A Zen master had hundreds of disciples. They all prayed at the right time, except one, who was often drunk.
The master was growing old. Some of the more virtuous pupils began to wonder who would be the new leader of the group, the one who would receive the important secrets of the Tradition.
On the eve of his death, however, the master called the drunkard disciple to his room and revealed the hidden secrets of the Tradition to him.
A veritable revolt broke out among the others. “How shameful!” they cried in the streets, “We have sacrificed ourselves for the wrong master, one who can’t see our qualities.”
Hearing the commotion outside, the dying master remarked, “I had to pass on these secrets to a man that I knew well. All my pupils are very virtuous, and showed only their best qualities, not any defects. That is dangerous, for virtue often serves to hide vanity, pride and intolerance. That is why I chose the only disciple whom I know really well, since I can see his defect: drunkenness.”