodhisattva, Vajragarbha Bodhisattva, Maitreya Bodhisattva, and Bodhisattva of Pure Wisdom, among others; the Bao-shou Bodhisattva’s Bodhi Practice Sutra lists this assembly’s attendees as Maitreya Bodhisattva (also called the Bodhisattva of the Compassionate Clan, or just Maitreya for short), Manjushri Bodhisattva (also called the Bodhisattva of Wondrous Auspiciousness, another name for Manjushri), Mahasthamaprapta Bodhisattva (also called the Bodhisattva of Unbounded Light, another name for Mahasthamaprapta), along with Bodhisattva of Eloquence and Accumulation, Bodhisattva of Jewel Hands, Bodhisattva of Fragrant Light, Bodhisattva of Ultimate Meaning Mind, Bodhisattva of Light King Attainment, Bodhisattva Who Cuts Through All Sorrow and Darkness, Bodhisattva of Inner Practice, Bodhisattva of Unbounded Mind, and many others; the Sutra of Profound and Secret Meaning lists attendees including Bodhisattva of Proper Inquiry, Dharmodgata Bodhisattva, Bodhisattva of Pure and Excellent Wisdom, Bodhisattva of Expansive Wisdom, Bodhisattva of Rooted Virtue, Paramarthasamudga Bodhisattva, Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, Maitreya Bodhisattva, Manjushri Bodhisattva, among others. These examples are more than enough—there are countless more if I kept going.

Why is that, though? Why do Buddhist sutras always open by introducing the people who attend the Dharma assembly?

Take a regular modern classroom: on the first day, the teacher calls roll to get to know the students. Or think of a courtroom: once the judge, plaintiff, defendant, lawyers, and all other required parties are present, the first thing that happens is a call: “Are you Zhang San?” Ancient trials worked the same way. In the opera Juan Xi Tong, a judge asks, “Are you Cao Zhangcang, kneeling there?” The case file for Cao Baoshan’s trial had already been reviewed—of course the judge knew the man kneeling in front of him was Cao Zhangcang. Who else would even show up to a trial for Cao Zhangcang, after all? Zhang San answers, “Yes, that’s me.” Zhang San is the party involved, so of course it’s him. I, Venerable Gangxiao, would never just wander into a courtroom for no reason and plop down in the defendant’s seat—that would be absurd, right? You might think this is all unnecessary: don’t they already recognize him? Of course they do. But you still have to say the name anyway. It’s a formal procedure, and there’s deep meaning behind it.

The same goes for sutras that open by introducing key attendees of the Dharma assembly. There’s deep meaning here—it’s never just empty repetition or fluff.

Let’s look at this from a more worldly angle, too. Say someone named Jia is about to give a talk. Before he even opens his mouth, we can get a rough idea of what he’ll cover just by seeing who shows up to listen. If I see the audience is full of kindergarteners, I can already tell the content won’t be anything too deep—there’s no chance it will touch on quantum mechanics, relativity, or Hegelian philosophy. If I see the audience is full of scholars and professors, I can already tell the content won’t be superficial. If I see the whole audience is made up of medical workers, I can already tell the talk will be related to medicine. It’s the same principle here. When we see the attendees of this Dharma assembly are all great Bodhisattvas like Manjushri and Maitreya, we can immediately tell the Dharma teaching in this sutra is a profound Mahayana path. Speaking of the Agama Sutras… haven’t read them? That’s a real gap for anyone studying Buddhism—the Agamas are essential reading.

This is what we call teaching in response to the capacity of the audience, or teaching with hidden intention. In colloquial terms, it’s like “speaking human language to humans, and ghost language to ghosts.” Some people say if you “speak human language to humans and ghost language to ghosts,” you’re being disingenuous. But actually, being able to do that means you’re capable, that you know many different “foreign languages.” Of course, I’m just talking nonsense here.

A listener chimes in: “I’ve never even heard the term ‘teaching with hidden intention’ before.”

Alright, let’s break that down now. The term “hidden intention” has two layers of meaning: one is intent, the other is secrecy. What do we mean by intent? It’s teaching in a way that fits the specific capacity and inclination of the person meant to receive that teaching. As for secrecy, the meaning isn’t obvious on the surface—you have to look past the literal words to uncover the deeper significance buried inside. For example, let’s say I don’t get along with someone named Jia. Another person asks Jia, “What do you think of Venerable Gangxiao?” Jia replies, “He’s wonderful!” If I overhear this, my heart skips a beat: is Jia complimenting me, or insulting me?

Here’s another joke: when a county magistrate finished his term and left office, someone gave him a commemorative plaque that read “Five Great Realms.” The phrase sounded lovely, so the magistrate was very happy. Later, someone explained the true meaning to him: the five realms were, first, the magistrate’s conduct in office was a realm of darkness and chaos; second, his daily life was a realm of wine and debauchery; third, now that he was leaving, the people were in a realm of joy and celebration… I can’t remember the last two off the top of my head, but that’s the basic idea. Even though “Five Great Realms” sounds nice on the surface, it’s actually an insult. That’s what we mean by secrecy.

According to the Tiantai school, if you say something to a group, and person A gets it while I don’t, then your words are a secret to me, Venerable Gangxiao, but not to person A, since they understood. In the novel The Second Handshake, Ding Jieqiong writes a letter to Su Guanlan entirely in German. That letter is not a secret to Su Guanlan, since he speaks German, but it is a secret to the rest of us, who don’t. In war movies and TV shows, spies use coded phrases when they meet. Those codes only mean something to the two spies involved—they’re no secret to them, but they are to everyone else. As for the meaning of the Śūraṅgama Mantra? I have no idea! Not knowing is what makes it a secret.

In the Mahāyānasaṃgraha, Asaṅga lays out the Buddha’s four types of intent and four types of secrecy in his teaching.

The first is the intent of equality. Asaṅga gives this example: the Buddha once said, “In a past time and place, I was the fully awakened one called Vipashyin.” Put simply, that means Shakyamuni, in a past life, was the thus-come one Vipashyin. Vipashyin is one of the seven Buddhas of the past, just as Shakyamuni is one of the seven Buddhas of the present age. Shakyamuni says he was the past Vipashyin, even though they are clearly two distinct beings. Why would he say that? This points to the intent of equality: all Buddhas walk the same path, and their Dharmakaya is identical.

Note that this intent of equality also disproves a common misconception people have. For instance, when I was here not long ago, I saw a small booklet at a lay follower’s home called Ironclad Proof of Reincarnation. It tells the story of a family somewhere that had an old sow give birth to a litter of piglets. Each piglet had faint markings on its body: look closely, and one had the characters for Yuan Shikai, another Sheng Xuanhuai, another Li Hongzhang, and so on—all famous, powerful figures from the late Qing dynasty. The booklet concludes that this pig is the reincarnation of Sheng Xuanhuai, that one is Yuan Shikai, that one is Li Hongzhang… The intent of equality completely disproves this claim. It’s total nonsense. Now, I’m not saying the phenomenon itself is nonsense—I’m saying the interpretation, the conclusion, is absurd. All of this can be explained as the continuous similarity of karmic continuity; you can’t say this pig is the reincarnation of the late Qing’s Sheng Xuanhuai. If you claim the pig in front of you is the same being as the Li Hongzhang or Yuan Shikai of that era, you’re mistaking the continuous similarity of cause and effect for a permanent, unchanging continuity. That permanent, unchanging continuity is the idea of a soul—something Buddhism does not accept at all. That said, Ironclad Proof of Reincarnation is still a wholesome book. After reading it, people think: no matter how famous or powerful you are in life, if you don’t do good deeds, you can still end up reborn as a pig. That can inspire fear of falling into lower realms. But if you’re seeking liberation, this book can’t guide you there at all.

The second is the intent of different times. The Buddha once said, “By holding the name of Multitudes of Treasures Tathāgata—Amitabha Buddha—one will surely attain unexcelled, complete enlightenment.” In other words, as long as you recite Amitabha’s name, you are guaranteed to attain Buddhahood. This is the common saying: “One recitation of Amitabha, and all together attain the path of Buddhahood.” This is the intent of different times. Why? Because while reciting the name of Multitudes of Treasures Tathāgata does guarantee you will attain unexcelled enlightenment, it does not mean you will attain that enlightenment and become a Buddha right this second. It means you will attain it at a later time. The Buddha also said, “By making a vow alone, one will be reborn in the Land of Ultimate Bliss.” This doesn’t mean the second you make a vow, you’re instantly reborn in the Land of Ultimate Bliss, either. As the Amitabha Sutra says, this requires “not a small amount of merit, blessings, and conditions.” Common sayings like “Put down the butcher’s knife, and attain Buddhahood on the spot” are also examples of the intent of different times.

The third is the intent of different meanings. The Buddha said, “If one has served as many Buddhas as the sands of the Ganges, one should penetrate the meaning of the Mahayana Dharma.” You won’t find this line in Xuanzang’s translation; I pulled it from Venerable Han’s translation, which I find easier to follow. I know many of you here are university students—I’m not only speaking to lay followers, of course. Even if you don’t study the humanities, this sentence isn’t hard to grasp. Just because you have made offerings to many Buddhas does not mean you will necessarily understand the principles of Mahayana. Many people today don’t grasp this, and don’t realize this statement is rooted in the intent of different meanings. They fixate on making offerings to the Buddhas—though of course there are no Buddhas physically present now, so they make offerings to the Three Jewels instead. The Three Jewels are a great field of blessings, and they think that if they make offerings to the Three Jewels, they will definitely understand Mahayana principles. This is a misinterpretation of the sutras. Of course, lay followers, please don’t stop making offerings after hearing me say this—don’t do that. You should still make offerings as you always have. The Three Jewels are a great field of blessings, and making offerings to them accumulates the merit of blessings. As for the merit of wisdom, you have to turn to the sutras for that.

Look at the state of Buddhism today: many Dharma masters give talks on the sutras that are half-baked and half-wrong. They completely misinterpret the intent of different meanings—and many of them are big-name, well-known masters.

The fourth is the intent aligned with the inclinations of sentient beings. For example, say someone is extremely stingy—stinginess is what we call mātsarya in the hundred dharma teachings. So the Buddha teaches them about generosity. The person hears that generosity is good, so they go ahead and practice it. But after they make an offering, they get attached to the idea that their generosity has earned them huge merit, and they claim that this generosity alone will liberate them. At this point, the Buddha rebukes them: generosity is only a lower-level wholesome root, it can only accumulate the merit of blessings—how could you attain liberation through generosity alone? You might be thinking, isn’t this contradictory? First the Buddha says generosity is the best, then he says it’s not. Did he change his mind? Did he go back on what he said earlier? This is called skillful means. After the Buddha attained enlightenment, he first taught the Small Vehicle teachings, and later exhorted Small Vehicle practitioners to turn from the small path to the great Mahayana path. The difference between the two is huge, but this is all skillful means.

As for the four types of secrecy, I’ll just list their names and skip the explanations—it would take too long. The first is the secrecy of guiding entry, the second is the secrecy of marks, the third is the secrecy of antidotes, and the fourth is the secrecy of transformation.

Sutra school masters claim their views are based on what the Buddha said in the Agama sutras. Vasubandhu was very blunt in his rebuttal: “Sure, the Buddha did speak of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, form, sound, smell, taste, and touch in the Agama sutras. But you didn’t actually understand the Agama sutras, and you didn’t grasp the hidden intention behind the Buddha’s teachings. You can quote the Agama sutras all you want, of course—you’ve definitely read them. But even if you’ve read the Agama sutras, you’ve read them for nothing!”

The Buddha spoke of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, form, sound, smell, taste, and touch in line with the intent aligned with sentient beings’ inclinations, and in line with the secrecy of guiding entry. He never spoke of these things to assert that external realms truly exist. He only spoke of them to meet sentient beings where they are. If you can’t yet accept the great Dharma, if you don’t have the capacity to receive it, if the time isn’t right for you to receive it, the Buddha first teaches you the Small Vehicle teachings to guide you onto the right path—this is what we call skillful leading. As the old saying goes, “To lead beings into the wisdom of the Buddha, you first draw them in with a hook.” To put it in the simplest, most down-to-earth terms, the Buddha is the greatest trickster in the world. He uses every possible means to trick you out of the three realms and six paths, to trick all of you into the Pure Land. Over the 49 years of his teaching, the Buddha taught 84,000 Dharma doors—really, he set 84,000 traps. Buddhas and Bodhisattvas are all master tricksters. Look at the Universal Gate of the Bodhisattva of Compassion: Guanyin Bodhisattva’s trickery is so clever. Whatever form you need to be saved by, that is the form he manifests to trick you. Next up is the seventh verse.