or another, good or bad, all the other parts or units must be drawn into the general commotion that would follow, and will share the common fate. This subtle spiritual system of which all sentient beings are parts or units, is like a vast ocean in which the eternal moonlight of dharmakâya is reflected. Even a faint wavelet which is noticed in one part of the water is sure to spread all over its surface sooner or later according to the resistance of the molecules, and thus finally to disturb the serenity of the lunar image in it. Likewise, with every deed, good or bad, committed by any sentient unit of this spiritual organization, the dharmakâya rejoices or is grieved. When it is grieved, it wills to counteract the evil with goodness; when it rejoices, it knows that so far the cause of goodness has been advanced. Individual karma, therefore, is not after all individual; it is most intimately connected with the whole. It is not an isolated phenomenon originating from the individual and returning to the same agent. It is no mere abstraction when I say that the lifting of my arm or the moving of my leg is not an accidental, indifferent act, but directly related to the ultimate cause of the universe.
This assertion appears with an immeasurably greater emphasis with reference to an act which has a moral bearing. “If,” we may ask, “in our spiritual plane of existence things are so intimately related to one another, why could we not make the merit of our own deeds compensate or destroy the effect of an evil karma created by an ignorant mind? Why could we suffer ourselves for the sake of others and lighten even to the smallest degree the burden of evil karma under which weak, ignorant ones are groaning, though they have nobody else to blame for their own wretchedness?” These questions are answered affirmatively by the Mahâyâna Buddhists. For they say: “It is possible for us to dedicate our own good karma to the cause of universal goodness, and to suppress or crush or to make
