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Chapter III
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Right Intention (Samma Sankappa)
The second factor of the path is called in Pali samma sankappa, which we
will translate as "right intention." The term is sometimes translated as "right
thought," a rendering that can be accepted if we add the proviso that in the
present context the word "thought" refers specifically to the purposive or conative
aspect of mental activity, the cognitive aspect being covered by the first factor,
right view. It would be artificial, however, to insist too strongly on the division
between these two functions. From the Buddhist perspective, the cognitive and
purposive sides of the mind do not remain isolated in separate compartments
but intertwine and interact in close correlation. Emotional predilections influence
views, and views determine predilections. Thus a penetrating view of the nature
of existence, gained through deep reflection and validated through investigation,
brings with it a restructuring of values which sets the mind moving towards
goals commensurate with the new vision. The application of mind needed to achieve
those goals is what is meant by right intention.
The Buddha explains right intention as threefold: the intention of renunciation,
the intention of good will, and the intention of harmlessness.14
The three are opposed to three parallel kinds of wrong intention: intention
governed by desire, intention governed by ill will, and intention governed by
harmfulness.15 Each kind of right
intention counters the corresponding kind of wrong intention. The intention
of renunciation counters the intention of desire, the intention of good will
counters the intention of ill will, and the intention of harmlessness counters
the intention of harmfulness.
The Buddha discovered this twofold division of thought in the period prior
to his Enlightenment (see MN 19). While he was striving for deliverance, meditating
in the forest, he found that his thoughts could be distributed into two different
classes. In one he put thoughts of desire, ill will, and harmfulness, in the
other thoughts of renunciation, good will, and harmlessness. Whenever he noticed
thoughts of the first kind arise in him, he understood that those thoughts lead
to harm for oneself and others, obstruct wisdom, and lead away from Nibbana.
Reflecting in this way he expelled such thoughts from his mind and brought them
to an end. But whenever thoughts of the second kind arose, he understood those
thoughts to be beneficial, conducive to the growth of wisdom, aids to the attainment
of Nibbana. Thus he strengthened those thoughts and brought them to completion.
Right intention claims the second place in the path, between right view and
the triad of moral factors that begins with right speech, because the mind's
intentional function forms the crucial link connecting our cognitive perspective
with our modes of active engagement in the world. On the one side actions always
point back to the thoughts from which they spring. Thought is the forerunner
of action, directing body and speech, stirring them into activity, using them
as its instruments for expressing its aims and ideals. These aims and ideals,
our intentions, in turn point back a further step to the prevailing views. When
wrong views prevail, the outcome is wrong intention giving rise to unwholesome
actions. Thus one who denies the moral efficacy of action and measures achievement
in terms of gain and status will aspire to nothing but gain and status, using
whatever means he can to acquire them. When such pursuits become widespread,
the result is suffering, the tremendous suffering of individuals, social groups,
and nations out to gain wealth, position, and power without regard for consequences.
The cause for the endless competition, conflict, injustice, and oppression does
not lie outside the mind. These are all just manifestations of intentions, outcroppings
of thoughts driven by greed, by hatred, by delusion.
But when the intentions are right, the actions will be right, and for the
intentions to be right the surest guarantee is right views. One who recognizes
the law of kamma, that actions bring retributive consequences, will frame his
pursuits to accord with this law; thus his actions, expressive of his intentions,
will conform to the canons of right conduct. The Buddha succinctly sums up the
matter when he says that for a person who holds a wrong view, his deeds, words,
plans, and purposes grounded in that view will lead to suffering, while for
a person who holds right view, his deeds, words, plans, and purposes grounded
in that view will lead to happiness.16
Since the most important formulation of right view is the understanding of
the Four Noble Truths, it follows that this view should be in some way determinative
of the content of right intention. This we find to be in fact the case. Understanding
the four truths in relation to one's own life gives rise to the intention of
renunciation; understanding them in relation to other beings gives rise to the
other two right intentions. When we see how our own lives are pervaded by dukkha,
and how this dukkha derives from craving, the mind inclines to renunciation
— to abandoning craving and the objects to which it binds us. Then, when
we apply the truths in an analogous way to other living beings, the contemplation
nurtures the growth of good will and harmlessness. We see that, like ourselves,
all other living beings want to be happy, and again that like ourselves they
are subject to suffering. The consideration that all beings seek happiness causes
thoughts of good will to arise — the loving wish that they be well, happy,
and peaceful. The consideration that beings are exposed to suffering causes
thoughts of harmlessness to arise — the compassionate wish that they be
free from suffering.
The moment the cultivation of the Noble Eightfold Path begins, the factors
of right view and right intention together start to counteract the three unwholesome
roots. Delusion, the primary cognitive defilement, is opposed by right view,
the nascent seed of wisdom. The complete eradication of delusion will only take
place when right view is developed to the stage of full realization, but every
flickering of correct understanding contributes to its eventual destruction.
The other two roots, being emotive defilements, require opposition through the
redirecting of intention, and thus meet their antidotes in thoughts of renunciation,
good will, and harmlessness.
Since greed and aversion are deeply grounded, they do not yield easily; however,
the work of overcoming them is not impossible if an effective strategy is employed.
The path devised by the Buddha makes use of an indirect approach: it proceeds
by tackling the thoughts to which these defilements give rise. Greed and aversion
surface in the form of thoughts, and thus can be eroded by a process of "thought
substitution," by replacing them with the thoughts opposed to them. The intention
of renunciation provides the remedy to greed. Greed comes to manifestation in
thoughts of desire — as sensual, acquisitive, and possessive thoughts.
Thoughts of renunciation spring from the wholesome root of non-greed, which
they activate whenever they are cultivated. Since contrary thoughts cannot coexist,
when thoughts of renunciation are roused, they dislodge thoughts of desire,
thus causing non-greed to replace greed. Similarly, the intentions of good will
and harmlessness offer the antidote to aversion. Aversion comes to manifestation
either in thoughts of ill will — as angry, hostile, or resentful thoughts;
or in thoughts of harming — as the impulses to cruelty, aggression, and
destruction. Thoughts of good will counter the former outflow of aversion, thoughts
of harmlessness the latter outflow, in this way excising the unwholesome root
of aversion itself.
The Intention of Renunciation
The Buddha describes his teaching as running contrary to the way of the world.
The way of the world is the way of desire, and the unenlightened who follow
this way flow with the current of desire, seeking happiness by pursuing the
objects in which they imagine they will find fulfillment. The Buddha's message
of renunciation states exactly the opposite: the pull of desire is to be resisted
and eventually abandoned. Desire is to be abandoned not because it is morally
evil but because it is a root of suffering.17
Thus renunciation, turning away from craving and its drive for gratification,
becomes the key to happiness, to freedom from the hold of attachment.
The Buddha does not demand that everyone leave the household life for the
monastery or ask his followers to discard all sense enjoyments on the spot.
The degree to which a person renounces depends on his or her disposition and
situation. But what remains as a guiding principle is this: that the attainment
of deliverance requires the complete eradication of craving, and progress along
the path is accelerated to the extent that one overcomes craving. Breaking free
from domination by desire may not be easy, but the difficulty does not abrogate
the necessity. Since craving is the origin of dukkha, putting an end to dukkha
depends on eliminating craving, and that involves directing the mind to renunciation.
But it is just at this point, when one tries to let go of attachment, that
one encounters a powerful inner resistance. The mind does not want to relinquish
its hold on the objects to which it has become attached. For such a long time
it has been accustomed to gaining, grasping, and holding, that it seems impossible
to break these habits by an act of will. One might agree to the need for renunciation,
might want to leave attachment behind, but when the call is actually sounded
the mind recoils and continues to move in the grip of its desires.
So the problem arises of how to break the shackles of desire. The Buddha
does not offer as a solution the method of repression — the attempt to
drive desire away with a mind full of fear and loathing. This approach does
not resolve the problem but only pushes it below the surface, where it continues
to thrive. The tool the Buddha holds out to free the mind from desire is understanding.
Real renunciation is not a matter of compelling ourselves to give up things
still inwardly cherished, but of changing our perspective on them so that they
no longer bind us. When we understand the nature of desire, when we investigate
it closely with keen attention, desire falls away by itself, without need for
struggle.
To understand desire in such a way that we can loosen its hold, we need to
see that desire is invariably bound up with dukkha. The whole phenomenon of
desire, with its cycle of wanting and gratification, hangs on our way of seeing
things. We remain in bondage to desire because we see it as our means to happiness.
If we can look at desire from a different angle, its force will be abated, resulting
in the move towards renunciation. What is needed to alter perception is something
called "wise consideration" (yoniso manasikara). Just as perception influences
thought, so thought can influence perception. Our usual perceptions are tinged
with "unwise consideration" (ayoniso manasikara). We ordinarily look only at
the surfaces of things, scan them in terms of our immediate interests and wants;
only rarely do we dig into the roots of our involvements or explore their long-range
consequences. To set this straight calls for wise consideration: looking into
the hidden undertones to our actions, exploring their results, evaluating the
worthiness of our goals. In this investigation our concern must not be with
what is pleasant but with what is true. We have to be prepared and willing to
discover what is true even at the cost of our comfort. For real security always
lies on the side of truth, not on the side of comfort.
When desire is scrutinized closely, we find that it is constantly shadowed
by dukkha. Sometimes dukkha appears as pain or irritation; often it lies low
as a constant strain of discontent. But the two — desire and dukkha —
are inseparable concomitants. We can confirm this for ourselves by considering
the whole cycle of desire. At the moment desire springs up it creates in us
a sense of lack, the pain of want. To end this pain we struggle to fulfill the
desire. If our effort fails, we experience frustration, disappointment, sometimes
despair. But even the pleasure of success is not unqualified. We worry that
we might lose the ground we have gained. We feel driven to secure our position,
to safeguard our territory, to gain more, to rise higher, to establish tighter
controls. The demands of desire seem endless, and each desire demands the eternal:
it wants the things we get to last forever. But all the objects of desire are
impermanent. Whether it be wealth, power, position, or other persons, separation
is inevitable, and the pain that accompanies separation is proportional to the
force of attachment: strong attachment brings much suffering; little attachment
brings little suffering; no attachment brings no suffering.18
Contemplating the dukkha inherent in desire is one way to incline the mind
to renunciation. Another way is to contemplate directly the benefits flowing
from renunciation. To move from desire to renunciation is not, as might be imagined,
to move from happiness to grief, from abundance to destitution. It is to pass
from gross, entangling pleasures to an exalted happiness and peace, from a condition
of servitude to one of self-mastery. Desire ultimately breeds fear and sorrow,
but renunciation gives fearlessness and joy. It promotes the accomplishment
of all three stages of the threefold training: it purifies conduct, aids concentration,
and nourishes the seed of wisdom. The entire course of practice from start to
finish can in fact be seen as an evolving process of renunciation culminating
in Nibbana as the ultimate stage of relinquishment, "the relinquishing of all
foundations of existence" (sabb'upadhipatinissagga).
When we methodically contemplate the dangers of desire and the benefits of
renunciation, gradually we steer our mind away from the domination of desire.
Attachments are shed like the leaves of a tree, naturally and spontaneously.
The changes do not come suddenly, but when there is persistent practice, there
is no doubt that they will come. Through repeated contemplation one thought
knocks away another, the intention of renunciation dislodges the intention of
desire.
The Intention of Good Will
The intention of good will opposes the intention of ill will, thoughts governed
by anger and aversion. As in the case of desire, there are two ineffective ways
of handling ill will. One is to yield to it, to express the aversion by bodily
or verbal action. This approach releases the tension, helps drive the anger
"out of one's system," but it also poses certain dangers. It breeds resentment,
provokes retaliation, creates enemies, poisons relationships, and generates
unwholesome kamma; in the end, the ill will does not leave the "system" after
all, but instead is driven down to a deeper level where it continues to vitiate
one's thoughts and conduct. The other approach, repression, also fails to dispel
the destructive force of ill will. It merely turns that force around and pushes
it inward, where it becomes transmogrified into self-contempt, chronic depression,
or a tendency to irrational outbursts of violence.
The remedy the Buddha recommends to counteract ill will, especially when
the object is another person, is a quality called in Pali metta. This word derives
from another word meaning "friend," but metta signifies much more than ordinary
friendliness. I prefer to translate it by the compound "loving-kindness," which
best captures the intended sense: an intense feeling of selfless love for other
beings radiating outwards as a heartfelt concern for their well-being and happiness.
Metta is not just sentimental good will, nor is it a conscientious response
to a moral imperative or divine command. It must become a deep inner feeling,
characterized by spontaneous warmth rather than by a sense of obligation. At
its peak metta rises to the heights of a brahmavihara, a "divine dwelling,"
a total way of being centered on the radiant wish for the welfare of all living
beings.
The kind of love implied by metta should be distinguished from sensual love
as well as from the love involved in personal affection. The first is a form
of craving, necessarily self-directed, while the second still includes a degree
of attachment: we love a person because that person gives us pleasure, belongs
to our family or group, or reinforces our own self-image. Only rarely does the
feeling of affection transcend all traces of ego-reference, and even then its
scope is limited. It applies only to a certain person or group of people while
excluding others.
The love involved in metta, in contrast, does not hinge on particular relations
to particular persons. Here the reference point of self is utterly omitted.
We are concerned only with suffusing others with a mind of loving-kindness,
which ideally is to be developed into a universal state, extended to all living
beings without discriminations or reservations. The way to impart to metta this
universal scope is to cultivate it as an exercise in meditation. Spontaneous
feelings of good will occur too sporadically and are too limited in range to
be relied on as the remedy for aversion. The idea of deliberately developing
love has been criticized as contrived, mechanical, and calculated. Love, it
is said, can only be genuine when it is spontaneous, arisen without inner prompting
or effort. But it is a Buddhist thesis that the mind cannot be commanded to
love spontaneously; it can only be shown the means to develop love and enjoined
to practice accordingly. At first the means has to be employed with some deliberation,
but through practice the feeling of love becomes ingrained, grafted onto the
mind as a natural and spontaneous tendency.
The method of development is metta-bhavana, the meditation on loving-kindness,
one of the most important kinds of Buddhist meditation. The meditation begins
with the development of loving-kindness towards oneself.19
It is suggested that one take oneself as the first object of metta because true
loving-kindness for others only becomes possible when one is able to feel genuine
loving-kindness for oneself. Probably most of the anger and hostility we direct
to others springs from negative attitudes we hold towards ourselves. When metta
is directed inwards towards oneself, it helps to melt down the hardened crust
created by these negative attitudes, permitting a fluid diffusion of kindness
and sympathy outwards.
Once one has learned to kindle the feeling of metta towards oneself, the
next step is to extend it to others. The extension of metta hinges on a shift
in the sense of identity, on expanding the sense of identity beyond its ordinary
confines and learning to identify with others. The shift is purely psychological
in method, entirely free from theological and metaphysical postulates, such
as that of a universal self immanent in all beings. Instead, it proceeds from
a simple, straightforward course of reflection which enables us to share the
subjectivity of others and experience the world (at least imaginatively) from
the standpoint of their own inwardness. The procedure starts with oneself. If
we look into our own mind, we find that the basic urge of our being is the wish
to be happy and free from suffering. Now, as soon as we see this in ourselves,
we can immediately understand that all living beings share the same basic wish.
All want to be well, happy, and secure. To develop metta towards others, what
is to be done is to imaginatively share their own innate wish for happiness.
We use our own desire for happiness as the key, experience this desire as the
basic urge of others, then come back to our own position and extend to them
the wish that they may achieve their ultimate objective, that they may be well
and happy.
The methodical radiation of metta is practiced first by directing metta to
individuals representing certain groups. These groups are set in an order of
progressive remoteness from oneself. The radiation begins with a dear person,
such as a parent or teacher, then moves on to a friend, then to a neutral person,
then finally to a hostile person. Though the types are defined by their relation
to oneself, the love to be developed is not based on that relation but on each
person's common aspiration for happiness. With each individual one has to bring
his (or her) image into focus and radiate the thought: "May he (she) be well!
May he (she) be happy! May he (she) be peaceful!"20
Only when one succeeds in generating a warm feeling of good will and kindness
towards that person should one turn to the next. Once one gains some success
with individuals, one can then work with larger units. One can try developing
metta towards all friends, all neutral persons, all hostile persons. Then metta
can be widened by directional suffusion, proceeding in the various directions
— east, south, west, north, above, below — then it can be extended
to all beings without distinction. In the end one suffuses the entire world
with a mind of loving-kindness "vast, sublime, and immeasurable, without enmity,
without aversion."
The Intention of Harmlessness
The intention of harmlessness is thought guided by compassion (karuna), aroused
in opposition to cruel, aggressive, and violent thoughts. Compassion supplies
the complement to loving-kindness. Whereas loving-kindness has the characteristic
of wishing for the happiness and welfare of others, compassion has the characteristic
of wishing that others be free from suffering, a wish to be extended without
limits to all living beings. Like metta, compassion arises by entering into
the subjectivity of others, by sharing their interiority in a deep and total
way. It springs up by considering that all beings, like ourselves, wish to be
free from suffering, yet despite their wishes continue to be harassed by pain,
fear, sorrow, and other forms of dukkha.
To develop compassion as a meditative exercise, it is most effective to start
with somebody who is actually undergoing suffering, since this provides the
natural object for compassion. One contemplates this person's suffering, either
directly or imaginatively, then reflects that like oneself, he (she) also wants
to be free from suffering. The thought should be repeated, and contemplation
continually exercised, until a strong feeling of compassion swells up in the
heart. Then, using that feeling as a standard, one turns to different individuals,
considers how they are each exposed to suffering, and radiates the gentle feeling
of compassion out to them. To increase the breadth and intensity of compassion
it is helpful to contemplate the various sufferings to which living beings are
susceptible. A useful guideline to this extension is provided by the first noble
truth, with its enumeration of the different aspects of dukkha. One contemplates
beings as subject to old age, then as subject to sickness, then to death, then
to sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief, and despair, and so forth.
When a high level of success has been achieved in generating compassion by
the contemplation of beings who are directly afflicted by suffering, one can
then move on to consider people who are presently enjoying happiness which they
have acquired by immoral means. One might reflect that such people, despite
their superficial fortune, are doubtlessly troubled deep within by the pangs
of conscience. Even if they display no outward signs of inner distress, one
knows that they will eventually reap the bitter fruits of their evil deeds,
which will bring them intense suffering. Finally, one can widen the scope of
one's contemplation to include all living beings. One should contemplate all
beings as subject to the universal suffering of samsara, driven by their greed,
aversion, and delusion through the round of repeated birth and death. If compassion
is initially difficult to arouse towards beings who are total strangers, one
can strengthen it by reflecting on the Buddha's dictum that in this beginningless
cycle of rebirths, it is hard to find even a single being who has not at some
time been one's own mother or father, sister or brother, son or daughter.
To sum up, we see that the three kinds of right intention — of renunciation,
good will, and harmlessness — counteract the three wrong intentions of
desire, ill will, and harmfulness. The importance of putting into practice the
contemplations leading to the arising of these thoughts cannot be overemphasized.
The contemplations have been taught as methods for cultivation, not mere theoretical
excursions. To develop the intention of renunciation we have to contemplate
the suffering tied up with the quest for worldly enjoyment; to develop the intention
of good will we have to consider how all beings desire happiness; to develop
the intention of harmlessness we have to consider how all beings wish to be
free from suffering. The unwholesome thought is like a rotten peg lodged in
the mind; the wholesome thought is like a new peg suitable to replace it. The
actual contemplation functions as the hammer used to drive out the old peg with
the new one. The work of driving in the new peg is practice — practicing
again and again, as often as is necessary to reach success. The Buddha gives
us his assurance that the victory can be achieved. He says that whatever one
reflects upon frequently becomes the inclination of the mind. If one frequently
thinks sensual, hostile, or harmful thoughts, desire, ill will, and harmfulness
become the inclination of the mind. If one frequently thinks in the opposite
way, renunciation, good will, and harmlessness become the inclination of the
mind (MN 19). The direction we take always comes back to ourselves, to the intentions
we generate moment by moment in the course of our lives.
Chapter IV
Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood
(Samma Vaca, Samma Kammanta, Samma Ajiva)
The next three path factors — right speech, right action, and right
livelihood — may be treated together, as collectively they make up the
first of the three divisions of the path, the division of moral discipline (silakkhandha).
Though the principles laid down in this section restrain immoral actions and
promote good conduct, their ultimate purpose is not so much ethical as spiritual.
They are not prescribed merely as guides to action, but primarily as aids to
mental purification. As a necessary measure for human well-being, ethics has
its own justification in the Buddha's teaching and its importance cannot be
underrated. But in the special context of the Noble Eightfold Path ethical principles
are subordinate to the path's governing goal, final deliverance from suffering.
Thus for the moral training to become a proper part of the path, it has to be
taken up under the tutelage of the first two factors, right view and right intention,
and to lead beyond to the trainings in concentration and wisdom.
Though the training in moral discipline is listed first among the three groups
of practices, it should not be regarded lightly. It is the foundation for the
entire path, essential for the success of the other trainings. The Buddha himself
frequently urged his disciples to adhere to the rules of discipline, "seeing
danger in the slightest fault." One time, when a monk approached the Buddha
and asked for the training in brief, the Buddha told him: "First establish yourself
in the starting point of wholesome states, that is, in purified moral discipline
and in right view. Then, when your moral discipline is purified and your view
straight, you should practice the four foundations of mindfulness" (SN 47:3).
The Pali word we have been translating as "moral discipline," sila, appears
in the texts with several overlapping meanings all connected with right conduct.
In some contexts it means action conforming to moral principles, in others the
principles themselves, in still others the virtuous qualities of character that
result from the observance of moral principles. Sila in the sense of precepts
or principles represents the formalistic side of the ethical training, sila
as virtue the animating spirit, and sila as right conduct the expression of
virtue in real-life situations. Often sila is formally defined as abstinence
from unwholesome bodily and verbal action. This definition, with its stress
on outer action, appears superficial. Other explanations, however, make up for
the deficiency and reveal that there is more to sila than is evident at first
glance. The Abhidhamma, for example, equates sila with the mental factors of
abstinence (viratiyo) — right speech, right action, and right livelihood
— an equation which makes it clear that what is really being cultivated
through the observance of moral precepts is the mind. Thus while the training
in sila brings the "public" benefit of inhibiting socially detrimental actions,
it entails the personal benefit of mental purification, preventing the defilements
from dictating to us what lines of conduct we should follow.
The English word "morality" and its derivatives suggest a sense of obligation
and constraint quite foreign to the Buddhist conception of sila; this connotation
probably enters from the theistic background to Western ethics. Buddhism, with
its non-theistic framework, grounds its ethics, not on the notion of obedience,
but on that of harmony. In fact, the commentaries explain the word sila by another
word, samadhana, meaning "harmony" or "coordination."
The observance of sila leads to harmony at several levels — social,
psychological, kammic, and contemplative. At the social level the principles
of sila help to establish harmonious interpersonal relations, welding the mass
of differently constituted members of society with their own private interests
and goals into a cohesive social order in which conflict, if not utterly eliminated,
is at least reduced. At the psychological level sila brings harmony to the mind,
protection from the inner split caused by guilt and remorse over moral transgressions.
At the kammic level the observance of sila ensures harmony with the cosmic law
of kamma, hence favorable results in the course of future movement through the
round of repeated birth and death. And at the fourth level, the contemplative,
sila helps establish the preliminary purification of mind to be completed, in
a deeper and more thorough way, by the methodical development of serenity and
insight.
When briefly defined, the factors of moral training are usually worded negatively,
in terms of abstinence. But there is more to sila than refraining from what
is wrong. Each principle embedded in the precepts, as we will see, actually
has two aspects, both essential to the training as a whole. One is abstinence
from the unwholesome, the other commitment to the wholesome; the former is called
"avoidance" (varitta) and the latter "performance" (caritta). At the outset
of training the Buddha stresses the aspect of avoidance. He does so, not because
abstinence from the unwholesome is sufficient in itself, but to establish the
steps of practice in proper sequence. The steps are set out in their natural
order (more logical than temporal) in the famous dictum of the Dhammapada: "To
abstain from all evil, to cultivate the good, and to purify one's mind —
this is the teaching of the Buddhas" (v. 183). The other two steps — cultivating
the good and purifying the mind — also receive their due, but to ensure
their success, a resolve to avoid the unwholesome is a necessity. Without such
a resolve the attempt to develop wholesome qualities is bound to issue in a
warped and stunted pattern of growth.
The training in moral discipline governs the two principal channels of outer
action, speech and body, as well as another area of vital concern — one's
way of earning a living. Thus the training contains three factors: right speech,
right action, and right livelihood. These we will now examine individually,
following the order in which they are set forth in the usual exposition of the
path.
Right Speech (samma vaca)
The Buddha divides right speech into four components: abstaining from false
speech, abstaining from slanderous speech, abstaining from harsh speech, and
abstaining from idle chatter. Because the effects of speech are not as immediately
evident as those of bodily action, its importance and potential is easily overlooked.
But a little reflection will show that speech and its offshoot, the written
word, can have enormous consequences for good or for harm. In fact, whereas
for beings such as animals who live at the preverbal level physical action is
of dominant concern, for humans immersed in verbal communication speech gains
the ascendency. Speech can break lives, create enemies, and start wars, or it
can give wisdom, heal divisions, and create peace. This has always been so,
yet in the modern age the positive and negative potentials of speech have been
vastly multiplied by the tremendous increase in the means, speed, and range
of communications. The capacity for verbal expression, oral and written, has
often been regarded as the distinguishing mark of the human species. From this
we can appreciate the need to make this capacity the means to human excellence
rather than, as too often has been the case, the sign of human degradation.
(1) Abstaining from false speech (musavada veramani)
Herein someone avoids false speech and abstains from it. He speaks the
truth, is devoted to truth, reliable, worthy of confidence, not a deceiver
of people. Being at a meeting, or amongst people, or in the midst of his
relatives, or in a society, or in the king's court, and called upon and
asked as witness to tell what he knows, he answers, if he knows nothing:
"I know nothing," and if he knows, he answers: "I know"; if he has seen
nothing, he answers: "I have seen nothing," and if he has seen, he answers:
"I have seen." Thus he never knowingly speaks a lie, either for the sake
of his own advantage, or for the sake of another person's advantage, or
for the sake of any advantage whatsoever.21
This statement of the Buddha discloses both the negative and the positive
sides to the precept. The negative side is abstaining from lying, the positive
side speaking the truth. The determinative factor behind the transgression is
the intention to deceive. If one speaks something false believing it to be true,
there is no breach of the precept as the intention to deceive is absent. Though
the deceptive intention is common to all cases of false speech, lies can appear
in different guises depending on the motivating root, whether greed, hatred,
or delusion. Greed as the chief motive results in the lie aimed at gaining some
personal advantage for oneself or for those close to oneself — material
wealth, position, respect, or admiration. With hatred as the motive, false speech
takes the form of the malicious lie, the lie intended to hurt and damage others.
When delusion is the principal motive, the result is a less pernicious type
of falsehood: the irrational lie, the compulsive lie, the interesting exaggeration,
lying for the sake of a joke.
The Buddha's stricture against lying rests upon several reasons. For one
thing, lying is disruptive to social cohesion. People can live together in society
only in an atmosphere of mutual trust, where they have reason to believe that
others will speak the truth; by destroying the grounds for trust and inducing
mass suspicion, widespread lying becomes the harbinger signalling the fall from
social solidarity to chaos. But lying has other consequences of a deeply personal
nature at least equally disastrous. By their very nature lies tend to proliferate.
Lying once and finding our word suspect, we feel compelled to lie again to defend
our credibility, to paint a consistent picture of events. So the process repeats
itself: the lies stretch, multiply, and connect until they lock us into a cage
of falsehoods from which it is difficult to escape. The lie is thus a miniature
paradigm for the whole process of subjective illusion. In each case the self-assured
creator, sucked in by his own deceptions, eventually winds up their victim.
Such considerations probably lie behind the words of counsel the Buddha spoke
to his son, the young novice Rahula, soon after the boy was ordained. One day
the Buddha came to Rahula, pointed to a bowl with a little bit of water in it,
and asked: "Rahula, do you see this bit of water left in the bowl?" Rahula answered:
"Yes, sir." "So little, Rahula, is the spiritual achievement (samañña, lit.
'recluseship') of one who is not afraid to speak a deliberate lie." Then the
Buddha threw the water away, put the bowl down, and said: "Do you see, Rahula,
how that water has been discarded? In the same way one who tells a deliberate
lie discards whatever spiritual achievement he has made." Again he asked: "Do
you see how this bowl is now empty? In the same way one who has no shame in
speaking lies is empty of spiritual achievement." Then the Buddha turned the
bowl upside down and said: "Do you see, Rahula, how this bowl has been turned
upside down? In the same way one who tells a deliberate lie turns his spiritual
achievements upside down and becomes incapable of progress." Therefore, the
Buddha concluded, one should not speak a deliberate lie even in jest.22
It is said that in the course of his long training for enlightenment over
many lives, a bodhisatta can break all the moral precepts except the pledge
to speak the truth. The reason for this is very profound, and reveals that the
commitment to truth has a significance transcending the domain of ethics and
even mental purification, taking us to the domains of knowledge and being. Truthful
speech provides, in the sphere of interpersonal communication, a parallel to
wisdom in the sphere of private understanding. The two are respectively the
outward and inward modalities of the same commitment to what is real. Wisdom
consists in the realization of truth, and truth (sacca) is not just a verbal
proposition but the nature of things as they are. To realize truth our whole
being has to be brought into accord with actuality, with things as they are,
which requires that in communications with others we respect things as they
are by speaking the truth. Truthful speech establishes a correspondence between
our own inner being and the real nature of phenomena, allowing wisdom to rise
up and fathom their real nature. Thus, much more than an ethical principle,
devotion to truthful speech is a matter of taking our stand on reality rather
than illusion, on the truth grasped by wisdom rather than the fantasies woven
by desire.
(2) Abstaining from slanderous speech (pisunaya vacaya veramani)
He avoids slanderous speech and abstains from it. What he has heard here
he does not repeat there, so as to cause dissension there; and what he has
heard there he does not repeat here, so as to cause dissension here. Thus
he unites those that are divided; and those that are united he encourages.
Concord gladdens him, he delights and rejoices in concord; and it is concord
that he spreads by his words.23
Slanderous speech is speech intended to create enmity and division, to alienate
one person or group from another. The motive behind such speech is generally
aversion, resentment of a rival's success or virtues, the intention to tear
down others by verbal denigrations. Other motives may enter the picture as well:
the cruel intention of causing hurt to others, the evil desire to win affection
for oneself, the perverse delight in seeing friends divided.
Slanderous speech is one of the most serious moral transgressions. The root
of hate makes the unwholesome kamma already heavy enough, but since the action
usually occurs after deliberation, the negative force becomes even stronger
because premeditation adds to its gravity. When the slanderous statement is
false, the two wrongs of falsehood and slander combine to produce an extremely
powerful unwholesome kamma. The canonical texts record several cases in which
the calumny ofan innocent party led to an immediate rebirth in the plane of
misery.
The opposite of slander, as the Buddha indicates, is speech that promotes
friendship and harmony. Such speech originates from a mind of loving-kindness
and sympathy. It wins the trust and affection of others, who feel they can confide
in one without fear that their disclosures will be used against them. Beyond
the obvious benefits that such speech brings in this present life, it is said
that abstaining from slander has as its kammic result the gain of a retinue
of friends who can never be turned against one by the slanderous words of others.24
(3) Abstaining from harsh speech (pharusaya vacaya veramani).
He avoids harsh language and abstains from it. He speaks such words as
are gentle, soothing to the ear, loving, such words as go to the heart,
and are courteous, friendly, and agreeable to many.25
Harsh speech is speech uttered in anger, intended to cause the hearer pain.
Such speech can assume different forms, of which we might mention three. One
is abusive speech: scolding, reviling, or reproving another angrily with bitter
words. A second is insult: hurting another by ascribing to him some offensive
quality which detracts from his dignity. A third is sarcasm: speaking to someone
in a way which ostensibly lauds him, but with such a tone or twist of phrasing
that the ironic intent becomes clear and causes pain.
The main root of harsh speech is aversion, assuming the form of anger. Since
the defilement in this case tends to work impulsively, without deliberation,
the transgression is less serious than slander and the kammic consequence generally
less severe. Still, harsh speech is an unwholesome action with disagreeable
results for oneself and others, both now and in the future, so it has to be
restrained. The ideal antidote is patience — learning to tolerate blame
and criticism from others, to sympathize with their shortcomings, to respect
differences in viewpoint, to endure abuse without feeling compelled to retaliate.
The Buddha calls for patience even under the most trying conditions:
Even if, monks, robbers and murderers saw through your limbs and joints,
whosoever should give way to anger thereat would not be following my advice.
For thus ought you to train yourselves: "Undisturbed shall our mind remain,
with heart full of love, and free from any hidden malice; and that person shall
we penetrate with loving thoughts, wide, deep, boundless, freed from anger and
hatred."26
(4) Abstaining from idle chatter (samphappalapa veramani).
He avoids idle chatter and abstains from it. He speaks at the right time,
in accordance with facts, speaks what is useful, speaks of the Dhamma and
the discipline; his speech is like a treasure, uttered at the right moment,
accompanied by reason, moderate and full of sense.27
Idle chatter is pointless talk, speech that lacks purpose or depth. Such
speech communicates nothing of value, but only stirs up the defilements in one's
own mind and in others. The Buddha advises that idle talk should be curbed and
speech restricted as much as possible to matters of genuine importance. In the
case of a monk, the typical subject of the passage just quoted, his words should
be selective and concerned primarily with the Dhamma. Lay persons will have
more need for affectionate small talk with friends and family, polite conversation
with acquaintances, and talk in connection with their line of work. But even
then they should be mindful not to let the conversation stray into pastures
where the restless mind, always eager for something sweet or spicy to feed on,
might find the chance to indulge its defiling propensities.
The traditional exegesis of abstaining from idle chatter refers only to avoiding
engagement in such talk oneself. But today it might be of value to give this
factor a different slant, made imperative by certain developments peculiar to
our own time, unknown in the days of the Buddha and the ancient commentators.
This is avoiding exposure to the idle chatter constantly bombarding us through
the new media of communication created by modern technology. An incredible array
of devices — television, radio, newspapers, pulp journals, the cinema
— turns out a continuous stream of needless information and distracting
entertainment the net effect of which is to leave the mind passive, vacant,
and sterile. All these developments, naively accepted as "progress," threaten
to blunt our aesthetic and spiritual sensitivities and deafen us to the higher
call of the contemplative life. Serious aspirants on the path to liberation
have to be extremely discerning in what they allow themselves to be exposed
to. They would greatly serve their aspirations by including these sources of
amusement and needless information in the category of idle chatter and making
an effort to avoid them.
Right Action (samma kammanta)
Right action means refraining from unwholesome deeds that occur with the
body as their natural means of expression. The pivotal element in this path
factor is the mental factor of abstinence, but because this abstinence applies
to actions performed through the body, it is called "right action." The Buddha
mentions three components of right action: abstaining from taking life, abstaining
from taking what is not given, and abstaining from sexual misconduct. These
we will briefly discuss in order.
(1) Abstaining from the taking of life (panatipata veramani)
Herein someone avoids the taking of life and abstains from it. Without
stick or sword, conscientious, full of sympathy, he is desirous of the welfare
of all sentient beings.28
"Abstaining from taking life" has a wider application than simply refraining
from killing other human beings. The precept enjoins abstaining from killing
any sentient being. A "sentient being" (pani, satta) is a living being endowed
with mind or consciousness; for practical purposes, this means human beings,
animals, and insects. Plants are not considered to be sentient beings; though
they exhibit some degree of sensitivity, they lack full-fledged consciousness,
the defining attribute of a sentient being.
The "taking of life" that is to be avoided is intentional killing, the deliberate
destruction of life of a being endowed with consciousness. The principle is
grounded in the consideration that all beings love life and fear death, that
all seek happiness and are averse to pain. The essential determinant of transgression
is the volition to kill, issuing in an action that deprives a being of life.
Suicide is also generally regarded as a violation, but not accidental killing
as the intention to destroy life is absent. The abstinence may be taken to apply
to two kinds of action, the primary and the secondary. The primary is the actual
destruction of life; the secondary is deliberately harming or torturing another
being without killing it.
While the Buddha's statement on non-injury is quite simple and straightforward,
later commentaries give a detailed analysis of the principle. A treatise from
Thailand, written by an erudite Thai patriarch, collates a mass of earlier material
into an especially thorough treatment, which we shall briefly summarize here.29
The treatise points out that the taking of life may have varying degrees of
moral weight entailing different consequences. The three primary variables governing
moral weight are the object, the motive, and the effort. With regard to the
object there is a difference in seriousness between killing a human being and
killing an animal, the former being kammically heavier since man has a more
highly developed moral sense and greater spiritual potential than animals. Among
human beings, the degree of kammic weight depends on the qualities of the person
killed and his relation to the killer; thus killing a person of superior spiritual
qualities or a personal benefactor, such as a parent or a teacher, is an especially
grave act.
The motive for killing also influences moral weight. Acts of killing can
be driven by greed, hatred, or delusion. Of the three, killing motivated by
hatred is the most serious, and the weight increases to the degree that the
killing is premeditated. The force of effort involved also contributes, the
unwholesome kamma being proportional to the force and the strength of the defilements.
The positive counterpart to abstaining from taking life, as the Buddha indicates,
is the development of kindness and compassion for other beings. The disciple
not only avoids destroying life; he dwells with a heart full of sympathy, desiring
the welfare of all beings. The commitment to non-injury and concern for the
welfare of others represent the practical application of the second path factor,
right intention, in the form of good will and harmlessness.
(2) Abstaining from taking what is not given (adinnadana veramani)
He avoids taking what is not given and abstains from it; what another
person possesses of goods and chattel in the village or in the wood, that
he does not take away with thievish intent.30
"Taking what is not given" means appropriating the rightful belongings of
others with thievish intent. If one takes something that has no owner, such
as unclaimed stones, wood, or even gems extracted from the earth, the act does
not count as a violation even though these objects have not been given. But
also implied as a transgression, though not expressly stated, is withholding
from others what should rightfully be given to them.
Commentaries mention a number of ways in which "taking what is not given"
can be committed. Some of the most common may be enumerated:
(1) stealing: taking the belongings of others secretly, as in housebreaking,
pickpocketing, etc.;
(2) robbery: taking what belongs to others openly by force or threats;
(3) snatching: suddenly pulling away another's possession before he has
time to resist;
(4) fraudulence: gaining possession of another's belongings by falsely
claiming them as one's own;
(5) deceitfulness: using false weights and measures to cheat customers.31
The degree of moral weight that attaches to the action is determined by three
factors: the value of the object taken; the qualities of the victim of the theft;
and the subjective state of the thief. Regarding the first, moral weight is
directly proportional to the value of the object. Regarding the second, the
weight varies according to the moral qualities of the deprived individual. Regarding
the third, acts of theft may be motivated either by greed or hatred. While greed
is the most common cause, hatred may also be responsible as when one person
deprives another of his belongings not so much because he wants them for himself
as because he wants to harm the latter. Between the two, acts motivated by hatred
are kammically heavier than acts motivated by sheer greed.
The positive counterpart to abstaining from stealing is honesty, which implies
respect for the belongings of others and for their right to use their belongings
as they wish. Another related virtue is contentment, being satisfied with what
one has without being inclined to increase one's wealth by unscrupulous means.
The most eminent opposite virtue is generosity, giving away one's own wealth
and possessions in order to benefit others.
(3) Abstaining from sexual misconduct (kamesu miccha-cara veramani)
He avoids sexual misconduct and abstains from it. He has no intercourse
with such persons as are still under the protection of father, mother, brother,
sister or relatives, nor with married women, nor with female convicts, nor
lastly, with betrothed girls.32
The guiding purposes of this precept, from the ethical standpoint, are to protect
marital relations from outside disruption and to promote trust and fidelity
within the marital union. From the spiritual standpoint it helps curb the expansive
tendency of sexual desire and thus is a step in the direction of renunciation,
which reaches its consummation in the observance of celibacy (brahmacariya)
binding on monks and nuns. But for laypeople the precept enjoins abstaining
from sexual relations with an illicit partner. The primary transgression is
entering into full sexual union, but all other sexual involvements of a less
complete kind may be considered secondary infringements.
The main question raised by the precept concerns who is to count as an illicit
partner. The Buddha's statement defines the illicit partner from the perspective
of the man, but later treatises elaborate the matter for both sexes.33
For a man, three kinds of women are considered illicit partners:
(1) A woman who is married to another man. This includes, besides a woman
already married to a man, a woman who is not his legal wife but is generally
recognized as his consort, who lives with him or is kept by him or is in
some way acknowledged as his partner. All these women are illicit partners
for men other than their own husbands. This class would also include a woman
engaged to another man. But a widow or divorced woman is not out of bounds,
provided she is not excluded for other reasons.
(2) A woman still under protection. This is a girl or woman who is under
the protection of her mother, father, relatives, or others rightfully entitled
to be her guardians. This provision rules out elopements or secret marriages
contrary to the wishes of the protecting party.
(3) A woman prohibited by convention. This includes close female relatives
forbidden as partners by social tradition, nuns and other women under a
vow of celibacy, and those prohibited as partners by the law of the land.
From the standpoint of a woman, two kinds of men are considered illicit partners:
(1) For a married woman any man other than her husband is out of bounds.
Thus a married woman violates the precept if she breaks her vow of fidelity
to her husband. But a widow or divorcee is free to remarry.
(2) For any woman any man forbidden by convention, such as close relatives
and those under a vow of celibacy, is an illicit partner.
Besides these, any case of forced, violent, or coercive sexual union constitutes
a transgression. But in such a case the violation falls only on the offender,
not on the one compelled to submit.
The positive virtue corresponding to the abstinence is, for laypeople, marital
fidelity. Husband and wife should each be faithful and devoted to the other,
content with the relationship, and should not risk a breakup to the union by
seeking outside partners. The principle does not, however, confine sexual relations
to the marital union. It is flexible enough to allow for variations depending
on social convention. The essential purpose, as was said, is to prevent sexual
relations which are hurtful to others. When mature independent people, though
unmarried, enter into a sexual relationship through free consent, so long as
no other person is intentionally harmed, no breach of the training factor is
involved.
Ordained monks and nuns, including men and women who have undertaken the
eight or ten precepts, are obliged to observe celibacy. They must abstain not
only from sexual misconduct, but from all sexual involvements, at least during
the period of their vows. The holy life at its highest aims at complete purity
in thought, word, and deed, and this requires turning back the tide of sexual
desire.
Right Livelihood (samma ajiva)
Right livelihood is concerned with ensuring that one earns one's living in
a righteous way. For a lay disciple the Buddha teaches that wealth should be
gained in accordance with certain standards. One should acquire it only by legal
means, not illegally; one should acquire it peacefully, without coercion or
violence; one should acquire it honestly, not by trickery or deceit; and one
should acquire it in ways which do not entail harm and suffering for others.34
The Buddha mentions five specific kinds of livelihood which bring harm to others
and are therefore to be avoided: dealing in weapons, in living beings (including
raising animals for slaughter as well as slave trade and prostitution), in meat
production and butchery, in poisons, and in intoxicants (AN 5:177). He further
names several dishonest means of gaining wealth which fall under wrong livelihood:
practicing deceit, treachery, soothsaying, trickery, and usury (MN 117). Obviously
any occupation that requires violation of right speech and right action is a
wrong form of livelihood, but other occupations, such as selling weapons or
intoxicants, may not violate those factors and yet be wrong because of their
consequences for others.
The Thai treatise discusses the positive aspects of right livelihood under
the three convenient headings of rightness regarding actions, rightness regarding
persons, and rightness regarding objects.35
"Rightness regarding actions" means that workers should fulfill their duties
diligently and conscientiously, not idling away time, claiming to have worked
longer hours than they did, or pocketing the company's goods. "Rightness regarding
persons" means that due respect and consideration should be shown to employers,
employees, colleagues, and customers. An employer, for example, should assign
his workers chores according to their ability, pay them adequately, promote
them when they deserve a promotion and give them occasional vacations and bonuses.
Colleagues should try to cooperate rather than compete, while merchants should
be equitable in their dealings with customers. "Rightness regarding objects"
means that in business transactions and sales the articles to be sold should
be presented truthfully. There should be no deceptive advertising, misrepresentations
of quality or quantity, or dishonest manoeuvers.
Chapter V
Right Effort (Samma Vayama)
The purification of conduct established by the prior three factors serves
as the basis for the next division of the path, the division of concentration
(samadhikkhandha). This present phase of practice, which advances from moral
restraint to direct mental training, comprises the three factors of right effort,
right mindfulness, and right concentration. It gains its name from the goal
to which it aspires, the power of sustained concentration, itself required as
the support for insight-wisdom. Wisdom is the primary tool for deliverance,
but the penetrating vision it yields can only open up when the mind has been
composed and collected. Right concentration brings the requisite stillness to
the mind by unifying it with undistracted focus on a suitable object. To do
so, however, the factor of concentration needs the aid of effort and mindfulness.
Right effort provides the energy demanded by the task, right mindfulness the
steadying points for awareness.
The commentators illustrate the interdependence of the three factors within
the concentration group with a simple simile. Three boys go to a park to play.
While walking along they see a tree with flowering tops and decide they want
to gather the flowers. But the flowers are beyond the reach even of the tallest
boy. Then one friend bends down and offers his back. The tall boy climbs up,
but still hesitates to reach for the flowers from fear of falling. So the third
boy comes over and offers his shoulder for support. The first boy, standing
on the back of the second boy, then leans on the shoulder of the third boy,
reaches up, and gathers the flowers.36
In this simile the tall boy who picks the flowers represents concentration
with its function of unifying the mind. But to unify the mind concentration
needs support: the energy provided by right effort, which is like the boy who
offers his back. It also requires the stabilizing awareness provided by mindfulness,
which is like the boy who offers his shoulder. When right concentration receives
this support, then empowered by right effort and balanced by right mindfulness
it can draw in the scattered strands of thought and fix the mind firmly on its
object.
Energy (viriya), the mental factor behind right effort, can appear in either
wholesome or unwholesome forms. The same factor fuels desire, aggression, violence,
and ambition on the one hand, and generosity, self-discipline, kindness, concentration,
and understanding on the other. The exertion involved in right effort is a wholesome
form of energy, but it is something more specific, namely, the energy in wholesome
states of consciousness directed to liberation from suffering. This last qualifying
phrase is especially important. For wholesome energy to become a contributor
to the path it has to be guided by right view and right intention, and to work
in association with the other path factors. Otherwise, as the energy in ordinary
wholesome states of mind, it merely engenders an accumulation of merit that
ripens within the round of birth and death; it does not issue in liberation
from the round.
Time and again the Buddha has stressed the need for effort, for diligence,
exertion, and unflagging perseverance. The reason why effort is so crucial is
that each person has to work out his or her own deliverance. The Buddha does
what he can by pointing out the path to liberation; the rest involves putting
the path into practice, a task that demands energy. This energy is to be applied
to the cultivation of the mind, which forms the focus of the entire path. The
starting point is the defiled mind, afflicted and deluded; the goal is the liberated
mind, purified and illuminated by wisdom. What comes in between is the unremitting
effort to transform the defiled mind into the liberated mind. The work of self-cultivation
is not easy — there is no one who can do it for us but ourselves —
but it is not impossible. The Buddha himself and his accomplished disciples
provide the living proof that the task is not beyond our reach. They assure
us, too, that anyone who follows the path can accomplish the same goal. But
what is needed is effort, the work of practice taken up with the determination:
"I shall not give up my efforts until I have attained whatever is attainable
by manly perseverance, energy, and endeavor."37
The nature of the mental process effects a division of right effort into
four "great endeavors":
- to prevent the arising of unarisen unwholesome states;
- to abandon unwholesome states that have already arisen;
- to arouse wholesome states that have not yet arisen;
- to maintain and perfect wholesome states already arisen.
The unwholesome states (akusala dhamma) are the defilements, and the thoughts,
emotions, and intentions derived from them, whether breaking forth into action
or remaining confined within. The wholesome states (kusala dhamma) are states
of mind untainted by defilements, especially those conducing to deliverance.
Each of the two kinds of mental states imposes a double task. The unwholesome
side requires that the defilements lying dormant be prevented from erupting
and that the active defilements already present be expelled. The wholesome side
requires that the undeveloped liberating factors first be brought into being,
then persistently developed to the point of full maturity. Now we will examine
each of these four divisions of right effort, giving special attention to their
most fertile field of application, the cultivation of the mind through meditation.
(1) To prevent the arising of unarisen unwholesome states
Herein the disciple rouses his will to avoid the arising of evil, unwholesome
states that have not yet arisen; and he makes effort, stirs up his energy,
exerts his mind and strives.38
The first side of right effort aims at overcoming unwholesome states, states
of mind tainted by defilements. Insofar as they impede concentration the defilements
are usually presented in a fivefold set called the "five hindrances" (pañcanivarana):
sensual desire, ill will, dullness and drowsiness, restlessness and worry, and
doubt.39 They receive the name "hindrances"
because they block the path to liberation; they grow up and over the mind preventing
calm and insight, the primary instruments for progress. The first two hindrances,
sensual desire and ill will, are the strongest of the set, the most formidable
barriers to meditative growth, representing, respectively, the unwholesome roots
of greed and aversion. The other three hindrances, less toxic but still obstructive,
are offshoots of delusion, usually in association with other defilements.
Sensual desire is interpreted in two ways. Sometimes it is understood in
a narrow sense as lust for the "five strands of sense pleasure," i.e., agreeable
sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and touches; sometimes a broader interpretation
is given, by which the term becomes inclusive of craving in all its modes, whether
for sense pleasures, wealth, power, position, fame, or anything else it can
settle upon. The second hindrance, ill will, is a synonym for aversion. It comprises
hatred, anger, resentment, repulsion of every shade, whether directed towards
other people, towards oneself, towards objects, or towards situations. The third
hindrance, dullness and drowsiness, is a compound of two factors linked together
by their common feature of mental unwieldiness. One is dullness (thina), manifest
as mental inertia; the other is drowsiness (middha), seen in mental sinking,
heaviness of mind, or excessive inclination to sleep. At the opposite extreme
is the fourth hindrance, restlessness and worry. This too is a compound with
its two members linked by their common feature of disquietude. Restlessness
(uddhacca) is agitation or excitement, which drives the mind from thought to
thought with speed and frenzy; worry (kukkucca) is remorse over past mistakes
and anxiety about their possible undesired consequences. The fifth hindrance,
doubt, signifies a chronic indecisiveness and lack of resolution: not the probing
of critical intelligence, an attitude encouraged by the Buddha, but a persistent
inability to commit oneself to the course of spiritual training due to lingering
doubts concerning the Buddha, his doctrine, and his path.
The first effort to be made regarding the hindrances is the effort to prevent
the unarisen hindrances from arising; this is also called the endeavor to restrain
(samvarappadhana). The effort to hold the hindrances in check is imperative
both at the start of meditative training and throughout the course of its development.
For when the hindrances arise, they disperse attention and darken the quality
of awareness, to the detriment of calm and clarity. The hindrances do not come
from outside the mind but from within. They appear through the activation of
certain tendencies constantly lying dormant in the deep recesses of the mental
continuum, awaiting the opportunity to surface.
Generally what sparks the hindrances into activity is the input afforded
by sense experience. The physical organism is equipped with five sense faculties
each receptive to its own specific kind of data — the eye to forms, the
ear to sounds, the nose to smells, the tongue to tastes, the body to tangibles.
Sense objects continuously impinge on the senses, which relay the information
they receive to the mind, where it is processed, evaluated, and accorded an
appropriate response. But the mind can deal with the impressions it receives
in different ways, governed in the first place by the manner in which it attends
to them. When the mind adverts to the incoming data carelessly, with unwise
consideration (ayoniso manasikara), the sense objects tend to stir up unwholesome
states. They do this either directly, through their immediate impact, or else
indirectly by depositing memory traces which later may swell up as the objects
of defiled thoughts, images, and fantasies. As a general rule the defilement
that is activated corresponds to the object: attractive objects provoke desire,
disagreeable objects provoke ill will, and indeterminate objects provoke the
defilements connected with delusion.
Since an uncontrolled response to the sensory input stimulates the latent
defilements, what is evidently needed to prevent them from arising is control
over the senses. Thus the Buddha teaches, as the discipline for keeping the
hindrances in check, an exercise called the restraint of the sense faculties
(indriya-samvara):
When he perceives a form with the eye, a sound with the ear, an odor
with the nose, a taste with the tongue, an impression with the body, or
an object with the mind, he apprehends neither the sign nor the particulars.
And he strives to ward off that through which evil and unwholesome states,
greed and sorrow, would arise, if he remained with unguarded senses; and
he watches over his senses, restrains his senses.40
Restraint of the senses does not mean denial of the senses, retreating into
a total withdrawal from the sensory world. This is impossible, and even if it
could be achieved, the real problem would still not be solved; for the defilements
lie in the mind, not in the sense organs or objects. The key to sense control
is indicated by the phrase "not apprehending the sign or the particulars." The
"sign" (nimitta) is the object's general appearance insofar as this appearance
is grasped as the basis for defiled thoughts; the "particulars" (anubyanjana)
are its less conspicuous features. If sense control is lacking, the mind roams
recklessly over the sense fields. First it grasps the sign, which sets the defilements
into motion, then it explores the particulars, which permits them to multiply
and thrive.
To restrain the senses requires that mindfulness and clear understanding
be applied to the encounter with the sense fields. Sense consciousness occurs
in a series, as a sequence of momentary cognitive acts each having its own special
task. The initial stages in the series occur as automatic functions: first the
mind adverts to the object, then apprehends it, then admits the percept, examines
it, and identifies it. Immediately following the identification a space opens
up in which there occurs a free evaluation of the object leading to the choice
of a response. When mindfulness is absent the latent defilements, pushing for
an opportunity to emerge, will motivate a wrong consideration. One will grasp
the sign of the object, explore its details, and thereby give the defilements
their opportunity: on account of greed one will become fascinated by an agreeable
object, on account of aversion one will be repelled by a disagreeable object.
But when one applies mindfulness to the sensory encounter, one nips the cognitive
process in the bud before it can evolve into the stages that stimulate the dormant
taints. Mindfulness holds the hindrances in check by keeping the mind at the
level of what is sensed. It rivets awareness on the given, preventing the mind
from embellishing the datum with ideas born of greed, aversion, and delusion.
Then, with this lucent awareness as a guide, the mind can proceed to comprehend
the object as it is, without being led astray.
(2) To abandon the arisen unwholesome states
Herein the disciple rouses his will to overcome the evil, unwholesome
states that have already arisen and he makes effort, stirs up his energy,
exerts his mind and strives.41
Despite the effort at sense control the defilements may still surface. They
swell up from the depths of the mental continuum, from the buried strata of
past accumulations, to congeal into unwholesome thoughts and emotions. When
this happens a new kind of effort becomes necessary, the effort to abandon arisen
unwholesome states, called for short the endeavor to abandon (pahanappadhana):
He does not retain any thought of sensual lust, ill will, or harmfulness,
or any other evil and unwholesome states that may have arisen; he abandons
them, dispels them, destroys them, causes them to disappear.42
Just as a skilled physician has different medicines for different ailments,
so the Buddha has different antidotes for the different hindrances, some equally
applicable to all, some geared to a particular hindrance. In an important discourse
the Buddha explains five techniques for expelling distracting thoughts.43
The first is to expel the defiled thought with a wholesome thought which is
its exact opposite, analogous to the way a carpenter might use a new peg to
drive out an old one. For each of the five hindrances there is a specific remedy,
a line of meditation designed expressly to deflate it and destroy it. This remedy
can be applied intermittently, when a hindrance springs up and disrupts meditation
on the primary subject; or it can be taken as a primary subject itself, used
to counter a defilement repeatedly seen to be a persistent obstacle to one's
practice. But for the antidote to become effective in the first role, as a temporary
expedient required by the upsurge of a hindrance, it is best to gain some familiarity
with it by making it a primary object, at least for short periods.
For desire a remedy of general application is the meditation on impermanence,
which knocks away the underlying prop of clinging, the implicit assumption that
the objects clung to are stable and durable. For desire in the specific form
of sensual lust the most potent antidote is the contemplation of the unattractive
nature of the body, to be dealt with at greater length in the next chapter.
Ill will meets its proper remedy in the meditation on loving-kindness (metta),
which banishes all traces of hatred and anger through the methodical radiation
of the altruistic wish that all beings be well and happy. The dispelling of
dullness and drowsiness calls for a special effort to arouse energy, for which
several methods are suggested: the visualization of a brilliant ball of light,
getting up and doing a period of brisk walking meditation, reflection on death,
or simply making a firm determination to continue striving. Restlessness and
worry are most effectively countered by turning the mind to a simple object
that tends to calm it down; the method usually recommended is mindfulness of
breathing, attention to the in-and-out flow of the breath. In the case of doubt
the special remedy is investigation: to make inquiries, ask questions, and study
the teachings until the obscure points become clear.44
Whereas this first of the five methods for expelling the hindrances involves
a one-to-one alignment between a hindrance and its remedy, the other four utilize
general approaches. The second marshals the forces of shame (hiri) and moral
dread (ottappa) to abandon the unwanted thought: one reflects on the thought
as vile and ignoble or considers its undesirable consequences until an inner
revulsion sets in which drives the thought away. The third method involves a
deliberate diversion of attention. When an unwholesome thought arises and clamours
to be noticed, instead of indulging it one simply shuts it out by redirecting
one's attention elsewhere, as if closing one's eyes or looking away to avoid
an unpleasant sight. The fourth method uses the opposite approach. Instead of
turning away from the unwanted thought, one confronts it directly as an object,
scrutinizes its features, and investigates its source. When this is done the
thought quiets down and eventually disappears. For an unwholesome thought is
like a thief: it only creates trouble when its operation is concealed, but put
under observation it becomes tame. The fifth method, to be used only as a last
resort, is suppression — vigorously restraining the unwholesome thought
with the power of the will in the way a strong man might throw a weaker man
to the ground and keep him pinned there with his weight.
By applying these five methods with skill and discretion, the Buddha says,
one becomes a master of all the pathways of thought. One is no longer the subject
of the mind but its master. Whatever thought one wants to think, that one will
think. Whatever thought one does not want to think, that one will not think.
Even if unwholesome thoughts occasionally arise, one can dispel them immediately,
just as quickly as a red-hot pan will turn to steam a few chance drops of water.
(3) To arouse unarisen wholesome states
Herein the disciple rouses his will to arouse wholesome states that have
not yet arisen; and he makes effort, stirs up his energy, exerts his mind
and strives.45
Simultaneously with the removal of defilements, right effort also imposes
the task of cultivating wholesome states of mind. This involves two divisions:
the arousing of wholesome states not yet arisen and the maturation of wholesome
states already arisen.
The first of the two divisions is also known as the endeavor to develop (bhavanappadhana).
Though the wholesome states to be developed can be grouped in various ways —
serenity and insight, the four foundations of mindfulness, the eight factors
of the path, etc. — the Buddha lays special stress on a set called the
seven factors of enlightenment (satta bojjhanga): mindfulness, investigation
of phenomena, energy, rapture, tranquillity, concentration, and equanimity.
Thus he develops the factors of enlightenment, based on solitude, on detachment,
on cessation, and ending in deliverance, namely: the enlightenment factors of
mindfulness, investigation of phenomena, energy, rapture, tranquillity, concentration,
and equanimity.46
The seven states are grouped together as "enlightenment factors" both because
they lead to enlightenment and because they constitute enlightenment. In the
preliminary stages of the path they prepare the way for the great realization;
in the end they remain as its components. The experience of enlightenment, perfect
and complete understanding, is just these seven components working in unison
to break all shackles and bring final release from sorrow.
The way to enlightenment starts with mindfulness. Mindfulness clears the
ground for insight into the nature of things by bringing to light phenomena
in the now, the present moment, stripped of all subjective commentary, interpretations,
and projections. Then, when mindfulness has brought the bare phenomena into
focus, the factor of investigation steps in to search out their characteristics,
conditions, and consequences. Whereas mindfulness is basically receptive, investigation
is an active factor which unflinchingly probes, analyzes, and dissects phenomena
to uncover their fundamental structures.
The work of investigation requires energy, the third factor of enlightenment,
which mounts in three stages. The first, inceptive energy, shakes off lethargy
and arouses initial enthusiasm. As the work of contemplation advances, energy
gathers momentum and enters the second stage, perseverance, wherein it propels
the practice without slackening. Finally, at the peak, energy reaches the third
stage, invincibility, where it drives contemplation forward leaving the hindrances
powerless to stop it.
As energy increases, the fourth factor of enlightenment is quickened. This
is rapture, a pleasurable interest in the object. Rapture gradually builds up,
ascending to ecstatic heights: waves of bliss run through the body, the mind
glows with joy, fervor and confidence intensify. But these experiences, as encouraging
as they are, still contain a flaw: they create an excitation verging on restlessness.
With further practice, however, rapture subsides and a tone of quietness sets
in signalling the rise of the fifth factor, tranquillity. Rapture remains present,
but it is now subdued, and the work of contemplation proceeds with self-possessed
serenity.
Tranquillity brings to ripeness concentration, the sixth factor, one-pointed
unification of mind. Then, with the deepening of concentration, the last enlightenment
factor comes into dominance. This is equanimity, inward poise and balance free
from the two defects of excitement and inertia. When inertia prevails, energy
must be aroused; when excitement prevails, it is necessary to exercise restraint.
But when both defects have been vanquished the practice can unfold evenly without
need for concern. The mind of equanimity is compared to the driver of a chariot
when the horses are moving at a steady pace: he neither has to urge them forward
nor to hold them back, but can just sit comfortably and watch the scenery go
by. Equanimity has the same "on-looking" quality. When the other factors are
balanced the mind remains poised watching the play of phenomena.
(4) To maintain arisen wholesome states
Herein the disciple rouses his will to maintain the wholesome things
that have already arisen, and not to allow them to disappear, but to bring
them to growth, to maturity, and to the full perfection of development;
and he makes effort, stirs up his energy, exerts his mind and strives.47
This last of the four right efforts aims at maintaining the arisen wholesome
factors and bringing them to maturity. Called the "endeavor to maintain" (anurakkhanappadhana),
it is explained as the effort to "keep firmly in the mind a favorable object
of concentration that has arisen."48
The work of guarding the object causes the seven enlightenment factors to gain
stability and gradually increase in strength until they issue in the liberating
realization. This marks the culmination of right effort, the goal in which the
countless individual acts of exertion finally reach fulfillment.
Chapter VI
Right Mindfulness (Samma Sati)
The Buddha says that the Dhamma, the ultimate truth of things, is directly
visible, timeless, calling out to be approached and seen. He says further that
it is always available to us, and that the place where it is to be realized
is within oneself.49 The ultimate
truth, the Dhamma, is not something mysterious and remote, but the truth of
our own experience. It can be reached only by understanding our experience,
by penetrating it right through to its foundations. This truth, in order to
become liberating truth, has to be known directly. It is not enough merely to
accept it on faith, to believe it on the authority of books or a teacher, or
to think it out through deductions and inferences. It has to be known by insight,
grasped and absorbed by a kind of knowing which is also an immediate seeing.
What brings the field of experience into focus and makes it accessible to
insight is a mental faculty called in Pali sati, usually translated as "mindfulness."
Mindfulness is presence of mind, attentiveness or awareness. Yet the kind of
awareness involved in mindfulness differs profoundly from the kind of awareness
at work in our usual mode of consciousness. All consciousness involves awareness
in the sense of a knowing or experiencing of an object. But with the practice
of mindfulness awareness is applied at a special pitch. The mind is deliberately
kept at the level of bare attention, a detached observation of what is happening
within us and around us in the present moment. In the practice of right mindfulness
the mind is trained to remain in the present, open, quiet, and alert, contemplating
the present event. All judgments and interpretations have to be suspended, or
if they occur, just registered and dropped. The task is simply to note whatever
comes up just as it is occurring, riding the changes of events in the way a
surfer rides the waves on the sea. The whole process is a way of coming back
into the present, of standing in the here and now without slipping away, without
getting swept away by the tides of distracting thoughts.
It might be assumed that we are always aware of the present, but this is
a mirage. Only seldom do we become aware of the present in the precise way required
by the practice of mindfulness. In ordinary consciousness the mind begins a
cognitive process with some impression given in the present, but it does not
stay with it. Instead it uses the immediate impression as a springboard for
building blocks of mental constructs which remove it from the sheer facticity
of the datum. The cognitive process is generally interpretative. The mind perceives
its object free from conceptualization only briefly. Then, immediately after
grasping the initial impression, it launches on a course of ideation by which
it seeks to interpret the object to itself, to make it intelligible in terms
of its own categories and assumptions. To bring this about the mind posits concepts,
joins the concepts into constructs — sets of mutually corroborative concepts
— then weaves the constructs together into complex interpretative schemes.
In the end the original direct experience has been overrun by ideation and the
presented object appears only dimly through dense layers of ideas and views,
like the moon through a layer of clouds.
The Buddha calls this process of mental construction papañca, "elaboration,"
"embellishment," or "conceptual proliferation." The elaborations block out the
presentational immediacy of phenomena; they let us know the object only "at
a distance," not as it really is. But the elaborations do not only screen cognition;
they also serve as a basis for projections. The deluded mind, cloaked in ignorance,
projects its own internal constructs outwardly, ascribing them to the object
as if they really belonged to it. As a result, what we know as the final object
of cognition, what we use as the basis for our values, plans, and actions, is
a patchwork product, not the original article. To be sure, the product is not
wholly illusion, not sheer fantasy. It takes whatis given in immediate experience
as its groundwork and raw material, but along with this it includes something
else: the embellishments fabricated by the mind.
The springs for this process of fabrication, hidden from view, are the latent
defilements. The defilements create the embellishments, project them outwardly,
and use them as hooks for coming to the surface, where they cause further distortion.
To correct the erroneous notions is the task of wisdom, but for wisdom to discharge
its work effectively, it needs direct access to the object as it is in itself,
uncluttered by the conceptual elaborations. The task of right mindfulness is
to clear up the cognitive field. Mindfulness brings to light experience in its
pure immediacy. It reveals the object as it is before it has been plastered
over with conceptual paint, overlaid with interpretations. To practice mindfulness
is thus a matter not so much of doing but of undoing: not thinking, not judging,
not associating, not planning, not imagining, not wishing. All these "doings"
of ours are modes of interference, ways the mind manipulates experience and
tries to establish its dominance. Mindfulness undoes the knots and tangles of
these "doings" by simply noting. It does nothing but note, watching each occasion
of experience as it arises, stands, and passes away. In the watching there is
no room for clinging, no compulsion to saddle things with our desires. There
is only a sustained contemplation of experience in its bare immediacy, carefully
and precisely and persistently.
Mindfulness exercises a powerful grounding function. It anchors the mind
securely in the present, so it does not float away into the past and future
with their memories, regrets, fears, and hopes. The mind without mindfulness
is sometimes compared to a pumpkin, the mind established in mindfulness to a
stone.50 A pumpkin placed on the surface
of a pond soon floats away and always remains on the water's surface. But a
stone does not float away; it stays where it is put and at once sinks into the
water until it reaches bottom. Similarly, when mindfulness is strong, the mind
stays with its object and penetrates its characteristics deeply. It does not
wander and merely skim the surface as the mind destitute of mindfulness does.
Mindfulness facilitates the achievement of both serenity and insight. It
can lead to either deep concentration or wisdom, depending on the mode in which
it is applied. Merely a slight shift in the mode of application can spell the
difference between the course the contemplative process takes, whether it descends
to deeper levels of inner calm culminating in the stages of absorption, the
jhanas, or whether instead it strips away the veils of delusion to arrive at
penetrating insight. To lead to the stages of serenity the primary chore of
mindfulness is to keep the mind on the object, free from straying. Mindfulness
serves as the guard charged with the responsibility of making sure that the
mind does not slip away from the object to lose itself in random undirected
thoughts. It also keeps watch over the factors stirring in the mind, catching
the hindrances beneath their camouflages and expelling them before they can
cause harm. To lead to insight and the realizations of wisdom, mindfulness is
exercised in a more differentiated manner. Its task, in this phase of practice,
is to observe, to note, to discern phenomena with utmost precision until their
fundamental characteristics are brought to light.
Right mindfulness is cultivated through a practice called "the four foundations
of mindfulness" (cattaro satipatthana), the mindful contemplation of four objective
spheres: the body, feelings, states of mind, and phenomena.51
As the Buddha explains:
And what, monks, is right mindfulness? Herein, a monk dwells contemplating
the body in the body, ardent, clearly comprehending and mindful, having
put away covetousness and grief concerning the world. He dwells contemplating
feelings in feelings... states of mind in states of mind... phenomena in
phenomena, ardent, clearly comprehending and mindful, having put away covetousness
and grief concerning the world.52
The Buddha says that the four foundations of mindfulness form "the only way
that leads to the attainment of purity, to the overcoming of sorrow and lamentation,
to the end of pain and grief, to the entering upon the right path and the realization
of Nibbana."53 They are called "the
only way" (ekayano maggo), not for the purpose of setting forth a narrow dogmatism,
but to indicate that the attainment of liberation can only issue from the penetrating
contemplation of the field of experience undertaken in the practice of right
mindfulness.
Of the four applications of mindfulness, the contemplation of the body is
concerned with the material side of existence; the other three are concerned
principally (though not solely) with the mental side. The completion of the
practice requires all four contemplations. Though no fixed order is laid down
in which they are to be taken up, the body is generally taken first as the basic
sphere of contemplation; the others come into view later, when mindfulness has
gained in strength and clarity. Limitations of space do not allow for a complete
explanation of all four foundations. Here we have to settle for a brief synopsis.
(1) Contemplation of the Body (kayanupassana)
The Buddha begins his exposition of the body with contemplation of the mindfulness
of breathing (anapanasati). Though not required as a starting point for meditation,
in actual practice mindfulness of breathing usually serves as the "root meditation
subject" (mulakammatthana), the foundation for the entire course of contemplation.
It would be a mistake, however, to consider this subject merely an exercise
for neophytes. By itself mindfulness of breathing can lead to all the stages
of the path culminating in full awakening. In fact it was this meditation subject
that the Buddha used on the night of his own enlightenment. He also reverted
to it throughout the years during his solitary retreats, and constantly recommended
it to the monks, praising it as "peaceful and sublime, an unadulterated blissful
abiding, which banishes at once and stills evil unwholesome thoughts as soon
as they arise" (MN 118).
Mindfulness of breathing can function so effectively as a subject of meditation
because it works with a process that is always available to us, the process
of respiration. What it does to turn this process into a basis for meditation
is simply to bring it into the range of awareness by making the breath an object
of observation. The meditation requires no special intellectual sophistication,
only awareness of the breath. One merely breathes naturally through the nostrils
keeping the breath in mind at the contact point around the nostrils or upper
lip, where the sensation of breath can be felt as the air moves in and out.
There should be no attempt to control the breath or to force it into predetermined
rhythms, only a mindful contemplation of the natural process of breathing in
and out. The awareness of breath cuts through the complexities of discursive
thinking, rescues us from pointless wandering in the labyrinth of vain imaginings,
and grounds us solidly in the present. For whenever we become aware of breathing,
really aware of it, we can be aware of it only in the present, never in the
past or the future.
The Buddha's exposition of mindfulness of breathing involves four basic steps.
The first two (which are not necessarily sequential) require that a long inhalation
or exhalation be noted as it occurs, and that a short inhalation or exhalation
be noted as it occurs. One simply observes the breath moving in and out, observing
it as closely as possible, noting whether the breath is long or short. As mindfulness
grows sharper, the breath can be followed through the entire course of its movement,
from the beginning of an inhalation through its intermediary stages to its end,
then from the beginning of an exhalation through its intermediary stages to
its end. This third step is called "clearly perceiving the entire (breath) body."
The fourth step, "calming the bodily function," involves a progressive quieting
down of the breath and its associated bodily functions until they become extremely
fine and subtle. Beyond these four basic steps lie more advanced practices which
direct mindfulness of breathing towards deep concentration and insight.54
Another practice in the contemplation of the body, which extends meditation
outwards from the confines of a single fixed position, is mindfulness of the
postures. The body can assume four basic postures — walking, standing,
sitting, and lying down — and a variety of other positions marking the
change from one posture to another. Mindfulness of the postures focuses full
attention on the body in whatever position it assumes: when walking one is aware
of walking, when standing one is aware of standing, when sitting one is aware
of sitting, when lying down one is aware of lying down, when changing postures
one is aware of changing postures. The contemplation of the postures illuminates
the impersonal nature of the body. It reveals that the body is not a self or
the belonging of a self, but merely a configuration of living matter subject
to the directing influence of volition.
The next exercise carries the extension of mindfulness a step further. This
exercise, called "mindfulness and clear comprehension" (satisampajañña), adds
to the bare awareness an element of understanding. When performing any action,
one performs it with full awareness or clear comprehension. Going and coming,
looking ahead and looking aside, bending and stretching, dressing, eating, drinking,
urinating, defecating, falling asleep, waking up, speaking, remaining silent
— all become occasions for the progress of meditation when done with clear
comprehension. In the commentaries clear comprehension is explained as fourfold:
(1) understanding the purpose of the action, i.e., recognizing its aim and determining
whether that aim accords with the Dhamma; (2) understanding suitability, i.e.,
knowing the most efficient means to achieve one's aim; (3) understanding the
range of meditation, i.e., keeping the mind constantly in a meditative frame
even when engaged in action; and (4) understanding without delusion, i.e., seeing
the action as an impersonal process devoid of a controlling ego-entity.55
This last aspect will be explored more thoroughly in the last chapter, on the
development of wisdom.
The next two sections on mindfulness of the body present analytical contemplations
intended to expose the body's real nature. One of these is the meditation on
the body's unattractiveness, already touched on in connection with right effort;
the other, the analysis of the body into the four primary elements. The first,
the meditation on unattractiveness,56
is designed to counter infatuation with the body, especially in its form of
sexual desire. The Buddha teaches that the sexual drive is a manifestation of
craving, thus a cause of dukkha that has to be reduced and extricated as a precondition
for bringing dukkha to an end. The meditation aims at weakening sexual desire
by depriving the sexual urge of its cognitive underpinning, the perception of
the body as sensually alluring. Sensual desire rises and falls together with
this perception. It springs up because we view the body as attractive; it declines
when this perception of beauty is removed. The perception of bodily attractiveness
in turn lasts only so long as the body is looked at superficially, grasped in
terms of selected impressions. To counter that perception we have to refuse
to stop with these impressions but proceed to inspect the body at a deeper level,
with a probing scrutiny grounded in dispassion.
Precisely this is what is undertaken in the meditation on unattractiveness,
which turns back the tide of sensuality by pulling away its perceptual prop.
The meditation takes one's own body as object, since for a neophyte to start
off with the body of another, especially a member of the opposite sex, might
fail to accomplish the desired result. Using visualization as an aid, one mentally
dissects the body into its components and investigates them one by one, bringing
their repulsive nature to light. The texts mention thirty-two parts: head-hairs,
body-hairs, nails, teeth, skin, flesh, sinews, bones, marrow, kidneys, heart,
liver, diaphragm, spleen, lungs, large intestines, small intestines, stomach
contents, excrement, brain, bile, phlegm, pus, blood, sweat, fat, tears, grease,
snot, spittle, sinovial fluid, and urine. The repulsiveness of the parts implies
the same for the whole: the body seen closeup is truly unattractive, its beautiful
appearance a mirage. But the aim of this meditation must not be misapprehended.
The aim is not to produce aversion and disgust but detachment, to extinguish
the fire of lust by removing its fuel.57
The other analytical contemplation deals with the body in a different way.
This meditation, called the analysis into elements (dhatuvavatthana), sets out
to counter our innate tendency to identify with the body by exposing the body's
essentially impersonal nature. The means it employs, as its name indicates,
is the mental dissection of the body into the four primary elements, referred
to by the archaic names earth, water, fire, and air, but actually signifying
the four principal behavioral modes of matter: solidity, fluidity, heat, and
oscillation. The solid element is seen most clearly in the body's solid parts
— the organs, tissues, and bones; the fluid element, in the bodily fluids;
the heat element, in the body's temperature; the oscillation element, in the
respiratory process. The break with the identification of the body as "I" or
"my self" is effected by a widening of perspective after the elements have come
into view. Having analyzed the body into the elements, one then considers that
all four elements, the chief aspects of bodily existence, are essentially identical
with the chief aspects of external matter, with which the body is in constant
interchange. When one vividly realizes this through prolonged meditation, one
ceases to identify with the body, ceases to cling to it. One sees that the body
is nothing more than a particular configuration of changing material processes
which support a stream of changing mental processes. There is nothing here that
can be considered a truly existent self, nothing that can provide a substantial
basis for the sense of personal identity.58
The last exercise in mindfulness of the body is a series of "cemetery meditations,"
contemplations of the body's disintegration after death, which may be performed
either imaginatively, with the aid of pictures, or through direct confrontation
with a corpse. By any of these means one obtains a clear mental image of a decomposing
body, then applies the process to one's own body, considering: "This body, now
so full of life, has the same nature and is subject to the same fate. It cannot
escape death, cannot escape disintegration, but must eventually die and decompose."
Again, the purpose of this meditation should not be misunderstood. The aim is
not to indulge in a morbid fascination with death and corpses, but to sunder
our egoistic clinging to existence with a contemplation sufficiently powerful
to break its hold. The clinging to existence subsists through the implicit assumption
of permanence. In the sight of a corpse we meet the teacher who proclaims unambiguously:
"Everything formed is impermanent."
(2) Contemplation of Feeling (vedananupassana)
The next foundation of mindfulness is feeling (vedana). The word "feeling"
is used here, not in the sense of emotion (a complex phenomenon best subsumed
under the third and fourth foundations of mindfulness), but in the narrower
sense of the affective tone or "hedonic quality" of experience. This may be
of three kinds, yielding three principal types of feeling: pleasant feeling,
painful feeling, and neutral feeling. The Buddha teaches that feeling is an
inseparable concomitant of consciousness, since every act of knowing is colored
by some affective tone. Thus feeling is present at every moment of experience;
it may be strong or weak, clear or indistinct, but some feeling must accompany
the cognition.
Feeling arises in dependence on a mental event called "contact" (phassa).
Contact marks the "coming together" of consciousness with the object via a sense
faculty; it is the factor by virtue of which consciousness "touches" the object
presenting itself to the mind through the sense organ. Thus there are six kinds
of contact distinguished by the six sense faculties — eye-contact, ear-contact,
nose-contact, tongue-contact, body-contact, and mind-contact — and six
kinds of feeling distinguished by the contact from which they spring.
Feeling acquires special importance as an object of contemplation because
it is feeling that usually triggers the latent defilements into activity. The
feelings may not be clearly registered, but in subtle ways they nourish and
sustain the dispositions to unwholesome states. Thus when a pleasant feeling
arises, we fall under the influence of the defilement greed and cling to it.
When a painful feeling occurs, we respond with displeasure, hate, and fear,
which are aspects of aversion. And when a neutral feeling occurs, we generally
do not notice it, or let it lull us into a false sense of security — states
of mind governed by delusion. From this it can be seen that each of the root
defilements is conditioned by a particular kind of feeling: greed by pleasant
feeling, aversion by painful feeling, delusion by neutral feeling.
But the link between feelings and the defilements is not a necessary one.
Pleasure does not always have to lead to greed, pain to aversion, neutral feeling
to delusion. The tie between them can be snapped, and one essential means for
snapping it is mindfulness. Feeling will stir up a defilement only when it is
not noticed, when it is indulged rather than observed. By turning it into an
object of observation, mindfulness defuses the feeling so that it cannot provoke
an unwholesome response. Then, instead of relating to the feeling by way of
habit through attachment, repulsion, or apathy, we relate by way of contemplation,
using the feeling as a springboard for understanding the nature of experience.
In the early stages the contemplation of feeling involves attending to the
arisen feelings, noting their distinctive qualities: pleasant, painful, neutral.
The feeling is noted without identifying with it, without taking it to be "I"
or "mine" or something happening "to me." Awareness is kept at the level of
bare attention: one watches each feeling that arises, seeing it as merely a
feeling, a bare mental event shorn of all subjective references, all pointers
to an ego. The task is simply to note the feeling's quality, its tone of pleasure,
pain, or neutrality.
But as practice advances, as one goes on noting each feeling, letting it
go and noting the next, the focus of attention shifts from the qualities of
feelings to the process of feeling itself. The process reveals a ceaseless flux
of feelings arising and dissolving, succeeding one another without a halt. Within
the process there is nothing lasting. Feeling itself is only a stream of events,
occasions of feeling flashing into being moment by moment, dissolving as soon
as they arise. Thus begins the insight into impermanence, which, as it evolves,
overturns the three unwholesome roots. There is no greed for pleasant feelings,
no aversion for painful feelings, no delusion over neutral feelings. All are
seen as merely fleeting and substanceless events devoid of any true enjoyment
or basis for involvement.
(3) Contemplation of the State of Mind (cittanupassana)
With this foundation of mindfulness we turn from a particular mental factor,
feeling, to the general state of mind to which that factor belongs. To understand
what is entailed by this contemplation it is helpful to look at the Buddhist
conception of the mind. Usually we think of the mind as an enduring faculty
remaining identical with itself through the succession of experiences. Though
experience changes, the mind which undergoes the changing experience seems to
remain the same, perhaps modified in certain ways but still retaining its identity.
However, in the Buddha's teaching the notion of a permanent mental organ is
rejected. The mind is regarded, not as a lasting subject of thought, feeling,
and volition, but as a sequence of momentary mental acts, each distinct and
discrete, their connections with one another causal rather than substantial.
A single act of consciousness is called a citta, which we shall render "a
state of mind." Each citta consists of many components, the chief of which is
consciousness itself, the basic experiencing of the object; consciousness is
also called citta, the name for the whole being given to its principal part.
Along with consciousness every citta contains a set of concomitants called cetasikas,
mental factors. These include feeling, perception, volition, the emotions, etc.;
in short, all the mental functions except the primary knowing of the object,
which is citta or consciousness.
Since consciousness in itself is just a bare experiencing of an object, it
cannot be differentiated through its own nature but only by way of its associated
factors, the cetasikas. The cetasikas color the citta and give it its distinctive
character; thus when we want to pinpoint the citta as an object of contemplation,
we have to do so by using the cetasikas as indicators. In his exposition of
the contemplation of the state of mind, the Buddha mentions, by reference to
cetasikas, sixteen kinds of citta to be noted: the mind with lust, the mind
without lust, the mind with aversion, the mind without aversion, the mind with
delusion, the mind without delusion, the cramped mind, the scattered mind, the
developed mind, the undeveloped mind, the surpassable mind, the unsurpassable
mind, the concentrated mind, the unconcentrated mind, the freed mind, the unfreed
mind. For practical purposes it is sufficient at the start to focus solely on
the first six states, noting whether the mind is associated with any of the
unwholesome roots or free from them. When a particular citta is present, it
is contemplated merely as a citta, a state of mind. It is not identified with
as "I" or "mine," not taken as a self or as something belonging to a self. Whether
it is a pure state of mind or a defiled state, a lofty state or a low one, there
should be no elation or dejection, only a clear recognition of the state. The
state is simply noted, then allowed to pass without clinging to the desired
ones or resenting the undesired ones.
As contemplation deepens, the contents of the mind become increasingly rarefied.
Irrelevant flights of thought, imagination, and emotion subside, mindfulness
becomes clearer, the mind remains intently aware, watching its own process of
becoming. At times there might appear to be a persisting observer behind the
process, but with continued practice even this apparent observer disappears.
The mind itself — the seemingly solid, stable mind — dissolves into
a stream of cittas flashing in and out of being moment by moment, coming from
nowhere and going nowhere, yet continuing in sequence without pause.
(4) Contemplation of Phenomena (dhammanupassana)
In the context of the fourth foundation of mindfulness, the multivalent word
dhamma (here intended in the plural) has two interconnected meanings, as the
account in the sutta shows. One meaning is cetasikas, the mental factors, which
are now attended to in their own right apart from their role as coloring the
state of mind, as was done in the previous contemplation. The other meaning
is the elements of actuality, the ultimate constituents of experience as structured
in the Buddha's teaching.To convey both senses we render dhamma as "phenomena,"
for lack of a better alternative. But when we do so this should not be taken
to imply the existence of some noumenon or substance behind the phenomena.The
point of the Buddha's teaching of anatta, egolessness, is that the basic constituents
of actuality are bare phenomena (suddha-dhamma) occurring without any noumenal
support.
The sutta section on the contemplation of phenomena is divided into five
sub-sections, each devoted to a different set of phenomena: the five hindrances,
the five aggregates, the six inner and outer sense bases, the seven factors
of enlightenment, and the Four Noble Truths. Among these, the five hindrances
and the seven enlightenment factors are dhamma in the narrower sense of mental
factors, the others are dhamma in the broader sense of constituents of actuality.
(In the third section, however, on the sense bases, there is a reference to
the fetters that arise through the senses; these can also be included among
the mental factors.) In the present chapter we shall deal briefly only with
the two groups that may be regarded as dhamma in the sense of mental factors.
We already touched on both of these in relation to right effort (Chapter V);
now we shall consider them in specific connection with the practice of right
mindfulness. We shall discuss the other types of dhamma — the five aggregates
and the six senses — in the final chapter, in relation to the development
of wisdom.
The five hindrances and seven factors of enlightenment require special attention
because they are the principal impediments and aids to liberation. The hindrances
— sensual desire, ill will, dullness and drowsiness, restlessness and
worry, and doubt — generally become manifest in an early stage of practice,
soon after the initial expectations and gross disturbances subside and the subtle
tendencies find the opportunity to surface. Whenever one of the hindrances crops
up, its presence should be noted; then, when it fades away, a note should be
made of its disappearance. To ensure that the hindrances are kept under control
an element of comprehension is needed: we have to understand how the hindrances
arise, how they can be removed, and how they can be prevented from arising in
the future.59
A similar mode of contemplation is to be applied to the seven factors of
enlightenment: mindfulness, investigation, energy, rapture, tranquillity, concentration,
and equanimity. When any one of these factors arises, its presence should be
noted. Then, after noting its presence, one has to investigate to discover how
it arises and how it can be matured.60
When they first spring up, the enlightenment factors are weak, but with consistent
cultivation they accumulate strength. Mindfulness initiates the contemplative
process. When it becomes well-established, it arouses investigation, the probing
quality of intelligence. Investigation in turn calls forth energy, energy gives
rise to rapture, rapture leads to tranquillity, tranquillity to one-pointed
concentration, and concentration to equanimity. Thus the whole evolving course
of practice leading to enlightenment begins with mindfulness, which remains
throughout as the regulating power ensuring that the mind is clear, cognizant,
and balanced.
Chapter VII
Right Concentration (Samma Samadhi)
The eighth factor of the path is right concentration, in Pali samma samadhi.
Concentration represents an intensification of a mental factor present in every
state of consciousness. This factor, one-pointedness of mind (citt'ekaggata),
has the function of unifying the other mental factors in the task of cognition.
It is the factor responsible for the individuating aspect of consciousness,
ensuring that every citta or act of mind remains centered on its object. At
any given moment the mind must be cognizant of something — a sight, a
sound, a smell, a taste, a touch, or a mental object. The factor of one-pointedness
unifies the mind and its other concomitants in the task of cognizing the object,
while it simultaneously exercises the function of centering all the constituents
of the cognitive act on the object. One-pointedness of mind explains the fact
that in any act of consciousness there is a central point of focus, towards
which the entire objective datum points from its outer peripheries to its inner
nucleus.
However, samadhi is only a particular kind of one-pointedness; it is not
equivalent to one-pointedness in its entirety. A gourmet sitting down to a meal,
an assassin about to slay his victim, a soldier on the battlefield — these
all act with a concentrated mind, but their concentration cannot be characterized
as samadhi. Samadhi is exclusively wholesome one-pointedness, the concentration
in a wholesome state of mind. Even then its range is still narrower: it does
not signify every form of wholesome concentration, but only the intensified
concentration that results from a deliberate attempt to raise the mind to a
higher, more purified level of awareness.
The commentaries define samadhi as the centering of the mind and mental factors
rightly and evenly on an object. Samadhi, as wholesome concentration, collects
together the ordinarily dispersed and dissipated stream of mental states to
induce an inner unification. The two salient features of a concentrated mind
are unbroken attentiveness to an object and the consequent tranquillity of the
mental functions, qualities which distinguish it from the unconcentrated mind.
The mind untrained in concentration moves in a scattered manner which the Buddha
compares to the flapping about of a fish taken from the water and thrown onto
dry land. It cannot stay fixed but rushes from idea to idea, from thought to
thought, without inner control. Such a distracted mind is also a deluded mind.
Overwhelmed by worries and concerns, a constant prey to the defilements, it
sees things only in fragments, distorted by the ripples of random thoughts.
But the mind that has been trained in concentration, in contrast, can remain
focused on its object without distraction. This freedom from distraction further
induces a softness and serenity which make the mind an effective instrument
for penetration. Like a lake unruffled by any breeze, the concentrated mind
is a faithful reflector that mirrors whatever is placed before it exactly as
it is.
The Development of Concentration
Concentration can be developed through either of two methods — either
as the goal of a system of practice directed expressly towards the attainment
of deep concentration at the level of absorption or as the incidental accompaniment
of the path intended to generate insight. The former method is called the development
of serenity (samatha-bhavana), the second the development of insight (vipassana-bhavana).
Both paths share certain preliminary requirements. For both, moral discipline
must be purified, the various impediments must be severed, the meditator must
seek out suitable instruction (preferrably from a personal teacher), and must
resort to a dwelling conducive to practice. Once these preliminaries have been
dispensed with, the meditator on the path of serenity has to obtain an object
of meditation, something to be used as a focal point for developing concentration.61
If the meditator has a qualified teacher, the teacher will probably assign
him an object judged to be appropriate for his temperament. If he doesn't have
a teacher, he will have to select an object himself, perhaps after some experimentation.
The meditation manuals collect the subjects of serenity meditation into a set
of forty, called "places of work" (kammatthana) since they are the places where
the meditator does the work of practice. The forty may be listed as follows:
ten kasinas
ten unattractive objects (dasa asubha)
ten recollections (dasa anussatiyo)
four sublime states (cattaro brahmavihara)
four immaterial states (cattaro aruppa)
one perception (eka sañña)
one analysis (eka vavatthana).
The kasinas are devices representing certain primordial qualities. Four represent
the primary elements — the earth, water, fire, and air kasinas; four represent
colors — the blue, yellow, red, and white kasinas; the other two are the
light and the space kasinas. Each kasina is a concrete object representative
of the universal quality it signifies. Thus an earth kasina would be a circular
disk filled with clay. To develop concentration on the earth kasina the meditator
sets the disk in front of him, fixes his gaze on it, and contemplates "earth,
earth." A similar method is used for the other kasinas, with appropriate changes
to fit the case.
The ten "unattractive objects" are corpses in different stages of decomposition.
This subject appears similar to the contemplation of bodily decay in the mindfulness
of the body, and in fact in olden times the cremation ground was recommended
as the most appropriate place for both. But the two meditations differ in emphasis.
In the mindfulness exercise stress falls on the application of reflective thought,
the sight of the decaying corpse serving as a stimulus for consideration of
one's own eventual death and disintegration. In this exercise the use of reflective
thought is discouraged. The stress instead falls on one-pointed mental fixation
on the object, the less thought the better.
The ten recollections form a miscellaneous collection. The first three are
devotional meditations on the qualities of the Triple Gem — the Buddha,
the Dhamma, and the Sangha; they use as their basis standard formulas that have
come down in the Suttas. The next three recollections also rely on ancient formulas:
the meditations on morality, generosity, and the potential for divine-like qualities
in oneself. Then come mindfulness of death, the contemplation of the unattractive
nature of the body, mindfulness of breathing, and lastly, the recollection of
peace, a discursive meditation on Nibbana.
The four sublime states or "divine abodes" are the outwardly directed social
attitudes — loving-kindness, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity
— developed into universal radiations which are gradually extended in
range until they encompass all living beings. The four immaterial states are
the objective bases for certain deep levels of absorption: the base of infinite
space, the base of infinite consciousness, the base of nothingness, and the
base of neither-perception-nor-non-perception. These become accessible as objects
only to those who are already adept in concentration. The "one perception" is
the perception of the repulsiveness of food, a discursive topic intended to
reduce attachment to the pleasures of the palate. The "one analysis" is the
contemplation of the body in terms of the four primary elements, already discussed
in the chapter on right mindfulness.
When such a variety of meditation subjects is presented, the aspiring meditator
without a teacher might be perplexed as to which to choose. The manuals divide
the forty subjects according to their suitability for different personality
types. Thus the unattractive objects and the contemplation of the parts of the
body are judged to be most suitable for a lustful type, the meditation on loving-kindness
to be best for a hating type, the meditation on the qualities of the Triple
Gem to be most effective for a devotional type, etc. But for practical purposes
the beginner in meditation can generally be advised to start with a simple subject
that helps reduce discursive thinking. Mental distraction caused by restlessness
and scattered thoughts is a common problem faced by persons of all different
character types; thus a meditator of any temperament can benefit from a subject
which promotes a slowing down and stilling of the thought process. The subject
generally recommended for its effectiveness in clearing the mind of stray thoughts
is mindfulness of breathing, which can therefore be suggested as the subject
most suitable for beginners as well as veterans seeking a direct approach to
deep concentration. Once the mind settles down and one's thought patterns become
easier to notice, one might then make use of other subjects to deal with special
problems that arise: the meditation on loving-kindness may be used to counteract
anger and ill will, mindfulness of the bodily parts to weaken sensual lust,
the recollection of the Buddha to inspire faith and devotion, the meditation
on death to arouse a sense of urgency. The ability to select the subject appropriate
to the situation requires skill, but this skill evolves through practice, often
through simple trial-and-error experimentation.
The Stages of Concentration
Concentration is not attained all at once but develops in stages. To enable
our exposition to cover all the stages of concentration, we will consider the
case of a meditator who follows the entire path of serenity meditation from
start to finish, and who will make much faster progress than the typical meditator
is likely to make.
After receiving his meditation subject from a teacher, or selecting it on
his own, the meditator retires to a quiet place. There he assumes the correct
meditation posture — the legs crossed comfortably, the upper part of the
body held straight and erect, hands placed one above the other on the lap, the
head kept steady, the mouth and eyes closed (unless a kasina or other visual
object is used), the breath flowing naturally and regularly through the nostrils.
He then focuses his mind on the object and tries to keep it there, fixed and
alert. If the mind strays, he notices this quickly, catches it, and brings it
back gently but firmly to the object, doing this over and over as often as is
necessary. This initial stage is called preliminary concentration (parikkamma-samadhi)
and the object the preliminary sign (parikkamma-nimitta).
Once the initial excitement subsides and the mind begins to settle into the
practice, the five hindrances are likely to arise, bubbling up from the depths.
Sometimes they appear as thoughts, sometimes as images, sometimes as obsessive
emotions: surges of desire, anger and resentment, heaviness of mind, agitation,
doubts. The hindrances pose a formidable barrier, but with patience and sustained
effort they can be overcome. To conquer them the meditator will have to be adroit.
At times, when a particular hindrance becomes strong, he may have to lay aside
his primary subject of meditation and take up another subject expressly opposed
to the hindrance. At other times he will have to persist with his primary subject
despite the bumps along the road, bringing his mind back to it again and again.
As he goes on striving along the path of concentration, his exertion activates
five mental factors which come to his aid. These factors are intermittently
present in ordinary undirected consciousness, but there they lack a unifying
bond and thus do not play any special role. However, when activated by the work
of meditation, these five factors pick up power, link up with one another, and
steer the mind towards samadhi, which they will govern as the "jhana factors,"
the factors of absorption (jhananga). Stated in their usual order the five are:
initial application of mind (vitakka), sustained application of mind (vicara),
rapture (piti), happiness (sukha), and one-pointedness (ekaggata).
Initial application of mind does the work of directing the mind to the object.
It takes the mind, lifts it up, and drives it into the object the way one drives
a nail through a block of wood. This done, sustained application of mind anchors
the mind on the object, keeping it there through its function of examination.
To clarify the difference between these two factors, initial application is
compared to the striking of a bell, sustained application to the bell's reverberations.
Rapture, the third factor, is the delight and joy that accompany a favorable
interest in the object, while happiness, the fourth factor, is the pleasant
feeling that accompanies successful concentration. Since rapture and happiness
share similar qualities they tend to be confused with each other, but the two
are not identical. The difference between them is illustrated by comparing rapture
to the joy of a weary desert-farer who sees an oasis in the distance, happiness
to his pleasure when drinking from the pond and resting in the shade. The fifth
and final factor of absorption is one-pointedness, which has the pivotal function
of unifying the mind on the object.62
When concentration is developed, these five factors spring up and counteract
the five hindrances. Each absorption factor opposes a particular hindrance.
Initial application of mind, through its work of lifting the mind up to the
object, counters dullness and drowsiness. Sustained application, by anchoring
the mind on the object, drives away doubt. Rapture shuts out ill will, happiness
excludes restlessness and worry, and one-pointedness counters sensual desire,
the most alluring inducement to distraction. Thus, with the strengthening of
the absorption factors, the hindrances fade out and subside. They are not yet
eradicated — eradication can only be effected by wisdom, the third division
of the path — but they have been reduced to a state of quiescence where
they cannot disrupt the forward movement of concentration.
At the same time that the hindrances are being overpowered by the jhana factors
inwardly, on the side of the object too certain changes are taking place. The
original object of concentration, the preliminary sign, is a gross physical
object; in the case of a kasina, it is a disk representing the chosen element
or color, in the case of mindfulness of breathing the touch sensation of the
breath, etc. But with the strengthening of concentration the original object
gives rise to another object called the "learning sign" (uggaha-nimitta). For
a kasina this will be a mental image of the disk seen as clearly in the mind
as the original object was with the eyes; for the breath it will be a reflex
image arisen from the touch sensation of the air currents moving around the
nostrils.
When the learning sign appears, the meditator leaves off the preliminary
sign and fixes his attention on the new object. In due time still another object
will emerge out of the learning sign. This object, called the "counterpart sign"
(patibhaga-nimitta), is a purified mental image many times brighter and clearer
than the learning sign. The learning sign is compared to the moon seen behind
a cloud, the counterpart sign to the moon freed from the cloud. Simultaneously
with the appearance of the counterpart sign, the five absorption factors suppress
the five hindrances, and the mind enters the stage of concentration called upacara-samadhi,
"access concentration." Here, in access concentration, the mind is drawing close
to absorption. It has entered the "neighbourhood" (a possible meaning of upacara)
of absorption, but more work is still needed for it to become fully immersed
in the object, the defining mark of absorption.
With further practice the factors of concentration gain in strength and bring
the mind to absorption (appana-samadhi). Like access concentration, absorption
takes the counterpart sign as object. The two stages of concentration are differentiated
neither by the absence of the hindrances nor by the counterpart sign as object;
these are common to both. What differentiates them is the strength of the jhana
factors. In access concentration the jhana factors are present, but they lack
strength and steadiness. Thus the mind in this stage is compared to a child
who has just learned to walk: he takes a few steps, falls down, gets up, walks
some more, and again falls down. But the mind in absorption is like a man who
wants to walk: he just gets up and walks straight ahead without hesitation.
Concentration in the stage of absorption is divided into eight levels, each
marked by greater depth, purity, and subtlety than its predecessor. The first
four form a set called the four jhanas, a word best left untranslated for lack
of a suitable equivalent, though it can be loosely rendered "meditative absorption."63
The second four also form a set, the four immaterial states (aruppa). The eight
have to be attained in progressive order, the achievement of any later level
being dependent on the mastery of the immediately preceding level.
The four jhanas make up the usual textual definition of right concentration.
Thus the Buddha says:
And what, monks, is right concentration? Herein, secluded from sense
pleasures, secluded from unwholesome states, a monk enters and dwells in
the first jhana, which is accompanied by initial and sustained application
of mind and filled with rapture and happiness born of seclusion.
Then, with the subsiding of initial and sustained application of mind,
by gaining inner confidence and mental unification, he enters and dwells
in the second jhana, which is free from initial and sustained application
but is filled with rapture and happiness born of concentration.
With the fading out of rapture, he dwells in equanimity, mindful and
clearly comprehending; and he experiences in his own person that bliss of
which the noble ones say: "Happily lives he who is equanimous and mindful"
— thus he enters and dwells in the third jhana.
With the abandoning of pleasure and pain and with the previous disappearance
of joy and grief, he enters and dwells in the fourth jhana, which has neither-pleasure-nor-pain
and purity of mindfulness due to equanimity.
This, monks, is right concentration.64
The jhanas are distinguished by way of their component factors. The first
jhana is constituted by the original set of five absorption factors: initial
application, sustained application, rapture, happiness, and one-pointedness.
After attaining the first jhana the meditator is advised to master it. On the
one hand he should not fall into complacency over his achievement and neglect
sustained practice; on the other, he should not become over-confident and rush
ahead to attain the next jhana. To master the jhana he should enter it repeatedly
and perfect his skill in it, until he can attain it, remain in it, emerge from
it, and review it without any trouble or difficulty.
After mastering the first jhana, the meditator then considers that his attainment
has certain defects. Though the jhana is certainly far superior to ordinary
sense consciousness, more peaceful and blissful, it still stands close to sense
consciousness and is not far removed from the hindrances. Moreover, two of its
factors, initial application and sustained application, appear in time to be
rather coarse, not as refined as the other factors. Then the meditator renews
his practice of concentration intent on overcoming initial and sustained application.
When his faculties mature, these two factors subside and he enters the second
jhana. This jhana contains only three component factors: rapture, happiness,
and one-pointedness. It also contains a multiplicity of other constituents,
the most prominent of which is confidence of mind.
In the second jhana the mind becomes more tranquil and more thoroughly unified,
but when mastered even this state seems gross, as it includes rapture, an exhilarating
factor that inclines to excitation. So the meditator sets out again on his course
of training, this time resolved on overcoming rapture. When rapture fades out,
he enters the third jhana. Here there are only two absorption factors, happiness
and one-pointedness, while some other auxiliary states come into ascendency,
most notably mindfulness, clear comprehension, and equanimity. But still, the
meditator sees, this attainment is defective in that it contains the feeling
of happiness, which is gross compared to neutral feeling, feeling that is neither
pleasant not painful. Thus he strives to get beyond even the sublime happiness
of the third jhana. When he succeeds, he enters the fourth jhana, which is defined
by two factors — one-pointedness and neutral feeling — and has a
special purity of mindfulness due to the high level of equanimity.
Beyond the four jhanas lie the four immaterial states, levels of absorption
in which the mind transcends even the subtlest perception of visualized images
still sometimes persisting in the jhanas. The immaterial states are attained,
not by refining mental factors as are the jhanas, but by refining objects, by
replacing a relatively gross object with a subtler one. The four attainments
are named after their respective objects: the base of infinite space, the base
of infinite consciousness, the base of nothingness, and the base of neither-perception-nor-non-perception.65
These states represent levels of concentration so subtle and remote as to elude
clear verbal explanation. The last of the four stands at the apex of mental
concentration; it is the absolute, maximum degree of unification possible for
consciousness. But even so, these absorptions reached by the path of serenity
meditation, as exalted as they are, still lack the wisdom of insight, and so
are not yet sufficient for gaining deliverance.
The kinds of concentration discussed so far arise by fixing the mind upon
a single object to the exclusion of other objects. But apart from these there
is another kind of concentration which does not depend upon restricting the
range of awareness. This is called "momentary concentration" (khanika-samadhi).
To develop momentary concentration the meditator does not deliberately attempt
to exclude the multiplicity of phenomena from his field of attention. Instead,
he simply directs mindfulness to the changing states of mind and body, noting
any phenomenon that presents itself; the task is to maintain a continuous awareness
of whatever enters the range of perception, clinging to nothing. As he goes
on with his noting, concentration becomes stronger moment after moment until
it becomes established one-pointedly on the constantly changing stream of events.
Despite the change in the object, the mental unification remains steady, and
in time acquires a force capable of suppressing the hindrances to a degree equal
to that of access concentration. This fluid, mobile concentration is developed
by the practice of the four foundations of mindfulness, taken up along the path
of insight; when sufficiently strong it issues in the breakthrough to the last
stage of the path, the arising of wisdom.
Chapter VIII
The Development of Wisdom
Though right concentration claims the last place among the factors of the
Noble Eightfold Path, concentration itself does not mark the path's culmination.
The attainment of concentration makes the mind still and steady, unifies its
concomitants, opens vast vistas of bliss, serenity, and power. But by itself
it does not suffice to reach the highest accomplishment, release from the bonds
of suffering. To reach the end of suffering demands that the Eightfold Path
be turned into an instrument of discovery, that it be used to generate the insights
unveiling the ultimate truth of things. This requires the combined contributions
of all eight factors, and thus a new mobilization of right view and right intention.
Up to the present point these first two path factors have performed only a preliminary
function. Now they have to be taken up again and raised to a higher level. Right
view is to become a direct seeing into the real nature of phenomena, previously
grasped only conceptually; right intention, to become a true renunciation of
defilements born out of deep understanding.
Before we turn to the development of wisdom, it will be helpful to inquire
why concentration is not adequate to the attainment of liberation. Concentration
does not suffice to bring liberation because it fails to touch the defilements
at their fundamental level. The Buddha teaches that the defilements are stratified
into three layers: the stage of latent tendency, the stage of manifestation,
and the stage of transgression. The most deeply grounded is the level of latent
tendency (anusaya), where a defilement merely lies dormant without displaying
any activity. The second level is the stage of manifestation (pariyutthana),
where a defilement, through the impact of some stimulus, surges up in the form
of unwholesome thoughts, emotions, and volitions. Then, at the third level,
the defilement passes beyond a purely mental manifestation to motivate some
unwholesome action of body or speech. Hence this level is called the stage of
transgression (vitikkama).
The three divisions of the Noble Eightfold Path provide the check against
this threefold layering of the defilements. The first, the training in moral
discipline, restrains unwholesome bodily and verbal activity and thus prevents
defilements from reaching the stage of transgression. The training in concentration
provides the safeguard against the stage of manifestation. It removes already
manifest defilements and protects the mind from their continued influx. But
even though concentration may be pursued to the depths of full absorption, it
cannot touch the basic source of affliction — the latent tendencies lying
dormant in the mental continuum. Against these concentration is powerless, since
to root them out calls for more than mental calm. What it calls for, beyond
the composure and serenity of the unified mind, is wisdom (pañña), a penetrating
vision of phenomena in their fundamental mode of being.
Wisdom alone can cut off the latent tendencies at their root because the
most fundamental member of the set, the one which nurtures the others and holds
them in place, is ignorance (avijja), and wisdom is the remedy for ignorance.
Though verbally a negative, "unknowing," ignorance is not a factual negative,
a mere privation of right knowledge. It is, rather, an insidious and volatile
mental factor incessantly at work inserting itself into every compartment of
our inner life. It distorts cognition, dominates volition, and determines the
entire tone of our existence. As the Buddha says: "The element of ignorance
is indeed a powerful element" (SN 14:13).
At the cognitive level, which is its most basic sphere of operation, ignorance
infiltrates our perceptions, thoughts, and views, so that we come to misconstrue
our experience, overlaying it with multiple strata of delusions. The most important
of these delusions are three: the delusions of seeing permanence in the impermanent,
of seing satisfaction in the unsatisfactory, and of seeing a self in the selfless.66
Thus we take ourselves and our world to be solid, stable, enduring entities,
despite the ubiquitous reminders that everything is subject to change and destruction.
We assume we have an innate right to pleasure, and direct our efforts to increasing
and intensifying our enjoyment with an anticipatory fervor undaunted by repeated
encounters with pain, disappointment, and frustration. And we perceive ourselves
as self-contained egos, clinging to the various ideas and images we form of
ourselves as the irrefragable truth of our identity.
Whereas ignorance obscures the true nature of things, wisdom removes the
veils of distortion, enabling us to see phenomena in their fundamental mode
of being with the vivacity of direct perception. The training in wisdom centers
on the development of insight (vipassana-bhavana), a deep and comprehensive
seeing into the nature of existence which fathoms the truth of our being in
the only sphere where it is directly accessible to us, namely, in our own experience.
Normally we are immersed in our experience, identified with it so completely
that we do not comprehend it. We live it but fail to understand its nature.
Due to this blindness experience comes to be misconstrued, worked upon by the
delusions of permanence, pleasure, and self. Of these cognitive distortions,
the most deeply grounded and resistant is the delusion of self, the idea that
at the core of our being there exists a truly established "I" with which we
are essentially identified. This notion of self, the Buddha teaches, is an error,
a mere presupposition lacking a real referent. Yet, though a mere presupposition,
the idea of self is not inconsequential. To the contrary, it entails consequences
that can be calamitous. Because we make the view of self the lookout point from
which we survey the world, our minds divide everything up into the dualities
of "I" and "not I," what is "mine" and what is "not mine." Then, trapped in
these dichotomies, we fall victim to the defilements they breed, the urges to
grasp and destroy, and finally to the suffering that inevitably follows.
To free ourselves from all defilements and suffering, the illusion of selfhood
that sustains them has to be dispelled, exploded by the realization of selflessness.
Precisely this is the task set for the development of wisdom. The first step
along the path of development is an analytical one. In order to uproot the view
of self, the field of experience has to be laid out in certain sets of factors,
which are then methodically investigated to ascertain that none of them singly
or in combination can be taken as a self. This analytical treatment of experience,
so characteristic of the higher reaches of Buddhist philosophical psychology,
is not intended to suggest that experience, like a watch or car, can be reduced
to an accidental conglomeration of separable parts. Experience does have an
irreducible unity, but this unity is functional rather than substantial; it
does not require the postulate of a unifying self separate from the factors,
retaining its identity as a constant amidst the ceaseless flux.
The method of analysis applied most often is that of the five aggregates
of clinging (panc'upadanakkhandha): material form, feeling, perception, mental
formations, and consciousness.67 Material
form constitutes the material side of existence: the bodily organism with its
sense faculties and the outer objects of cognition. The other four aggregates
constitute the mental side. Feeling provides the affective tone, perception
the factor of noting and identifying, the mental formations the volitional and
emotive elements, and consciousness the basic awareness essential to the whole
occasion of experience. The analysis by way of the five aggregates paves the
way for an attempt to see experience solely in terms of its constituting factors,
without slipping in implicit references to an unfindable self. To gain this
perspective requires the development of intensive mindfulness, now applied to
the fourth foundation, the contemplation of the factors of existence (dhammanupassana).
The disciple will dwell contemplating the five aggregates, their arising and
passing:
The disciple dwells in contemplation of phenomena, namely, of the five
aggregates of clinging. He knows what material form is, how it arises, how
it passes away; knows what feeling is, how it arises, how it passes away;
knows what perception is, how it arises, how it passes away; knows what
mental formations are, how they arise, how they pass away; knows what consciousness
is, how it arises, how it passes away.68
Or the disciple may instead base his contemplation on the six internal and
external spheres of sense experience, that is, the six sense faculties and their
corresponding objects, also taking note of the "fetters" or defilements that
arise from such sensory contacts:
The disciple dwells in contemplation of phenomena, namely, of the six
internal and external sense bases. He knows the eye and forms, the ear and
sounds, the nose and odors, the tongue and tastes, the body and tangibles,
the mind and mental objects; and he knows as well the fetter that arises
in dependence on them. He understands how the unarisen fetter arises, how
the arisen fetter is abandoned, and how the abandoned fetter does not arise
again in the future.69
The view of self is further attenuated by examining the factors of existence,
not analytically, but in terms of their relational structure. Inspection reveals
that the aggregates exist solely in dependence on conditions. Nothing in the
set enjoys the absolute self-sufficiency of being attributed to the assumed
"I." Whatever factors in the body-mind complex be looked at, they are found
to be dependently arisen, tied to the vast net of events extending beyond themselves
temporally and spatially. The body, for example, has arisen through the union
of sperm and egg and subsists in dependence on food, water, and air. Feeling,
perception, and mental formations occur in dependence on the body with its sense
faculties. They require an object, the corresponding consciousness, and the
contact of the object with the consciousness through the media of the sense
faculties. Consciousness in its turn depends on the sentient organism and the
entire assemblage of co-arisen mental factors. This whole process of becoming,
moreover, has arisen from the previous lives in this particular chain of existences
and inherit all the accumulated kamma of the earlier existences. Thus nothing
possesses a self-sufficient mode of being. All conditioned phenomena exist relationally,
contingent and dependent on other things.
The above two steps — the factorial analysis and the discernment of
relations — help cut away the intellectual adherence to the idea of self,
but they lack sufficient power to destroy the ingrained clinging to the ego
sustained by erroneous perception. To uproot this subtle form of ego-clinging
requires a counteractive perception: direct insight into the empty, coreless
nature of phenomena. Such an insight is generated by contemplating the factors
of existence in terms of their three universal marks — impermanence (aniccata),
unsatisfactoriness (dukkhata), and selflessness (anattata). Generally, the first
of the three marks to be discerned is impermanence, which at the level of insight
does not mean merely that everything eventually comes to an end. At this level
it means something deeper and more pervasive, namely, that conditioned phenomena
are in constant process, happenings which break up and perish almost as soon
as they arise. The stable objects appearing to the senses reveal themselves
to be strings of momentary formations (sankhara); the person posited by common
sense dissolves into a current made up of two intertwining streams — a
stream of material events, the aggregate of material form, and a stream of mental
events, the other four aggregates.
When impermanence is seen, insight into the other two marks closely follows.
Since the aggregates are constantly breaking up, we cannot pin our hopes on
them for any lasting satisfaction. Whatever expectations we lay on them are
bound to be dashed to pieces by their inevitable change. Thus when seen with
insight they are dukkha, suffering, in the deepest sense. Then, as the aggregates
are impermanent and unsatisfactory, they cannot be taken as self. If they were
self, or the belongings of a self, we would be able to control them and bend
them to our will, to make them everlasting sources of bliss. But far from being
able to exercise such mastery, we find them to be grounds of pain and disappointment.
Since they cannot be subjected to control, these very factors of our being are
anatta: not a self, not the belongings of a self, just empty, ownerless phenomena
occurring in dependence on conditions.
When the course of insight practice is entered, the eight path factors become
charged with an intensity previously unknown. They gain in force and fuse together
into the unity of a single cohesive path heading towards the goal. In the practice
of insight all eight factors and three trainings co-exist; each is there supporting
all the others; each makes its own unique contribution to the work. The factors
of moral discipline hold the tendencies to transgression in check with such
care that even the thought of unethical conduct does not arise. The factors
of the concentration group keep the mind firmly fixed upon the stream of phenomena,
contemplating whatever arises with impeccable precision, free from forgetfulness
and distraction. Right view, as the wisdom of insight, grows continually sharper
and deeper; right intention shows itself in a detachment and steadiness of purpose
bringing an unruffled poise to the entire process of contemplation.
Insight meditation takes as its objective sphere the "conditioned formations"
(sankhara) comprised in the five aggregates. Its task is to uncover their essential
characteristics: the three marks of impermanence, unsatisfactoriness, and selflessness.
Because it still deals with the world of conditioned events, the Eightfold Path
in the stage of insight is called the mundane path (lokiyamagga). This designation
in no way implies that the path of insight is concerned with mundane goals,
with achievements falling in the range of samsara. It aspires to transcendence,
it leads to liberation, but its objective domain of contemplation still lies
within the conditioned world. However, this mundane contemplation of the conditioned
serves as the vehicle for reaching the unconditioned, for attaining the supramundane.
When insight meditation reaches its climax, when it fully comprehends the impermanence,
unsatisfactoriness, and selflessness of everything formed, the mind breaks through
the conditioned and realizes the unconditioned, Nibbana. It sees Nibbana with
direct vision, makes it an object of immediate realization.
The breakthrough to the unconditioned is achieved by a type of consciousness
or mental event called the supramundane path (lokuttaramagga). The supramundane
path occurs in four stages, four "supramundane paths," each marking a deeper
level of realization and issuing in a fuller degree of liberation, the fourth
and last in complete liberation. The four paths can be achieved in close proximity
to one another — for those with extraordinarily sharp faculties even in
the same sitting — or (as is more typically the case) they can be spread
out over time, even over several lifetimes.70
The supramundane paths share in common the penetration of the Four Noble Truths.
They understand them, not conceptually, but intuitively. They grasp them through
vision, seeing them with self-validating certainty to be the invariable truths
of existence. The vision of the truths which they present is complete at one
moment. The four truths are not understood sequentially, as in the stage of
reflection when thought is the instrument of understanding. They are seen simultaneously:
to see one truth with the path is to see them all.
As the path penetrates the four truths, the mind exercises four simultaneous
functions, one regarding each truth. It fully comprehends the truth of suffering,
seeing all conditioned existence as stamped with the mark of unsatisfactoriness.
At the same time it abandons craving, cuts through the mass of egotism and desire
that repeatedly gives birth to suffering. Again, the mind realizes cessation,
the deathless element Nibbana, now directly present to the inner eye. And fourthly,
the mind develops the Noble Eightfold Path, whose eight factors spring up endowed
with tremendous power, attained to supramundane stature: right view as the direct
seeing of Nibbana, right intention as the mind's application to Nibbana, the
triad of ethical factors as the checks on moral transgression, right effort
as the energy in the path-consciousness, right mindfulness as the factor of
awareness, and right concentration as the mind's one-pointed focus. This ability
of the mind to perform four functions at the same moment is compared to a candle's
ability to simultaneously burn the wick, consume the wax, dispel darkness, and
give light.71
The supramundane paths have the special task of eradicating the defilements.
Prior to the attainment of the paths, in the stages of concentration and even
insight meditation, the defilements were not cut off but were only debilitated,
checked and suppressed by the training of the higher mental faculties. Beneath
the surface they continued to linger in the form of latent tendencies. But when
the supramundane paths are reached, the work of eradication begins.
Insofar as they bind us to the round of becoming, the defilements are classified
into a set of ten "fetters" (samyojana) as follows: (1) personality view, (2)
doubt, (3) clinging to rules and rituals, (4) sensual desire, (5) aversion,
(6) desire for fine-material existence, (7) desire for immaterial existence,
(8) conceit, (9) restlessness, and (10) ignorance. The four supramundane paths
each eliminate a certain layer of defilements. The first, the path of stream-entry
(sotapatti-magga), cuts off the first three fetters, the coarsest of the set,
eliminates them so they can never arise again. "Personality view" (sakkaya-ditthi),
the view of a truly existent self in the five aggregates, is cut off since one
sees the selfless nature of all phenomena. Doubt is eliminated because one has
grasped the truth proclaimed by the Buddha, seen it for oneself, and so can
never again hang back due to uncertainty. And clinging to rules and rites is
removed since one knows that deliverance can be won only through the practice
of the Eightfold Path, not through rigid moralism or ceremonial observances.
The path is followed immediately by another state of supramundane consciousness
known as the fruit (phala), which results from the path's work of cutting off
defilements. Each path is followed by its own fruit, wherein for a few moments
the mind enjoys the blissful peace of Nibbana before descending again to the
level of mundane consciousness. The first fruit is the fruit of stream-entry,
and a person who has gone through the experience of this fruit becomes a "stream-enterer"
(sotapanna). He has entered the stream of the Dhamma carrying him to final deliverance.
He is bound for liberation and can no longer fall back into the ways of an unenlightened
worldling. He still has certain defilements remaining in his mental makeup,
and it may take him as long as seven more lives to arrive at the final goal,
but he has acquired the essential realization needed to reach it, and there
is no way he can fall away.
An enthusiastic practitioner with sharp faculties, after reaching stream-entry,
does not relax his striving but puts forth energy to complete the entire path
as swiftly as possible. He resumes his practice of insight contemplation, passes
through the ascending stages of insight-knowledge, and in time reaches the second
path, the path of the once-returner (sakadagami-magga). This supramundane path
does not totally eradicate any of the fetters, but it attenuates the roots of
greed, aversion, and delusion. Following the path the meditator experiences
its fruit, then emerges as a "once-returner" who will return to this world at
most only one more time before attaining full liberation.
But our practitioner again takes up the task of contemplation. At the next
stage of supramundane realization he attains the third path, the path of the
nonreturner (anagami-magga), with which he cuts off the two fetters of sensual
desire and ill will. From that point on he can never again fall into the grip
of any desire for sense pleasure, and can never be aroused to anger, aversion,
or discontent. As a nonreturner he will not return to the human state of existence
in any future life. If he does not reach the last path in this very life, then
after death he will be reborn in a higher sphere in the fine-material world
(rupaloka) and there reach deliverance.
But our meditator again puts forth effort, develops insight, and at its climax
enters the fourth path, the path of arahatship (arahatta-magga). With this path
he cuts off the five remaining fetters — desire for fine-material existence
and desire for immaterial existence, conceit, restlessness, and ignorance. The
first is the desire for rebirth into the celestial planes made accessible by
the four jhanas, the planes commonly subsumed under the name "the Brahma-world."
The second is the desire for rebirth into the four immaterial planes made accessible
by the achievement of the four immaterial attainments. Conceit (mana) is not
the coarse type of pride to which we become disposed through an over-estimation
of our virtues and talents, but the subtle residue of the notion of an ego which
subsists even after conceptually explicit views of self have been eradicated.
The texts refer to this type of conceit as the conceit "I am" (asmimana). Restlessness
(uddhacca) is the subtle excitement which persists in any mind not yet completely
enlightened, and ignorance (avijja) is the fundamental cognitive obscuration
which prevents full understanding of the Four Noble Truths. Although the grosser
grades of ignorance have been scoured from the mind by the wisdom faculty in
the first three paths, a thin veil of ignorance overlays the truths even in
the nonreturner.
The path of arahatship strips away this last veil of ignorance and, with
it, all the residual mental defilements. This path issues in perfect comprehension
of the Four Noble Truths. It fully fathoms the truth of suffering; eradicates
the craving from which suffering springs; realizes with complete clarity the
unconditioned element, Nibbana, as the cessation of suffering; and consummates
the development of the eight factors of the Noble Eightfold Path.
With the attainment of the fourth path and fruit the disciple emerges as
an arahant, one who in this very life has been liberated from all bonds. The
arahant has walked the Noble Eightfold Path to its end and lives in the assurance
stated so often in the formula from the Pali Canon: "Destroyed is birth; the
holy life has been lived; what had to be done has been done; there is no coming
back to any state of being." The arahant is no longer a practitioner of the
path but its living embodiment. Having developed the eight factors of the path
to their consummation, the Liberated One lives in the enjoyment of their fruits,
enlightenment and final deliverance.
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