Nibbàna Sermon 05

Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammàsambuddhassa
Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammàsambuddhassa
Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammàsambuddhassa

Etaü santaü, etaü paõãtaü, yadidaü sabbasaïkhàrasamatho sabbåpadhipañinissaggo taõhakkhayo viràgo nirodho nibbànaü.[1]

"This is peaceful, this is excellent, namely the stilling of all prepa­rations, the relinquishment of all assets, the destruction of craving, detachment, cessation, extinction".

With the permission of the Most Venerable Great Preceptor and the assembly of the venerable meditative monks.

Towards the end of our last sermon, we discussed, to some extent, a special mode of attention, regarding the four objects of contempla­tion in the Satipaññhànasutta - body, feelings, mind, and mind-ob­jects.[2] That discussion might have revealed a certain mid­dle path in­di­cated by the Bud­dha.

We drew attention to a thematic paragraph, occurring through­out the Satipaññhànasutta, which outlines a method of using objects and concepts for satipaññhàna meditation without dogmatic in­volvement. This leads the meditator to a particular kind of attitude, summed up by the concluding phrase: "He abides independent and does not cling to anything in the world", a­nissito ca viharati, na ca ki¤ci loke upà­diyati.[3]

By way of clarification, we brought in the simile of a scaffold­ing for a building, that here the con­cepts only serve as a scaf­folding for building up mindfulness and knowledge.[4] Talking about the scaffold­ing, we are reminded of two different attitudes, namely, the attitude of leaning on to and dwell­ing in the scaffold­ing itself, and the en­light­ened attitude of merely utilizing it for the purpose of erect­ing a building.

For further explanation of this technique, we may take up the two terms paràmasana and samma­sana. It might be better to distinguish the meanings of these two terms also with the help of a simile. As for a simile, let us take up the razor, which is such a useful requisite in our meditative life. There is a certain special way in sharpening a ra­zor. With the idea of sharpening the ra­zor, if one grabs it tightly and rubs it on the sharpening stone, it will only become blunt. Paràma­sana, grasping, grab­bing, is some­thing like that.

What then is the alternative? A more refined and softer ap­proach is required as meant by the term sammasana. There is a proper mode of doing it. One has to hold the razor in a relaxed way, as if one is going to throw it away. One holds it lightly, ready to let go of it at any time. But, of course, with mindfulness. The wrist, also, is not rigid, but relaxed. Hand is supple at the joints and easy to swing. Then with that readiness, one sharpens the razor, sliding it smoothly on the stone. First: up, up, up, then: down, down, down, and then: up down, up down, up down. The third combined movement en­sures that those parts of the blade still untouched by the stone will also get duly sharpened.

It is in the same manner that the razor of insight wisdom has to be whetted on the sharpening stone of the Satipaññhànasutta. Inward, inward, inward - outward, outward, outward - inward out­ward, in­ward outward. Or else: arising, arising, arising - ceas­ing, ceasing, ceasing - arising ceasing, arising ceasing.

This is an illustration for the method of reflection, or samma­sana, introduced by the Buddha in the Satipaññhànasutta. Words and con­cepts have to be made use of, for attaining Nibbàna. But here the aim is only the up-building of mindfulness and knowl­edge. Once their purpose is served, they can be dismantled with­out being a bother to the mind. This is the significance of the con­cluding phrase "He abides independent and does not cling to anything in the world". [5]

There is another sutta in which the Buddha has touched upon this same point in particular. It is the Sam­udayasutta in the Satipaññhàna­saüyutta of the Saüyutta Nikàya.[6] In that sutta, the Buddha has pro­claimed the arising and the going down of the four foundations of mindfulness. He begins by say­ing: "Monks, I shall teach you the arising and the going down of the four foun­dations of mindfulness". Catunnaü, bhikkhave, satipaññhànànaü samudaya¤ca atthagama¤ca desessàmi.

He goes on to say: "What, monks, is the arising of the body? With the arising of nutriment is the arising of the body and with the cessa­tion of the nutriment is the going down of the body." Ko ca, bhik­khave, kàyassa samudayo? âhàrasamudayà kàyassa samudayo, àhàranirodhà kàyassa atthagamo.

Similarly: "With the arising of contact is the arising of feeling, and with the cessation of contact is the going down of feeling". Phas­sasamudayà vedanànaü samudayo, phassanirodhà veda­nànaü at­tha­­gamo.

And then: "With the arising of name-and-form is the arising of the mind, and with the cessation of name-and-form is the going down of the mind". Nàmaråpasamudayà cittassa samudayo, nàma­råpa­ni­rodhà cittassa atthagamo.

And lastly: "With the arising of attention is the arising of mind-objects, and with the ceasing of at­tention is the going down of mind-objects". Manasikàrasamudayà dhammànaü samudayo, manasi­kàranirodhà dhammànaü atthagamo.

This, too, is an important discourse, well worth remember­ing, be­cause here the Buddha is dealing with the arising and cessation, or arising and going down, of the four objects used for establishing mindfulness.

As we know, the concept of nutriment in this Dhamma is much broader than the worldly concept of food. It does not im­ply merely the ordinary food, for which the term used is kaba­liïkàràhàra, or material food. Taken in a deeper sense, it in­cludes the other three kinds of nutriment as well, namely phas­sa, or contact, mano­sa¤­cetanà, or volition, and vi¤¤àõa, or con­sciousness. These four to­gether ac­count for the concept of body as such. Therefore, due to these four there comes to be a body, and with their cessation the body ends. So also in the case of feeling. We all know that the aris­ing of feel­ing is due to con­tact.

The reference to name-and-form in this context might not be clear enough at once, due to various definitions of name-and-form, or nàma-råpa. Here, the reason for the arising of the mind is said to be name-and-form. Mind is said to arise because of name-and-form, and it is supposed to go down with the cessation of name-and-form.

The fact that the mind-objects arise due to attention is note­wor­thy. All the mind-objects mentioned in the fourth section of contem­plation arise when there is attention. And they go down when atten­tion is not there. In other words, attending makes ob­jects out of them. This way, we are reminded that, apart from making use of these words and concepts for the purpose of at­taining Nibbàna, there is nothing worth holding on to or cling­ing to dogmatically. So if a medi­tator works with this aim in mind, he will be assured of a state of mind that is independent and cling­ing-free, anissita, anupàdàna.

One marvellous quality of the Buddha's teaching emerges from this discussion. A mind-object is something that the mind hangs on to as the connotations of the word àrammaõa (cp. àlam­bhana) sug­gest. But because of the mode of insight wis­dom outlined here, be­cause of the middle path approach, even the tendency to `hang-on' is finally done away with and the ob­ject is penetrated through. Despite the above connotations of 'hanging on' (àrammaõa), the object is transcended. Transcen­dence in its highest sense is not a case of sur­passing, as is ordi­narily understood. Instead of leaving behind, it penetrates through. Here then, we have a transcendence that is in it­self a penetration.

So the terms anissita and anupàdàna seem to have a signifi­cance of their own. More of it comes to light in quite a number of other sut­tas. Particularly in the Dvayatànupassanàsutta of the Sutta Nipàta we come across the following two verses, which throw more light on these two terms:

Anissito na calati,

nissito ca upàdiyaü,

itthabhàva¤¤athàbhàvaü,

saüsàraü nàtivattati.

Etam àdãnavaü ¤atvà,

nissayesu mahabbhayaü,

anissito anupàdàno,

sato bhikkhu paribbaje.[7]

"The unattached one wavers not, but the one attached, cling­ing on, does not get beyond saüsàra, which is an alternation be­tween a this-ness and an otherwise-ness (itthabhàva¤­¤athà­bhà­va). Knowing this peril, the great danger, in attachments or sup­ports (nissayesu), let the monk fare along mindfully, resting on noth­ing, clinging to noth­ing."

Caught up in the dichotomy of saüsàric existence, which al­ter­nates between this-ness and other­wise-ness, one is unable to tran­scend it, so long as there is attachment and clinging. Nis­sayas are the supports that encourage clinging in the form of dogmatic adher­ence to views. Seeing the peril and the danger in them, a mindful monk has no recourse to them. This gives one an idea of the attitude of an arahant. His mind is free from en­slavement to the conjoined pairs of relative concepts.

This fact is borne out by certain Canonical statements, which at first sight might appear as riddles. The two last sections of the Sutta Nipàta, the Aññhakavagga and the Pàràyanavagga in par­ticular, con­tain verses which are extremely deep. In the Aññhaka­vag­ga, one often comes across apparently con­tradictory pairs of terms, side by side. About the arahant it is said that: "he neither grasps nor gives up", nàdeti na nirassati.[8] "There is noth­ing taken up or rejected by him", attaü nirattaü na hi tassa at­thi.[9]

By the way, the word attaü in this context is derived from àdàtta (à + dà), by syncopation. It should not be mistaken as a reference to attà, or soul. Similarly, niratta is from as, to throw, nirasta, convey­ing the idea of giving up or putting down.

There is nothing taken up or given up by the arahant. Other such references to the arahant's atti­tude are: Na ràgaràgã na vi­ràgaratto, "he is neither attached to attachment, nor attached to detach­ment".[10] Na hi so rajjati no virajjati, "He is neither at­tached nor detached".[11]

It is in order to explain why such references are used that we took all this trouble to discuss at length the significance of such terms as nissaya.[12] Probably due to a lack of understanding in this re­spect, the deeper meanings of such suttas have got ob­scured. Not only that, even textual corruption through distorted variant readings has set in, because they appeared like riddles. However, the deeper sense of these suttas sometimes emerges from certain strikingly strange statements like the following found in the Khajjanãyasutta of the Saü­yutta Nikàya. The refer­ence here is to the arahant.

 Ayaü vuccati, bhikkhave, bhikkhu neva àcinàti na apacinàti, apacinitvà ñhito neva pajahati na upàdiyati, pajahitvà ñhito neva viseneti na usseneti, visenetvà ñhito neva vidhåpeti na sandhå­peti.[13] "Monks, such a monk is called one who neither amasses nor dimin­ishes; already diminished as he is, he neither gives up nor grasps; al­ready given up as he is, he neither disbands nor binds together; al­ready disbanded as he is, he neither exorcizes nor proficiates."

Even to one who does not understand the language, the above quotation would sound enigmatic. Even the rendering of the terms used here is not an easy matter, because of the nu­ances they seem to convey. We could perhaps say that such a monk neither amasses or accumulates, nor diminishes. Since he is already diminished, pre­sumably as regards the five aggre­gates, he neither abandons nor grasps anew. Since the giving up is complete, he neither binds to­gether or enlists (note the word sena, army), nor disbands. Disband­ing (if not `disarmament'), being complete, there is neither exorciz­ing or smoking out, nor proficiating or inviting. The coupling of these terms and their peculiar em­ployment is suggestive of the ara­hant's freedom from the dichotomy.

In the Bràhmaõavagga of the Dhammapada too, we come across a similar enigmatic verse:

Yassa pàraü apàraü và,

pàràpàraü na vijjati,

vãtaddaraü visaüyuttaü,

tam ahaü bråmi bràhmaõaü.[14]

"For whom there is neither a farther shore,

Nor a hither shore, nor both,

Who is undistressed and unfettered,

Him I call a Brahmin."

In this context the word bràhmaõa refers to the arahant. Here too, it is said that the arahant has neither a farther shore, nor a hither shore, nor both. This might sometimes appear as a problem. Our usual concept of an arahant is of one who has crossed over the ocean of saüsàra and is standing on the other shore. But here is something enigmatic.

We come across a similar sutta in the Sutta Nipàta also, namely its very first, the Uragasutta. The extraordinary feature of this sutta is the recurrence of the same refrain throughout its seventeen verses. The refrain is:

So bhikkhu jahàti orapàraü,

urago jiõõamiva tacaü puràõaü.[15]

"That monk forsakes the hither and the tither,

Like a snake its slough that doth wither".

This simile of the slough, or the worn-out skin of the snake, is highly significant. To quote one in­stance:

Yo nàjjhagamà bhavesu sàraü,

vicinaü pupphamiva udumbaresu,

so bhikkhu jahàti orapàraü,

urago jiõõamiva tacaü puràõaü.[16]

"That monk who sees no essence in existence,

Like one seeking flowers in Udumbara trees,

Will give up the hither as well as the thither,

Like the snake its slough that doth wither".

The arahant has abandoned his attachment to existence. As such, he is free from the bondage of those conjoined terms in worldly us­age. So the arahant looks at the worldly usage in the same way as a snake would turn back and look at the worn-out skin he has sloughed off. Sometimes we see a snake moving about with a remnant of its slough hanging on. We might even think that the snake is carrying its slough around. It is the same in the case of the arahants.

       Now there is this term sa-upàdisesa Nibbàna dhàtu. Tak­ing the term at its face value, some might think that the clinging is not yet over for the arahants - that there is still a little bit left. The ara­hant, though he has attained release and realized Nib­bàna, so long as he is living in the world, has to relate to the ex­ternal objects in the world somehow through his five senses, making use of them. Seeing it, some might conclude that it is because of some residual clinging. But we have to un­derstand this in the light of the simile of the worn-out skin. In the case of the arahant, too, the sloughed off skin is still hanging on.

As a sidelight we may cite a remark of Venerable Sàriputta: Iminà påtikàyena aññiyàmi haràyàmi jigucchàmi,[17] "I am har­assed and repelled by this body, I am ashamed of it". This is be­cause the body is for him something already abandoned. All this goes to show that the arahant has an unattached, unclinging at­titude.

Linguistic usage, which is a special feature of existence, is enli­vened by the cravings, conceits, and views with which it is grasped. Worldlings thrive on it, whereas the arahants are free from it. This is the upshot of the above discussion on the terms anusaya and nis­saya.[18]

Yet another important term that should receive attention in any discussion on Nibbàna is àsava. This is because the ara­hant is often called a khãõàsava, one whose àsavas are extinct.[19] âsavakkhayo, ex­tinction of àsavas, is an epithet of Nibbàna.[20] So the distinct feature of an arahant is his extinction of àsavas.

Now, what does àsava mean? In ordinary life, this word is used to denote fermentation or liquor that has got fermented for a long time.[21] If there is even a dreg of ferment in a vessel, it is enough to cause fermentation for any suitable raw material put into it. So also are the àsavas. They are like the residual dregs of the ebullient mass of defilements in beings, which have under­gone fermentation for a long, long time in saüsàra.

Very often, àsavas are said to be of three kinds, as kàmàsavà, bhavàsavà, and avijjàsavà. The term àsava in this context is usually rendered as `influxes'. We may understand them as cer­tain intoxicat­ing influences, which create a world of sense-de­sires, a stupor that gives a notion of existence and leads to igno­rance. These influxes are often said to have the nature of infil­trating into the mind. Some­times a fourth type of influxes, diñ­ñh­àsavà, is also mentioned. But this can conveniently be sub­sumed under avijjàsavà.

The extinction of influxes becomes a distinctive characteristic of an arahant, as it ensures com­plete freedom. One could be said to have attained complete freedom only if one's mind is free from these influxes. It is because these influxes are capable of creating intoxica­tion again and again.

The immense importance of the extinction of influxes, and how it accounts for the worthiness of an arahant, is sometimes clearly brought out. The ultimate aim of the Buddha's teaching is one that in other systems of thought is generally regarded as attainable only after death. The Buddha, on the other hand, showed a way to its realiza­tion here and now.

As a matter of fact, even brahmins like Pokkharasàti went about saying that it is impossible for a human being to attain something su­pramundane: Katham'hi nàma manussabhåto uttarimanussa­dhammà alamariya¤àõadassanavisesaü ¤assati và dakkhati và sacchi và karissati?[22] "How can one as a human be­ing know or see or realize a supramundane state, an extraor­dinary knowledge and vision befitting the noble ones?" They thought that such a realization is possible only after death. Im­mortal­ity, in other systems of thought, is always an after death experience.

Now the realization of the extinction of influxes, on the other hand, gives a certain assurance about the future. It is by this ex­tinc­tion of influxes that one wins to the certitude that there is no more birth after this. Khãõà jàti, [23] extinct is birth! Certitude about some­thing comes only with realization. In fact, the term sacchikiriya im­plies a seeing with one's own eyes, as the word for eye, ak÷i, is im­plicit in it.

However, everything cannot be verified by seeing with one's own eyes. The Buddha has pointed out that there are four ways of realiza­tion or verification:

Cattàro me, bhikkhave, sacchikaraõãyà dhammà. Katame cat­taro?Atthi, bhikkhave, dhammà kàyena sacchikaraõãyà; atthi, bhik­khave, dhammà satiyà sacchikaraõãyà; atthi, bhikkhave, dhammà cakkhunà sacchikaraõãyà; atthi, bhikkhave, dhammà pa¤¤àya sac­chikaraõãyà.[24]

"Monks, there are these four realizable things. What four? There are things, monks, that are real­izable through the body; there are things, monks, that are realizable through memory; there are things, monks, that are realizable through the eye; there are things, monks, that are realizable through wisdom."

By way of explanation, the Buddha says that the things real­izable through the body are the eight deliverances, the things realizable through memory are one's former habitations, the things realizable through the eye are the death and rebirth of beings, and what is real­izable through wisdom, is the extinc­tion of influxes.

One's former lives cannot be seen with one's own eyes by run­ning into the past. It is possible only by purifying one's memory and directing it backwards. Similarly, the death and re­birth of beings can be seen, as if with one's fleshly eye, by the divine eye, by those who have developed it. So also the fact of extirpating all influxes is to be realized by wisdom, and not by any other means. The fact that the in­fluxes of sensuality, exis­tence, ignorance, and views, will not flow in again, can be veri­fied only by wisdom. That is why special mention is made of Nib­bàna as something realizable.[25]

Because Nibbàna is said to be something realizable, some are of the opinion that nothing should be predicated about it. What is the reason for this special emphasis on its realizability? It is to bring into sharp relief the point of divergence, since the Buddha taught a way of realizing here and now something that in other religions was con­sidered impossible.

What was it that they regarded impossible to be realized? The ces­sation of existence, or bhava­nirodha. How can one be certain here and now that this existence has ceased? This might some­times appear as a big puzzle. But all the same, the arahant ex­periences the cessa­tion of existence as a reali­zation. That is why he even gives expres­sion to it as: Bhavanirodho Nibbànaü,[26] "ces­sation of exis­tence is Nib­bàna".

It comes about by this extinction of influxes. The very exis­tence of `existence' is especially due to the flowing in of influxes of exis­tence. What is called `existence' is not the apparent proc­ess of exist­ing visible to others. It is something that pertains to one's own men­tal continuum.

For instance, when it is said that some person is in the world of sense desires, one might some­times imagine it as living sur­rounded by objects of sense pleasure. But that is not always the case. It is the existence in a world of sense desires, built up by sensuous thoughts. It is the same with the realms of form and formless realms. Even those realms can be experienced and at­tained while living in this world itself.

Similarly, it is possible for one to realize the complete cessa­tion of this existence while living in this very world. It is accom­plished by winning to the realization that the influxes of sense desires, ex­is­tence, and ignorance, no longer influence one's mind.

So all this goes to show the high degree of importance at­tached to the word àsava. The Sammà­diññhisutta of the Maj­jhi­ma Nikàya seems to pose a problem regarding the sig­nificance of this term. At one place in the sutta it is said that the arising of ignorance is due to the arising of influxes and that the cessation of ignorance is due to the cessation of influxes: âsava­samudayà avijjàsamudayo, àsava­ni­rodhà avijjànirodho.[27]

If the sutta says only this much, it will not be such a problem, be­cause it appears as a puzzle to many nowadays, why igno­rance is placed first. Various reasons are adduced and argu­ments put for­ward as to why it is stated first out of the twelve factors. The fact that there is still something to pre­cede it could therefore be some consolation.

But then, a little way off, in the selfsame sutta, we read: Avij­jàsamudayà àsavasamudayo, avijja­nirodhà àsavanirodho, [28] "with the arising of ignorance is the arising of influxes, with the cessa­tion of ignorance is the cessation of influxes". Apparently this contradicts the previous statement. The preacher of this dis­course, Venerable Sàri­putta, is not one who contradicts himself. So most probably there is some deep reason behind this.

Another problem crops up, since ignorance is also counted among the different kinds of influxes. This makes our puzzle all the more deep. But this state of affairs could best be understood with the help of an illustration. It is in order to explain a certain fascinating be­haviour of the mind that even arahants of great wisdom had to make seemingly contradictory statements.

We have to draw in at this juncture a very important dis­course in the Saüyutta Nikàya, which is a marvel in itself. It comes in the sec­tion on the aggregates, Khandhasaüyutta, as the second Gad­dula­sutta. Here the Buddha makes the following impressive declaration:

`Diññhaü vo, bhikkhave, caraõaü nàma cittan'ti?' `Evaü, bhante.' `Tampi kho, bhikkhave, caraõaü nàma cittaü citteneva cintitaü. Tenapi kho, bhikkhave, caraõena cittena citta¤¤eva cit­tata­raü. Tas­màtiha, bhikkhave, abhikkhaõaü sakaü cittaü pac­cavek­khitabbaü: Dãgharattam idaü cittaü saüki­liññhaü ràgena dosena mohenà'ti. Cittasaükilesà, bhikkhave, sattà saükilissanti, cittavo­dànà sattà vi­sujjhanti.

Nàhaü, bhikkhave, a¤¤aü ekanikàyampi samanupassàmi evaü cittaü, yathayidaü, bhikkhave, ti­racchànagatà pàõà. Tepi kho, bhik­khave, tiracchànagatà pàõà citteneva cintità. Tehipi kho, bhikkhave, tiracchànagatehi pàõehi citta¤¤eva cittataraü. Tas­mà­tiha, bhik­khave, bhikkhunà abhikkhaõaü sakaü cittaü pac­ca­vekkhitabbaü: Dãgharattam idaü cittaü saükiliññhaü ràgena dosena mohenà'ti. Citta­saükilesà, bhikkhave, sattà saükilissanti, cit­tavodànà sattà vi­sujjhanti.' [29]

"`Monks, have you seen a picture called a movie (caraõa)?' `Yes, Lord.' `Monks, even that picture called a movie is some­thing thought out by the mind. But this mind, monks, is more picturesque than that picture called a movie. Therefore, monks, you should reflect moment to moment on your own mind with the thought: For a long time has this mind been defiled by lust, hate, and delusion. By the defilement of the mind, monks, are beings defiled. By the purification of the mind, are beings puri­fied.

Monks, I do not see any other class of beings as picturesque as beings in the animal realm. But those beings in the animal realm, monks, are also thought out by the mind. And the mind, monks, is far more picturesque than those beings in the animal realm. Therefore, monks, should a monk reflect moment to moment on one's own mind with the thought: For a long time has this mind been defiled by lust, hate, and delusion. By the de­filement of the mind, monks, are beings defiled. By the purifica­tion of the mind, are beings purified."

Here the Buddha gives two illustrations to show how marvel­lous this mind is. First he asks the monks whether they have seen a pic­ture called caraõa. Though the word may be rendered by movie, it is not a motion picture of the sort we have today. According to the commentary, it is some kind of variegated painting done on a mobile canvas-chamber, illustrative of the re­sults of good and evil karma.[30] What­ever it may be, it seems to have been something marvellous. But far more marvellous, ac­cording to the Buddha, is this mind. The reason given is that even such a picture is something thought out by the mind.

Then, by way of an advice to the monks, says the Buddha: `There­fore, monks, you should reflect on your mind moment to mo­ment with the thought: For a long time this mind has been defiled by lust, hate, and delusion.' The moral drawn is that be­ings are defiled by the defilement of their minds and that they are purified by the pu­rification of their minds. This is the illus­tration by the simile of the picture.

And then the Buddha goes on to make another significant decla­ration: `Monks, I do not see any other class of beings as picturesque as beings in the animal realm.' But since those be­ings also are thought out by the mind, he declares that the mind is far more pictur­esque than them. Based on this conclusion, he repeats the same ad­vice as before.

At first sight the sutta, when it refers to a picture, seems to be speaking about the man who drew it. But there is something deeper than that. When the Buddha says that the picture called caraõa is also something thought out by the mind, he is not simply stating the fact that the artist drew it after think­ing it out with his mind. The ref­erence is rather to the mind of the one who sees it. He, who sees it, regards it as something marvellous. He creates a picture out of it. He imagines something pictur­esque in it.

In fact, the allusion is not to the artist's mind, but to the spec­ta­tor's mind. It is on account of the three defilements lust, hate, and delusion, nurtured in his mind for a long time, that he is able to ap­preciate and enjoy that picture. Such is the nature of those influxes.

That is why the Buddha declared that this mind is far more pic­turesque than the picture in ques­tion. So if one turns back to look at one's own mind, in accordance with the Buddha's advice, it will be a wonderful experience, like watching a movie. Why? Because reflec­tion reveals the most marvellous sight in the world.

But usually one does not like to reflect, because one has to turn back to do so. One is generally in­clined to look at the thing in front. However, the Buddha advises us to turn back and look at one's own mind every moment. Why? Because the mind is more marvellous than that picture called caraõa, or movie.

It is the same declaration that he makes with reference to the be­ings in the animal realm. When one comes to think about it, there is even less room for doubt here, than in the case of the picture. First of all, the Buddha declares that there is no class of beings more pictur­esque than those in the animal realm. But he follows it up with the statement that even those beings are thought out by the mind, to draw the conclusion that as such the mind is more picturesque than those beings of the ani­mal realm.

Let us try to sort out the point of this declaration. Generally, we may agree that beings in the ani­mal realm are the most pic­turesque. We sometimes say that the butterfly is beautiful. But we might hesi­tate to call a blue fly beautiful. The tiger is fierce, but the cat is not. Here one's personal attitude accounts much for the concepts of beauty, ugliness, fierceness, and innocence of animals. It is be­cause of the defiling influence of influxes, such as ignorance, that the world around us appears so pic­tur­esque.

Based on this particular sutta, with its reference to the caraõa picture as a prototype, we may take a peep at the modern day's movie film, by way of an analogy. It might facilitate the under­standing of the teachings on pañicca samuppàda and Nibbàna in a way that is closer to our everyday life. The principles govern­ing the film and the drama are part and parcel of the life outside cinema and the theatre. But since it is generally difficult to grasp them in the context of the life outside, we shall now try to eluci­date them with reference to the cinema and the theatre.

Usually a film or a drama is shown at night. The reason for it is the presence of darkness. This darkness helps to bring out the dark­ness of ignorance that dwells in the minds of beings. So the film as well as the drama is presented to the public within a frame­work of darkness. If a film is shown at day time, as a mati­nee show, it neces­sitates closed windows and dark curtains. In this way, films and dra­mas are shown within a curtained enclo­sure.

There is another strange thing about these films and dramas. One goes to the cinema or the thea­tre saying: "I am going to see a film show, I am going to see a drama". And one returns saying: "I have seen a film show, I have seen a drama". But while the film show or the drama is going on, one forgets that one is see­ing a show or a drama.

Such a strange spell of delusion takes over. This is due to the in­toxicating influence of influxes. If one wishes to enjoy a film show or a drama, one should be prepared to get intoxicated by it. Other­wise it will cease to be a film show or a drama for him.

What do the film producers and dramatists do? They prepare the background for eliciting the in­fluxes of ignorance, latent in the minds of the audience. That is why such shows and per­form­ances are held at night, or else dark curtains are employed. They have an intricate job to do. Within the framework of dark­ness, they have to create a delusion in the minds of their audi­ence, so as to enact some story in a realistic manner.

To be successful, a film or a drama has to be given a touch of re­alism. Though fictitious, it should be apparently real for the audi­ence. There is an element of deception involved, a hood­wink. For this touch of realism, quite a lot of make-up on the part of actors and actresses is necessary. As a matter of fact, in the ancient Indian soci­ety, one of the primary senses of the word saïkhàra was the make-up done by actors and actresses.

Now in the present context, saïkhàra can include not only this make-up in personal appearance, but also the acting itself, the de­lineation of character, stage-craft etc.. In this way, the film producers and dramatists create a suitable environment, making use of the dark­ness and the make-up contriv­ances. These are the saïkhàras, or the `preparations'.

However, to be more precise, it is the audience that make pre­pa­rations, in the last analysis. Here too, as before, we are com­pelled to make a statement that might appear strange: So far not a single cin­ema has held a film show and not a single theatre has staged a drama.

And yet, those who had gone to the cinema and the theatre had seen film shows and dramas. Now, how can that be? Usu­ally, we think that it is the film producer who produced the film and that it is the dramatist who made the drama.

But if we are to understand the deeper implications of what the Buddha declared, with reference to the picture caraõa, a film show or drama is produced, in the last analysis, by the spec­tator himself. When he goes to the cinema and the theatre, he takes with him the spices needed to concoct a film or a drama, and that is: the influxes, or àsavas. Whatever technical defects and shortcomings there are in them, he makes good with his in­fluxes.

As we know, in a drama there is a certain interval between two scenes. But the average audience is able to appreciate even such a drama, because they are influenced by the influxes of sense desire, ex­istence, and ignorance.

With the progress in science and technology, scenes are made to fall on the screen with extreme rapidity. All the same, the element of delusion is still there. The purpose is to create the necessary envi­ronment for arousing delusion in the minds of the audience. What­ever preparations others may make, if the audience does not respond with their own preparations along the same lines, the drama will not be a success. But in general, the worldlings have a tendency to pre­pare and concoct, so they would make up for any short comings in the film or the drama with their own preparations and enjoy them.

Now, for instance, let us think of an occasion when a film show is going on within the framework of darkness. In the case of a matinee show, doors and windows will have to be closed. Supposing the doors are suddenly flung open, while a vivid technicolour scene is flashing on the screen, what happens then? The spectators will find themselves suddenly thrown out of the cinema world they had cre­ated for themselves. Why? Be­cause the scene in technicolour has now lost its colour. It has faded away. The result is dejection, disen­chantment. The film show loses its significance.

That film show owed its existence to the dark framework of igno­rance and the force of prepara­tions. But now that the frame­work has broken down, such a vast change has come over, re­sulting in a disen­chantment. Now the word ràga has a nuance suggestive of colour, so viràga, dispassion, can also literally mean a fading away or a decol­ouration. Here we have a possible instance of nibbidà viràga, disen­chantment, dispassion, at least in a limited sense.

A door suddenly flung open can push aside the delusion, at least temporarily. Let us consider the implications of this little event. The film show, in this case, ceases to be a film show be­cause of a flash of light coming from outside. Now, what would have happened if this flash of light had come from within - from within one's mind? Then also something similar would have happened. If the light of wisdom dawns on one's mind while watching a film show or a drama, one would even wonder whether it is actually a film or a drama, while others are enjoying it.

Speaking about the film show, we mentioned above that the spec­tator has entered into a world of his own creation. If we are to ana­lyse this situation according to the law of dependent origi­nation, we may add that in fact he has a consciousness and a name-and-form in line with the events of the story, based on the preparations in the midst of the darkness of ignorance. With all his experiences in see­ing the film show, he is building up his five aggregates.

Therefore, when the light of wisdom comes and dispels the dark­ness of ignorance, a similar event can occur. One will come out of that plane of existence. One will step out of the world of sense de­sires, at least temporarily.

Now, with regard to the arahants, too, the same trend of events holds good. When their igno­rance ceases, leaving no residue, avij­jàya tveva asesaviràganirodhà, exhausting the in­fluxes as well, pre­parations also cease. Why? Because the prepa­rations owe their exis­tence to ignorance. They have the ability to prepare so long as there is ignorance. Saïkhàra generally means preparations. It is the make-up and the make-believe which accounted for the delusion. The dark­ness of ignorance provided the setting for it. If somehow or other, the light of wis­dom enters the scene, those preparations, saï­khàra, be­came no-preparations, visaïkhàra, and the prepared, saï­khata, be­comes a non-prepared, asaïkhata.

So what was true with regard to the film show, is also true, in a deeper sense, with regard to the events leading up to the at­tainment of arahant-hood. With the dawn of that light of wisdom, the prepa­rations, or saïkhàra, lose their significance and be­come visaïkhàra.

Though for the world outside they appear as preparations, for the arahant they are not prepara­tions, because they do not pre­pare a bhava, or existence, for him. They are made ineffective. Simi­larly, the prepared or the made-up, when it is understood as something prepared or made-up, be­comes an un-prepared or an un-made. There is a subtle principle of un-doing involved in this.

Sometimes, this might be regarded as a modernistic interpre­ta­tion. But there is Canonical evidence in support of such an in­terpre­tation. For instance, in the Dvayatànupassanàsutta of the Sutta Nipàta, we come across the following verse:

Nivutànaü tamo hoti,

andhakàro apassataü,

sata¤ca vivañaü hoti,

àloko passatàmiva,

santike na vijànanti,

magà dhammassa akovidà.[31]

"Murk it is to those enveloped,

As darkness unto the undiscerning,

But to the good wide ope' it is,

As light is unto those discerning,

So near, and yet they know not,

Fools, unskilled in the Norm."

It is all murky to those enveloped by the hindrance of igno­rance, like the darkness for those who are unable to see. But for the noble ones, it is visible like an open space, even as the light to those with vision. Though it is near at hand, fools, inexpert in the Dhamma, do not understand. This same impression of the Buddha comes up again in the following verse in the Udàna:

Mohasambandhano loko,

bhabbaråpo va dissati,

upadhibandhano bàlo,

tamasà parivàrito,

sassatoriva khàyati,

passato n'atthi ki¤canaü.[32]

"The world, enfettered to delusion,

Feigns a promising mien,

The fool, to his assets bound,

Sees only darkness around,

It looks as though it would last,

But to him who sees there is naught."

The world appears as real to one who is fettered to delusion. He imagines it to be reliable. And so the fool, relying on his as­sets, is encompassed by the darkness. To him the world appears as eternal. But the one who has the right vision, knows that in reality there is nothing.

All this goes to show that the life outside is not much differ­ent from what goes on within the four walls of the cinema and the thea­tre. Just as, in the latter case, an enjoyable story is cre­ated out of a multitude of scenes, relayed at varying degrees of rapidity, backed by the delusive make-up of actors and ac­tres­ses, so that one may lose oneself in a world of fantasy, even so, according to the point of view of Dhamma, the lifestyle out­side is something made up and con­cocted.

However, the darkness within is much thicker than the dark­ness outside. The darkness outside may be dispelled even by a door flung open, as we saw above. But not so easily the darkness within. That is why, in the psalms of the Theras and Therãs, it is said that they split or burst asunder the mass of delusion, ta­mokkhandhaü padàliya, ta­mokkhandhaü padàlayiü.[33] The pitchy black darkness of igno­rance in the world is one that is thick enough to be split up and burst asun­der. So it seems, the darkness within is almost tangibly thick. But the first incision on this thick curtain of darkness is made by the path knowledge of the Stream-winner.

As a side-light, we may cite an episode from the lives of the Ven­erables Sàriputta and Mahà Mog­galàna, the two chief disci­ples of the Buddha. Formerly, as brahmin youths, they were known as Upa­tissa and Kolita. These two young men once went to see a hill-top festival, called giraggasamajja.[34] Since by then, their discerning wis­dom was already matured, they suddenly developed a dejection about the entertainment going on. The hill-top festival, as it were, lost its festivity for them. They un­der­stood the vanity of it and could no longer enjoy it as before.

They may have already had a distant glimpse of the similarity be­tween the two levels of experi­ence, mentioned above. But they on their own could not get at the principles underlying the delusion in­volved.

Much later, as a wandering ascetic, when Upatissa met the Ven­erable Assaji Thera on his alms-round, he begged the latter to preach the Dhamma to him. Venerable Assaji said: "I know only a lit­tle". Upatissa also assured him: "I need only a little". Venerable Assaji preached `a little' and Upatissa, too, heard `a lit­tle', but since there was much in it, the latter attained the Fruit of Stream-winning even on hearing the first two lines of the fol­lowing verse:

Ye dhammà hetuppabhavà,

tesam hetuü Tathàgato àha,

tesa¤ca yo nirodho,

evaü vàdi mahàsamaõo.[35]

"Of things that proceed from a cause,

Their cause the Tathàgata has told,

And also their cessation,

Thus teaches the great ascetic."

The verse gives in a nutshell the law of dependent arising. From it, Upatissa got the clue to his rid­dle of life.

Some interpret the word hetu, cause, in this verse, as avijjà, or ig­norance, the first link. But that is not the case. It refers to the basic principle known as idappaccayatà, the relatedness of this to that.[36] Hetup­pabhavà dhammà is a reference to things dependently arisen. In point of fact, it is said about a Stream-winner that he has seen well the cause as well as the things arisen from a cause: Hetu ca sudiñ­ñho, hetusamuppanà ca dham­mà.[37] That means that he has seen the law of dependent aris­ing as also the dependently arisen phenomena.

We have already discussed the significance of these two terms.[38] What is called pañicca samuppàda is the basic principle itself. It is said that the wandering ascetic Upatissa was able to arouse the path of Stream-winning on hearing just the first two lines,[39] and these state the basic principle as such.

The word tesaü, plural, clearly implies that the reference is to all the twelve factors, inclusive of ignorance. The cessation, also, is of those twelve, as for instance it is said in the Udàna: Khayaü pac­cayànaü avedi,[40] "understood the cessation of conditions", since all the twelve are conditions.

To sum up: Whatever phenomena that arise from a cause, their cause is idappaccayatà, or the law of relatedness of this to that.

This being, this exists,

With the arising of this, this arises.

This not be­ing, this does not exist,

With the cessation of this, this ceases.

And then the cessation of things arisen from a cause is ulti­mately Nibbàna itself. That is the impli­cation of the oft recurrent phrase avij­jàya tveva asesaviràganirodhà,[41] "with the complete fad­ing away and ces­sation of that very ignorance".

So then, from this discussion it should be clear that our illus­tra­tion with the help of the simile of the cinema and the theatre is of much relevance to an understanding of the law of depend­ent arising. With this much, we shall wind up today.    

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