Sometimes people want to create a change because a behavior or emotional pattern creates pain for them. But they may also derive benefit from the very thing they’re trying to change. If a person becomes injured, for example, and then suddenly everyone waits on them hand and foot, giving them a great deal of attention, they may find that their injuries don’t heal quite as quickly. While they want to be over the pain, unconsciously they want more of the pleaure of knowing that people care.
You can do everything right, but if secondary gain is too strong, you will find yourself going back to the old ways. Someone with secondary gain has mixed emotions about changing. They say they want to change, but often they subconsciously believe that maintaining the old behavior or emotional pattern gives them something they couldn’t get any other way. Thus they’re not willing to give up feeling depressed, even though it’s painful. Why? Because being depressed gets them attention, for example. They don’t want to feel depressed, but they desperately want attention. In the end, the need for attention wins out, and they stay depressed. The need for attention is only one form of secondary gain. In order to resolve this, we have to give the person enough leverage that they must change, but also we must show them a new way to get their needs met.
*
Often, if we just break our old patterns enough, our brains will automatically search for a replacement pattern to give us the feelings we desire. This is why people who finally break the pattern of smoking sometimes gain weight: their brains look for a new way to create the same kinds of pleasurable feelings, and now they eat mass quantities of food to get them. The key, then, is for us to consciously choose the new behaviors or feelings with which we’re going to replace the old ones.
*
Condition the New Pattern Until It’s Consistent.
Conditioning is the way to make sure that a change you create is consistent and lasts long-term. The simplest way to condition something is simply to rehearse it again and again until a neurological way is created. If you find an empowering alternative, imagine doing it until you see that it can get you out of pain and into pleasure quickly. Your brain will begin to associate this as a new way of producing this result on a consistent basis. If you don’t do this, you’ll go back to the old pattern.
If you rehearse the new, empowering alternative again and again with tremendous emotional intensity, you’ll carve out a pathway, and with even more repetition and emotion, it will become a highway to this new way of achieving results, and it will become a part of your habitual behavior. Remember, your brain can’t tell the difference between something you vividly imagine and something you actually experience. Conditioning ensures that you automatically travel along the new route, that if you spot one of the “off ramps” you used to take all the time, now you just speed past them—in fact, they’ll actually become difficult to take.
The power of conditioning can’t be overestimated. I read recently that Boston Celtics great Larry Bird was doing a soft-drink commercial in which he was supposed to miss a jump shot. He made nine baskets in a row before he could get himself to miss! That’s how strongly he’s conditioned himself over the years. When that ball hits his hands, he automatically goes through a pattern that is aimed at putting the ball through the hoop. I’m sure that if you examined the portion of Larry Bird’s brain that is linked to that motion, you would discover a substantial neural pathway. Realize that you and I can condition any behavior within ourselves if we do it with enough repetition and emotional intensity.
The next step is to set up a schedule to reinforce your new behavior. How can you reward yourself for succeeding? Don’t wait until you’ve gone a year without smoking. When you’ve gone a day, give yourself a reward! Don’t wait until you’ve lost eighty pounds. Don’t even wait until you’ve lost a pound. The minute you can push the plate away with food still on it, give yourself a pat on the back. Set up a series of short-term goals, or milestones, and as you reach each one, immediately reward yourself. If you’ve been depressed or worried, now each time you take action instead of worrying, or each time you smile when somebody asks how you’re doing and you say, “Great,” give yourself a reward for already beginning to make the changes necessary to ensure your long-term success.
In this way, your nervous system learns to link great pleasure to change. People who want to lose weight don’t always see immediate results—usually losing a couple of pounds doesn’t miraculously transform you into an Elle McPherson or a Mel Gibson.
Anthony Robbins
Awaken the Giant Within
Dhamma
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Saturday, February 29, 2020
The change should take place immediately, not someday in the future.
So why would someone not change when they feel and know that they should? They associate more pain to making the change than to not changing. To change someone, including ourselves, we must simply reverse this so that not changing is incredibly painful (painful beyond our threshold of tolerance), and the idea of changing is attractive and pleasurable!
To get true leverage, ask yourself pain-inducing questions: “What will this cost me if I don’t change?” Most of us are too busy estimating the price of change. But what’s the price of not changing? “Ultimately what will I miss out on in my life if I don’t make the shift? What is it already costing me mentally, emotionally, physically, financially, spiritually?” Make the pain of not changing feel so real to you, so intense, so immediate that you can’t put off taking that action any longer.
If that doesn’t create enough leverage, then focus on how it affects your loved ones, your children, and other people you care about. Many of us will do more for others than we’ll do for ourselves. So picture in graphic detail how much your failure to change will negatively impact the people who are most important to you.
The second step is to use pleasure-associating questions to help you link those positive sensations to the idea of changing. “If I do change, how will that make me feel about myself? What kind of momentum could I create if I change this in my life? What other things could I accomplish if I really made this change today? How will my family and friends feel? How much happier will I be now?”
The key is to get lots of reasons, or better yet, strong enough reasons, why the change should take place immediately, not someday in the future. If you are not driven to make the change now, then you don’t really have leverage.
Anthony Robbins
Awaken the Giant within
To get true leverage, ask yourself pain-inducing questions: “What will this cost me if I don’t change?” Most of us are too busy estimating the price of change. But what’s the price of not changing? “Ultimately what will I miss out on in my life if I don’t make the shift? What is it already costing me mentally, emotionally, physically, financially, spiritually?” Make the pain of not changing feel so real to you, so intense, so immediate that you can’t put off taking that action any longer.
If that doesn’t create enough leverage, then focus on how it affects your loved ones, your children, and other people you care about. Many of us will do more for others than we’ll do for ourselves. So picture in graphic detail how much your failure to change will negatively impact the people who are most important to you.
The second step is to use pleasure-associating questions to help you link those positive sensations to the idea of changing. “If I do change, how will that make me feel about myself? What kind of momentum could I create if I change this in my life? What other things could I accomplish if I really made this change today? How will my family and friends feel? How much happier will I be now?”
The key is to get lots of reasons, or better yet, strong enough reasons, why the change should take place immediately, not someday in the future. If you are not driven to make the change now, then you don’t really have leverage.
Anthony Robbins
Awaken the Giant within
The drive to preserve the integrity of our own identity
The greatest leverage you can create for yourself is the pain that comes from inside, not outside. Knowing that you have failed to live up to your own standards for your life is the ultimate pain. If we fail to act in accordance with our own view of ourselves, if our behaviors are inconsistent with our standards—with the identity we hold for ourselves—then the chasm between our actions and who we are drives us to make a change.
The leverage created by pointing out an inconsistency between someone’s standards and their behavior can be incredibly effective in causing them to change. It’s not just pressure placed on them by the outside world, but pressure built up by themselves from within. One of the strongest forces in the human personality is the drive to preserve the integrity of our own identity.
The reason so many of us seem to be walking contradictions is simply that we never recognize inconsistencies for what they are. If you want to help somebody, you won’t access this kind of leverage by making them wrong or pointing out that they’re inconsistent, but rather by asking them questions that cause them to realize for themselves their inconsistencies. This is a much more powerful lever than attacking someone. If you try to exert only external pressure, they’ll push against it, but internal pressure is next to impossible to resist.
Anthony Robbins
Awaken the Giant Within
The leverage created by pointing out an inconsistency between someone’s standards and their behavior can be incredibly effective in causing them to change. It’s not just pressure placed on them by the outside world, but pressure built up by themselves from within. One of the strongest forces in the human personality is the drive to preserve the integrity of our own identity.
The reason so many of us seem to be walking contradictions is simply that we never recognize inconsistencies for what they are. If you want to help somebody, you won’t access this kind of leverage by making them wrong or pointing out that they’re inconsistent, but rather by asking them questions that cause them to realize for themselves their inconsistencies. This is a much more powerful lever than attacking someone. If you try to exert only external pressure, they’ll push against it, but internal pressure is next to impossible to resist.
Anthony Robbins
Awaken the Giant Within
Subversive activity
In between lies the besotted middle class, grown enormous under the new orientation of Western man. Loving comfort, risking little, terrified by the thought of change, its aim is to establish a mate rialistic civilization which will banish threats to its complacency. It has conventions, not ideals; it is washed rather than clean. The plight of Europe today is the direct result of the bourgeois ascendancy and its corrupted world view.
Thus the final degradation of the Baconian philosophy is that knowledge becomes power in the service of appetite. The state, ceasing to express man’s inner qualifications, turns into a vast bureaucracy designed to promote economic activity. It is little wonder that traditional values, however much they may be eulogized on commemorative occasions, today must dodge about and find themselves nooks and crannies if they are to survive at all.
*
Upholders of tradition habitually classify the forces menacing our institutions as “subversive activity.” The description is just. There is often in the language of ordinary people a logic which, for want of philosophy, they cannot interpret; and so is there here, for it can be shown that “subversive activity” has an exact application. Indeed, it would be difficult to find a more accurate phrase. The expression means plainly an inversion by which matter is placed over spirit or quantity placed over quality. Thus it describes perfectly what it is usually employed to describe—the various forms of collectivism which rest on a materialistic philosophy. The dullest member of a conservative legislative committee, seeking the source of threats to institutions, does not fail to see that those doctrines which exalt material interests over spiritual, to the confounding of rational distinctions among men, are positively incompatible with the society he is elected to represent. For expressing such views, he is likely to be condemned as ignorant or selfish, because normally he does not express them very well.
*
Since subversive activity is the taking away of degree, it is logical that conservatives should treat as enemies all those who wish to abolish the sacred and secular grounds for distinctions among men. The proposal of the subverters is, however, impossible in practice, and the quarrel turns out to be over principles of selection. History thus far indicates that when the reformers get their turn, they merely substitute a bureaucratic hierarchy—and this because they discover that they do not wish society to collapse at all, but to continue under their conception of man’s good.
Richard Weaver
Ideas have consequences
Thus the final degradation of the Baconian philosophy is that knowledge becomes power in the service of appetite. The state, ceasing to express man’s inner qualifications, turns into a vast bureaucracy designed to promote economic activity. It is little wonder that traditional values, however much they may be eulogized on commemorative occasions, today must dodge about and find themselves nooks and crannies if they are to survive at all.
*
Upholders of tradition habitually classify the forces menacing our institutions as “subversive activity.” The description is just. There is often in the language of ordinary people a logic which, for want of philosophy, they cannot interpret; and so is there here, for it can be shown that “subversive activity” has an exact application. Indeed, it would be difficult to find a more accurate phrase. The expression means plainly an inversion by which matter is placed over spirit or quantity placed over quality. Thus it describes perfectly what it is usually employed to describe—the various forms of collectivism which rest on a materialistic philosophy. The dullest member of a conservative legislative committee, seeking the source of threats to institutions, does not fail to see that those doctrines which exalt material interests over spiritual, to the confounding of rational distinctions among men, are positively incompatible with the society he is elected to represent. For expressing such views, he is likely to be condemned as ignorant or selfish, because normally he does not express them very well.
*
Since subversive activity is the taking away of degree, it is logical that conservatives should treat as enemies all those who wish to abolish the sacred and secular grounds for distinctions among men. The proposal of the subverters is, however, impossible in practice, and the quarrel turns out to be over principles of selection. History thus far indicates that when the reformers get their turn, they merely substitute a bureaucratic hierarchy—and this because they discover that they do not wish society to collapse at all, but to continue under their conception of man’s good.
Richard Weaver
Ideas have consequences
Both knowledge and virtue require the concept of transcendence
The history of our social disintegration began with the unfixing of relationships in the fourteenth century, but the effort to do away with society entirely did not become programmatic until the nineteenth, when it appeared as a culmination of the prevailing nature philosophy. Since both knowledge and virtue require the concept of transcendence, they are really obnoxious to those committed to material standards, and we have seen how insistent was the impulse to look to the lower levels for guidance. Into social thinking there now enters a statistical unit, the consumer, which has the power to destroy utterly that metaphysical structure supporting hierarchy. Let us remember that traditional society was organized around king and priest, soldier and poet, peasant and artisan. Now distinctions of vocation fade out, and the new organization, if such it may be termed, is to be around capacities to consume. Underlying the shift is the theory of romanticism; if we attach more significance to feeling than to thinking, we shall soon, by a simple extension, attach more to wanting than to deserving. Even institutions of learning have yielded to the utilitarian standard, and former President James B. Conant of Harvard University declared in an address that the chief contribution of American universities had been the idea of equality of all useful labor.
This is the grand solution of socialism, which is itself the materialistic offspring of bourgeois capitalism.
Richard Weaver
Ideas have consequences
This is the grand solution of socialism, which is itself the materialistic offspring of bourgeois capitalism.
Richard Weaver
Ideas have consequences
They wish to know the truth, but...
For the success of our restoration it cannot be too often said that society and mass are contradictory terms and that those who seek to do things in the name of mass are the destroyers in our midst. If society is something which can be understood, it must have structure; if it has structure, it must have hierarchy; against this metaphysical truth the declamations of the Jacobins break in vain.
Perhaps the most painful experience of modern consciousness is the felt loss of center; yet, this is the inevitable result of centuries of insistence that society yield its form. Anyone can observe that people today are eager to know who is really entitled to authority, that they are looking wistfully for the sources of genuine value. In sum, they wish to know the truth, but they have been taught a perversion which makes their chance of obtaining it less every day. This perversion is that in a just society there are no distinctions.
Our course has reached a point at which the question of whether man wishes to live in society at all or whether he wishes to live in a kind of animal relationship must be raised in all seriousness. For, if the proscription against every kind of distinction continues, there is no hope of integration except on the level of instinct.
Richard Weaver
Ideas have consequences
Perhaps the most painful experience of modern consciousness is the felt loss of center; yet, this is the inevitable result of centuries of insistence that society yield its form. Anyone can observe that people today are eager to know who is really entitled to authority, that they are looking wistfully for the sources of genuine value. In sum, they wish to know the truth, but they have been taught a perversion which makes their chance of obtaining it less every day. This perversion is that in a just society there are no distinctions.
Our course has reached a point at which the question of whether man wishes to live in society at all or whether he wishes to live in a kind of animal relationship must be raised in all seriousness. For, if the proscription against every kind of distinction continues, there is no hope of integration except on the level of instinct.
Richard Weaver
Ideas have consequences
The empirical character of British philosophy cannot be unrelated to the commercial habit of a great trading nation
In addition, the disappearance of the heroic ideal is always accompanied by the growth of commercialism. There is a cause-and-effect relation here, for the man of commerce is by the nature of things a relativist; his mind is constantly on the fluctuating values of the market place, and there is no surer way for him to fail than to dogmatize and moralize about things. “Business and sentiment do not mix” is an adage of utmost significance. It explains the tendency of all organic societies to exclude the trader from positions of influence and prestige; it accounts, I am sure, for Plato’s strictures on retail merchants in the Laws. The empirical character of British philosophy cannot be unrelated to the commercial habit of a great trading nation.
Richard Weaver
Ideas have consequences
Richard Weaver
Ideas have consequences
Friends are attracted by one’s personality, if it is of the right sort
When people set the highest value on relationships to one another, it does not take them long to find material accommodations for these. One is dealing here, as at every other point, with our estimate of the good life.
In Megalopolis the sentiment of friendship wastes away. Friends become, in the vulgarism of modern speech, “pals,” who may be defined as persons whom your work compels you to associate with or, on a still more debased level, persons who will allow you to use them to your advantage. The meeting of minds, the sympathy between personalities which all cultured communities have regarded as part of the good life, demand too much sentiment for a world of machines and a false egalitarianism, and one detects even a faint suspicion that friendship, because it rests upon selection, is undemocratic. It is this type of mentality which will study with perfect naïveté a work on how to win friends and influence people. To one brought up in a society spiritually fused—what I shall call the metaphysical community—the idea of a campaign to win friends must be incomprehensible. Friends are attracted by one’s personality, if it is of the right sort, and any conscious attempt is inseparable from guile. And the art of manipulating personalities obviously presumes a disrespect for personality. Only in a splintered community, where the spirit is starved to the point of atrophy, could such an imposture flourish.
Richard Weaver
Ideas have consequences
In Megalopolis the sentiment of friendship wastes away. Friends become, in the vulgarism of modern speech, “pals,” who may be defined as persons whom your work compels you to associate with or, on a still more debased level, persons who will allow you to use them to your advantage. The meeting of minds, the sympathy between personalities which all cultured communities have regarded as part of the good life, demand too much sentiment for a world of machines and a false egalitarianism, and one detects even a faint suspicion that friendship, because it rests upon selection, is undemocratic. It is this type of mentality which will study with perfect naïveté a work on how to win friends and influence people. To one brought up in a society spiritually fused—what I shall call the metaphysical community—the idea of a campaign to win friends must be incomprehensible. Friends are attracted by one’s personality, if it is of the right sort, and any conscious attempt is inseparable from guile. And the art of manipulating personalities obviously presumes a disrespect for personality. Only in a splintered community, where the spirit is starved to the point of atrophy, could such an imposture flourish.
Richard Weaver
Ideas have consequences
Ignorance is not simply the absence of knowledge
The radio that had been blaring in a corner all morning could not bother me either: pop songs, stockmarket figures, muzak, horseracing reports, more pop songs, a lecture on foot-and-mouth disease in cows—whatever: this audio-pap kept dripping like lukewarm water from a leaky faucet and nobody was listening anyway.
Suddenly a miracle occurred. For a reason that will forever remain mysterious, this vulgar broadcasting routine gave way without transition (or, if there had been one, it escaped my attention) to the most sublime music: the first bars of Mozart’s clarinet quintet began to flow and with serene authority filled the entire space of the café, turning it at once into an antechamber of Paradise. But the other patrons who had been chatting, drinking, playing cards or reading newspapers were not deaf after all: this magical irruption of a voice from heaven provoked a general start among them—all faces turned round, frowning with puzzled concern. Yet, in a matter of seconds, to the huge relief of all, one customer resolutely stood up, walked straight to the radio, turned the tuning knob and cut off this disquieting intermède, switched to another station and restored at once the more congenial noises, which everyone could again comfortably ignore.
At that moment the realisation hit me—and has never left me since: true Philistines are not people who are incapable of recognising beauty; they recognise it all too well; they detect its presence anywhere, immediately, and with a flair as infallible as that of the most sensitive aesthete—but for them, it is in order to be able better to pounce upon it at once and to destroy it before it can gain a foothold in their universal empire of ugliness.
Ignorance is not simply the absence of knowledge, obscurantism does not result from a dearth of light, bad taste is not merely a lack of good taste, stupidity is not a simple want of intelligence: all these are fiercely active forces, that angrily assert themselves on every occasion; they tolerate no challenge to their omnipresent rule. In every department of human endeavour, inspired talent is an intolerable insult to mediocrity. If this is true in the realm of aesthetics, it is even more true in the world of ethics. More than artistic beauty, moral beauty seems to exasperate our sorry species. The need to bring down to our own wretched level, to deface, to deride and debunk any splendour that is towering above us, is probably the saddest urge of human nature.
Simon Leys
The Hall of Uselessness
Suddenly a miracle occurred. For a reason that will forever remain mysterious, this vulgar broadcasting routine gave way without transition (or, if there had been one, it escaped my attention) to the most sublime music: the first bars of Mozart’s clarinet quintet began to flow and with serene authority filled the entire space of the café, turning it at once into an antechamber of Paradise. But the other patrons who had been chatting, drinking, playing cards or reading newspapers were not deaf after all: this magical irruption of a voice from heaven provoked a general start among them—all faces turned round, frowning with puzzled concern. Yet, in a matter of seconds, to the huge relief of all, one customer resolutely stood up, walked straight to the radio, turned the tuning knob and cut off this disquieting intermède, switched to another station and restored at once the more congenial noises, which everyone could again comfortably ignore.
At that moment the realisation hit me—and has never left me since: true Philistines are not people who are incapable of recognising beauty; they recognise it all too well; they detect its presence anywhere, immediately, and with a flair as infallible as that of the most sensitive aesthete—but for them, it is in order to be able better to pounce upon it at once and to destroy it before it can gain a foothold in their universal empire of ugliness.
Ignorance is not simply the absence of knowledge, obscurantism does not result from a dearth of light, bad taste is not merely a lack of good taste, stupidity is not a simple want of intelligence: all these are fiercely active forces, that angrily assert themselves on every occasion; they tolerate no challenge to their omnipresent rule. In every department of human endeavour, inspired talent is an intolerable insult to mediocrity. If this is true in the realm of aesthetics, it is even more true in the world of ethics. More than artistic beauty, moral beauty seems to exasperate our sorry species. The need to bring down to our own wretched level, to deface, to deride and debunk any splendour that is towering above us, is probably the saddest urge of human nature.
Simon Leys
The Hall of Uselessness
Our culture has drifted away from its spiritual roots
The word “quixotic”—as I indicated at the very beginning—has entered the common language, with the meaning “hopelessly naïve and idealistic,” “ridiculously impractical,” “doomed to fail.” That this epithet can be used now in an exclusively pejorative sense not only shows that we have ceased to read Cervantes and to understand his character, but more fundamentally it reveals that our culture has drifted away from its spiritual roots.
*
In this very connection, Unamuno remarked that John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila and Ignatius of Loyola did not reject rationality, nor did they distrust scientific knowledge; what led them to their mysticism was simply the perception of “an intolerable disparity between the hugeness of their desire and the smallness of reality.”
In his quest for immortal fame, Don Quixote suffered repeated defeats. Because he obstinately refused to adjust “the hugeness of his desire” to “the smallness of reality,” he was doomed to perpetual failure. Only a culture based upon “a religion of losers” could produce such a hero.
What we should remember, however, is this (if I may thus paraphrase Bernard Shaw): The successful man adapts himself to the world. The loser persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the loser.
Simon Leys
The Hall of Uselessness
*
In this very connection, Unamuno remarked that John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila and Ignatius of Loyola did not reject rationality, nor did they distrust scientific knowledge; what led them to their mysticism was simply the perception of “an intolerable disparity between the hugeness of their desire and the smallness of reality.”
In his quest for immortal fame, Don Quixote suffered repeated defeats. Because he obstinately refused to adjust “the hugeness of his desire” to “the smallness of reality,” he was doomed to perpetual failure. Only a culture based upon “a religion of losers” could produce such a hero.
What we should remember, however, is this (if I may thus paraphrase Bernard Shaw): The successful man adapts himself to the world. The loser persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the loser.
Simon Leys
The Hall of Uselessness
To match the image created by the expectations
The occupation Don Quixote chooses for himself is that of knight errant. He is not under the delusion that he is a knight errant—no, he sets his mind on becoming one. He does not play at being someone else, as children do in their games; he is not pretending to be someone else, like an impostor, or impersonating a character, like an actor on stage. And he adopts the profession of knight after due reflection: it is the result of a deliberate choice. After having considered other options, he finally decides that the career of a knight errant would be the most rewarding, intellectually and morally.
But “How does one become a knight?” Van Doren asks. By acting like a knight—which is the very opposite of pretence, of make-believe. And to act the way Don Quixote does is more than to ape. To imitate as he does is a profound apprenticeship—the true way of learning and the key to understanding. “What is the difference between acting like a great man and being one? To act like a poet is to write poems; to act like a statesman is to ponder the nature of goodness and justice; to act like a student is to study; to act like a knight is to think and feel like one.”
Had Don Quixote been simply and plainly mad, or had he indulged in a protracted game of self-deception and play-acting, we should not be talking of him now, Van Doren observes—“We are talking of him because we suspect that, in the end, he did become a knight.”
“Man is a creature who makes pictures of himself, and then comes to resemble the picture.” Iris Murdoch made this observation in a different context, but it accurately identifies a defining feature of human nature. It was most memorably exemplified by Don Quixote—which gave Cervantes’s novel its universal relevance.
Unlike Don Quixote, however, most of us do not have the chance to select and decide for ourselves which characters we should apply ourselves to becoming.
Circumstances of life do the casting; our roles are being imposed on us, other people dictate to us our lines and prompt our acting. A haunting illustration of this was provided in one of Rossellini’s last films, General della Rovere (1959). A petty crook in Italy at the end of World War II is arrested by the Gestapo and forced by them to impersonate a prestigious figure of the Resistance, General della Rovere, so that they can extract information from political prisoners. But the con man performs his role so convincingly that the other prisoners come to worship him as their moral leader; thus he is progressively compelled to live above himself and to match the image created by their expectations. In the end, he refuses to betray their trust, he is put in front of a firing squad and dies the death of a hero. He has truly become General della Rovere.
*
To man’s basic interrogation—Why is it that God never speaks to us openly or answers us directly with a clear voice? Why are we never allowed to see his face?—C.S. Lewis gave a striking answer: How can God meet us face to face, till we have faces?
When we first enter upon the stage of life, it is as if we were only given masks that correspond to our respective roles. If we act our part well enough, the mask eventually turns into our true face. Thus Don Quixote becomes a knight, Rossellini’s petty crook becomes General della Rovere—and each of us, we can become at last who we were originally meant to be.
Simon Leys
The Hall of Uselessness
But “How does one become a knight?” Van Doren asks. By acting like a knight—which is the very opposite of pretence, of make-believe. And to act the way Don Quixote does is more than to ape. To imitate as he does is a profound apprenticeship—the true way of learning and the key to understanding. “What is the difference between acting like a great man and being one? To act like a poet is to write poems; to act like a statesman is to ponder the nature of goodness and justice; to act like a student is to study; to act like a knight is to think and feel like one.”
Had Don Quixote been simply and plainly mad, or had he indulged in a protracted game of self-deception and play-acting, we should not be talking of him now, Van Doren observes—“We are talking of him because we suspect that, in the end, he did become a knight.”
“Man is a creature who makes pictures of himself, and then comes to resemble the picture.” Iris Murdoch made this observation in a different context, but it accurately identifies a defining feature of human nature. It was most memorably exemplified by Don Quixote—which gave Cervantes’s novel its universal relevance.
Unlike Don Quixote, however, most of us do not have the chance to select and decide for ourselves which characters we should apply ourselves to becoming.
Circumstances of life do the casting; our roles are being imposed on us, other people dictate to us our lines and prompt our acting. A haunting illustration of this was provided in one of Rossellini’s last films, General della Rovere (1959). A petty crook in Italy at the end of World War II is arrested by the Gestapo and forced by them to impersonate a prestigious figure of the Resistance, General della Rovere, so that they can extract information from political prisoners. But the con man performs his role so convincingly that the other prisoners come to worship him as their moral leader; thus he is progressively compelled to live above himself and to match the image created by their expectations. In the end, he refuses to betray their trust, he is put in front of a firing squad and dies the death of a hero. He has truly become General della Rovere.
*
To man’s basic interrogation—Why is it that God never speaks to us openly or answers us directly with a clear voice? Why are we never allowed to see his face?—C.S. Lewis gave a striking answer: How can God meet us face to face, till we have faces?
When we first enter upon the stage of life, it is as if we were only given masks that correspond to our respective roles. If we act our part well enough, the mask eventually turns into our true face. Thus Don Quixote becomes a knight, Rossellini’s petty crook becomes General della Rovere—and each of us, we can become at last who we were originally meant to be.
Simon Leys
The Hall of Uselessness
He created everything and yet is nowhere to be seen
Montherlant, one of the most remarkable French writers of our century (a novelist, playwright and essayist), was deeply imbued with Spanish culture. He spent much time in Spain (he even learned and practised bullfighting); his fluent knowledge of Spanish enabled him to read Don Quixote in the original text.
He re-read the book four times during his life, and he too experienced an increasing irritation at Cervantes’s coarse treatment of a sublime character. Besides, he felt that the book was much too long and that it contained too many tasteless and cruel jokes. But this objection could be turned against itself—is this not precisely a perfect definition of life itself? Come to think of it: a story that drags on much too long and is full of tasteless and cruel jokes . . . Note that the worst accusations that can be directed against Cervantes always point in the end to the unique and disquieting power of his book to conjure reality.
Finally, what irked Montherlant most—what he could not forgive Cervantes for—was that, through the entire book, not once does the author express one word of compassion for his hero, or one word of blame for the vulgar bullies who relentlessly mock and persecute him. This reaction—very similar to that of Nabokov—once again reflects a paradox, now familiar to us. What infuriates the critics of Cervantes is precisely the main strength of his art: the secret of its lifelikeness. Flaubert (who, by the way, worshipped Don Quixote) said that a great writer should stand in his novel like God in his creation. He created everything and yet is nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be heard. He is everywhere and yet invisible, silent, seemingly absent and indifferent. We curse him for his silence and his indifference, which we take as evidence of his cruelty.
But if the author were to intervene in his narratives—if, instead of letting facts and actions speak for themselves, he were to speak in his own voice—the spell would be broken at once, we would be suddenly reminded that this is not life, this is not reality—it is merely a tale. When we reproach Cervantes for his lack of compassion, his indifference, his cruelty, for the brutality of his jokes, we forget that the more we hate the author, the more we believe in the reality of his world and his creatures.
Simon Leys
The Hall of Uselessness
He re-read the book four times during his life, and he too experienced an increasing irritation at Cervantes’s coarse treatment of a sublime character. Besides, he felt that the book was much too long and that it contained too many tasteless and cruel jokes. But this objection could be turned against itself—is this not precisely a perfect definition of life itself? Come to think of it: a story that drags on much too long and is full of tasteless and cruel jokes . . . Note that the worst accusations that can be directed against Cervantes always point in the end to the unique and disquieting power of his book to conjure reality.
Finally, what irked Montherlant most—what he could not forgive Cervantes for—was that, through the entire book, not once does the author express one word of compassion for his hero, or one word of blame for the vulgar bullies who relentlessly mock and persecute him. This reaction—very similar to that of Nabokov—once again reflects a paradox, now familiar to us. What infuriates the critics of Cervantes is precisely the main strength of his art: the secret of its lifelikeness. Flaubert (who, by the way, worshipped Don Quixote) said that a great writer should stand in his novel like God in his creation. He created everything and yet is nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be heard. He is everywhere and yet invisible, silent, seemingly absent and indifferent. We curse him for his silence and his indifference, which we take as evidence of his cruelty.
But if the author were to intervene in his narratives—if, instead of letting facts and actions speak for themselves, he were to speak in his own voice—the spell would be broken at once, we would be suddenly reminded that this is not life, this is not reality—it is merely a tale. When we reproach Cervantes for his lack of compassion, his indifference, his cruelty, for the brutality of his jokes, we forget that the more we hate the author, the more we believe in the reality of his world and his creatures.
Simon Leys
The Hall of Uselessness
There are no messages in my novels. When I want to send a message, I go to the post office
But this, in turn, raises an interesting question. A little while ago, out of the blue, I inadvertently caught some critical flak for venturing to suggest in a nationally broadcast lecture (among a few other heresies) the notion (quite banal in fact) that creative literature, inasmuch as it is artistically valid, can carry no message. This view is not new, by the way, and should be self-evident. Hemingway, whom I quoted, had expressed it best to a journalist who was questioning him on “the messages” of his novels. He very sensibly replied: “There are no messages in my novels. When I want to send a message, I go to the post office.”
Some critics reacted indignantly to my statement: “What? No messages in the masterpieces of world literature? And what about Dante’s Divine Comedy? What about Milton’s Paradise Lost?” Even more to the point, they could have added: “And what about Cervantes’s Don Quixote?”
Of course, many poets and novelists think that they have messages to communicate, and most of the time they passionately believe in the momentous significance of their messages. But quite frequently these messages are far less important than their authors originally assumed. Sometimes they prove to be actually mistaken, or downright silly or even obnoxious. And often, after a while, they become simply irrelevant, whereas the works themselves, if they have genuine literary merit, acquire a life of their own, revealing their true, long-lasting meaning to later generations; but of this deeper meaning, the author himself was hardly aware. Most of Dante’s most fervent readers today care very little for medieval theology; and virtually none of Don Quixote’s modern admirers have ever read—let alone heard the names of—most of the books of chivalry that Cervantes attacked with such fierce passion.
In fact, it is in this gap between the author’s conscious intention (which may be merely incidental) and the deeper meaning of his work that the critic can find the only legitimate ground on which to exert his craft. Chesterton put it well, in one of the introductions he wrote to Dickens’s novels:
The function of criticism, if it has a legitimate function at all, can only be one function—that of dealing with the subconscious part of the author’s mind which only the critic can express, and not with the conscious part of the author’s mind, which the author himself can express. Either criticism is no good at all (a very defensible position) or else criticism means saying about an author the very things that would have made him jump out of his boots.
The closer a book comes to being a genuine work of art, a true creation with a life of its own, the less likely it is that the author had full control over and a clear understanding of what he wrote. D.H. Lawrence, who was an exceptionally perceptive critic, summed this up in a statement I have already quoted many times but which one should never tire of invoking: “Never trust the artist. Trust the tale. The proper function of a critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it.”
This urge “to save the tale from the artist who created it” has proved particularly strong with the critics of Don Quixote. In fact, some of these critics have developed a most peculiar attitude: it is as if the more they come to love Don Quixote, the more they come to resent Cervantes. At first this paradox may seem far-fetched, but there is a logic to it.
Last century, when theatrical troupes went on tour in the country, performing romantic melodramas for unsophisticated village audiences, it often happened that the actor who had impersonated the villain of the play had to be protected after the show, since the local toughs would be waiting for him in order to beat him up, in punishment for all the evil deeds he had just committed so convincingly on stage. Similarly, it is because Don Quixote has become so intensely alive and real for them that some readers cannot forgive Cervantes for subjecting their hero to such a foul and savage treatment.
Or again, you can find another instance of this same phenomenon illustrated in a popular contemporary thriller. In Stephen King’s Misery (I have not read the book; I only saw the film, which is horribly funny), a best-selling author is being held captive by a female fan; distressed and angered by the fictional death of her favourite heroine, this psychopathic reader tortures the hapless author and forces him to rewrite the ending of his novel.
Simon Leys
The Hall of Uselessness
Some critics reacted indignantly to my statement: “What? No messages in the masterpieces of world literature? And what about Dante’s Divine Comedy? What about Milton’s Paradise Lost?” Even more to the point, they could have added: “And what about Cervantes’s Don Quixote?”
Of course, many poets and novelists think that they have messages to communicate, and most of the time they passionately believe in the momentous significance of their messages. But quite frequently these messages are far less important than their authors originally assumed. Sometimes they prove to be actually mistaken, or downright silly or even obnoxious. And often, after a while, they become simply irrelevant, whereas the works themselves, if they have genuine literary merit, acquire a life of their own, revealing their true, long-lasting meaning to later generations; but of this deeper meaning, the author himself was hardly aware. Most of Dante’s most fervent readers today care very little for medieval theology; and virtually none of Don Quixote’s modern admirers have ever read—let alone heard the names of—most of the books of chivalry that Cervantes attacked with such fierce passion.
In fact, it is in this gap between the author’s conscious intention (which may be merely incidental) and the deeper meaning of his work that the critic can find the only legitimate ground on which to exert his craft. Chesterton put it well, in one of the introductions he wrote to Dickens’s novels:
The function of criticism, if it has a legitimate function at all, can only be one function—that of dealing with the subconscious part of the author’s mind which only the critic can express, and not with the conscious part of the author’s mind, which the author himself can express. Either criticism is no good at all (a very defensible position) or else criticism means saying about an author the very things that would have made him jump out of his boots.
The closer a book comes to being a genuine work of art, a true creation with a life of its own, the less likely it is that the author had full control over and a clear understanding of what he wrote. D.H. Lawrence, who was an exceptionally perceptive critic, summed this up in a statement I have already quoted many times but which one should never tire of invoking: “Never trust the artist. Trust the tale. The proper function of a critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it.”
This urge “to save the tale from the artist who created it” has proved particularly strong with the critics of Don Quixote. In fact, some of these critics have developed a most peculiar attitude: it is as if the more they come to love Don Quixote, the more they come to resent Cervantes. At first this paradox may seem far-fetched, but there is a logic to it.
Last century, when theatrical troupes went on tour in the country, performing romantic melodramas for unsophisticated village audiences, it often happened that the actor who had impersonated the villain of the play had to be protected after the show, since the local toughs would be waiting for him in order to beat him up, in punishment for all the evil deeds he had just committed so convincingly on stage. Similarly, it is because Don Quixote has become so intensely alive and real for them that some readers cannot forgive Cervantes for subjecting their hero to such a foul and savage treatment.
Or again, you can find another instance of this same phenomenon illustrated in a popular contemporary thriller. In Stephen King’s Misery (I have not read the book; I only saw the film, which is horribly funny), a best-selling author is being held captive by a female fan; distressed and angered by the fictional death of her favourite heroine, this psychopathic reader tortures the hapless author and forces him to rewrite the ending of his novel.
Simon Leys
The Hall of Uselessness
The Idea of a University
The best description of this sort of experience was given by John Henry Newman. In his classic The Idea of a University, he made an amazingly bold statement: he said that if he had to choose between two types of universities, one in which eminent professors teach students who come to the university only to attend lectures and sit for examinations, and the other where there are no professors, no lectures, no examinations and no degrees, but where the students live together for two or three years, he would choose the second type. He concluded, “How is this to be explained? When a multitude of young men, keen, open-hearted, sympathetic and observant as young men are, come together and freely mix with each other, they are sure to learn from one another, even if there be no one to teach them; the conversation of all is a series of lectures to each, and they gain for themselves new ideas and views, fresh matter of thought and distinct principles for judging and acting day by day.”
Simon Leys
Simon Leys
In springtime the dragon is useless
Traditionally, Chinese scholars, men of letters, artists would give an inspiring name to their residences, hermitages, libraries and studios. Sometimes they did not actually possess residences, hermitages, libraries or studios—not even a roof over their heads—but the existence or non-existence of a material support for a Name never appeared to them a very relevant issue. And I wonder if one of the deepest seductions of Chinese culture is not related to this conjuring power with which it vests the Written Word.
*
For two years I enjoyed there the fraternal hospitality of a former schoolmate, whom I knew from Taiwan—he was an artist (calligrapher and seal-carver) sharing a place with two postgraduate students, a philologist and a historian. We slept on bunks in a single common room. This room was naturally a complete mess—anywhere else it would have resembled a dismal slum, but here all was redeemed by the work of my friend: one superb calligraphy (in seal-script style) hanging on the wall—Wu Yong Tang, “The Hall of Uselessness.” If taken at face value, it had a touch of tongue-in-cheek self-deprecation; in fact, it contained a very cheeky double-meaning. The words (chosen by our philologist companion, who was a fine scholar) alluded to a passage from The Book of Changes, the most ancient, most holy (and most obscure) of all the Chinese classics, which said that “in springtime the dragon is useless.” This, in turn, according to commentaries, meant that in their youth the talents of superior men (promised to a great future) must remain hidden.
Simon Leys
*
For two years I enjoyed there the fraternal hospitality of a former schoolmate, whom I knew from Taiwan—he was an artist (calligrapher and seal-carver) sharing a place with two postgraduate students, a philologist and a historian. We slept on bunks in a single common room. This room was naturally a complete mess—anywhere else it would have resembled a dismal slum, but here all was redeemed by the work of my friend: one superb calligraphy (in seal-script style) hanging on the wall—Wu Yong Tang, “The Hall of Uselessness.” If taken at face value, it had a touch of tongue-in-cheek self-deprecation; in fact, it contained a very cheeky double-meaning. The words (chosen by our philologist companion, who was a fine scholar) alluded to a passage from The Book of Changes, the most ancient, most holy (and most obscure) of all the Chinese classics, which said that “in springtime the dragon is useless.” This, in turn, according to commentaries, meant that in their youth the talents of superior men (promised to a great future) must remain hidden.
Simon Leys
The inner vertigo
I sit down in a room, quiet and half dark and watch the act of breathing - the bodily sensation of air touching the tip of the nose: I experience sensing the bodily sensation at an interval of space. I can place the bodily sensation in space as sensed from the direction in which I am. But when I follow that direction back and look for the "I", then I am no longer there, but in another place, I have no place in space. I see and sense space and the "things" in it from a place where I am not. Space is complete without "I" and there is no room for "I" in space at all. This I call the inner vertigo.
Nanamoli Thera
Dependent Arising - Illusion of being
It has been said by someone that the weakness of Buddhism is that it has no Ontology. But it can be asked, is it weakness or a strength?
My point simply hinges on the question of translating bhava by "becoming" as is usually done. It is generally argued against translating bhava by being that "being is static" but while admitting that "becoming" 1) no offers solution since in Concise Oxford Dictionary "to become" means "to begin to be", 2) it completely severs the hoti of (incipient) syllogisms eg "hoti Tathagato paramaram? ..." and other vaguer uses of hoti (bhavati) and indirectly atthi from connection with Paticca-samuppada, tending to make the P/S subordinate to syllogistic logic rather than the other way about; 3) it is incompatible with S ... Itv (and also with M131-134). "Becoming" (and still more "werden") suggest a flux where the future "becomes" by "flowing" through the present and then past, while what is meant or implied by constant and unavoidable use of the verb "to be" is left unaccounted for.
Hence I argue, to translate (even to interpret to oneself) bhava by "becoming" is opiate that leaves the illusion of "being" untreated. I doubt if that is what the Buddha intended.
As I see it, the Buddha's treatment of Ontology is most clearly set out, according to right view, in M 38 which yatha-bhutam, sets out how the illusion of "being" (both in positive and negative forms - with the bhava-tanha and vibhavatanha of D9, 22 and anurodha and pathivirodha of M 11) can and should be treated and eliminated.
M1 and M 49 are complementary: M1 describes the modes of asmi-mana (which is pre-logical) and M 49 present the same situation in "ontological" terms i.e in the functioning of logically formulated wrong view (while M1 describes the pre-reflexive asmimana - the manusaya, the fundamental wrong attitude). M 44 and M109 describe the logically formulated views which arise out of and are built upon the pre-logical tendency - the connection between these is shown briefly in M1 and forms the subject matter of M49.
*
As I see it at present, the importance of the paticca-samuppada lies not so much in the twelve (or less or more) members as in the relationship imasmin sati ... (and its undoing imasmin asati) which is underlined in D15. This firstly implies complexity in experience (no complexity: no experience). The choice of the "12 members" is less philosophical than psychological, which is why it is variable. The undoing, as I see it, is the detail of "voidness" which is the ethical key to the Dhamma, since it is the "Abschattung" of voidness in samsara itself that renders it impossible in the Dhamma to ascribe absolitiveness to any particular value (such as divine grace, justice, etc) and so enter upon the "War of philosophical systems of the absolute". The formula imasmin sati ... (applied psychologically by a choice of interrelated instances) is used as an instrument in D 15 to describe and analyse the mental process of naming (function of namarupa) and language (nuratti, etc) and in M38 to describe and analyse the peculiar nature of consciousness (vinnana) in its constitutive relationship (through mediate states) to being. But both can only be studied in the Pali with careful discrimination of roots.
*
The ironical and amusing story of Brahmanimanika Sutta conceals a profound meaning, which is ontological. That is, it presents the Buddha's treatment of verbes hoti, bhavati (to be) and the noun bhava (being), both from the root bhu. Some prelate, I forget who, said that Buddhism has no ontology, which in simpler language presumably meant that nibbana, the goal, was or that is had being, with the latent objection that if this was not proved, than nibbana was just an abyss of nothingness.
*
As I see it at present, the importance of the paticca-samuppada lies not so much in the twelve (or less or more) members as in the relationship imasmin sati ... (and its undoing imasmin asati) which is underlined in D15. This firstly implies complexity in experience (no complexity: no experience). The choice of the "12 members" is less philosophical than psychological, which is why it is variable. The undoing, as I see it, is the detail of "voidness" which is the ethical key to the Dhamma, since it is the "Abschattung" of voidness in samsara itself that renders it impossible in the Dhamma to ascribe absolitiveness to any particular value (such as divine grace, justice, etc) and so enter upon the "War of philosophical systems of the absolute". The formula imasmin sati ... (applied psychologically by a choice of interrelated instances) is used as an instrument in D 15 to describe and analyse the mental process of naming (function of namarupa) and language (nuratti, etc) and in M38 to describe and analyse the peculiar nature of consciousness (vinnana) in its constitutive relationship (through mediate states) to being. But both can only be studied in the Pali with careful discrimination of roots.
*
The ironical and amusing story of Brahmanimanika Sutta conceals a profound meaning, which is ontological. That is, it presents the Buddha's treatment of verbes hoti, bhavati (to be) and the noun bhava (being), both from the root bhu. Some prelate, I forget who, said that Buddhism has no ontology, which in simpler language presumably meant that nibbana, the goal, was or that is had being, with the latent objection that if this was not proved, than nibbana was just an abyss of nothingness.
Now the Buddha has described the world (that is not just the external world but the consciousness that cognizes it, and not only other peoples consciousness objectified, but mine, too, and not only mine (of) past and future objectified, but mine committed to it now - no matter who "I" am). His description of the way it works is the first two truths, while the last two deals with escape from it. If we are interested in "being" we must look to the Dependent Origination (D/O), of which "being" (bhava) is the 10 th member.
"Being" we said, is a member of D/O, in other words, to be is to be dependent, or contingent upon something else. Whatever is, has being only in virtue of something else that lends it its being. Kim pabhava.
*
Now, let us consider the structure of D/O for a moment. Firstly, it is not a logical proposition, nor is it a temporal cause - result chain. Such an approach makes an understanding of it impossible. If we stop to consider each of its components, they will be found to vary so enormously in scope from the particular to the whole. The interpretation of European scholars have been, perhaps without exeption, wild and bad guesses.
The Buddha's purpose is to describe enough of the world to be able to shaw how suffering can be ended, not to produce full and detailed elaborations, which would be endless and arrive nowhere. But this particular description is aimed at including everything. And here a difficulty arises. A description must be made in terms of something other than what it describes, or it is not a description. It has to reproduce in other material certain structures that are in what it describes. This fact made it impossible for a description to be a description and complete at the same time. How is the D/O complete, then? Or is it not a description after all?
It is in fact both, but it attains in a rather peculiar way. The best way to approach it from a European background is from Descartes' "Cogito ergo sum" (I think therefore I am). That is not a logical proposition; it is a description of interconditionality between consciousness and being. Ignoring Descartes' theories of substance and taking only that bare formulation, we can compare it with the fact that "consciousness" (vinianna) and being (bhava) are two of the most obvious members of D/O formulation, which also is not a logical proposition. But now, let us return for a moment to the "enormous" scope from the particular to the general which we noted earlier in the D/O.
The right way of of treating this fact is to take D/O not as an individual description, but as an integrated set of descriptions. Each member provides in fact a set terms to describe the rest of the world. Together they cover the whole subjective-objective positive-negative world. To the question: what are these set terms intended to describe? we may answer that they are intended to describe experience of any possible kind where ignorance (that is lack of personal realization of the Truths) is present.
But when taken together becoming and being, impermanence and (illusory) permanence comes within its net. This seeming paradox represents what we actually live, but what we never face up to as a whole.
Any concept of Pure Being is always open to the objection that, if absoluteness is claimed for it, then it cannot be known; for if it is known, it is accessible to consciousness and consequently no longer pure; consequently Pure Being and non-being cannot be distinguished. If absoluteness is claimed for any concept of Pure Consciousness (the Yogacara opposition to the Vedanta) similar objection arises; for if consciousness is pure, it must not be, or it will be adulterated by being. Consequently pure consciousness has to have no being, which is tantamount to saying that it is not.
By making both consciousness and being, in whatever form, subject to the D/O, the Buddha both closes the entry into this logical maze and offers us a picture which if we only bother to observe, rather than malobserve, we shall find corresponds with our experience as we actually live it. Only we keep forgetting what we learn. And forgetting is ignorance. And ignorance, the most reprehensible of all heads the D/O. It is one of the "taints" (asava) - and so is being.
So it is not that "Buddhism has no ontology" but that the Buddha has seen through what a modern writer has called the "ontological mirage" and set being into its true position.
Nibbana is the cessation of ontology "bhava nirodho nibbanam". It is not, however, the abyss of non being since that requires consciousness to cognize it as such. It is "absolute cessation" which includes the non-ascription of either being or non-being: naphahosim.
Now while the D/O has the appearance of, and is, a complete description of the world (as we have defined it) nevertheless, when nibbana is treated of positively in any of its therms instead of, as its cessation, a paradox will appear. Atthi ... abhutam ... or sabbato pabham describes as cognized, to be (by consciousness) is anidassanam, the act of cognizing without "showing" making seen any positive determined (sankhata) object. That this opposing of being and consciousness seems possible and not nonsense (the paradox) also indicates the "incompleteness" of the "complete" description.
*
To be is to be contingent: nothing of which it can be said that "it is" can be alone and independent. But being is a member of paticca-samuppada as arising which contains ignorance. Being is only invertible by ignorance.
Destruction of ignorance destroys the illusion of being. When ignorance is no more, than consciousness no longer can attribute being (pahoti) at all. But that is not all for when consciousness is predicated of one who has no ignorance than it is no more indicatable (as it was indicated in M Sutta 22)
Nanamoli Thera
Friday, February 28, 2020
Nanamoli Thera - introduction to MN 38
MN 38→
Generał Note
The Bhikkhu Sati states the wrong view that consciousness passes on from life to life independent on conditions. The Buddha proves this wrong by Dependent Arising. The whole discourse is consequently an exposition of the conditionality in all components of conscious experience. To drive it home, Dependent Arising (or the structure of conditionality) is approached and converged upon from several different successive points. The construction of the Sutta is as follows:
I. Setting. The Bhikkhu Sati states his view that consciousness passes on from life to life independent of conditions, and he is rebuked.
II. Discourse Proper
A. Exposition of the six kinds of consciousness.
B. General Questionnaire of Being: do you understand what an entity is, that it is such only through its conditions, and how it cease? Do you cling to this purified view of yours?
C. First approach to Dependent Arising: from the problem of nutriment (=condition), which is indispensable to being.
1. Exposition of the four kinds of nutriment.
2. The source of nutriment is craving, and craving's source is feeling ... traced backwards through consciousness to ignorance by Arising.
D. Simple exposition of Dependent Arising (arrived at in C) as the structure of conscious existence (being).
1.a. Simple exposition of Dependent Arising forwards as arising.
1.b. Retracing that conditionality as arising in form of questionnaire.
1.c. Agreement that conditionality as arising is a general principle.
1.d. Repetition of D.1.a
2.a. Simple exposition of Dependent Arising forwards as cessation.
2.b. Retracing backwards as cessation in form of questionnaire.
2.c. Agreement that conditionality as cessation is a general principle.
2.d. Repetition of D 2.a
E. Questionnaire to drive home lesson so far taught and to ensure that it has been understood. Have you any doubts? Do you speak from your own knowledge?
F.1. Application of Dependent Arising to conscious existence: approach from "conception" (described in acceptable common usage) of a conscious being in the womb (this refers back indirectly to the wrong view originally expressed), his birth, and development into an ordinary man.
2.a. With his senses matured he pursues sensual desires.
2.b. His mind being limited (by ignorance and craving) he is attracted and repelled by the objects of the six kinds of consciousness (see A 1). He seeks or resists (loves or hates) the feelings of pleasure and pain associated with any of the six kinds of consciousness of those objects, and thus lust arises in him, which is the arising of clinging: clinging conditions being, ànd so on with the rest of Dependent Arising (see C1.a.) forwards as arising (thus laying up kamma for the future rebirth.
3.a With the appearance of a Tathagata in the world, who teaches the Dhamma, the ordinary man whose conception was described in F, may hear the Teaching and in consequence leave home life to practice virtue (as renunciation) secluded from sensual desire).
3.b. His mind not being limited owning to the suppression, temporarily, of craving, he is not attracted or repelled by the objects of the six kinds of consciousness. He neither seeks nor resists (neither loves nor hates) the feelings of pleasure or pain associated with any of the six kinds of consciousness of those objects, and thus lust ceases in him, which is the cessation of clinging: with cessation of clinging, being ceases, and so on with the rest of Dependent Arising forwards as cessation (thus laying up no kamma for rebirth).
III. Conclusion
The use of words here in this Sutta is of first importance: see e.g use of bhuta, sambhavesin, pabhava, sambavanti, bhava, etc., etc., misuse or misrepresentation of these will ruin the whole peculiarly important ontological structure.
Generał Note
The Bhikkhu Sati states the wrong view that consciousness passes on from life to life independent on conditions. The Buddha proves this wrong by Dependent Arising. The whole discourse is consequently an exposition of the conditionality in all components of conscious experience. To drive it home, Dependent Arising (or the structure of conditionality) is approached and converged upon from several different successive points. The construction of the Sutta is as follows:
I. Setting. The Bhikkhu Sati states his view that consciousness passes on from life to life independent of conditions, and he is rebuked.
II. Discourse Proper
A. Exposition of the six kinds of consciousness.
B. General Questionnaire of Being: do you understand what an entity is, that it is such only through its conditions, and how it cease? Do you cling to this purified view of yours?
C. First approach to Dependent Arising: from the problem of nutriment (=condition), which is indispensable to being.
1. Exposition of the four kinds of nutriment.
2. The source of nutriment is craving, and craving's source is feeling ... traced backwards through consciousness to ignorance by Arising.
D. Simple exposition of Dependent Arising (arrived at in C) as the structure of conscious existence (being).
1.a. Simple exposition of Dependent Arising forwards as arising.
1.b. Retracing that conditionality as arising in form of questionnaire.
1.c. Agreement that conditionality as arising is a general principle.
1.d. Repetition of D.1.a
2.a. Simple exposition of Dependent Arising forwards as cessation.
2.b. Retracing backwards as cessation in form of questionnaire.
2.c. Agreement that conditionality as cessation is a general principle.
2.d. Repetition of D 2.a
E. Questionnaire to drive home lesson so far taught and to ensure that it has been understood. Have you any doubts? Do you speak from your own knowledge?
F.1. Application of Dependent Arising to conscious existence: approach from "conception" (described in acceptable common usage) of a conscious being in the womb (this refers back indirectly to the wrong view originally expressed), his birth, and development into an ordinary man.
2.a. With his senses matured he pursues sensual desires.
2.b. His mind being limited (by ignorance and craving) he is attracted and repelled by the objects of the six kinds of consciousness (see A 1). He seeks or resists (loves or hates) the feelings of pleasure and pain associated with any of the six kinds of consciousness of those objects, and thus lust arises in him, which is the arising of clinging: clinging conditions being, ànd so on with the rest of Dependent Arising (see C1.a.) forwards as arising (thus laying up kamma for the future rebirth.
3.a With the appearance of a Tathagata in the world, who teaches the Dhamma, the ordinary man whose conception was described in F, may hear the Teaching and in consequence leave home life to practice virtue (as renunciation) secluded from sensual desire).
3.b. His mind not being limited owning to the suppression, temporarily, of craving, he is not attracted or repelled by the objects of the six kinds of consciousness. He neither seeks nor resists (neither loves nor hates) the feelings of pleasure or pain associated with any of the six kinds of consciousness of those objects, and thus lust ceases in him, which is the cessation of clinging: with cessation of clinging, being ceases, and so on with the rest of Dependent Arising forwards as cessation (thus laying up no kamma for rebirth).
III. Conclusion
The use of words here in this Sutta is of first importance: see e.g use of bhuta, sambhavesin, pabhava, sambavanti, bhava, etc., etc., misuse or misrepresentation of these will ruin the whole peculiarly important ontological structure.
The dependent arising, or structure of conditions ...
The dependent origination, or structure of conditions, appears as a flexible formula with the intention of describing the ordinary human situation of a man in his world (or indeed any conscious event where ignorance and craving have not entirely ceased). That situation is always complex, since it is implicit that consciousness with no object, or being ( bhava— becoming, or however rendered) without consciousness (of it), is impossible except as an artificial abstraction. The dependent origination, being designed to portray the essentials of that situation in the limited dimensions of words and using only elements recognizable in experience, is not a logical proposition (Descartes’ cogito is not a logical proposition). Nor is it a temporal cause-and-effect chain: each member has to be examined as to its nature in order to determine what its relations to the others are (e.g. whether successive in time or conascent, positive or negative, etc., etc.). A purely cause-and-effect chain would not represent the pattern of a situation that is always complex, always subjective-objective, static-dynamic, positive-negative, and so on. Again, there is no evidence of any historical development in the various forms given within the limit of the Sutta Piþaka (leaving aside the Paþisambhidámagga), and historical treatment within that particular limit is likely to mislead, if it is hypothesis with no foundation.
Parallels with European thought have been avoided in this translation. But perhaps an exception can be made here, with due caution, in the case of Descartes. The revolution in European thought started by his formula cogito ergo sum (“I think, therefore I am”) is not yet ended. Now, it will perhaps not escape notice that the two elements, “I think” and “I am,” in what is not a logical proposition parallel to some extent the two members of the dependent origination, consciousness and being (becoming). In other words, consciousness activated by craving and clinging as the dynamic factory, guided and blinkered by ignorance (“I think” or “consciousness with the conceit ‘I am’”), conditions being (“therefore I am”) in a complex relationship with other factors relating subject and object (not accounted for by Descartes). The parallel should not be pushed too far. In fact it is only introduced because in Europe the dependent origination seems to be very largely misunderstood with many strange interpretations placed upon it, and because the cogito does seem to offer some sort of reasonable approach.
Nanamoli Thera
Nanavira Thera - A note on paticcasamuppāda
Api c'Udāyi tiṭṭhatu pubbanto tiṭṭhatu aparanto, dhammaṃ te desessāmi: Imasmim sati idam hoti, imass'uppādā idam uppajjati; imasmim asati idam na hoti, imassa nirodhā idam nirujjhatī ti.
But, Udāyi, let be the past, let be the future, I shall set you forth the Teaching: When there is this this is, with arising of this this arises; when there is not this this is not, with cessation of this this ceases.
Majjhima viii,9 <M.ii,32>
Imasmim sati idam hoti, imass'uppādā idam uppajjati; yadidam avijjāpaccayā sankhārā, sankhārapaccayā viññānam, viññānapaccayā nāmarūpam, nāmarūpapaccayā salāyatanam, salāyatanapaccayā phasso, phassapaccayā vedanā, vedanāpaccayā tanhā, tanhāpaccayā upādānam, upādānapaccayā bhavo, bhavapaccayā jāti, jātipaccayā jarāmaranam sokaparidevadukkhadomanass' upāyāsā sambhavanti; evam etassa kevalassa dukkhakkhandhassa samudayo hoti.
When there is this this is, with arising of this this arises; that is to say, with nescience as condition, determinations; with determinations as condition, consciousness; with consciousness as condition, name-&-matter; with name-&-matter as condition, six bases; with six bases as condition, contact; with contact as condition, feeling; with feeling as condition, craving; with craving as condition, holding; with holding as condition, being; with being as condition, birth; with birth as condition, ageing-&-death, sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief, and despair, come into being; thus is the arising of this whole mass of unpleasure (suffering).
Imasmim asati idam na hoti, imassa nirodhā idam nirujjhati; yadidam avijjānirodhā sankhāranirodho, sankhāranirodhā viññānanirodho, viññānanirodhā nāmarūpanirodho, nāmarūpanirodhā salāyatananirodho, salāyatananirodhā phassanirodho, phassanirodhā vedanānirodho, vedanānirodhā tanhānirodho, tanhānirodhā upādānanirodho, upādānanirodhā bhavanirodho, bhavanirodhā jātinirodho, jātinirodhā jarāmaranam sokaparidevadukkhadomanass' upāyāsā nirujjhanti; evam etassa kevalassa dukkhakkhandhassa nirodho hoti.
When there is not this this is not, with cessation of this this ceases; that is to say, with cessation of nescience, ceasing of determinations; with cessation of determinations, ceasing of consciousness; with cessation of consciousness, ceasing of name-&-matter; with cessation of name-&-matter, ceasing of six bases; with cessation of six bases, ceasing of contact; with cessation of contact, ceasing of feeling; with cessation of feeling, ceasing of craving; with cessation of craving, ceasing of holding; with cessation of holding, ceasing of being; with cessation of being, ceasing of birth; with cessation of birth, ageing-&-death, sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief, and despair, cease; thus is the ceasing of this whole mass of unpleasure (suffering).
Majjhima iv,8 <M.i,262-3 & 264>
1. The traditional interpretation of paticcasamuppāda (of its usual twelve-factored formulation, that is to say) apparently has its roots in the Patisambhidāmagga <i,52>, or perhaps in the Abhidhammapitaka. This interpretation is fully expounded in the Visuddhimagga <Ch. XVII>. It can be briefly summarized thus: avijjāand sankhārā are kamma in the previous existence, and their vipāka is viññāna, nāmarūpa, salāyatana, phassa,and vedanā, in the present existence; tanhā, upādāna, and bhava, are kamma in the present existence, and their vipāka is jāti and jarāmarana in the subsequent existence.
2. This Note will take for granted first, that the reader is acquainted with this traditional interpretation, and secondly, that he is dissatisfied with it. It is not therefore proposed to enter into a detailed discussion of this interpretation, but rather to indicate briefly that dissatisfaction with it is not unjustified, and then to outline what may perhaps be found to be a more satisfactory approach.
3. As the traditional interpretation has it, vedanā is kammavipāka. Reference to Vedanā Samy. iii,2 <S.iv,230> will show that as far as concerns bodily feeling (with which the Sutta is evidently dealing) there are seven reasons for it that are specifically not kammavipāka. Only in the eighth place do we find kammavipākajā vedanā. This would at once limit the application of paticcasamuppāda to certain bodily feelings only and would exclude others, if the traditional interpretation is right. Some of these bodily feelings would be paticcasamuppannā, but not all; and this would hardly accord with, for example, the passage: Paticcasamuppannam kho āvuso sukhadukkham vuttam Bhagavatā. ('The Auspicious One, friend, has said that pleasure and unpleasure are dependently arisen.') (Nidāna/Abhisamaya Samy. iii,5 <S.ii,38>).
4. There is, however, a more serious difficulty regarding feeling. In Anguttara III,vii,1 <A.i,176> it is clear that somanassa, domanassa, and upekkhā, are included in vedanā, in the specific context of the paticcasamuppādaformulation. But these three feelings are mental, and arise (as the Sutta tells us) when the mind dwells upon (upavicarati) some object; thus they involve cetanā, 'intention', in their very structure. And the Commentary to the Sutta would seem to allow this, but in doing so must either exclude these mental feelings from vedanā in the paticcasamuppāda formulation or else assert that they are vipāka. In either case the Commentary would go against the Sutta we are considering. This Sutta (which should be studied at first hand) not only treats these mental feelings as included in vedanā but also specifically states that to hold the view that whatever a man experiences, pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral, is due to past acts, is to adopt a form of determinism making present action futile—one is a killer on account of past acts, a thief on account of past acts, and so on. To take these mental feelings as vipāka would be to fall into precisely this wrong view; and, in fact, the traditional interpretation, rather than that, prefers to exclude them from paticcasamuppāda, at least as vedanā(see Visuddhimagga, loc. cit.). Unfortunately for the traditional interpretation there are Suttas (e.g. Majjhima i,9 <M.i,53>[1]) that define the paticcasamuppāda item nāmarūpa—also traditionally taken as vipāka—in terms of (amongst other things) not only vedanā but also cetanā, and our Commentary is obliged to speak of a vipakācetanā. But the Buddha has said (Anguttara VI,vi,9 <A.iii,415>[2]) that kamma is cetanā(action is intention), and the notion of vipakācetanā, consequently, is a plain self-contradiction. (It needs, after all, only a moment's reflection to see that if, for example, the pleasant feeling that I experience when I indulge in lustful thoughts is the vipāka of some past kamma, then I have no present responsibility in the matter and can now do nothing about it. But I know from my own experience that this is not so; if I choose to enjoy pleasure by thinking lustful thoughts I can do so, and I can also choose [if I see good reason] to refrain from thinking such thoughts.)[a]
5. Let us now consider sankhārā, which we shall make no attempt to translate for the moment so as not to beg the question. We may turn to Nidāna/Abhisamaya Samy. i,2 <S.ii,4> for a definition of sankhārā in the context of the paticcasamuppāda formulation. Katame ca bhikkhave sankhārā. Tayo'me bhikkhave sankhārā, kāyasankhāro vacīsankhāro cittasankhāro. Ime vuccanti bhikkhave sankhārā. ('And which, monks, are determinations? There are, monks, these three determinations: body-determination, speech-determination, mind-determination. These, monks, are called determinations.') But what are kāyasankhāra, vacīsankhāra, and cittasankhāra? The Cūlavedallasutta (Majjhima v,4 <M.i,301> & cf. Citta Samy. 6 <S.iv,293>) will tell us. Kati pan'ayye sankhārā ti. Tayo'me āvuso Visākha sankhārā, kāyasankhāro vacīsankhāro cittasankhāro ti. Katamo pan'ayye kāyasankhāro, katamo vacīsankhāro, katamo cittasankhāro ti. Assāsapassāsā kho āvuso Visākha kāyasankhāro, vitakkavicārā vacīsankhāro, saññā ca vedanā ca cittasankhāro ti. Kasmā pan'ayye assāsapassāsā kāyasankhāro, kasmā vitakkavicārā vacīsankhāro, kasmā saññā ca vedanā ca cittasankhāro ti. Assāsapassāsā kho āvuso Visākha kāyikā, ete dhammā kāyapatibaddhā, tasmā assāsapassāsā kāyasankhāro. Pubbe kho āvuso Visākha vitakketvā vicāretvā pacchā vācam bhindati, tasmā vitakkavicārā vacīsankhāro. Saññā ca vedanā ca cetasikā, ete dhammā cittapatibaddhā, tasmā saññā ca vedanā ca cittasankhāro ti. ('But, lady, how many determinations are there?—There are, friend Vis&aacuute;kha, these three determinations: body-determination, speech-determination, mind-determination.—But which, lady, is body-determination, which is speech-determination, which is mind-determination?—The in-&-out-breaths, friend Visākha, are body-determination, thinking-&-pondering are speech-determination, perception and feeling are mind-determination.—But why, lady, are the in-&-out-breaths body-determination, why are thinking-&-pondering speech-determination, why are perception and feeling mind-determination?—The in-&-out-breaths, friend Visākha, are bodily, these things are bound up with the body; that is why the in-&-out-breaths are body-determination. First, friend Visākha, having thought and pondered, afterwards one breaks into speech; that is why thinking-&-pondering are speech-determination. Perception and feeling are mental, these things are bound up with the mind; that is why perception and feeling are mind-determination.') Now the traditional interpretation says that sankhārā in the paticcasamuppāda context are kamma, being cetanā. Are we therefore obliged to understand in-&-out-breaths, thinking-&-pondering, and perception and feeling, respectively, as bodily, verbal, and mental kamma (or cetanā)? Is my present existence the result of my breathing in the preceding existence? Is thinking-&-pondering verbal action? Must we regard perception and feeling as intention, when the Suttas distinguish between them (Phuttho bhikkhave vedeti, phuttho ceteti, phuttho sañjānāti... ('Contacted, monks, one feels; contacted, one intends; contacted, one perceives;...') [Salāyatana Samy. ix,10 <S.iv,68>])? Certainly, sankhārā may, upon occasion, be cetanā (e.g. Khandha Samy. vi,4 <S.iii,60>[3]); but this is by no means always so. The Cūlavedallasutta tells us clearly in what sense in-&-out-breaths, thinking-&-pondering, and perception and feeling, are sankhārā (i.e. in that body, speech, and mind [citta], are intimately connected with them, and do not occur without them); and it would do violence to the Sutta to interpret sankhārā here as cetanā.
6. Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to suppose from the foregoing that sankhārā in the paticcasamuppāda context cannot mean cetanā. One Sutta (Nidāna/Abhisamaya Samy. vi,1 <S.ii,82>) gives sankhārā in this context as puññābhisankhāra, apuññābhisankhāra, and āneñjābhisankhāra, and it is clear enough that we must understand sankhārā here as some kind of cetanā. Indeed, it is upon this very Sutta that the traditional interpretation relies to justify its conception of sankhārā in the context of the paticcasamuppādaformulation. It might be wondered how the traditional interpretation gets round the difficulty of explaining assāsapassāsā, vitakkavicārā, and saññā and vedanā, as cetanā, in defiance of the Cūlavedallasutta passage. The answer is simple: the traditional interpretation, choosing to identify cittasankhāra with manosankhāra, roundly asserts (in the Visuddhimagga) that kāyasankhāra, vacīsankhāra, and cittasankhāra, are kāyasañcetanā, vacīsañcetanā, and manosañcetanā,—see §16 --, and altogether ignores the Cūlavedallasutta. The difficulty is thus, discreetly, not permitted to arise.
7. No doubt more such specific inadequacies and inconsistencies in the traditional interpretation of paticcasamuppāda could be found, but since this is not a polemic we are not concerned to seek them out. There remains, however, a reason for dissatisfaction with the general manner of this interpretation. The Buddha has said (Majjhima iii,8 <M.i,191>) that he who sees the Dhamma sees paticcasamuppāda; and he has also said that the Dhamma is sanditthika and akālika, that it is immediately visible and without involving time (see in particular Majjhima iv,8 <M.i,265>). Now it is evident that the twelve items, avijjā to jarāmarana, cannot, if the traditional interpretation is correct, all be seen at once; for they are spread over three successive existences. I may, for example, see present viññāna to vedanā, but I cannot now see the kamma of the pastexistence—avijjā and sankhārā—that (according to the traditional interpretation) was the cause of these present things. Or I may see tanhā and so on, but I cannot now see the jāti and jarāmarana that will result from these things in the next existence. And the situation is no better if it is argued that since all twelve items are present in each existence it is possible to see them all at once. It is, no doubt, true that all these things can be seen at once, but the avijjā and sankhārā that I now see are the cause (says the traditional interpretation) of viññāna to vedanā in the next existence, and have no causal connexion with the viññāna to vedanā that I nowsee. In other words, the relation sankhārapaccayā viññānam cannot be seen in either case. The consequence of this is that the paticcasamuppāda formulation (if the traditional interpretation is correct) is something that, in part at least, must be taken on trust. And even if there is memory of the past existence the situation is still unsatisfactory, since memory is not on the same level of certainty as present reflexive experience. Instead of imass'uppādā idam uppajjati, imassa nirodhā idam nirujjhati, 'with arising of this this arises, with cessation of this this ceases', the traditional interpretation says, in effect, imassa nirodhā idam uppajjati, 'with cessation of this, this arises'. It is needless to press this point further: either the reader will already have recognized that this is, for him, a valid objection to the traditional interpretation, or he will not. And if he has not already seen this as an objection, no amount of argument will open his eyes. It is a matter of one's fundamental attitude to one's own existence—is there, or is there not, a present problem or, rather, anxiety that can only be resolved in the present?
8. If paticcasamuppāda is sanditthika and akālika then it is clear that it can have nothing to do with kammaand kammavipāka—at least in their usual sense of ethical action and its eventual retribution (see KAMMA) --; for the ripening of kamma as vipāka takes time—vipāka always follows kamma after an interval and is never simultaneous with it. It will at once be evident that if an interpretation of the paticcasamuppāda formulation can be found that does not involve kamma and vipāka the difficulties raised in §§3&4 will vanish; for we shall no longer be called upon to decide whether vedanā is, or is not, kamma or vipāka, and there will be no need for such contradictions as vipākacetanā. Irrespective of whether or not it is either kamma or vipāka, vedanā will be paticcasamuppannā. We shall also find that the apparent conflict of §§5&6 disappears; for when sankhārā, as the second item of the paticcasamuppāda formulation, is no longer necessarily to be regarded as kamma, we shall be free to look for a meaning of the word sankhāra that can comfortably accomodate the kāya-, vacī-, and citta-sankhārā of the Cūlavedallasutta, as well as the puñña-, apuñña-, and āneñja-abhisankhārā of Nidāna/Abhisamaya Samy. vi,1. (We may note in passing that though kamma is cetanā—action is intention—we are in no way obliged, when we deal with cetanā, to think in terms of kamma and its eventual vipāka. Present cetanā is structurally inseparable from present saññā and present vedanā; and thoughts about the future are quite irrelevant to the present problem of suffering—Yam kiñci vedayitam tam dukkhasmin ti.('Whatever is felt counts as unpleasure (suffering).' [See Vedanā Samy. ii,1, quoted in NIBBĀNA.])[Nidāna/Abhisamaya Samy. iv,2 <S.ii,53>].[b]
9. It will be convenient to start at the end of the paticcasamuppāda formulation and to discuss jāti and jarāmarana first. To begin with, jāti is 'birth' and not 're-birth'. 'Re-birth' is punabbhavābhinibbatti, as in Majjhima v,3 <M.i,294> where it is said that future 'birth into renewed existence' comes of avijjā and tanhā; and it is clear that, here, two successive existences are involved. It is, no doubt, possible for a Buddha to see the re-birth that is at each moment awaiting a living individual who still has tanhā—the re-birth, that is to say, that is now awaiting the individual who now has tanhā. If this is so, then for a Buddha the dependence of re-birth upon tanhā is a matter of direct seeing, not involving time. But this is by no means always possible (if, indeed, at all) for an ariyasāvaka, who, though he sees paticcasamuppāda for himself, and with certainty (it is aparapaccayā ñānam), may still need to accept re-birth on the Buddha's authority.[c] In other words, an ariyasāvaka sees birth with direct vision (since jāti is part of the paticcasamuppāda formulation), but does not necessarily see re-birth with direct vision. It is obvious, however, that jāti does not refer straightforwardly to the ariyasāvaka's own physical birth into his present existence; for that at best could only be a memory, and it is probably not remembered at all. How, then, is jāti to be understood?
10. Upādānapaccayā bhavo; bhavapaccayā jāti; jātipaccayā jarāmaranam... ('With holding as condition, being; with being as condition, birth; with birth as condition, ageing-&-death...') The fundamental upādāna or 'holding' is attavāda (see Majjhima ii,1 <M.i,67>), which is holding a belief in 'self'. The puthujjana takes what appears to be his 'self' at its face value; and so long as this goes on he continues to be a 'self', at least in his own eyes (and in those of others like him). This is bhava or 'being'. The puthujjana knows that people are born and die; and since he thinks 'my self exists' so he also thinks 'my self was born' and 'my self will die'. The puthujjana sees a 'self' to whom the words birth and death apply.[d] In contrast to the puthujjana, the arahathas altogether got rid of asmimāna (not to speak of attavāda—see MAMA), and does not even think 'I am'. This is bhavanirodha, cessation of being. And since he does not think 'I am' he also does not think 'I was born' or 'I shall die'. In other words, he sees no 'self' or even 'I' for the words birth and death to apply to. This is jātinirodhaand jarāmarananirodha. (See, in Kosala Samy. i,3 <S.i,71>, how the words birth and death are avoided when the arahat is spoken of. Atthi nu kho bhante jātassa aññatra jarāmaranā ti. N'atthi kho mahārāja jātassa aññatra jarāmaranā. Ye pi te mahārāja khattiyamahāsālā... brāhmanamahāsālā... gahapatimahāsālā..., tesam pi jātānam n'atthi aññatra jarāmaranā. Ye pi te mahārāja bhikkhu arahanto khīnāsavā..., tesam pāyam kāyo bhedanadhammo nikkhepanadhammo ti. ('—For one who is born, lord, is there anything other than ageing-&-death?—For one who is born, great king, there is nothing other than ageing-&-death. Those, great king, who are wealthy warriors... wealthy divines... wealthy householders...,—for them, too, being born, there is nothing other than ageing-&-death. Those monks, great king, who are worthy ones, destroyers of the cankers...,—for them, too, it is the nature of this body to break up, to be laid down.')) The puthujjana, taking his apparent 'self' at face value, does not see that he is a victim of upādāna; he does not see that 'being a self' depends upon 'holding a belief in self' (upādānapaccayā bhavo); and he does not see that birth and death depend upon his 'being a self' (bhavapaccayā jāti, and so on). The ariyasāvaka, on the other hand, does see these things, and he sees also their cessation (even though he may not yet have fully realized it); and his seeing of these things is direct. Quite clearly, the idea of re-birth is totally irrelevant here.
11. Let us now turn to the beginning of the paticcasamuppāda formulation and consider the word sankhāra. The passage from the Cūlavedallasutta quoted in §5 evidently uses sankhāra to mean a thing from which some other thing is inseparable—in other words, a necessary condition. This definition is perfectly simple and quite general, and we shall find that it is all that we need. (If a sankhāra is something upon which something else depends, we can say that the 'something else' is determined by the first thing, i.e. by the sankhāra, which is therefore a 'determination' or a 'determinant'. It will be convenient to use the word determination when we need to translate sankhāra.)
12. Some discussion will be necessary if we are to see that sankhāra, whenever it occurs, always has this meaning in one form or another. We may start with the fundamental triad: Sabbe sankhārā aniccā; Sabbe sankhārā dukkhā; Sabbe dhammā anattā. ('All determinations are impermanent; All determinations are unpleasurable (suffering); All things are not-self.') (Dhammapada xx,5-7 <Dh. 277-9>) A puthujjana accepts what appears to be his 'self' at face value. When he asks himself 'What is my self?' he seeks to identify it in some way with one thing or another, and specifically with the pañc'upādānakkhandhā or one of them (see Khandha Samy. v,5 <S.iii,46>[4]). Whatever thing (dhamma) he identifies as 'self', that thing he takes as being permanent; for if he saw it as impermanent he would not identify it as 'self' (see DHAMMA). Since, however, he does see it as permanent—more permanent, indeed, than anything else—he will think 'Other things may be impermanent, but not this thing, which is myself'. In order, then, that he shall see it as impermanent, indirect methods are necessary: he must first see that this thing is dependent upon, or determined by, some otherthing, and he must then see that this other thing, this determination or sankhāra, is impermanent. When he sees that the other thing, the sankhāra on which this thing depends, is impermanent, he sees that this thing, too, must be impermanent, and he no longer regards it as 'self'. (See SANKHĀRA.) Thus, when sabbe sankhārā aniccā is seen, sabbe dhammā anattā is seen. And similarly with sabbe sankhārā dukkhā. We may therefore understand sabbe sankhārā aniccā as 'All things upon which other things (dhammā) depend—i.e. all determinations (sankhārā)—are impermanent' with a tacit corollary 'All things dependent upon other things (sankhārā)—i.e. all determined things (sankhatā dhammā)—are impermanent'. After this, sabbe dhammā anattā, 'All things are not-self', follows as a matter of course.[e]
13. Every thing (dhamma) must, of necessity, be (or be somehow included within) one or more of the pañc('upādān)akkhandhā, either generally—e.g. feeling in general, feeling as opposed to what is not feeling—or particularly—e.g. this present painful feeling as opposed to the previous pleasant feeling (present as a past feeling). In the same way, every determination (sankhāra) must also be one or more of the pañc('upādān)akkhandhā. Thus the pañc('upādān)akkhandhā can be regarded either as sankhārā or as dhammā according as they are seen as 'things-that-other-things-depend-on' or simply as 'things themselves'. See Majjhima iv,5 <M.i,228>.[5]
14. Sankhārā are one of the pañc'upādānakkhandhā (or, in the case of the arahat, one of the pañcakkhandhā—see Khandha Samy. v,6 <S.iii,47>). The Sutta mentioned in §5 (Khandha Samy. vi,4)[3] says explicitly, in this context, that sankhārā are cetanā. If this is so, cetanā must be something that other things depend on. What are these things? The answer is given at once by the Khajjaniyasutta (Khandha Samy. viii,7 <S.iii,87>[6]): they are the pañc('upādān)akkhandhā themselves.[f]
15. This leads us to the puññābhisankhāra, apuññābhisankhāra, and āneñjābhisankhāra, of §6. These determinations are clearly cetanā of some kind—indeed the Sutta itself (Nidāna/Abhisamaya Samy. vi,1) associates the words abhisankharoti and abhisañcetayati. A brief discussion is needed. The Sutta says: Avijjāgato'yam bhikkhave purisapuggalo puññañ ce sankhāram abhisankharoti, puññūpagam hoti viññānam. ('If, monks, this individual man, who is involved in nescience, is determining a meritorious determination, consciousness has arrived at merit.') The word puñña is commonly associated with kamma, and the traditional interpretation supposes that puññūpaga viññāna is puññakammavipāka in the following existence. Puñña is certainly kamma, but nothing in the Sutta suggests that puññūpaga viññāna is anything other than the meritorious consciousness of one who is determining or intending merit. (When merit is intended by an individual he is conscious of his world as 'world-for-doing-merit-in', and consciousness has thus 'arrived at merit'.) In §14 we saw that cetanā (or intentions) of all kinds are sankhārā, and these are no exception. As we see from the Sutta, however, they are of a particular kind; for they are not found in the arahat. They are intentions in which belief in 'self' is implicitly involved. We saw in §10 that belief in 'self' is the condition for birth, and that when all trace of such belief is eradicated the word birth no longer applies. Belief in 'self', in exactly the same way, is the condition for consciousness, and when it altogether ceases the word consciousness no longer applies. Thus, with cessation of these particular intentions there is cessation of consciousness. The arahat, however, still lives, and he has both intentions (or, more generally, determinations) and consciousness; but this consciousness is niruddha, and the intentions (or determinations) must similarly be accounted as 'ceased'. (This matter is further discussed in §22. See also VIÑÑĀNA.) Sankhārapaccayā viññānam, which means 'so long as there are determinations there is consciousness', is therefore also to be understood as meaning 'so long as there are puthujjana's determinations there is puthujjana's consciousness'. Even though the Khajjaniyasutta (§14) tells us that determinations are so called since 'they determine the determined' (which includes consciousness), we must not conclude that the determinations in 'determinations are a condition for consciousness' (sankhārapaccayā viññānam) are determinations becausethey are a condition for consciousness: on the contrary, they are a condition for consciousness because they are determinations. Thus, vitakkavicārā determine vacī, which is why they are called vacīsankhāra; and it is as a sankhāra that they are a condition for viññāna. In particular, puññābhisankhāra, apuññābhisankhāra, and āneñjābhisankhāra, are cetanā that determine viññāna as puññūpaga, apuññūpaga, and āneñjūpaga, respectively. They are certain intentions determining certain consciousnesses. Since they determinesomething (no matter what), these intentions are determinations (as stated in the Khajjaniyasutta). Asdeterminations they are a condition for consciousness. And as puthujjana's determinations they are a condition for puthujjana's consciousness (which is always puññūpaga, apuññūpaga, or āneñjūpaga). Exactly why determinations are a condition for consciousness will be discussed later.
16. There is nothing to add to what was said about kāyasankhāra, vacīsankhāra, and cittasankhāra, in §5, except to note that we occasionally encounter in the Suttas the terms kāyasankhāra, vacīsankhāra, and manosankhāra (not cittasankhāra). These are to be understood (see Nidāna/Abhisamaya Samy. iii,5 <S.ii,40>) as kāyasañcetanā, vacīsañcetanā, and manosañcetanā, and should not be confused with the former triad.[g] Other varieties of sankhārā met with in the Suttas (e.g. āyusankhārā, 'what life depends on', in Majjhima v,3 <M.i,295>), do not raise any particular difficulty. we shall henceforth take it for granted that the essential meaning of sankhāra is as defined in §11.
17. Consider now this phrase: Tisso imā bhikkhave vedanā aniccā sankhatā paticcasamuppannā... ('There are, monks, these three feelings, which are impermanent, determined, dependently arisen...') (Vedanā Samy. i,9 <S.iv,214>). We see in the first place that what is sankhata is anicca; this we already know from the discussion in §12. In the second place we see that to be sankhata and to be paticcasamuppanna are the same thing. This at once tells us the purpose of paticcasamuppāda formulations, namely to show, by the indirect method of §12, that all the items mentioned therein are impermanent, since each depends upon the preceding item. The question may now arise, 'What about the first item—since there is no item preceding it, is it therefore permanent?'. In several Suttas (Dīgha ii,1 <D.ii,32>; Nidāna/Abhisamaya Samy. vii,5 <S.ii,104>; ibid.vii,7 <S.ii,112-5>) the series runs back to nāmarūpapaccayā salāyatanam, viññānapaccayā nāmarūpam, and then forward again with nāmarūpapaccayā viññānam. ('with name-&-matter as condition, six bases; with consciousness as condition, name-&-matter; ...with name-&-matter as condition, consciousness.') This is remarked upon by the Buddha (Dīgha ii,1 & Nidāna/Abhisamaya Samy. vii,5) as follows: Paccudāvattati kho idam viññānam nāmarūpamhā nāparam gacchati; ettāvatā jāyetha vā jīyetha vā mīyetha vā cavetha vā uppajjetha vā yadidam nāmarūpapaccayā viññānam, viññānapaccayā nāmarūpam, nāmarūpapaccayā salāyatanam, ('This consciousness turns back from name-&-matter, it does not go further; thus far may one be born or age or die or fall or arise; that is to say, with name-&-matter as condition, consciousness; with consciousness as condition, name-&-matter; with name-&-matter as condition, six bases;...') and so on. In this formulation it is clear that there is no 'first item with no item preceding it'—nāmarūpa depends upon viññāna, and viññāna depends upon nāmarūpa, each being determined by the other. If the puthujjana decides upon viññāna as 'self', he finds its permanence undermined by the impermanence of nāmarūpa; and if he decides upon nāmarūpa as 'self', its permanence is undermined by the impermanence of viññāna. (We may note in passing that the traditional interpretation of nāmarūpa as 'mind-&-matter'—see Visuddhimagga Ch. XVIII—is quite mistaken. Rūpa is certainly 'matter' [or perhaps 'substance'], but nāma is not 'mind'. Further discussion is out of place here, but see NĀMA. We may, provisionally, translate as 'name-&-matter'.)
18. Since to be sankhata and to be paticcasamuppanna are one and the same thing, we see that each item in the series of §17 is preceded by a sankhāra upon which it depends, and that therefore the total collection of items in the series depends upon the total collection of their respective sankhārā. In this sense we might say that the total collection of items is sankhārapaccayā. But since this statement means only that each and every particular item of the series depends upon a particular sankhāra, it does not say anything fresh. Sankhārapaccayā, however, can be understood in a different way: instead of 'dependent upon a collection of particular sankhārā', we can take it as meaning 'dependent upon the fact that there are such things as sankhārā'. In the first sense sankhārapaccayā is the equivalent of paticcasamuppanna ('dependently arisen'), and applies to a given series as a collection of particular items; in the second sense sankhārapaccayā is the equivalent of paticcasamuppāda ('dependent arising'), and applies to a given series as the exemplification of a structural principle. In the second sense it is true quite generally of all formulations of paticcasamuppāda, and not merely of this formulation (since any other formulation will consist of some other set of particular items). Paticcasamuppāda is, in fact, a structural principle (formally stated in the first Sutta passage at the head of this Note), and not one or another specific chain of sankhārā. It is thus an over-simplification to regard any one given formulation in particular terms as paticcasamuppāda. Every such formulation exemplifies the principle: none states it. Any paticcasamuppāda series, purely in virtue of its being an exemplification of paticcasamuppāda, depends upon the fact that there are such things as sankhārā; and a fortiori the series of §17 depends upon the fact of the existence of sankhārā: if there were no such things as sankhārā there would be no such thing as paticcasamuppāda at all, and therefore no such thing as this individual formulation of it.
19. But though it is an over-simplification to regard any one series as paticcasamuppāda, it is not entirely wrong. For we find a certain definite set of items (viññāna, nāmarūpa, salāyatana, phassa, and so on) recurring, with little variation (Dīgha ii,2 <D.ii,56>,[9] for example, omits salāyatana), in almost every formulation of paticcasamuppāda in particular terms. The reason for this recurrence is that, though paticcasamuppāda is a structural principle, the Buddha's Teaching is concerned with a particular problem, and therefore with a particular application of this principle. The problem is suffering and its cessation; the sphere in which this problem arises is the sphere of experience, of sentient existence or being; and the particular items, viññāna, nāmarūpa, and the rest, are the fundamental categories of this sphere. In consequence of this, the series, nāmarūpapaccayā viññānam, viññānapaccayā nāmarūpam, nāmarūpapaccayā salāyatanam, salāyatanapaccayā phasso, and so forth, is the fundamental exemplification of paticcasamuppāda in the Buddha's Teaching, and the particular items are the basic sankhārā. (See KAMMA for a Sutta passage where the paticcasamuppāda is exemplified on an entirely different level. Failure to understand that paticcasamuppāda is essentially a structural principle with widely different applications leads to confusion.) These particular items, then, being the fundamental categories in terms of which experience is described, are present in all experience; and this basic formulation of paticcasamuppāda tells us that they are all dependent, ultimately, upon viññāna (this is obviously so, since without consciousness there is no experience).[h] But since all these items, including viññāna, are dependent upon sankhārā, the series as a whole is sankhārapaccayā. (Though this is true in both the senses discussed in §18, the first sense yields us merely a tautology, and it is only the second sense of sankhārapaccayā that interests us.) If, therefore, we wish to express this fact, all we have to say is sankhārapaccayā viññānam. Since sankhārapaccayā (in the sense that interests us) is the equivalent of paticcasamuppāda, sankhārapaccayā viññānam presumably means 'viññāna is paticcasamuppāda'. Let us try to expand this phrase.
20. Any given experience involves paticcasamuppāda, but it may do so in a number of different ways at once, each of which cuts across the others. Thus (experience of) the body is inseparable from (experience of) breathing, and (experience of) speaking is inseparable from (experience of) thinking; and both (experience of) breathing and (experience of) thinking are therefore sankhārā. But in all experience, as its fundamental categories and basic sankhārā, there are viññāna, nāmarūpa, and so on. Thus whenever there is breathing (kāyasankhāra), or thinking (vacīsankhāra), or, of course, perception and feeling (cittasankhāra), there are viññāna, nāmarūpa, and so on, which also are sankhārā. Similarly, all experience is intentional: it is inseparable (except for the arahat) from puññābhisankhāra, apuññābhisankhāra, and āneñjābhisankhāra. But in all experience, once again, there are viññāna, nāmarūpa, and so on, its fundamental categories and basic sankhārā.[i] In other words, any exemplification of paticcasamuppāda in the sphere of experience can be re-stated in the form of the fundamental exemplification of paticcasamuppāda in the sphere of experience, which is, as it must be, that beginning with viññāna. Thus viññāna and paticcasamupāda are one. This, then, is the meaning of sankhārapaccayā viññānam; this is why 'with determinations as condition there is consciousness'.
21. This discussion may perhaps have made it clear why sankhārā in the usual twelve-factored paticcasamuppāda series can include such a mixed collection of things as intentions of merit, demerit, and imperturbability, in-&-out-breaths, thinking-&-pondering, and perception and feeling. These things, one and all, are things that other things depend on, and as such are sankhārā of one kind or another; and so long as there are sankhārā of any kind at all there is viññāna and everything dependent upon viññāna, in other words there is paticcasamuppāda. (We may ignore the irrelevant exception of āyusankhāra and saññāvedayitanirodha, lying outside the sphere of experience. See Majjhima v,3 <M.i,295>.) Conversely, viññāna (and therefore paticcasamuppāda) ceases to exist when sankhārā of all kinds have ceased. (It might be asked why kāyasankhāra and the other two are singled out for special mention as sankhārā. The answer seems to be that it is in order to show progressive cessation of sankhārā in the attainment of saññāvedayitanirodha—see Majjhima v,4 <M.i,301> and Vedanā Samy. ii,1 <S.iv,216>—or, more simply, to show that so long as there is paticcasamuppāda there is body, speech, or [at least] mind.)
22. It should be borne in mind that paticcasamuppāda anulomam ('with the grain'—the samudaya sacca) always refers to the puthujjana, and patilomam ('against the grain'—the nirodha sacca) to the arahat. Avijjāpaccayā sankhārā is true of the puthujjana, and avijjānirodhā sankhāranirodho is true of the arahat. This might provoke the objection that so long as the arahat is living he breathes, thinks-&-ponders, and perceives and feels; and consequently that cessation of avijjā does not bring about general cessation of sankhārā. It is right to say that with a living arahat there is still consciousness, name-&-matter, six bases, contact, and feeling, but only in a certain sense. Actually and in truth (saccato thetato, which incidentally has nothing to do with paramattha sacca, 'truth in the highest [or absolute] sense', a fallacious notion much used in the traditional exegesis—see PARAMATTHA SACCA) there is, even in this very life, no arahat to be found (e.g. Avyākata Samy. 2 <S.iv,384>—see PARAMATTHA SACCA §4 [a]); and though there is certainly consciousness and so on, there is no apparent 'self' for whom there is consciousness. Yena viññānena Tathāgatam paññāpayamāno paññāpeyya, tam viññānam Tathāgatassa pahīnam ucchinnamūlam tālāvatthukatam anabhāvakatam āyatim anuppādadhammam; viññānasankhāya vimutto kho mahārāja Tathāgato... ('That consciousness by which the Tathāgata might be manifested has been eliminated by the Tathāgata, cut off at the root, dug up, made non-existent, it is incapable of future arising; the Tathāgata, great king, is free from reckoning as consciousness...') (Avyākata Samy. 1 <S.iv,379>). There is no longer any consciousness pointing (with feeling and the rest) to an existing 'self' and with which that 'self' might be identified. And in the Kevaddhasutta (Dīgha i,11 <D.i,223>), viññānam anidassanam,[j] which is the arahat's 'non-indicative consciousness', is also viññānassa nirodho. While the arahat yet lives, his consciousness is niruddha, or 'ceased', for the reason that it is ananuruddha-appativiruddha (Majjhima ii,1 <M.i,65>). In the same way, when there is no longer any apparent 'self' to be contacted, contact (phassa) is said to have ceased: Phusanti phassā upadhim paticca / Nirūpadhim kena phuseyyum phassā. ('Contacts contact dependent on ground -- How should contacts contact a groundless one?') (Udāna ii,4 <Ud.12> This matter has already been touched upon in §§10 & 15. (See also VIÑÑĀNA & PHASSA.)
23. Sankhārapaccayā viññānam, as we now see, can be taken to mean that any specific series of sankhāra-sankhatadhamma pairs (one or more) of which the first contains viññāna is dependent upon the very fact that there are sankhārā at all. Avijjāpaccayā sankhārā will then mean that the very fact that there are sankhārā at all is dependent upon avijjā; and with cessation of avijjā—avijjānirodhā—all sankhārā whatsoever will cease—sankhāranirodho. This is perhaps most simply stated in the lines from the Vinaya Mahāvagga: Ye dhammā hetuppabhavā / Tesam hetum Tathāgato āha / Tesañ ca yo nirodho / Evamvādī mahāsamano. ('Of things originating with conditions, The Tathāgata has told the condition, And what their cessation is. The Great Recluse speaks thus.') Here, Ye dhammā hetuppabhavā are all things whatsoever that depend upon hetū('conditions'—synonymous with paccayā). Since each of these things depends upon its respective hetu (as in any paticcasamuppāda formulation), it shares the same fate as its hetu—it is present when the hetu< is present, and absent when the hetu is absent. Thus the hetu of them taken as a whole (all things that are hetuppabhavā) is no different from the hetu of their individual hetū taken as a whole. When there are hetū at all there are hetuppabhavā dhammā, when there are no hetū there are no hetuppabhavā dhammā; and hetū, being nothing else than sankhārā, have avijjā as condition. Tesam hetum ('their condition'), therefore, is avijjā. To see the Dhamma is to see paticcasamuppāda (as noted in §7), and avijjā is therefore non-seeing of paticcasamuppāda. Avijjāpaccayā sankhārā will thus mean 'paticcasamuppāda depends upon non-seeing of paticcasamuppāda'. Conversely, seeing of paticcasamuppāda is cessation of avijjā, and when paticcasamuppāda is seen it loses its condition ('non-seeing of paticcasamuppāda') and ceases. And this is cessation of all hetuppabhavā dhammā. Thus tesam yo nirodho is cessation of avijjā.
24. We must now again ask the question of §17: 'What about the first item of the paticcasamuppādaformulation—since there is no item preceding it, is it therefore permanent?'. The first item is now avijjā, and the Buddha himself answers the question in a Sutta of the Anguttara Nikāya (X,vii,1 <A.v,113>). This answer is to the effect that avijjā depends upon not hearing and not practising the Dhamma. It is not, however, the only way of answering the question, as we may see from the Sammāditthisutta (Majjhima i,9 <M.i,54>). Here we find that avijjā depends upon āsavā, and āsavā depend upon avijjā. But one of the āsavā is, precisely, avijj'āsava, which seems to indicate that avijjā depends upon avijjā.[k] Let us see if this is so. We know that sankhārā depend upon avijjā—avijjāpaccayā sankhārā. But since something that something else depends upon is a sankhāra, it is evident that avijjā is a sankhāra. And, as before, sankhārā depend upon avijjā. Thus avijjādepends upon avijjā. Far from being a logical trick, this result reflects a structural feature of the first importance.[l] Before discussing it, however, we must note that this result leads us to expect that any condition upon which avijjā depends will itself involve avijjā implicitly or explicitly. (In terms of §23 the foregoing argument runs thus. Avijjāpaccayā sankhārā may be taken as 'with non-seeing of paticcasamuppādaas condition there is paticcasamuppāda'. But this itself is seen only when paticcasamuppāda is seen; for paticcasamuppāda cannot be seen as paticcasamuppanna before paticcasamuppāda is seen. To see avijjā or non-seeing, avijjā or non-seeing must cease. Avijjā therefore comes first; for, being its own condition, it can have no anterior term that does not itself involve avijjā.)
25. The faculty of self-observation or reflexion is inherent in the structure of our experience. Some degree of reflexion is almost never entirely absent in our waking life, and in the practice of mindfulness it is deliberately cultivated. To describe it simply, we may say that one part of our experience is immediately concerned with the world as its object, while at the same time another part of our experience is concerned with the immediate experience as its object. This second part we may call reflexive experience. (Reflexion is discussed in greater detail in Shorter Notes & FUNDAMENTAL STRUCTURE.) It will be clear that when there is avijjā there is avijjā in both parts of our experience, the immediate and the reflexive; for though, in reflexion, experience is divided within itself, it is still one single, even if complex, structure. The effect of this may be seen from the Sabbāsavasutta (Majjhima i,2 <M.i,8>) wherein certain wrong views are spoken of. Three of them are: Attanā va attānam sañjānāmī ti; Attanā va anattānam sañjānāmī ti; and Anattanā va attānam sañjānāmī ti. ('With self I perceive self; With self I perceive not-self; With not-self I perceive self.') A man with avijjā, practising reflexion, may identify 'self' with both reflexive and immediate experience, or with reflexive experience alone, or with immediate experience alone. He does not conclude that neither is 'self', and the reason is clear: it is not possible to get outside avijjā by means of reflexion alone; for however much a man may 'step back' from himself to observe himself he cannot help taking avijjā with him. There is just as much avijjā in the self-observer as there is in the self-observed. (See CETANĀ [b].) And this is the very reason why avijjā is so stable in spite of its being sankhatā.[m] Simply by reflexion the puthujjana can never observe avijjāand at the same time recognize it as avijjā; for in reflexion avijjā is the Judge as well as the Accused, and the verdict is always 'Not Guilty'. In order to put an end to avijjā, which is a matter of recognizing avijjā as avijjā, it is necessary to accept on trust from the Buddha a Teaching that contradicts the direct evidence of the puthujjana's reflexion. This is why the Dhamma is patisotagāmī (Majjhima iii,6 <M.i,168>), or 'going against the stream'. The Dhamma gives the puthujjana the outside view of avijjā, which is inherently unobtainable for him by unaided reflexion (in the ariyasāvaka this view has, as it were, 'taken' like a graft, and is perpetually available). Thus it will be seen that avijjā in reflexive experience (actual or potential) is the condition for avijjā in immediate experience. It is possible, also, to take a second step back and reflect upon reflexion; but there is still avijjā in this self-observation of self-observation, and we have a third layer of avijjā protecting the first two. And there is no reason in theory why we should stop here; but however far we go we shall not get beyond avijjā. The hierarchy of avijjā can also be seen from the Suttas in the following way.
Katamā pan'āvuso avijjā....
Yam kho āvuso dukkhe aññānam,
dukkhasamudaye aññānam,
dukkhanirodhe aññānam,
dukkhanirodhagāminīpatipadāya aññānam,
ayam vuccat'āvuso avijjā. (Majjhima i,9 <M.i,54>)
Katamañ ca bhikkhave dukkham ariyasaccam...
Katamañ ca bhikkhave dukkhasamudayam ariyasaccam...
Katamañ ca bhikkhave dukkhanirodham ariyasaccam...
Katamañ ca bhikkhave dukkhanirodhagāminīpatipadā ariyasaccam.
Ayam eva ariyo atthangiko maggo,
seyyathīdam sammāditthi...
Katamā ca bhikkhave sammāditthi...
Yam kho bhikkhave dukkhe ñānam,
dukkhasamudaye ñānam,
dukkhanirodhe ñānam,
dukkhanirodhagāminīpatipadāya ñānam,
ayam vuccati bhikkhave sammāditthi.
(Dīgha ii,9 <D.ii,305-12>)
But which, friends, is nescience?...
That which is non-knowledge of suffering,
non-knowledge of arising of suffering,
non-knowledge of ceasing of suffering,
non-knowledge of the way that leads to ceasing of suffering,
this, friends, is called nescience.
And which, monks, is the noble truth of suffering...
And which, monks, is the noble truth of arising of suffering...
And which, monks, is the noble truth of ceasing of suffering...
And which, monks, is the noble truth of the way that leads to ceasing of suffering?
Just this noble eight-factored path,
that is to say: right view...
And which, monks, is right view?...
That which is knowledge of suffering,
knowledge of arising of suffering,
knowledge of ceasing of suffering,
knowledge of the way that leads to ceasing of suffering,
this, monks, is called right view.
Avijjā is non-knowledge of the four noble truths. Sammāditthi is knowledge of the four noble truths. But sammāditthi is part of the four noble truths. Thus avijjā is non-knowledge of sammāditthi; that is to say, non-knowledge of knowledge of the four noble truths. But since sammāditthi, which is knowledge of the four noble truths, is part of the four noble truths, so avijjā is non-knowledge of knowledge of knowledge of the four noble truths. And so we can go on indefinitely. But the point to be noted is that each of these successive stages represents an additional layer of (potentially) reflexive avijjā. Non-knowledge of knowledge of the four noble truths is non-knowledge of vijjā, and non-knowledge of vijjā is failure to recognize avijjā as avijjā. Conversely, it is evident that when avijjā is once recognized anywhere in this structure it must vanish everywhere; for knowledge of the four noble truths entails knowledge of knowledge of the four noble truths, and vijjā('science') replaces avijjā ('nescience') throughout.[n]
Footnotes:
[a] A present intention (or action) is certainly determined, but it is determined by a superior (or more reflexive) intention that also is present: it is, therefore, not pre-determined. (To be future is essentially to be under-determined. See FUNDAMENTAL STRUCTURE.) Every voluntary (or reflexive) intention (i.e. every volition or act of will) is perpetually revocable, and every involuntary (or immediate) intention (i.e. every inclination or tendency) is voluntarily modifiable. (There is a mistaken idea, common [and convenient] enough, that our inclinations are in the nature of impulsions to which we can only submit, rather as a stone passively suffers the pressure that moves it. But, far from being an imposition that must be passively suffered, an inclination is an active seeking of a still only possible state of affairs. Cf. 'D'ailleurs, si l'acte n'est pas purmouvement, il doit se définir par une intention. De quelque manière que l'on considère cette intention, elle ne peut être qu'un dépassement du donné vers un résultat à obtenir. ...Lorsque les psychologues, par exemple, font de la tendance un état de fait, ils ne voient pas qu'ils lui ôtent tout caractère d'appétit [ad-petitio].' --- J.-P. Sartre, L'Être et le Néant, Gallimard, Paris 1943, p. 556. ['Besides, if the act is not pure movement, it must be defined by an intention. In whatever way we may consider this intention, it can only be a passing beyond the given towards a result to be obtained. ...When the psychologists, for example, turn tendency into a state of fact, they fail to see that they are taking away from it all character of appetite <ad-petitio>.']) Cf. CETANĀ].
[b] The anguish of the moment when a man apprehends that he is going to die is evidence of this perpetually present sankhāradukkha (see Vedanā Samy. ii,1, quoted in NIBBĀNA), and has to do with the changing joys and miseries of this life only in so far as they are, in fact, changing.[cf.17] It is this anguish that makes deliberate suicide, even if it is to be painless, such a difficult enterprise. Only the arahat has no anguish in the face of death:
Nābhinandāmi maranam
nābhinandāmi jīvitam,
Kālañ ca patikankhāmi
nibbisam bhatako yathā;
Nābhinandāmi maranam
nābhinandāmi jīvitam,
Kālañ ca patikankhāmi
sampajāno patissato.
I delight not in death,
I delight not in life,
I await my time
like a hireling his wage;
I delight not in death,
I delight not in life,
I await my time
composed and aware.
Theragāthā vv. 606 & 607.
[c] This, naturally, is not to be taken as denying the possibility of evidence for re-birth quite independent of what is said in the Suttas. (A curious view, that the Buddha was an agnostic on the question of re-birth and refused to pronounce on it, seems to be gaining currency. Even a very slight acquaintance with the Suttas will correct this idea. See e.g. Majjhima ii,2 <M.i,73-7>.)
[d] While maintaining the necessary reservations (see Preface) about his views, we may observe that Heidegger, in his Sein und Zeit (Halle 1927, p. 374), subordinates the ideas of birth and death to that of being, within the unity of our existential structure. I exist, I am, as born; and, as born, I am as liable at every moment to die. (This book, in English translation [by J. Macquarrie & E. S. Robinson, Being and Time, SCM Press, London 1962], has only lately [1965] become available to me: I find that, where they disagree, Heidegger, as against Sartre, is generally in the right.)
[e] It may seem, upon occasion, that sankhāra and dhamma coincide. Thus the pañc'upādānakkhandhā are what attavād'upādāna depends on, and they are therefore sankhārā. But also it is with them that attā is identified, and they are thus dhammā. This situation, however, is telescoped; for in attavād'upādāna, which is a complex affair, what is primarily (though implicitly) identified as attā is upādāna, and the pañc'upādānakkhandhā are involved only in the second place. See PARAMATTHA SACCA §§3&4. (This, of course, is not the only way in which they are sankhārā, though §3 might give that impression. The reciprocal dependence of viññāna and nāmarūpa—with or without upādāna—is another. And see also what follows.) The word upādāna (lit. 'taking up') has a certain ambiguity about it. As well as 'holding' (seizing, grasping), which is eminently a characteristic of fire no less than of passion (the upādāna of pañc'upādānakkhandhā is chandarāga, 'desire-&-lust'), the word can also mean the fuel of a fire (Majjhima viii,2 <M.i,487>; Avyākata Samy. 9 <S.iv,399-400>). The burning fuel, being held by the 'holding' fire, is itself the fire's 'holding'. The fire is burning, the fuel is burning: two aspects of the same thing.
[f] This Sutta shows that sankhārā—here cetanā—determine not only rūpa, vedanā, saññā, and viññāna, but also sankhārā: Sankhāre sankhārattāya sankhatam abhisankharonti.... Sankhatam abhisankharontī ti kho bhikkhave tasmā Sankhārā ti vuccanti.[6] The question might arise whether these determinations that are determined by determinations do themselves determine (other) things or not. Are there determinations that do not, in fact, determine anything? The answer is that there cannot be. A determination is essentially negative—'Omnis determinatio est negatio' said Spinoza --, and a negative, a negation, only exists as a denial of something positive. The positive thing's existence is asserted by the negative in the very act of denying it (just as atheism, which exists as a denial of theism, is evidence that theism exists); and its essence (or nature) is defined by the negative in stating what it is not (if we know what atheism is we shall know at once what theism is). A negative thus determines both the existence and the essence of a positive. In what way is cetanānegative? A sheet of paper lying on a table is determined as a sheet of paper by its potentialities or possibilities—i.e. by what it is for. It can be used for writing on, for drawing on, for wrapping up something, for wiping up a mess, for covering another sheet, for burning, and so on. But though it can be used for these things, it is not actually being used for any of them. Thus these potentialities deny the object lying on the table as it actually is (which is why they are potentialities and not actualities); nevertheless if it were not for the fact that these particular potentialities are associated with the object on the table we should not see the object as a 'sheet of paper'. These potentialities, which are not the object, determine it for what it is. We know what a thing is when we know what it is for. Thus these potentialities can also be understood as the significance or purpose of the object, and therefore as its intention(s). (This account is necessarily restricted to the crudely utilitarian level, but will serve to give an indication.) One of these intentions, though of a special kind (present only when there is avijjā), is that the object is for me—it is mine, etam mama. And all these intentions are nothing more nor less than cetanā. (See also CETANĀ & ATTĀ.) Determinations generally, whether they are cetanā or not, have two essential characteristics: (i) they are bound up with what they determine and (ii) they are not what they determine (or not wholly). And, of course, determinations in their turn require other determinations to determine them; which is why sankhārā are themselves sankhatā. Thus, a sheet of paper is for wiping up a mess, which is for having my room clean, which is for my personal comfort, which is forattending to my concerns, which is for my future comfort. Cf. Heidegger, op. cit., p. 63 et seq.
[g] So far are the expressions cittasankhāra and manosankhāra from being interchangeable that their respective definitions actually seem to be mutually exclusive. Cittasankhāra is saññā ca vedanā ca; manosankhāra is manosañcetanā; and the passage from the Salāyatana Samyutta (ix,10) quoted in §5 makes an explicit distinction between vedanā, cetanā, and saññā. But the two expressions are really quite different in kind, and are not to be directly opposed to each other at all. (i) The citta of cittasankhāra is not synonymous with the mano of manosankhāra: citta, here, means (conscious) experience generally, whereas manodistinguishes thought from word and deed. (ii) The word sankhāra has a different sense in the two cases: in the first it means 'determination' in a quite general sense (§11); in the second it is a particular kind of determination, viz intention or volition. (iii) The two compounds are grammatically different: cittasankhāra is a dutiya (accusative) tappurisa, cittam + sankhāro, 'that which determines mind (citta)'; manosankhāra is a tatiya(instrumentive) tappurisa, manasā + sankhāro, 'determination (intention or volition) by mind (mano)', i.e. mental action (as opposed to verbal and bodily action)—cf. Majjhima vi,7 <M.i,389>. Clearly enough (ii) and (iii) will apply mutatis mutandis to the two senses of the expressions kāyasankhāra and vacīsankhāra.
[h] Viññāna, being the presence of the phenomenon, of what is present, is negative as regards essence. Other things can be described directly by way of their positive essence as this or that, but not consciousness. Consciousness, however, is necessary before any other thing can be described; for if something is to be described it must first be present in experience (real or imaginary), and its presence is consciousness. Since consciousness can be described only as that upon which other things depend, it is the existential determination and nothing else. This will explain also what follows. (Note that the word existential is used here in the simple sense of a thing's existence as opposed to its essence, and not in the pregnant sense of bhava. See VIÑÑĀNA.)
[i] See also the heterogeneous series of items (pariyesanā, lābha, and so on) appearing in the middle of the paticcasamuppāda formulation of Dīgha ii,2 <D.ii,58>.
[j] In the line Viññānam anidassanam anantam sabbatopaham, ('Non-indicative consciousness, limitless, wholly non-originating.') the compound sabbatopaham (in Majjhima v,9 <M.i,329>, sabbatopabham) is probably sabbato + apaham (or apabham) from apahoti, a + pahoti (or apabhavati [apabhoti]). (Note that in the Majjhima passage preceding this line there is a Burmese v.l., nāpahosi for nāhosi.)
[k] Cf. Avijjā kho bhikkhu eko dhammo yassa pahānā bhikkhuno avijjā pahīyati vijjā uppajjatī ti. ('Nescience, monk, is the one thing with a monk's elimination of which nescience is eliminated and science arises') Salāyatana Samy. viii,7 <S.iv,50>
[l] On the charge of 'circularity' that common sense may like to bring here, see Heidegger, op. cit., pp. 314-6.
[m] The Anguttara Sutta (X,vii,1) referred to in §24 begins thus: Purimā bhikkhave koti na paññāyati avijjāya, Ito pubbe avijjā nāhosi, atha pacchā sambhavī ti. Evañ ce tam bhikkhave vuccati, atha ca pana paññāyati, Idapaccayā avijjā ti. Avijjam p'aham bhikkhave sāhāram vadāmi, no anāhāram. ('An earliest point of nescience, monks, is not manifest: 'Before this, nescience was not; then afterwards it came into being'. Even if that is said thus, monks, nevertheless it is manifest: 'With this as condition, nescience'. I say, monks, that nescience, too, is with sustenance, not without sustenance.') (In the P.T.S. edition, for c'etam read ce tam and adjust punctuation.)
[n] Compare also the following: Rūpā [Saddā ... Dhammā] loke piyarūpam sātarūpam, etth'esā tanhā uppajjamānā uppajjati ettha nivisamānā nivisati ... Rūpatanhā [Saddatanhā ... Dhammatanhā] loke piyarūpam sātarūpam, etth'esā tanhā uppajjamānā uppajjati ettha nivisamānā nivisati. ('Visible forms [Sounds ... Images (Ideas)] are dear and agreeable in the world; herein this craving arises, herein it adheres ... Craving-for-visible-forms [Craving-for-sounds ... Craving-for-images (-ideas)] is dear and agreeable in the world; herein this craving arises, herein it adheres.')
And the converse:
...etth'esā tanhā pahīyamānā pahīyati ettha nirujjhamānā nirujjhati. ('...herein this craving is eliminated, herein it ceases.') Dīgha ii,9 <D.ii,308-11>
Not only is there craving, but there is craving for craving as a condition for craving: indifference to craving destroys it. (Tanhā, be it noted, is not the coarse hankering after what we do not have [which is abhijjhā or covetousness], but the subtle craving for more of what we have. In particular, I am because I crave to be, and with cessation of craving-for-being [bhavatanhā, which is itself dependent on avijjā and, like it, without first beginning—Anguttara X,vii,2 <A.v,116>], 'I am' ceases. Bhavatanhā, in fact, is the craving for more craving on which craving depends.)