Introduction
Buddhism is many things to many people. To some, it's a religious tradition they've simply grown up with, full of beliefs and customs that are more a part of their cultural identity and upbringing than an actual spiritual practice they're dedicated to. For others, it's an exotic escape from their own cultural identity and upbringing, a type of spiritual rebellion. Still others treat it as a subject reserved exclusively for historical study and comparison by stodgy academics in tweed jackets. But for me, Buddhism is one of the world's great philosophies, a way of life dedicated to asking the right questions in an effort to discover the best way to live.
To be even more precise, however, I think Buddhism has always been what we might call a type of 'transcendent psychology,' and it's only been relatively recently (at least in the West) that its more technical terms have been understood and translated in ways that make this clear. I think this shift is due in no small part to the decades of excellent scholarship that has been brought to bear on the texts and the religious-historical context in which they took shape. Regardless of how it's been popularized, at its core, Buddhism deals exclusively with one subject, that of human mental suffering (
dukkha). The Buddha himself made it clear that he only taught two things:
Both formerly and now, monks, I declare only stress and the cessation of stress. (MN 22, Thanissaro)
That's not to say there aren't 'supernatural' or 'otherworldly' concepts in Buddhism, or that local customs, deities, and religious practices haven't found their way into Buddhism wherever it's been established. But rather than a pure system of thought or a strictly faith-based worship of the supernatural, a critical analysis of the earliest texts reveals a much more pragmatic and specialized method of mental training than most traditional Buddhists and Western converts realize—one that seeks to diminish and even eliminate suffering by radically changing the way the mind relates to experience.
Of course, some are skeptical that the man historically known as the Buddha ever existed, as archaeological evidence of that nature is admittedly scant; but the system of thought and practices attributed to him is extremely complex, consistent, and foreshadows much of what we've come to understand about the way the mind works. And after years of study, I've come to the conclusion that these teachings stem from a single source (or sources), which may very well have been the Buddha himself.
If one were to analyze other religious texts, such as the Bible or the Mahabharata, for example, there's evidence of layers of authorship (even in places where there's traditionally said to be only one author), and you can literally trace the evolution of these texts via changes in style, grammar, and content. The
core of the Pali Canon, on the other hand, which forms the basis of Theravada Buddhism and is generally considered by scholars to be the closest thing we have to what the Buddha actually taught, shows evidence of originating from a single source through its consistency of content. As Prof. Richard Gombrich puts it, "I find (as Buddhists have always found) that the central part of the Canon... presents such originality, intelligence, grandeur and - most relevantly - coherence, that it is hard to see it as a composite works" (
Theravada Buddhism, p. 20).
And it may just be wishful thinking on my part, but I believe this is mainly due to the fact that the Buddha (or whomever these teachings originated from that we label as such) was a superbly gifted teacher, and that, despite evidence of later additions and modifications, much of what was taught seems to have been faithfully passed down by devotees and practitioners throughout the centuries via a combination of memorization, recitation, and written texts scrutinized at various
councils.
Whatever its origins, though, I,
like Prof. Gombrich, "believe that the Buddha [or whomever got the wheel spinning] was an intellectual genius and had some extraordinarily interesting things to say." I'd go even further than this and venture to say that many of the teachings passed down to us are as relevant now as they were 2,500 years ago, offering tools and guidance in the search for a happiness that's not dependent upon outer conditions or favourable circumstances, for true peace of mind. And while I can't say for sure that this path leads to such a lofty goal, I can say that it's helped me immensely thus far, making me a much better and happier person in the process.
The Buddha
So who was the Buddha? Tradition tells us that the Buddha, who was born into the
khattiya (warrior) caste somewhere in northern India near present-day Nepal, was one of the great wandering ascetics (
samana) who taught in the later Vedic Period (approximately 400 BCE), and whose teachings were considered heterodox because they rejected the authority of the Vedas, the self (
atman) of the early Upanishads, and the four main social classes (
varna) dividing Indian society.
The most prominent 'orthodox' tradition in northern India at that time was Brahmanism, which, of course, relied heavily on the Vedas for their religious authority, and included some of the early Upanishads as well. It's clear from the Suttas that the Buddha was extremely familiar with them as references to Vedic and Upanishadic passages abound, although it's unclear as to precisely how he acquired this knowledge. Being from a prominent family, it's possible that he studied them with religious scholars, or it could be that he learned of them while wandering and debating with other contemporary religious teachers.
The story goes that the Buddha, whose given name was Siddhattha Gotama, lived a life of relative luxury, as his father, King Suddhodana, was either a king or prominent leader in charge of a large tribal confederacy. Whatever the case, the idea is that they were from a wealthy and respected family, and as the first born son, the Buddha was expected to be his father's heir and succeed him as the head of the Sakya clan.
Accounts differ as to certain details, but the general consensus is that the Buddha's mother, Queen Maya, died just after childbirth, and the Buddha was raised by his mother's younger sister, Pajapati, who married his father after her sister's death. His father, fearing predictions by brahmin scholars that his son would either become a great leader or holy man, did everything he could to make sure that his son would follow in his footsteps, giving him anything he desired and keeping him sheltered from the outside world. At the age of about 16, his father arranged a marriage between him and Yasodhara, a cousin of the same age from another prominent family.
Together, they lived a royal lifestyle for a number of years, and eventually conceived a child. However, becoming increasingly restless and dissatisfied with worldly life, the Buddha began to contemplate the nature of human suffering and was overcome by an overwhelming desire to seek a way to conquer ageing, sickness, and death. At the age of 29, near or at the time of his son's birth, the Buddha decided to renounce the worldly life and set out in search of an end to suffering as a wandering mendicant, a goal he's said to have achieved 6 years later. (In most traditional accounts, the Buddha's spiritual restlessness is said to have been the result of seeing an old man, a sick man, and a corpse during a chariot ride through the country, while his decision to leave the worldly life behind was inspired by the sight of a wandering ascetic.)
I should stop here and say that the act of leaving his wife and child seems harsh and selfish to many, and I can certainly relate. My own father left just before I was born. That said, my father's motives probably weren't as noble as the Buddha's, who's said to have set out with compassion in his heart for all affected by ageing, illness, and death, and who eventually returned to share what he'd discovered with his family and anyone else who'd listen. In addition, they weren't left helpless, but under the care and protection of his wealthy father.
His path to awakening began by studying with two ascetic teachers, where he practiced meditative techniques leading to the development of the third and fourth 'formless meditations' (
arupa jhanas), respectively, as well as other ascetic practices such as relying on alms. Unsatisfied with results under these teachers, however, who took their respective meditative states as the supreme goal, he set out with five other ascetics to practice even more extreme austerities in the hopes of subduing his passions and finding a permanent end to suffering, such as subsisting on a handful of food or less a day. His self-mortification is said to have been unrivalled among his companions, nearly starving himself in the process. But this, too, he found unsatisfactory.
He began taking food again, which caused his fellow ascetics to abandon him. Reassessing his path, he decided to take a moderate or 'middle' approach, avoiding the indulgences of his youth and the extreme asceticism he barely survived. He continued to explore meditation, and it was through a combination of developing the first four jhanas together with cultivating insight, directing the mind towards penetrating with discernment 'knowledge and vision of things as they are present' (
yatha-bhuta-nana-dassana), that finally lead to the Buddha's awakening (
MN 36,
SN 12.23), which is synonymous with
nibbana (unbinding)—the end of suffering; the extinction of craving (
tahna) (
AN 10.60); and the extinguishing of greed, hatred, and delusion (
SN 38.1).
(A technical note: Only the first four jhanas are specifically called jhanas (i.e., the first, second, third, and fourth) in the Suttas, yet the last four (i.e., the dimension of the infinitude of space, infinitude of consciousness, infinitude of nothingness, and neither perception nor non-perception) are often included in places such as
AN 9.36, a.k.a., the Jhana Sutta, along with the first four, suggesting that these are related in some way and considered jhanas (absorptions) in their own right. The main difference, as I understand it, is that the latter are all perception attainments that, while not directly related, depend upon holding a particular perception in mind (which is why they're identified by their objects) and can't be analyzed until after one has come out of that meditative state (e.g., see
SN 14.11 and
MN 121), whereas the first four are not only connected (two through four are attained by the dropping or fading of a particular aspect of the previous one), but levels of concentration that are less involved and lend themselves to investigation while still in them. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu notes in his translation of
MN 111:
Notice that, with each of the previous levels of attainment, Sariputta was able to ferret out the various mental qualities arising there while he was still in the attainment. With this attainment and the following one, however, he was not able to analyze the mental qualities present and absent there until after he had left the attainment. The difference here is related to the point made in AN IX.36 that all the attainments up through the dimension of nothingness are "perception-attainments." And that, "As far as the perception-attainments go, that is as far as gnosis-penetration goes. As for these two dimensions — the attainment of the dimension of neither perception nor non-perception & the attainment of the cessation of feeling & perception — I tell you that they are to be rightly explained by those monks who are meditators, skilled in attaining, skilled in attaining & emerging, who have attained & emerged in dependence on them." For a discussion of how insight can be developed in the context of jhana, see The Wings to Awakening, IIIF.
I suspect that the main reason the Buddha didn't have the same results under his former teachers is due to the fact that the analytical aspect of his latter attempt was lacking, and his teachers misapprehended their respective meditative achievements as the highest levels of spiritual attainment possible, and therefore the ultimate goal of the holy life. The Buddha, however, realized that these were simply temporary states that, while blissful, weren't permanent solutions to the problem of suffering, and set out to find a happiness and peace of mind that wasn't dependent upon temporary meditative states.)
After his awakening experience, The Buddha set out into the world and began teaching whoever would listen, starting with his five former companions and including his family, until his death some 45 years later. Throughout this narrative, there are many miraculous tales surrounding the Buddha's life, some of which are admittedly hard to swallow. However, while many see these fantastic events as something to either be 100% believed or rejected, I see them as being full of rich symbolism and meant more as teaching aids than events we're required to accept as literal occurrences, or else later additions and/or exaggerations attempting to essentially deify the Buddha, potentially in an effort to compete with rival schools, as well as teachers from other sects.
A critical reading of the texts
Here might be a good place to stop and note that, as of late, my approach to ancient Indian literature in general has been to try and put things into context, to go deeper into the stories and myths presented therein in an effort to understand the symbolism behind them, as well as their intended purpose. Even so, I'm not saying people in ancient India didn't believe in 'supernatural' concepts, or that I don't for that matter; but I do think that not everything is meant to be taken literally or should be taken at face value.
In
The Celestial Key to the Vedas, for example, B. G. Sidharth notes that the Mahabharata "refers to an old lady who spins a fabric with 360 black threads and 360 white threads while a white horse stands by. The old lady is of course time. The black and white threads are night and day, and the white horse is the Sun. Incidentally, the origin of this symbolism is in the Vedic hymns of the Rig Veda. (1.64)" (p. 53).
Obviously, there are myths and superstitions involved in allegories such as this, but I imagine that this would make complete sense to an ancient Indian, whereas today we might not make the connections right away. The point I'm trying to make is that one can't simply assume every word is meant to be taken literally in Indian literature, or any other for that matter, which so heavily utilizes allegory and symbolism. It's easy to judge ancient cultures by our modern scientific standards, but I think that this is a mistake if and when we don't understand the subtleties of a particular culture because, a cliche as it sounds, a lot can get lost in translation.
Consequently, I think there are many places in the Pali Canon where one can adopt a metaphorical interpretation of things that seem 'superstitious' in nature. Of course, one can certainly have the view that ancient beliefs and myths are nothing but superstition, but it's just as probable that people simply didn't know how to express certain ideas or experiences in any other way, or just had a more creative and lively way of expressing them.
Take Mara, for example, the Buddhist equivalent to the Devil who often makes an appearance in order to tempt, tease, and test the Buddha and his disciples. It's true that in some cases, he's portrayed as an actual being who apparently considers himself the head of the
kamavacara (literally 'sensuous sphere') world, especially by traditionalists who tend to take a more literalist approach. Nevertheless, looking at the texts more critically, it's evident that in most contexts, Mara is used in reference to death, the psychological clinging to the
aggregates that gives rise to suffering, or to the mental defilements of greed, hatred, and delusion. In regard to the story of the Buddha being assailed by the hosts of Mara under the Bodhi tree prior to his enlightenment, for example, G. P. Malalasekera's entry in the
Dictionary of Pali Names states:
That this account of the Buddha's struggle with Māra is literally true, none but the most ignorant of the Buddhists believe, even at the present day. The Buddhist point of view has been well expressed by Rhys Davids (Article on Buddha in the Ency. Brit.). We are to understand by the attack of Mara's forces, that all the Buddha's
"old temptations came back upon him with renewed force. For years he had looked at all earthly good through the medium of a philosophy which had taught him that it, without exception, carried within itself the seeds of bitterness and was altogether worthless and impermanent; but now, to his wavering faith, the sweet delights of home and love, the charms of wealth and power, began to show themselves in a different light and glow again with attractive colours. He doubted and agonized in his doubt, but as the sun set, the religious side of his nature had won the victory and seems to have come out even purified from the struggle."
There is no need to ask, as does Thomas, with apparently great suspicion (Thomas, op. cit., 230), whether we can assume that the elaborators of the Mara story were recording "a subjective experience under the form of an objective reality," and did they know or think that this was the real psychological experience which the Buddha went through? The living traditions of the Buddhist countries supply the adequate answer, without the aid of the rationalists. The epic nature of the subject gave ample scope for the elaboration so dear to the hearts of the Pali rhapsodists.
As for the earthquake after Mara's defeat, to me this represents the fact that Buddha's enlightenment was a stupendous, earth shaking event, not that the earth actually moved. A lot of people tend to take these poetic allegories literally, but I'm not usually one of them; and this is partially due to the nature of ancient Indian literature itself, which is poetically expressive and full of allegory and symbolism.
I'll admit that when I first began studying the Suttas, I tended to take everything literally; but now, I've learned how to 'read between the lines' as they say.
Another example, this time of potential exaggeration, is the traditional claim surrounding the Buddha's supposed omniscience. Omniscience itself seems to be a common theme throughout religion. Besides the most obvious case, the omniscience of God, various faiths have also claimed to have had earthly founders who were omniscient as well. The Jain founder, Mahavira, for example, is said to have been omniscient. The Buddha, a contemporary of Mahavira, is also said to have been omniscient, but is this a claim that holds any truth? Textually speaking, I think the evidence for the Buddha's omniscience, as it's generally understood by traditional Buddhists at least, is shaky at best, and there appears to be a fair amount of evidence suggesting that this was actually a later invention/exaggeration.
In
SN 54.9, for example, the Buddha gives a talk to a group of monks praising foulness of the body meditation, a method in which one contemplates the body in a way that reduces attachment to the body and is designed to counteract lust (a helpful tool for celibate monastics). After the talk, the Buddha goes into seclusion for half a month. While away, the monks practice meditating on the foulness of the body, but being repelled and disgusted with the body, many of them end up committing suicide or hiring assailants to kill them. Upon returning, the Buddha asks Ananda why the Sangha looks so diminished, whereupon Ananda explains the situation and then asks the Buddha to give them another meditation method, which ends up being mindfulness of breathing.
If the Buddha was indeed omniscient, it seems surprising that he'd have had to ask Ananda what happened. This is especially true considering that Mahavira, who's referred to as Nigantha Nataputta in the Pali Canon, is apparently ridiculed by Ananda in
MN 76 for going to an empty house for alms, having to ask for directions, etc. In fact, it's surprising that the Buddha didn't simply give them a talk on mindfulness of breathing in the first place in order to avoid such a catastrophe from even happening. The 'orthodox' position that's supported by the commentaries, however, states that the Buddha already knew this was going to happen and basically played dumb.
The explanatory story given in the commentarial literature is that these monks were hunters in a past life that were reborn in hell, but due to some wholesome
kamma, they eventually gained rebirth in the human realm and became renouncers under the Buddha. Knowing that a portion of their original unwholesome kamma was about to ripen, bringing about their deaths via homicide and suicide, and that there was nothing he could do to prevent this, the Buddha spoke of the foulness of the body in order to help remove their attachment to the body so that they'd lose their fear of death. Sounds like a load of bollocks to me. Bhikkhu Bodhi even admits that "the idea of kammically predetermined suicide seems difficult to reconcile with the concept of suicide as a volitionally induced act" (
The Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha: A Translation of the Majjhima Nikaya, pp. 1951-52).
Furthermore, in
MN 71, the Buddha rejects the assertion that he claims to be "omniscient and all-seeing" (or alternately "all-knowing and all-seeing"). He says, "those who say thus do not say what has been said by me, but misrepresent me with what is untrue and contrary to fact" (Bodhi). The commentary to this passage, on the other hand, states that all knowable things are potentially accessible to him. The issue, of course, is whether the Buddha is rejecting the claim that he's omniscient in the sense that all things are knowable to him at all times without interruption (i.e., that he's omniscient in the sense that all knowable things are
potentially accessible to him) or whether he's simply rejecting the claim altogether.
There are suttas that supposedly support the commentarial position regarding the Buddha's omniscience. As Bhikkhu Bodhi notes, "At MN 90.8, the Buddha says that it is possible to know and see all, though not simultaneously, and at AN 4:24/ii.24 he claims to know all that can be seen, heard, sensed, and cognized. This is understood by the Theravada commentators as an assertion of omniscience in the qualified sense" (p. 1276). But I fail to see how MN 90.8 affirms this possibility. The Buddha does state that it's not possible for a recluse or brahmin to know and see all simultaneously, but he never explicitly asserts his own omniscience, and I've since found that many modern scholars share this view. One example, from Edward Thomas in
History of Buddhist Thought, states:
Already the Jains claimed omniscience for their leader. They are said to have held that he was "omniscient, all-seeing, and possessed complete knowledge and insight; that whether walking or standing, asleep or awake, knowledge and insight were continually present". This claim is ridiculed by the Buddhists, and the omniscient teacher is described as so ignorant that he goes for alms to a house not knowing that it is empty, or as having to ask his way to a village. Buddha is represented as denying that he claims such omniscience. What he claims is the three knowledges, (1) that he remembers numberless past existences, as far back as he wishes, (2) that with his divine eye he can see beings passing away and being reborn according to their karma, (3) that with the destruction of the asavas he has of himself attained and realized release of mind and knowledge in this life and abides in it. (p. 148)
Another example, from David Kalupahana in
A History of Buddhist Philosophy, states:
The terms sabbannu, sabbavidu ("all-knowing") and sabbadassavi ("all-perceiving") occur in the early discourses. The general tendency among modern interpreters of Buddhism is to assume that this is a knowledge-claim comparable to the "omniscience" claimed by Mahavira or in the theistic tradition, where it is attributed to divinity. Although the Buddha disclaimed such knowledge in the Tevijja-Vacchagotta-sutta, insisting that he possessed only the threefold higher knowledge ... scholars are more inclined to interpret the last, namely, wisdom (panna), as "omniscience." It is true that some of the later Buddhist metaphysicians like the Sarvastivadins propounded ideas that can serve as a basis for such knowledge-claims. Modern interpreters therefore attempt to attribute these ideas to the Buddha himself despite a mass of evidence against doing so.
To understand what the Buddha meant by "all-knowing" or "all-perceiving," it is first necessary to analyze the use of the term "all" (sabbam) in the early discourses. Interestingly, an important discourse relating specially to this problem is attributed to the Buddha:
Thus have I heard. Once the Fortunate One was living at Savatthi, in the monastery of Anathapindindika, [situated] in the Jeta's Grove. Then the Fortunate One addressed the monks: "O, monks!" They responded: "Yes, O Venerable One!" and the Fortunate One spoke thus: "Monks, I will preach to you 'everything.' Listen to it. Listen to it. What, monks, is 'everything'? Eye and material form, ear and sound, nose and odor, tongue and taste, body and touch, mind and concepts. These are called 'everything.' Monks, he who would say, 'I will reject this everything and proclaim another everything,' he may certainly have a theory [of his own]. But when questioned, he would not be able to answer and would, moreover, be subject to vexation. Why? Because it would not be within the range of experience."
This discourse makes the Buddha's position abundantly clear. For the Buddha, "all" or "everything" represented the subject defined in terms of the six senses and the object explained in terms of the six sense objects. However, to be "omniscient" it is necessary that one knows everything, not only of the past and present but also of the future. It is possible to claim that the obvious past and future can be known directly if one can perceive the essence of everything. That essence being permanent and eternal, one glimpse of it at any point would mean knowledge of everything. This is certainly how the Buddhist school of Sarvastivadins attempted to justify omniscience, but such a view cannot be attributed to the Buddha. Not only did he refuse to recognize knowledge of such an essence or substance as existing in the future, he also claimed that he failed to perceive any such entity surviving in the immediate past or in the present.
This is the implication of a disciple's statement: Na tuyham adittham asutam amutam va ato avinnatam kincanam atthi loke. This statement is sometimes interpreted as "You are omniscient," that is, "There is nothing that you have not seen, heard or conceived." This is an extremely superficial and reckless rendering of an important statement. The statement is to be understood in light of the definition of an "enlightened one" in the early Buddhist context. In fact, the term akincana, "one who does not look for something" (kinci; other than what is given in sensory experience, a la discourse on "everything" quoted above), is used to refer to the enlightened one. Hence, the above statement in Pali is more appropriately rendered as: "You do not have (or recognize) something (na kincana) that is not seen, heard, conceived or cognized in this world," which would be a negation rather than an assertion of the very metaphysics that serve as the basis for "omniscience." This idea was highlighted centuries later by the famous Buddhist philosopher Nagarjuna (see Chapter XVI). (pp. 43-4)
In my opinion, the idea of the Buddha being an omniscient superman evolved over time, beginning not long after his death or possibly even while he was still alive. An examination of the textual evidence suggests that some later traditions even attempted to transform the Buddha into a transcendent being, and eventually, an emanation of the supramundane Buddha. This process can be traced, beginning with such works as the Mahavastu, and continuing on through works such as the Lalitavistara and the Saddharmapundarikasutra. Theravada was relatively conservative in this transformation compared to some of the other Buddhist traditions; nevertheless, I believe that a similar scenario occurred there as well, albeit on a much smaller scale, and the Buddha was attributed with qualities that he himself rejected, or at the very least, qualities that were exaggerated.
For what it's worth, I think it's
possible the Buddha might have known all and saw all when it came to suffering, the cause of suffering, the cessation of suffering, and the path leading to the end of suffering (which is impressive enough); but to be honest, I have a hard time believing that the Buddha knew all and saw all in the biblical sense, and I see little evidence to suggest that he did. Hence my opinion that a healthy dose of skepticism is in order when reading the Pali Canon, or any other Buddhist literature for that matter.
The path
After his awakening, the Buddha reflected upon his spiritual journey and all the elements that were involved, and eventually devised a path of practice designed to lead others to the same experience, the
noble eightfold path.
The noble eightfold path itself has eight distinct categories, and those categories become fairly broad and all-encompassing when divided into their constituents. But just as they can be broadened, they can also be condensed into three easier to deal with sections — virtue, concentration, and discernment — with each factor falling under one of these three categories. And while many of these factors may seem like common sense, following the path isn't necessarily easy, and neither is trying to teach the usefulness of a disciplined life to people intoxicated with sensuality. This idea is conveyed in places like
SN 6.1, for example, where the Buddha, sitting in seclusion not long after his awakening experience, thinks to himself:
This Dhamma that I have attained is deep, hard to see, hard to realize, peaceful, refined, beyond the scope of conjecture, subtle, to-be experienced by the wise. But this generation delights in attachment, is excited by attachment, enjoys attachment. For a generation delighting in attachment, excited by attachment, enjoying attachment, this/that conditionality and dependent co-arising are hard to see. This state, too, is hard to see: the resolution of all fabrications, the relinquishment of all acquisitions, the ending of craving; dispassion; cessation; Unbinding. And if I were to teach the Dhamma and if others would not understand me, that would be tiresome for me, troublesome for me. (Thanissaro)
Since words alone can't impart this kind of transcendental knowledge to an individual in and of themselves, the Buddha had to essentially design a road map to lead others in the right direction, a road map combining methods of virtuous conduct (
sila), methods of meditative concentration (
samadhi), and methods of developing discernment or insight (
panna) that together help to give rise to what are often called the
factors for awakening.
Sila or virtue is taught by the Buddha as the foundation of the practice, especially in regard to meditation. Virtue helps to provide the meditator with a mind that's free from remorse, and a mind that's free from remorse is better able to develop deep states of concentration, which are difficult to develop when the mind is consistently worried or agitated (
AN 11.2). The training of virtue is best known by the
five precepts:
1. Panatipata veramani sikkhapadam samadiyamiI undertake the precept to refrain from destroying living creatures.
2. Adinnadana veramani sikkhapadam samadiyamiI undertake the precept to refrain from taking that which is not given.
3. Kamesu micchacara veramani sikkhapadam samadiyamiI undertake the precept to refrain from sexual misconduct.
4. Musavada veramani sikkhapadam samadiyamiI undertake the precept to refrain from incorrect speech.
5. Suramerayamajja pamadatthana veramani sikkhapadam samadiyamiI undertake the precept to refrain from intoxicating drinks and drugs which lead to carelessness.
The five precepts are the basic training rules all Buddhists are encouraged to observe to the best of their ability, and are based on the principle of harmlessness (
ahimsa) and renouncing unskillful behaviours that cause other beings harm and provoke retaliation. They constitute the basic level of virtue the Buddha advises is necessary for the peace of mind conducive to a successful meditation practice, and they are seen as gifts "that are not open to suspicion, will never be open to suspicion, and are unfaulted by knowledgeable contemplatives & priests" (
AN 8.39, Thanissaro). In the context of the eightfold path, this also includes
right speech,
right action, and
right livelihood, which are the factors classified under the division of virtue.
Right speech is defined as "abstaining from lying, from divisive speech, from abusive speech, & from idle chatter" (
SN 45.8, Thanissaro). Right action is defined as "abstaining from taking life, abstaining from stealing, abstaining from unchastity" (
SN 45.8, Thanissaro). And right livelihood is simply defined as abandoning dishonest livelihood (SN 45.8, Thanissaro), with lay-followers being further discouraged from engaging in "business in weapons, business in human beings, business in meat, business in intoxicants, and business in poison" (
AN 5.177, Thanissaro).
Without this solid base of virtue, it's extremely difficult to achieve a sufficient state of mental calm and absorption. (Believe me, it's hard to meditate when you've done a lot of things you regret; they're the first things that pop up when the mind starts to get quiet.)
But even though discernment comes at the end of the triad, one won't see the benefits of practicing virtue without at least a modicum of discernment. 'You have to crawl before you can walk,' as the old saying goes. Therefore, it can be said that
right resolve, which is classified under the division of discernment, also lies at the beginning since the wisdom and resolve needed to undertake a path of renunciation and harmlessness in the first place must already be present in some degree. This brings to mind the first two lines of the Dhammapada:
Mind precedes all mental states. Mind is their chief; they are all mind-wrought. If with an impure mind a person speaks or acts suffering follows him like the wheel that follows the foot of the ox.
Mind precedes all mental states. Mind is their chief; they are all mind-wrought. If with a pure mind a person speaks or acts happiness follows him like his never-departing shadow. (Dhp 1-2, Buddharakkhita)
Next we have samadhi or concentration. The category of concentration consists of
right effort (i.e., being neither too strenous nor too lax),
right mindfulness, and
right concentration.
In the context of the path, concentration means meditation or mental development (
bhavana), which generally consists of centering the mind on a single meditation object in such a way that eventually leads to states of deep meditative absorption. And just as discernment is needed to practice virtue, and virtue acts as a foundation for concentration, concentration and discernment go hand in hand. Of course, certain ancient commentaries, as well as contemporary meditation teachers, tend to treat them as two completely separate things; but in reality, it seems almost impossible to differentiate between the two when looking at how the Pali Canon itself treats them. For example, there's this passage from the Dhammapada:
There is no meditative concentration for him who lacks insight, and no insight for him who lacks meditative concentration. He in whom are found both meditative concentration and insight, indeed, is close to Nibbana. (Dhp 372, Buddharakkhita)
Many of the mindfulness meditations can lead to insight as well concentration, while many insight meditations can lead to states of concentration. Right mindfulness consists of developing mindfulness in regard to the four frames or objects of reference, i.e., the body in and of itself, feelings in and of themselves, mind in and of itself, and mental qualities in and of themselves (
DN 22). The type of concentration that the Buddha is referring to in the context of right concentration is called jhana or meditative absorption, which can ultimately lead to the "ending of the mental fermentations" (
AN 9.36, Thanissaro). The basic quality here is that there's only one object or focus of mindful-awareness. This focus can eventually lead to states of rapture or joy (
piti), which is a factor of the first jhana, all the way on through to the formless attainments—the highest of which is called "the base of neither-perception-nor-non-perception."
The most popular method of achieving this type of meditative awareness is
mindfulness of breathing (
anapanasati), although the
four frames of reference (
satipatthana) can be used as well, especially when coupled with mindfulness of breathing. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu points out in his introduction to
DN 22:
At first glance, the four frames of reference for satipatthana practice sound like four different meditation exercises, but MN 118 makes clear that they can all center on a single practice: keeping the breath in mind. When the mind is with the breath, all four frames of reference are right there. The difference lies simply in the subtlety of one's focus. It's like learning to play the piano. As you get more proficient at playing, you also become sensitive in listening to ever more subtle levels in the music. This allows you to play even more skillfully. In the same way, as a meditator gets more skilled in staying with the breath, the practice of satipatthana gives greater sensitivity in peeling away ever more subtle layers of participation in the present moment until nothing is left standing in the way of total release.
The practice of concentration itself has many benefits. It gives the mind a comfortable place to rest and can help to
lower blood pressure. It can also help to make one
more empathetic. The most important benefit, however, is the ability of concentration to temporarily subdue the five hindrances (
nivarana), which the Buddha called "overgrowths of the mind that stultify insight," i.e., sensual desire, ill-will, sloth and drowsiness, restlessness and anxiety, and uncertainty (
AN 5.51, Nyanaponika).
SN 47.10, for example, briefly details how directing the mind towards an inspiring object can act as an antidote to these unskillful mental states, and
MN 20 lists five methods for dealing with unskillful thoughts in the course of meditation. Once the mind is calm, clear, focused, concentrated, and temporarily free of the five hindrances, it's then better able to perform the next mode of training—discernment.
Panna or discernment — which includes
right view and
right resolve — basically means seeing things as they are in relation to the three characteristics of existence (
tilakkhana)—unsatisfactoriness (
dukkha), inconstancy (
anicca), and not-self (
anatta). This development of insight is analogous to what many call
vipassana or insight meditation, and is especially useful for the contemplation of the
five clinging-aggregates (
panca-upadana-khandha) — the most discernible aspects of our experience on top of which we construct our sense of self — as Sariputta, the Buddha's most trusted disciple, explains in
SN 22.122:
A virtuous monk, Kotthita my friend, should attend in an appropriate way to the five clinging-aggregates as inconstant, stressful, a disease, a cancer, an arrow, painful, an affliction, alien, a dissolution, an emptiness, not-self. Which five? Form as a clinging-aggregate, feeling... perception... fabrications... consciousness as a clinging-aggregate. A virtuous monk should attend in an appropriate way to these five clinging-aggregates as inconstant, stressful, a disease, a cancer, an arrow, painful, an affliction, alien, a dissolution, an emptiness, not-self. For it is possible that a virtuous monk, attending in an appropriate way to these five clinging-aggregates as inconstant... not-self, would realize the fruit of stream-entry. (Thanissaro)
The topics of discernment are numerous, however, and, being entwined with concentration practice, can include things like the
contemplation the five subjects of frequent reflection, the
contemplation of the body, the
contemplation of death, etc. In essence, when the mind of an individual has acquired a solid foundation of virtue, and after the mind has been calmed and settled to a point of focused awareness, it can then proceed to experience life via the profound context of the Dhamma and 'cleanse' itself of its defilements:
There is the case where the disciple of the noble ones recollects the Dhamma, thus: 'The Dhamma is well-expounded by the Blessed One, to be seen here & now, timeless, inviting verification, pertinent, to be realized by the wise for themselves.' As he is recollecting the Dhamma, his mind is calmed, and joy arises; the defilements of his mind are abandoned, just as when the body is cleansed through the proper technique. And how is the body cleansed through the proper technique? Through the use of scouring balls & bath powder & the appropriate human effort. This is how the body is cleansed through the proper technique. In the same way, the defiled mind is cleansed through the proper technique. And how is the defiled mind cleansed through the proper technique? There is the case where the disciple of the noble ones recollects the Dhamma... As he is recollecting the Dhamma, his mind is cleansed, and joy arises; the defilements of his mind are abandoned. He is thus called a disciple of the noble ones undertaking the Dhamma-Uposatha. He lives with Dhamma. It is owing to Dhamma that his mind is calmed, that joy arises, and that whatever defilements there are in his mind are abandoned. This is how the mind is cleansed through the proper technique. (AN 3.70, Thanissaro)
And if one is ever in doubt that they're on the right path, they can always know the Dhamma by its qualities:
As for the qualities of which you may know, 'These qualities lead to dispassion, not to passion; to being unfettered, not to being fettered; to shedding, not to accumulating; to modesty, not to self-aggrandizement; to contentment, not to discontent; to seclusion, not to entanglement; to aroused persistence, not to laziness; to being unburdensome, not to being burdensome': You may definitely hold, 'This is the Dhamma, this is the Vinaya, this is the Teacher's instruction.' (AN 8.53, Thanissaro)
Anatta
One of the most important yet one of the most controversial and misunderstood subjects in Buddhism is the subject of anatta or not-self, which is an integral part of developing discernment. I think part of the reason this doctrine is so misunderstood is due to the fact that it's often taken out of context. Personally, I think it's important to at least understand the purpose of specific teachings — especially those on not-self — so that they're used skillfully, which is essentially the point of the water-snake simile in
MN 22, where the Buddha compares the risk of utilizing the teachings in inappropriate ways to the risk of grabbing a snake by the tail and getting bit. And when it comes to the teachings on not-self, I agree with Thanissaro Bhikkhu that, "the anatta teaching is not a doctrine of no-self, but a not-self strategy for shedding suffering by letting go of its cause, leading to the highest, undying happiness" ("
No-self or Not-self?").
Both the view that 'there is no self' and the view that 'there is a self' are forms of self-view, laying at opposite ends of the spectrum. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on you how you look at it), the Buddha refused to directly answer whether or not there is a self (
SN 44.10), stating that he didn't see "any such supporting (argument) for views [of self] from the reliance on which there would not arise sorrow and lamentation, pain, grief and despair" (
MN 22, Nyanaponika). Instead, he focuses on events in and of themselves, as they are experienced, bypassing the question of self altogether.
The Buddha said, "Who suffers," isn't a valid question, and suggests the alternative, "From what as a requisite condition comes suffering" (
SN 12.35, Thanissaro) in an effort to re-frame these questions in a way that's conducive to liberation, i.e., in terms of
dependent co-arising (
paticca-samuppada), the psychological process by which suffering arises in the mind. Hence my understanding is that the teachings on not-self are ultimately pragmatic, soteriological methods of gaining insight rather than strictly ontological statements.
Self (
atta) in the philosophical sense, as opposed to its conventional usage, is defined as that which is "permanent, stable, eternal, not subject to change" (SN 24.3, Bodhi). Our sense of self, the ephemeral 'I,' on the other hand, is merely a mental imputation, the product of what the Buddha called a process of 'I-making' and 'my-making' (e.g.,
MN 109).
In the simplest of terms, the Buddha taught that whatever is inconstant is stressful, and whatever is stressful is not-self—with the goal being to essentially take this [analytical] knowledge, along with a specific set of practices such as meditation, as a stepping stone to what I can only describe as a profound psychological event that radically changes the way the mind relates to experience. That doesn't mean, however, that the teachings on not-self are understood to deny individuality (
MN 22) or imply that the conventional person doesn't exist (
SN 22.22). The way I understand it, they merely break down the conceptual idea of a self — i.e., that which is satisfactory, permanent and completely subject to our control — in relation to the various aspects of our experience that we falsely cling to as 'me' or 'mine' (
SN 22.59).
So in essence, the Buddhist teachings on not-self aren't merely assertions that we have no self; they are a method for deconstructing our false perceptions about reality, as well as an important tool in removing the vast net of clinging that gives rise to suffering. That's why I've since come to the conclusion that the answer to the question "Who am I?" isn't important. In terms of our sense of identity, there's no concrete answer as
who we are is continually changing.
What's really important from the Buddhist point of view, however, is realizing that a combination of clinging to
sensual pleasures and our attachment to views and doctrines of self keeps us rooted in "perceptions and categories of objectification" that continually assail us and our mental well-being (
MN 18, Thanissaro); and questions such as "Who am I?" are ultimately better left aside. I suppose meditating on the question of "Who am I?" can potentially lead to the same realizations and release from suffering; but I think the probability of mistaking certain experiences along the way and latching on to them as 'me' is greater, and possesses more dangers, than the Buddha's
not-self strategy.
This may be a bit of nonsense, but in one of the ways I like to look at it, the conventional viewpoint (
sammuti sacca) explains things through subject, verb, and object whereas the ultimate viewpoint (
paramattha sacca) explains things through verb alone. In essence, things are being viewed from the perspective of activities and processes. This, I think, is incredibly difficult to see, but perhaps what happens here is that once self-identity view (
sakkaya-ditthi) is removed, the duality of subject and object is also removed, thereby revealing the level of mere conditional phenomena, i.e., dependent co-arising in action. This mental process is 'seen,' ignorance is replaced by knowledge and vision of things as they are present, and nibbana, then, would be the 'letting go' of what isn't self through the dispassion (
viraga) invoked in seeing the inconstant and stressful nature of clinging to false refuges that are neither fixed nor stable, particularly in relation to the aforementioned
five clinging-aggregates.
The five aggregates
The five aggregates are another potential stumbling block for people new to Buddhism, especially in regard to how they fit in with other teachings, such as those on dependent co-arising and not-self. The way I like to look at it, the teachings on dependent co-arising, the aggregates, and not-self are quite insightful in that they're the parts of Buddhism that correspond to parts of modern psychology. For one thing, they basically detail the process by which we construct our sense of self, i.e., our ego or identity, and, ultimately, how to utilize that process in more skillful ways.
The aggregates themselves, for example, aren't simply descriptions of what constitutes a human being as some people mistakenly think—they're one of the many ways of looking at and dividing up experience that we find throughout the Pali Canon (e.g.,
aggregates (
khandha),
elements or properties (
dhatu),
six sense-media (
salayatana), etc.). But more importantly, they represent the most discernible aspects of our experience on top of which we construct our sense of self in a process of 'I-making' and 'my-making' (e.g.,
MN 109). The aggregates aren't so much things as activities or processes, which is why in
SN 22.79 they're described in verb form, illustrating the element of intention that goes into our experience of suffering via clinging.
The first noble truth states that, in short, the five clinging-aggregate are dukkha (
SN 56.11), i.e., it's the clinging in reference to the aggregates that's dukkha, not the aggregates themselves. But what does this really mean? According to the commentaries, dukkha is defined as 'that which is hard to bear,' although 'stress,' 'suffering,' and 'unsatisfactoriness' are the most common English renderings. In
MN 9, clinging is defined as:
"And what is clinging, what is the origin of clinging, what is the cessation of clinging, what is the way leading to the cessation of clinging? There are these four kinds of clinging: clinging to sensual pleasures, clinging to views, clinging to rituals and observances, and clinging to a doctrine of self. With the arising of craving, there is the arising of clinging. With the cessation of craving, there is the cessation of clinging. The way leading to the cessation of clinging is just this Noble Eightfold Path; that is, right view... right concentration." (Nanamoli/Bodhi)
In addition, the Buddha says that the five clinging-aggregates are not-self. He calls them a burden, the taking up of which is "the craving that makes for further becoming" and the casting off of which is "the remainderless fading & cessation, renunciation, relinquishment, release, & letting go of that very craving" (
SN 22.22, Thanissaro). The way I understand it, becoming (
bhava) is a mental process that arises due to the presence of clinging (
upadana) in the mind with regard to the five aggregates, and acts as a condition for the birth (
jati) of the conceit 'I am,' the self-identification that designates
a being (
satta).
Looking at it from another angle, there's rarely a moment when the mind isn't clinging to this or that in one or more of the four ways mentioned in
MN 11 (i.e., clinging to sensual pleasures, clinging to views, clinging to rules and observances, and clinging to doctrines of self). Our identity jumps from one thing to another, wherever the clinging is strongest. Our sense of self is something that's always in flux, ever-changing from moment to moment in response to various internal and external stimuli; and yet at the same time, we tend to see it as a static thing. It's as if our sense of self desires permanence, but its very nature causes it to change every second. As the Buddha warns in
SN 12.61:
"It would be better for the uninstructed run-of-the-mill person to hold to the body composed of the four great elements, rather than the mind, as the self. Why is that? Because this body composed of the four great elements is seen standing for a year, two years, three, four, five, ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, a hundred years or more. But what's called 'mind,' 'intellect,' or 'consciousness' by day and by night arises as one thing and ceases as another. Just as a monkey, swinging through a forest wilderness, grabs a branch. Letting go of it, it grabs another branch. Letting go of that, it grabs another one. Letting go of that, it grabs another one. In the same way, what's called 'mind,' 'intellect,' or 'consciousness' by day and by night arises as one thing and ceases as another. (Thanissaro)
Change is, of course, a fact of nature. All things are in a perpetual state of change, but the problem is that our sense of self ignores this reality on a certain level. From birth to death, we have the tendency to think that this 'I' remains the same. Now, we might know that some things have changed (e.g., our likes and dislikes, our age, the amount of wrinkles we have, etc.), but we still feel as if we're 'me.' We have the illusion (for lack of a better word) that our identity is who we are, a static entity named [fill in the blank], and we tend to perceive this as being the same throughout our lives.
That said, the conventional use of personality is a function of survival, as well as convenience. However, clinging to our personalities as 'me' or 'mine' is seen as giving continued fuel for becoming, i.e., a mental process of taking on a particular kind of identity that arises out of clinging. Our sense of self — the ephemeral 'I' — is merely a mental imputation, and when we cling to our sense of self as being 'me' or 'mine' in some way, we're clinging to an impermanent representation of something that we've deluded ourselves into thinking is fixed and stable. It becomes a sort of false refuge that's none of these things.
And these attachments, particularly our attachment to views and doctrines of self as I mentioned before, keep us rooted in 'perceptions and categories of objectification' that continually assail us and our mental well-being. Thus, with the presence of clinging, the aggregates have the potential to become suffering (i.e., 'difficult to bear') when our sense of self encounters inconstancy. That's why the Buddha taught that whatever is inconstant is stressful, and whatever is stressful is not-self:
"What do you think, monks — Is form [same with feeling, perception, fabrications, and consciousness] constant or inconstant?"
"Inconstant, lord."
"And is that which is inconstant easeful or stressful?"
"Stressful, lord."
"And is it fitting to regard what is inconstant, stressful, subject to change as: 'This is mine. This is my self. This is what I am'?"
"No, lord."
Thus, monks, any form [same with feeling, perception, fabrications, and consciousness] whatsoever that is past, future, or present; internal or external; blatant or subtle; common or sublime; far or near: every form is to be seen as it actually is with right discernment as: 'This is not mine. This is not my self. This is not what I am.' (SN 22.59, Thanissaro)
In order to break down the conceptual idea of self (i.e., that which is satisfactory, permanent, and completely subject to our control) in relation to the various aspects of our experience that we falsely cling to as 'me' or 'mine,' we must essentially take this analytical knowledge, along with a specific set of practices such as meditation, as a stepping stone to what I can only describe as a profound psychological event that radically changes the way the mind relates to experience, opening one up to a state of mind that's said to be unshakable, total, permanent, and free.
Psychological speaking, in normal, everyday unawakened experience, clinging arises due to the presence of craving in the chain of mental causation/interaction detailed in the teachings on dependent co-arising (
SN 12.2), which in turn is what conditions the arising of mental stress and suffering. In awakened experience, however, clinging and craving are mental components that are no longer present in this chain, and will never again arise because the requisite conditions for their arising have been removed/eradicated—hence awakening being permanent in the sense of being "continuing or enduring without fundamental or marked change" (
Merriam Webster).
It's hard to compare this with normal states of mind since we're not talking about a normal state with conditioned mental objects, but one dealing with the deathless (
amata), a synonym for nibbana, and unestablished consciousness (
vinnanam anidassanam) devoid of defilements and non-attached to any phenomena whatsoever, or as Dogen writes in the "
Genjokoan," "No trace of realization remains, and this no-trace continues endlessly" (Aitken/Tanahashi). I think Bhikkhu Nanananda sums it up the best, though, in "
Nibbana Sermon 7":
Now viññāṇaṃ anidassanaṃ is a reference to the nature of the released consciousness of an arahant [i.e., literally 'noble one,' a term denoting a person whose mind is free of defilement]. It does not reflect anything. To be more precise, it does not reflect a nāma-rūpa, or name-and-form. An ordinary individual sees a nāma-rūpa, when he reflects, which he calls 'I' and 'mine'. It is like the reflection of that dog, which sees its own delusive reflection in the water. A non-arahant, upon reflection, sees name-and-form, which however he mistakes to be his self. With the notion of 'I' and 'mine' he falls into delusion with regard to it. But the arahant's consciousness is an unestablished consciousness.
We have already mentioned in previous sermons about the established consciousness and the unestablished consciousness.[ix] A non-arahant's consciousness is established on name-and-form. The unestablished consciousness is that which is free from name-and-form and is unestablished on name-and-form. The established consciousness, upon reflection, reflects name-and-form, on which it is established, whereas the unestablished consciousness does not find a name-and-form as a reality. The arahant has no attachments or entanglements in regard to name-and-form. In short, it is a sort of penetration of name-and-form, without getting entangled in it. This is how we have to unravel the meaning of the expression anidassana viññāṇa.
Rebirth
Another aspect of Buddhism that I think should be mentioned is the concept of rebirth (
punabhava, literally 'again becoming'), which many people have trouble accepting, especially in the West, where it seems at odds with today's materialist or physicalist view of reality.
In the Suttas, the standard description/declaration of final release is, "Birth is ended, the holy life fulfilled, the task done. There is nothing further for the sake of this world" (e.g.,
SN 22.59, Thanissaro); and this has traditionally been understood to mean both that suffering in the here and now has been conquered, as well as the end of future births into one of the five (sometimes six) realms (
loka) of existence, which themselves can be taken both literally (as external realms of existence) and metaphorically (as mental states).
They're definitely real in the sense of various pleasant and unpleasant mental states that we mentally take birth into, which is something one can easily observe for themselves. For example, BuddhaNet's introductory essay, "
Introduction to Buddhism," gives a good explanation of the realms in this way:
If ego decides it likes the situation, it begins to churn up all sorts of ways to possess it. A craving to consume the situation arises and we long to satisfy that craving. Once we do, a ghost of that craving carries over and we look around for something else to consume. We get into the habitual pattern of becoming consumer oriented. Perhaps we order a piece of software for our computer. We play with it for awhile [sic], until the novelty wears out, and then we look around for the next piece of software that has the magic glow of not being possessed yet. Soon we haven't even got the shrink wrap off the current package when we start looking for the next one. Owning the software and using it doesn't seem to be as important as wanting it, looking forward to its arrival. This is known as the hungry ghost realm where we have made an occupation out of craving. We can never find satisfaction, it is like drinking salt water to quench our thirst.
Another realm is the animal realm, or having the mind like that of an animal. Here we find security by making certain that everything is totally predictable. We only buy blue chip stock, never take a chance and never look at new possibilities. The thought of new possibilities frightens us and we look with scorn at anyone who suggests anything innovative. This realm is characterised by ignorance. We put on blinders and only look straight ahead, never to the right or left.
The hell realm is characterised by acute aggression. We build a wall of anger between ourselves and our experience. Everything irritates us, even the most innocuous, and innocent statement drives us mad with anger. The heat of our anger is reflected back on us and sends us into a frenzy to escape from our torture, which in turn causes us to fight even harder and get even angrier. The whole thing builds on itself until we don't even know if we're fighting with someone else or ourselves. We are so busy fighting that we can't find an alternative to fighting; the possibility of alternative never even occurs to us.
These are the three lower realms. One of the three higher realms is called the jealous god realm. This pattern of existence is characterised by acute paranoia. We are always concerned with "making it". Everything is seen from a competitive point of view. We are always trying to score points, and trying to prevent others from scoring on us. If someone achieves something special we become determined to out do [sic]them. We never trust anyone; we "know" they're trying to slip one past us. If someone tries to help us, we try to figure out their angle. If someone doesn't try to help us, they are being uncooperative, and we make a note to ourselves that we will get even later. "Don't get mad, get even," that's our motto.
At some point we might hear about spirituality. We might hear about the possibility of meditation techniques, imported from some eastern religion, or mystical western one, that will make our minds peaceful and absorb us into a universal harmony. We begin to meditate and perform certain rituals and we find ourselves absorbed into infinite space and blissful states of existence. Everything sparkles with love and light; we become godlike beings. We become proud of our godlike powers of meditative absorption. We might even dwell in the realm of infinite space where thoughts seldom arise to bother us. We ignore everything that doesn't confirm our godhood. We have manufactured the god realm, the highest of the six realms of existence. The problem is, that we have manufactured it. We begin to relax and no longer feel the need to maintain our exalted state. Eventually a small sliver of doubt occurs. Have we really made it? At first we are able to smooth over the question, but eventually the doubt begins to occur more and more frequently and soon we begin to struggle to regain our supreme confidence. As soon as we begin to struggle, we fall back into the lower realms and begin the whole process over and over; from god realm to jealous god realm to animal realm to hungry ghost realm to hell realm. At some point we begin to wonder if there isn't some sort of alternative to our habitual way of dealing with the world. This is the human realm.
The human realm is the only one in which liberation from the six states of existence is possible. The human realm is characterised by doubt and inquisitiveness and the longing for something better. We are not as absorbed by the all consuming [sic] preoccupations of the other states of being. We begin to wonder whether it is possible to relate to the world as simple, dignified human beings.
And this psychological interpretation is supported by the Suttas themselves. For example, we find passages like these in
AN 4.235 (notice the qualifier 'like'):
And what is kamma that is dark with dark result? There is the case where a certain person fabricates an injurious bodily fabrication, fabricates an injurious verbal fabrication, fabricates an injurious mental fabrication. Having fabricated an injurious bodily fabrication, having fabricated an injurious verbal fabrication, having fabricated an injurious mental fabrication, he rearises in an injurious world. On rearising in an injurious world, he is there touched by injurious contacts. Touched by injurious contacts, he experiences feelings that are exclusively painful, like those of the beings in hell. This is called kamma that is dark with dark result.
And what is kamma that is bright with bright result? There is the case where a certain person fabricates a non-injurious bodily fabrication ... a non-injurious verbal fabrication ... a non-injurious mental fabrication ... He rearises in a non-injurious world ... There he is touched by non-injurious contacts ... He experiences feelings that are exclusively pleasant, like those of the Beautiful Black Devas. This is called kamma that is bright with bright result. (Thanissaro)
As for the literal existence of these realms, I can't say. It's certainly possible, and it's often fun to speculate about them (I've even heard stories of people who could see beings from these others realms); but I think it's more useful to focus on what we can experience for ourselves in the here and now, and use our practice to try and transcend these mental realms in order to find a
true and lasting happiness inside. And while I don't want challenge or assert the validity of the traditional understanding of postmortem rebirth, I'd like to at least mention how the process of rebirth is generally understood.
To begin with, the Buddha didn't reject that specific mental events are contingent upon corresponding physical events in the brain, which is the prevailing view of modern science; but he didn't explicitly promote it, either. In
The Buddha and His Teachings, for example, Narada Thera notes that:
In the Patthana, the Book of Relations, the Buddha refers to the seat of consciousness, in such indirect terms as 'yam rupam nissaya—depending on that material thing', without positively asserting whether that rupa was either the heart (hadaya) or the brain. But, according to the view of commentators like Venerable Buddhaghosa and Anuruddha, the seat of consciousness is definitely the heart. It should be understood that the Buddha neither accepted nor rejected the popular cardiac theory. (pp. 330-31)
So even though the Buddha detailed the mutual dependency of mental and physical activity and consciousness (
DN 15), he wasn't a strict materialist. In regard to name-and-form (
nama-rupa), for example, he didn't see consciousness as merely the byproduct of matter; he saw mentality and materiality as mutually sustaining immaterial and material phenomena, using the analogy of two sheaves of reeds leaning against one another to illustrate their intimately connected relationship (
SN 12.67).
In Theravada, the literal interpretation of rebirth is viewed as an instantaneous process whereby the last consciousness of a being at the time of death immediately conditions the arising of a new consciousness (kind of like '
spooky action at a distance' where two entangled particles communicate with each other instantaneously, even over great distances). According to the teachings on dependent co-arising — a process of conditionality that's understood to occur moment to moment
and physically over multiple lifetimes (non-literalists simply disregard the 'three-life' model, e.g., see
Paticcasamuppada: Practical Dependent Origination) — if there are sufficient conditions present, those conditions with inevitably result in future births (
SN 12.35). Along with consciousness, craving plays a vital role in the renewal of beings and the production of future births.
In explaining how craving could result in future births, the Buddha used a simile in which he compared the sustenance of a flame to that of a being at the time of death. Essentially, a flame burns in dependence on its fuel, and that fuel sustains it. When a flame burns in dependence on wood, for example, the wood sustains that flame. However, when a flame is swept up and carried away by the wind, the fuel of wind sustains that flame until it lands upon a new source of fuel. In the same way, a being at the time of death has the fuel of craving as its sustenance (
SN 44.9). Hence the Buddha states, "Wherever there is a basis for consciousness, there is support for the establishing of consciousness. When consciousness is established and has come to growth, there is the production of renewed existence" (
SN 12.38, Thanissaro).
To better illustrate this, I'd like to make an analogy to a theory introduced by Richard Dawkins in his book
The Selfish Gene, where he presents his theory that those genes whose phenotypic effects successfully promote their own propagation will be favourably selected in detriment to their competitors, which is essentially a part of what helps species survive and reproduce. He doesn't mean that the human gene is actually selfish, but rather that it acts as if it were. Craving can also be seen to act in a similar way. If we look at craving as being the cause by which this process happens at the molecular level, we can get an idea of the role that craving plays in realm of rebirth. In this pseudoscientific analogy, the propagation of genes is analogous to becoming and birth in dependent co-arising, and the cause of this process is craving; in the case of genes, it would be craving in regard for the reproductive success of the organism, or of other organisms containing the same gene, while in the case of beings, it would be craving in regard to the production of renewed existence, or the establishment and growth of consciousness.
Unfortunately, there are no suttas that give a detailed explanation of this process, and the detailed workings of this process are to be found in the Abhidhamma and Pali commentaries. While many people reject the Abhidhamma and commentaries as reliable sources of information regarding what the Buddha taught, I don't think the views of the Buddha and the ancient commentators such as Buddhaghosa are
necessarily mutually exclusive. It's true, for example, that the Pali term
patisandhi-citta (re-linking consciousness) — which is used to explain the process of rebirth in detail — is only found in the commentarial literature; but one can just as easily argue that such a 're-linking' consciousness is implied in places like
SN 44.9, where the Buddha states that, "when a being sets this body aside and is not yet reborn in another body, I designate it as craving-sustained, for craving is its sustenance at that time" (Thanissaro).
Of course, one can just as easily re-interpret such statements, or to be more precise, translations, in a way that supports a single-life presentation of dependent co-arising and non-postmortem rebirth (i.e., keeping solely within the framework of what I'd call psychological processes), which I have no problem with personally. That's why I prefer to leave it up to the individual to decide what interpretation or model they find more useful in their approach to the study and practice of the Dhamma. But in either interpretation, rebirth is the continuation of a process — nothing 'remains,' nothing 'transmigrates,' etc. — there are merely phenomena that condition other phenomena in the interdependent process we call life. The only difference I see is that one side believes this process ceases at death, regardless of whether there's still craving present in the mind, and the other doesn't.
As for myself, however, I'm agnostic when it comes to rebirth. I'm open to the possibility, but I don't consider it a fact. That said, I do think that rebirth can be a useful teaching. Being open to teachings on rebirth, for example, has the potential to lead to skillful actions. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu explains in "
Faith in Awakening":
[I]nstead of an empirical proof for his teaching on karma, the Buddha offered a pragmatic proof: If you believe in his teachings on causality, karma, rebirth, and the four noble truths, how will you act? What kind of life will you lead? Won't you tend to be more responsible and compassionate? If, on the other hand, you were to believe in any of the alternatives — such as a doctrine of an impersonal fate or a deity who determined the course of your pleasure and pain, or a doctrine that all things were coincidental and without cause — what would those beliefs lead you to do? Would they allow you to put an end to suffering through your own efforts? Would they allow any purpose for knowledge at all? If, on the other hand, you refused to commit to a coherent idea of what human action can do, would you be likely to see a demanding path of practice all the way through to the end?
But luckily, one doesn't have to believe in postmortem rebirth to be a Buddhist. As far as I know, there's no sort of Buddhist excommunication if you don't. One can certainly practice Buddhism without believing in rebirth, or one can even take a non-literalist approach to rebirth if they so choose. The teachings are open to either interpretation.
For example, on one level, rebirth and kamma (literally 'action') deal with the framework of morality and ethical conduct in general. In this sense, I understand rebirth to signify the Buddha's observation that there's a type of continuity that underlies experience in the form of our actions and their results — one that doesn't necessarily end at death — and kamma to represent the intentional element of our psyche that goes into experience. This corresponds to what the Buddha called "right view with effluents, siding with merit, resulting in the acquisitions [of becoming]" (
MN 117, Thanissaro). Here, morality and ethical conduct are associated with intentional actions and their corresponding results — which aren't just limited to those within the present lifetime — and the continuous cycle of birth and death (which can also be taken metaphorically in terms of arising and ceasing mental states, etc.).
On another level, rebirth and kamma deal with the framework of what I'd call psychological processes, which corresponds to what the Buddha called "noble right view, without effluents, transcendent, a factor of the path" (
MN 117, Thanissaro). Here, rebirth still signifies the Buddha's observation that there's a type of continuity that underlies experience in the form of our actions and their results, and kamma still represents the intentional element of our psyche that goes into experience, but they're placed within the context of the four noble truths and the noble eightfold path. In this context, the emphasis is on things such as recognizing and understanding our fluctuating mental states and the ways in which we construct our sense of self in what the Buddha called the process of 'I-making' and 'my-making' (
ahankara-mamankara), as well as how to utilize that process in more skillful ways.
Whatever the case, my own view is that both interpretations of rebirth are supported by the Suttas, and neither is necessarily mutually exclusive, with the psychological aspects of rebirth and dependent co-arising illustrate how suffering arises and rebirth takes place moment-to-moment in order to explain the causal process by which suffering arises and rebirth takes place at the cosmological or life-to-life level. It's all intertwined, and the point where I think the cosmological and psychological models or processes primarily converge is becoming (
bhava). In
SN 12.2, for example, becoming is defined as "sensual becoming, form becoming, & formless becoming" (Thanissaro). In
AN 3.76, however, becoming is treated slightly differently, and Thanissaro Bhikkhu notes at the bottom of his translation that:
Notice that the Buddha, instead of giving a definition of becoming (bhava) in response to this question, simply notes that becoming occurs on three levels. Nowhere in the suttas does he define the term becoming, but a survey of how he uses the term in different contexts suggests that it means a sense of identity in a particular world of experience: your sense of what you are, focused on a particular desire, in your personal sense of the world as related to that desire. In other words, it is both a psychological and a cosmological concept. For more on this topic, see The Paradox of Becoming, Introduction and Chapter One.
Becoming, then, is a mental process that has the potential to lead to "renewed becoming in the future," which can be understood in both a psychological and cosmological sense, i.e., acting as a condition for the birth, ageing, and death (or arising, changing, and disappearance as per
AN 3.47) of the conceit 'I am,' which occurs innumerable times throughout one's life (itself an idea that brings to mind the imagery of things like
SN 12.61 and
Nm 2.4), as well as a condition for birth, ageing, and death in the broader sense. And while it's true that most of the descriptions of dependent co-arising appear to be more geared towards the cosmological or life-to-life model, there are place like
MN 140 where they're illustrated in tandem, with the psychological or moment-to-moment aspects of becoming (the arising and ceasing of self-identity view) being placed within the broader, cosmological framework:
"'He has been stilled where the currents of construing do not flow. And when the currents of construing do not flow, he is said to be a sage at peace.' Thus was it said. With reference to what was it said? 'I am' is a construing. 'I am this' is a construing. 'I shall be' is a construing. 'I shall not be'... 'I shall be possessed of form'... 'I shall not be possessed of form'... 'I shall be percipient'... 'I shall not be percipient'... 'I shall be neither percipient nor non-percipient' is a construing. Construing is a disease, construing is a cancer, construing is an arrow. By going beyond all construing, he is said to be a sage at peace.
"Furthermore, a sage at peace is not born, does not age, does not die, is unagitated, and is free from longing. He has nothing whereby he would be born. Not being born, will he age? Not aging, will he die? Not dying, will he be agitated? Not being agitated, for what will he long? It was in reference to this that it was said, 'He has been stilled where the currents of construing do not flow. And when the currents of construing do not flow, he is said to be a sage at peace.' Now, monk, you should remember this, my brief analysis of the six properties." (Thanissaro)
The Abhidhamma literature, with its various models and descriptions of arising mental states, is even more explicit in this connection. For example, from the introduction to U Thittila's translation of the Vibhanga, the second book of the Abhidhamma Pitika:
Thus far in Suttanta analysis the causal process has referred to the broad issue of existence in terms of life spans; however, for such a process as this to be stated by the Buddha to be a universal causal law it must be capable of being applied in a much narrower and more specific manner to be able to support so significant a claim. At the time of the Buddha, interest in the analysis pf the process and meaning of mental states was of the greatest importance not only to those who had given up the householder's life to follow the Buddha but also to the members of the many important heretical sects current at the time. All were ready and eager to discuss with skill not only such general statements, but to pinpoint particular and minute aspects of mental states to determine if these could also be shown to be subject to any such control of law. It is to this aspect of investigation that the whole of the second section of the analysis of causal relations is devoted. Analysis According to Abhidhamma re-states Paticcasamupadda as it applies in detail to each of the bad (akusala) states, to each of the good states (kusala), and also to those states which being the resultants of other active states are in themselves neither good nor bad (abyakata). This means many re-statements of the casual law in which factorial variations of some of the individual nidanas are given. Basically, however, all the conscious states dealt with are treated on a system of sixteen fundamental statements of the causal law. To deal with these in any detail at this time would be quite out of the question, but the whole system of analysis with its very specific definitions is designed to show that in the same way as the general cyclic continuity of process, stated in the Suttanta analysis, applies to existence as a whole, so also the arising of one state of consciousness as being dependent for its coming to be on the resultant of a preceding state, and that the resultant of that present state is to be the root cause of a future conscious state, demonstrates the action of the same law. (pp. xxxvii-xxxviii)
The reason I think the psychological aspects are so important is because that's where the work of the meditator is done, where we can observe these processes taking place in the present. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu puts it in "
A Verb for Nirvana," "Samsara is a process of creating places, even whole worlds, (this is called becoming) and then wandering through them (this is called birth). Nirvana is the end of this process." And this process is primarily a mental one; so if we can learn to be more aware of this process, we can learn to master it through a combination of mindfulness training and other contemplative techniques.
Our mental states and sense of self aren't static things; and in my opinion, a correct analysis of dependent co-arising includes seeing that the process of their arising and ceasing is the same causally-determined process as that of beings, whether in terms of
self-identification regarding the five clinging-aggregates or cosmological rebirth. The way I see it, the teachings on kamma and rebirth are useless if they don't also point towards where we can observe this process of renewed becoming taking place in the present, which is one of the reasons I think it more efficacious to approach them through a phenomenological lens. I imagine that there are methods found within modern psychology that are comparable and perhaps equally as effective, but many people still find Buddhist methods helpful (
and even some modern psychologists are finding them useful as well).
And while I can definitely understand the difficulty in accepting concepts such as rebirth in their most literal sense, there are plenty of other things in Buddhism that can potentially have an immediate impact on our mental well-being in the here and now. However, in the end, I don't think it really matters which view of rebirth one holds (if any) because the actual practice is still the same. What truly matters is what one does with the teachings, not what one believes about them. That's why I think the Buddha likens his teachings to a raft in
MN 22:
The Blessed One said: "Suppose a man were traveling along a path. He would see a great expanse of water, with the near shore dubious & risky, the further shore secure & free from risk, but with neither a ferryboat nor a bridge going from this shore to the other. The thought would occur to him, 'Here is this great expanse of water, with the near shore dubious & risky, the further shore secure & free from risk, but with neither a ferryboat nor a bridge going from this shore to the other. What if I were to gather grass, twigs, branches, & leaves and, having bound them together to make a raft, were to cross over to safety on the other shore in dependence on the raft, making an effort with my hands & feet?' Then the man, having gathered grass, twigs, branches, & leaves, having bound them together to make a raft, would cross over to safety on the other shore in dependence on the raft, making an effort with his hands & feet. Having crossed over to the further shore, he might think, 'How useful this raft has been to me! For it was in dependence on this raft that, making an effort with my hands & feet, I have crossed over to safety on the further shore. Why don't I, having hoisted it on my head or carrying on my back, go wherever I like?' What do you think, monks: Would the man, in doing that, be doing what should be done with the raft?"
"No, lord."
"And what should the man do in order to be doing what should be done with the raft? There is the case where the man, having crossed over, would think, 'How useful this raft has been to me! For it was in dependence on this raft that, making an effort with my hands & feet, I have crossed over to safety on the further shore. Why don't I, having dragged it on dry land or sinking it in the water, go wherever I like?' In doing this, he would be doing what should be done with the raft. In the same way, monks, I have taught the Dhamma compared to a raft, for the purpose of crossing over, not for the purpose of holding onto. Understanding the Dhamma as taught compared to a raft, you should let go even of Dhammas, to say nothing of non-Dhammas." (Thanissaro)
Kamma
Closely connected to the teachings on rebirth are the teachings on kamma (Skt.
karma), one of the most well-known Buddhist doctrines. The basic premise behind kamma is that there's a cause and effect relationship between our intentional actions and how they're experienced. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu
puts it, "It's simply the fact of action—you do something unskillful, it's going to come back in an unpleasant way." In the same way, if you do something skillful, it's going to come back and be experienced in a pleasant way."
In the Suttas, the Buddha defines kamma as intentional actions of body, speech, and mind (
AN 6.63) that have the potential to produce certain results, which, in turn, have the potential to produce pleasant, painful, both pleasant and painful, or neutral feelings (
AN 4.235). Pragmatically speaking, actions are deemed 'unskillful' (
akusala) if they lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both. Actions that don't lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both are deemed 'skillful' (
kusala) (
MN 61). Therefore, the distinction between skillful and unskillful actions is based upon how their results are experienced—not only by ourselves, but by others as well. (This emphasis on the consequential aspect of actions is similar to Jeremy Bentham's teleological utilitarianism, with John Stuart Mill's idea of higher and lower happiness being similar to the Buddha's distinction between long-term and short-term welfare and happiness.)
Psychologically speaking, however, the quality of the intentions behind the actions is what ultimately determines whether they're unskillful or skillful. (This aspect is closer to Kant's deontological categorical imperative when combined with the Buddhist principle of
ahimsa or harmlessness.) Intentional actions rooted in greed, hatred, or delusion produce painful mental feelings "like those of the beings in hell," while intentional actions rooted in non-greed, non-hatred, and non-delusion produce the opposite ("like those of the Beautiful Black Devas"). Then there are acts rooted in both that bring mixed results "like those of human beings, some devas, and some beings in the lower realms" (
AN 4.235, Thanissaro). By bringing kamma to an end, however, the mind is said to become free and undisturbed.
In Buddhism, intention or will (
cetana) isn't conceived as something independent of causality, but a product of the aggregate of mental formations (
sankhara-khandha). The cause by which kamma comes into play is sensory contact (
phassa). Furthermore, according to Nyanatiloka's
Buddhist Dictionary: Manual of Buddhist Terms and Doctrines,
vipaka, 'fruit' or 'result,' is "any ... mental phenomenon (e.g. bodily agreeable or painful feeling, sense-consciousness, etc.), which is the result of wholesome or unwholesome volitional action (karma, q.v.) through body, speech or mind, done either in this or some previous life."
Essentially, intentional actions of body, speech, and mind produce results that are said to have the potential to ripen during this lifetime, in the next birth, or in later births. This can be taken literally (i.e., ripening in the form of a pleasant or unpleasant rebirth in an external realm of existence), or metaphorically (i.e., ripening in the form of various pleasant or unpleasant mental states). In the words of
Shravasti Dhammika:
According to the Buddha, every intentional action modifies our consciousness, thus building our character and thereby influencing our behaviour, our experience and consequently our destiny. Positive intentional actions (motivated by generosity, love and wisdom) tend towards consequences that are experienced as positive while intentional negative actions (motivated by greed, hatred and delusion) tend towards consequences that are experienced as negative.
I think that in certain contexts, it'd even be appropriate to think of kamma as 'habit energy' in the sense that the potential effects of an action can be to condition and further strengthen certain physical and psychological reactions, much like a wagon wheel following the same rut will make the rut deeper and harder to get out of. This is especially true in regard to psychological reactions considering that vipaka is limited specifically to 'mental phenomena.'
As for the common misconception of kamma that everything we do or experience in the present is solely conditioned by past actions (i.e., the straight line theory of causality), that's actually how the Jain doctrine of kamma is portrayed in the Pali Canon. The Buddha, on the other hand, took the position that our experience of the present is conditioned by both past
and present actions (i.e., the non-linear theory of causality). (It seems to me that the difference between Nigantha Nataputta's doctrine of kamma and the Buddha's doctrine of kamma is not unlike the difference between Democritus' atomism and Epicurus' atomism.)
Since the Buddhist conception of causality is non-linear, we don't have to exhaust all our negative kamma, which is essentially the doctrine of the Jains (see
MN 101), we simply have to eliminate the
production of kamma in the present. And that's a good thing. Theoretically, if we assume for the moment that all of the teachings on rebirth are literally true, then it'd be statistically impossible to exhaust all of our 'negative kamma' due to the fact that a beginning point to
samsara (literally 'wandering on') isn't evident (
SN 15.3). (This can be interpreted two ways — that a beginning point to the continual cycle of death and rebirth of beings isn't evident, or that a beginning point to the continual cycle of death and rebirth of the conceit 'I am,' the self-identification that designates a being, isn't evident — and they're not mutually exclusive.)
The Buddha's teachings, on the other hand, state that to gain release from samsara, one must put an end to all types of kamma, not just the negative since kamma is a mental component inherently tied to, and influenced by, greed, hatred, and delusion (
AN 3.33). That's why the noble eightfold path is called "the path of practice leading to the cessation of kamma" (
SN 35.145, Thanissaro). They're skillful actions that, when used appropriately, have the potential to completely uproot the mental defilements of greed, hatred, and delusion, which leads to the elimination of the skillful/unskillful dichotomy altogether, leaving only happiness (
Dhp XV), contentment (
Thag 9), peace (
Sn 2.1), and moral perfection behind (
AN 9.7).
Summary
With so many teachings (some of which I've touch upon, while others not at all), trying to sum up Theravada Buddhism in a couple of sentences seems like a daunting challenge, but it's actually quite simple: when you boil it all down, Buddhism is really all about the
pursuit of true happiness, which manifests itself as a contemplative journey of mental purification combining ethical conduct, meditation, and the investigation of things as they are present that culminates in the attainment of a luminous mind, free from defilements (
AN 1.49-52), and full of inner peace (
Sn 4.9).
The Buddha basically approached the problem of mental stress and suffering like a doctor, formulating the
four noble truths in the same way that ancient Indian physicians formulated medical diagnoses, i.e., disease (
stress), cause (
craving), prognosis (a
cure/cessation of craving is possible), and treatment (the
noble eightfold path). And while it may sound overly simplistic, the basic premise of the path can be summarized by this short passage from the Dhammapada:
The non-doing of any evil, the performance of what's skillful, the cleansing of one's own mind: this is the teaching of the Awakened. (Dhp 183, Thanissaro)
Ultimately, every teaching in Buddhism — from not-self to rebirth to kamma — is a tool to be used in the pursuit of happiness, and the majority of them focus on our actions and intentions because that's where the real work of moral and spiritual purification takes place (e.g.,
MN 61). As the old saying goes, the road to
hell happiness is
paved with good intentions.
Happiness. It really is just that simple. That's why, in Buddhism, wisdom begins by asking the following questions:
What is skillful, venerable sir? What is unskillful? What is blameworthy? What is blameless? What should be cultivated? What should not be cultivated? What, having been done by me, will be for my long-term harm & suffering? Or what, having been done by me, will be for my long-term welfare & happiness? (MN 135, Thanissaro)
