Ãcariya Mun once stayed with several other monks in a
mountainous area full of malaria. One of the monks happened
to contract the disease, but not a single medicine was available to
treat it. When the fever was at its worst, it raged continuously all
day. Ãcariya Mun visited the monk every morning and evening
to instruct him in the use of investigative techniques for reduc-
ing fever – meditation methods he himself always used with good
results. But since their levels of spiritual attainment were so dif-
ferent, this monk was incapable of investigating in the same way
as Ãcariya Mun could. Each time his fever intensified, he had to
simply wait for it to abate on its own. He had developed no effec-
tive methods for bringing it down himself. Eventually becoming
rather exasperated, Ãcariya Mun scolded him:
“It seems you’re a Mahã^31 in name only, since the know-
ledge you have learned is obviously of no help when you
really need it. What’s the point of studying to be a Mahã
if you’re just going to waste a lot of paper and then come
away empty-handed? The knowledge gained from studying
should benefit you in some way, so I cannot figure out what
you’ve been learning that’s so completely useless. Here you
are virtually dying of fever, but your learning can’t help alle-
viate your condition even a little bit. What’s the purpose
of all that learning anyway? It doesn’t make sense to me. I
can’t figure it out. I haven’t learned any grade of Pãli stud-
ies – not one. I have learned only the five kammaååhãna^32
that my preceptor gave me at my ordination, which I still
have with me today. They are all I need to take care of
myself. They don’t make me weak like you – you’re as weak