The Tale of the Two Mirrors

It was a hot afternoon in the Jetavana Grove. The air stood still, and the only sound was the monotonous chirping of the cicadas. But the silence within the monastery was soon to be broken.

Two monks stood facing each other in the courtyard. Their faces were flushed with anger.

"You have disregarded the rules! I saw it clearly!" shouted one of the monks, whose name was Kassapa. He was the accuser.

"That is not true! You do not understand the situation at all, and you accuse me wrongfully!" countered the other, Tissa, the accused.

Their argument was on the verge of escalating into a physical altercation when a deep, calm shadow fell over them. The Blessed One, the Buddha, had approached them silently. His presence was so cool and peaceful that the anger of both monks melted away like ice in the sun.

"Monks," the Buddha said softly, yet with a firm voice. "If you do not examine yourselves thoroughly in a dispute, where do you think that leads? It leads to endless arguments, to harshness, and to physical violence. That way, you will never live in peace."

He looked at Tissa, the accused monk. "Come with me." Then he looked at Kassapa. "You too."

The Buddha led them to a nearby pond. The water was slightly stirred up by the wind and looked murky.

The First Mirror: For the Accused

The Buddha pointed to the murky water and spoke to Tissa: "Tissa, when someone accuses you of a wrongdoing, your attitude immediately shifts into defense. You become angry, speak displeased words, and walk away as if someone had just forced you to pay customs duties on contraband. You think: 'If only this monk hadn't seen me, I wouldn't have to justify myself right now.'"

Tissa lowered his head in shame. That was exactly what he had felt.

"That," said the Buddha, "is the false mirror. A wise monk examines himself thoroughly. He looks into his own heart and asks himself honestly: 'Have I done this unwholesome thing or not?' If yes, he admits it and purifies himself. If no, he remains as calm as a rock. Why get angry over truth or untruth? The anger itself is the real wrongdoing."

The Second Mirror: For the Accuser

Then the Buddha turned to Kassapa. "And you, Kassapa. You accused him. But how did you look at him? You looked at him with anger in your heart. You thought: 'This monk has done something unwholesome, I saw it clearly! If I hadn't caught him, he would have just kept going!' You elevated yourself above him, spoke displeased words, and basked in your own self-righteousness."

Kassapa swallowed hard. He, too, recognized himself in those words.

"That, too," the Buddha spoke, "is a blind spot. An accusing monk must examine himself before making an accusation: 'Am I free from anger? Am I acting out of compassion to help my brother, or do I just want to be right and humiliate him?' If you accuse out of anger, you are no better than a customs officer who is merely waiting to catch someone. That is not how peace is created."

The Clear Water

The Buddha raised a hand and asked them both to look into the pond once more. By now, the wind had died down. The water was smooth as a mirror and crystal clear. They could see all the way to the bottom, and at the same time, their own faces were perfectly reflected back at them.

"Do you see that?" the Buddha asked. "Only when the mind is free from the cloudiness of anger can you see the truth—your own and that of the other. If both of you examine yourselves as thoroughly in a dispute as this clear water reflects you, then there will be no more harshness and no more violence. Then, and only then, will you live in peace."

The two monks looked at each other. The heat of wanting to be right had vanished. They bowed deeply to the Blessed One, and then to each other. The courtyard of the monastery was still once more, and peace had returned.