Nibbàna Sermon 07

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..[i]

"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 the last sermon we happened to quote a certain verse from the Ke­vaó­óhasutta of the Dãgha Nikàya. The verse runs as follows:

Vi¤¤àõaü anidassanaü,

anantaü sabbato pabhaü,

ettha àpo ca pañhavã,

tejo vàyo na gàdhati,

ettha dãgha¤ca rassa¤ca,

aõuü thålaü subhàsubhaü,

ettha nàma¤ca råpa¤ca,

asesaü uparujjhati,

vi¤¤àõassa nirodhena,

etth'etaü uparujjhati.[ii]

The other day, we could give only a general idea of the mean­ing of this verse in brief, because of the question of time. Today, we pro­pose to attempt a detailed explanation of it. To start with, we pur­posely avoid rendering the first two lines, which appear as the crux of the whole verse. Taking those two lines as they are, we could paraphrase the verse as follows:

It is in a consciousness, that is anidassana, ananta, and sab­bato pabha, that earth, water, fire, and air do not find a footing. It is in this consciousness that long and short, fine and coarse, and pleasant and unpleasant, as well as name-and-form, are kept in check. It is by the cessation of consciousness that all these are held in check.

Let us now try to sort out the meaning of the difficult words in the first two lines. First of all, in the expression vi¤¤àõaü anidassanaü, there is the term anidassana. The meaning of the word nidassana is fairly well known. It means `illustration'. Some­thing that `throws light on' or `makes clear' is called nidas­sana. This is the basic sense.

We find an instance of the use of this word, even in this basic sense, in the first Kosalasutta among the Tens of the Aïguttara Ni­kàya. It is in connection with the description of abhibhàyatanà, bases of mastery, where there is a reference to contemplation devices known as kasiõa. It is said that even the flax flower can be used ini­tially as a sign for kasiõa meditation. A flax flower is described in the following words: Umàpupphaü nãlaü nãla­vaõ­õaü nãlanidas­sanaü nãlanibhàsaü,[iii] which may be ren­dered as: "The flax flower, blue, blue-coloured, manifesting blue, shining blue". Nãlanidassanaü suggests that the flax flower is an illus­tration of blue colour, or that it is a manifestation of blue. Ani­dassana could therefore be said to refer to whatever does not manifest anything.

In fact, we have a very good example in support of this sug­gested sense in the Kakacåpamasutta of the Majjhima Nikàya. There we find the Buddha putting a certain question to the monks in order to bring out a simile: "Monks, suppose a man comes with crimson, tur­meric, indigo or carmine and says: `I shall draw pictures and make pictures appear on the sky!' What do you think, monks, could that man draw pictures and make pictures appear there?" Then the monks reply: Aya¤hi, bhante, àkàso aråpã anidassano. Tattha na sukaraü råpaü likhituü, råpapàtubhàvaü kàtuü.[iv] "This sky, Lord, is imma­te­rial and non-illustrative. It is not easy to draw a picture there or make mani­fest pictures there."

Here we have the words in support of the above suggested mean­ing. The sky is said to be aråpã anidassano, immaterial and non-il­lustrative. That is why one cannot draw pictures there or make pic­tures appear there. There is nothing material in the sky to make mani­fest pictures. That is, the sense in which it is called anidassano in this context.

Let us now see how meaningful that word is, when used with ref­erence to consciousness as vi¤¤àõaü anidassanaü. Why the sky is said to be non-manifestative we could easily understand by the sim­ile. But how can consciousness become non-manifes­tative? First and foremost we can remind ourselves of the fact that our consciousness has in it the ability to reflect. That ability is called paccavekkhana, `looking back'. Sometimes the Buddha has given the simile of the mirror with reference to this ability, as for instance in the Ambalat­thikàRàhulovàdasutta of the Maj­jhima Nikàya.[v] In the ânandasutta of the Khandhasaüyutta, also, he has used the simile of the mirror.[vi] In the former sutta preached to Venerable Ràhula the Buddha uses the simile of the mirror to stress the importance of reflection in re­gard to bodily, verbal, and mental action.

In our last sermon, we gave a simile of a dog crossing a plank over a stream and looking at its own reflection in the water.[vii] That, too, is a kind of reflection. But from that we can deduce a certain principle with regard to the question of reflection, name­ly, that the word stands for a mode of becoming deluded as well as a mode of getting rid of the delusion. What creates a de­lusion is the way that dog is repeatedly looking down from his own point of view on the plank to see a dog in the water. That is un­wise reflection born of non-radical attention, ayoniso manasi­kàra. Under the influence of the personality view, sakkàyadiññhi, it goes on looking at its own im­age, wagging its tail and growl­ing. But wise reflection born of radi­cal attention, yoniso manasi­kàra, is what is recommended in the Am­balatthikàRàhulovàda­sutta with its thematic repetitive phrase pac­cavekkhitvà, pac­ca­vekkhitvà,[viii] "reflecting again and again".

Wise reflection inculcates the Dhamma point of view. Reflec­tion based on right view, sammà diññhi, leads to deliverance. So this is the twin aspect of reflection. But this we mention by the way. The point we wish to stress is that consciousness has in it the nature of reflect­ing something, like a mirror.

Now vi¤¤àõaü anidassanaü is a reference to the nature of the released consciousness of an arahant. It does not reflect any­thing. To be more precise, it does not reflect a nàma-råpa, or name-and-form. An ordinary individual sees a nàma-råpa, when he reflects, which he calls `I' and `mine'. It is like the reflection of that dog, which sees its own delusive reflection in the water. A non-arahant, upon reflection, sees name-and-form, which how­ever he mistakes to be his self. With the notion of `I' and `mine' he falls into delusion with regard to it. But the arahant's con­scious­ness is an unestablished consciousness.

We have already mentioned in previous sermons about the estab­lished consciousness and the unestablished conscious­ness.[ix] A non-ara­hant's consciousness is established on name-and-form. The unestablished consciousness is that which is free from name-and-form and is unestablished on name-and-form. The established con­sciousness, upon reflection, reflects name-and-form, on which it is established, whereas the unestablished consciousness does not find a name-and-form as a reality. The arahant has no attachments or en­tanglements in regard to name-and-form. In short, it is a sort of pene­tration of name-and-form, without getting entangled in it. This is how we have to un­ravel the meaning of the expression anidassana vi¤¤àõa.

By way of further clarification of this sense of anidassana, we may remind ourselves of the fact that manifestation requires some­thing material. That is obvious even from that simile picked up at random from the Kakacåpamasutta. As for the con­sciousness of the arahant, the verse in question makes it clear that earth, water, fire, and air do not find a footing there. It is be­cause of these four great primaries that one gets a perception of form. They are said to be the cause and condition for the desig­nation of the aggregate of form: Cat­tàro kho, bhikkhu, mahà­bhåtà hetu, cattàro mahàbhåtà paccayo råpakkhandhassa pa¤¤à­panàya.[x] "The four great primaries, monk, are the cause and con­dition for the designation of the form group".

Now the arahant has freed his mind from these four ele­ments. As it is said in the Dhàtuvibhaïgasutta: Pañhavãdhàtuyà cittaü vi­ràjeti,[xi] "he makes his mind dispassionate with regard to the earth-element". âpodhàtuyà cittaü viràjeti, "he makes his mind dispas­sionate with regard to the water-element". As he has freed his mind from the four elements through disenchantment, which makes them fade away, the arahant's reflection does not engender a perception of form. As the verse in question puts it rather rhetorically, ettha àpo ca pañhavã, tejo vàyo na gàdhati, "herein water and earth, fire and air find no footing".

Here the word gàdhati is particularly significant. When, for in­stance, we want to plumb the depth of a deep well, we lower some­thing material as a plumb into the well. Where it comes to stay, we take as the bottom. In the consciousness of the arahant, the material elements cannot find such a footing. They cannot manifest them­selves in that unplumbed depth of the arahant's consciousness.

Vi¤¤àõaü anidassanaü,

anantaü sabbato pabhaü,

ettha àpo ca pañhavã,

tejo vàyo na gàdhati.

"Consciousness, which is non-manifestative,

Endless and lustrous on all sides,

It is here that water, earth,

Fire, and air no footing find."

It is precisely because the material elements cannot make them­selves manifest in it, that this consciousness is called `non-manifes­tative'. In the same connection we may add that such distinctions as long and short, fine and coarse, and pleasant and unpleasant are not registered in that consciousness, because they pertain to things mate­rial. When the consciousness is freed from the four elements, it is also free from the relative distinc­tions, which are but the standards of measurements proper to those elements.

Let us now consider the implications of the term anantaü - `end­less', `infinite'. We have already said something about the plumbing of the depth of waters. Since the material elements have faded away in that consciousness, they are unable to plumb its depth. They no longer serve as an `index' to that conscious­ness. Therefore, that con­sciousness is endless or infinite.

It is endless also in another sense. With regard to such dis­tinc­tions as `long' and `short' we used the word `relative'. These are relative concepts. We even refer to them as conjoined pairs of terms. In worldly usage they are found conjoined as `long and short', `fine and coarse', `pleasant and unpleasant'. There is a di­chotomy about these concepts, there is a bifurcation. It is as if they are put within a rigid framework.

When, for instance, we go searching for a piece of wood for some purpose or other, we may say: "This piece of wood is too long". Why do we say so? Because we are in need of a shorter one. Instead of saying that it is not `sufficiently' short, we say it is too long. When we say it is too short, what we mean is that it is not sufficiently long. So then, long and short are relevant within one framework. As a mat­ter of fact, all measurements are relative to some scale or other. They are meaningful within some framework of a scale.

In this sense, too, the worldling's way of thinking has a ten­dency to go to extremes. It goes to one extreme or the other. When it was said that the world, for the most part, rests on a di­chotomy, such as that between the two views `Is' and `Is not',[xii] this idea of a frame­work is already implicit. The worldling's ways of thought `end-up' in one extreme or the other within this framework. The arahant tran­scends it, his consciousness is, therefore, endless, ananta.

There is a verse in the Pàñaligàmiyavagga of the Udàna, which clearly brings out this fact. Most of the discourses in that section of the Udàna deal with Nibbàna - Nibbànapañisaüyutta - and the fol­lowing verse, too, is found in such a discourse.

Duddasaü anantaü nàma,

na hi saccaü sudassanaü,

pañividdhà taõhà jànato,

passato natthi ki¤canaü.[xiii]

This verse, like many other deep ones, seems to have puzzled the commentators. Let alone the meaning, even the variant read­ings had posed them a problem, so much so that they end up giving the reader a choice between alternate interpretations. But let us try to get at the general trend of its meaning.

Duddasaü anantaü nàma, "hard to see is the endless" - what­ever that `endless' be. Na hi saccaü sudassanaü, "the truth is not easily seen", which in effect is an emphatic assertion of the same idea. One could easily guess that this `endless' is the truth and that it refers to Nibbàna. Pañividdhà taõhà means that "crav­ing has been penetrated through". This penetration is through knowledge and wisdom, the outcome of which is stated in the last line. Janato passato natthi ki¤­canaü, "to one who know and sees there is NOTHING". The idea is that when craving is pene­trated through with knowledge and wis­dom, one realizes the voidness of the world. Obviously, the reference here is to Nib­bàna.

The entire verse may now be rendered as follows:

"Hard to see is the Endless,

Not easy `tis to see the truth,

Pierced through is craving,

And naught for him who knows and sees."

The commentator, however, is at a loss to determine whether the correct reading is anataü or anantaü and leaves the ques­tion open. He gives one interpretation in favour of the reading anataü.[xiv] To show its justifiability he says that natà is a syno­nym for taõhà, or craving, and that anataü is a term for Nib­bàna, in the sense that there is no craving in it. It must be pointed out that it is nati and not natà that is used as a synonym for taõhà.

Anyway, after adducing reasons for the acceptability of the read­ing anataü, he goes on to say that there is a variant read­ing, anan­taü, and gives an interpretation in support of it too. In fact, he inter­prets the word anantaü in more than one sense. Firstly, because Nib­bàna is permanent, it has no end. And sec­ondly it is endless be­cause it is immeasurable, or appamàõa.

In our interpretation of the word anantaü we have not taken it in the sense of permanence or everlastingness. The word ap­pamàõa, or immeasurable, can have various nuances. But the one we have stres­sed is the transcendence of relative concepts, limited by their di­choto­mous nature. We have also alluded to the unplumbed depth of the arahant's consciousness, in which the four elements do not find a footing.

In the Buddhavagga of the Dhammapada we come across an­other verse which highlights the extraordinary significance of the word an­antaü.

Yassa jàlinã visattikà,

taõhà natthi kuhi¤ci netave,

taü Buddham anantagocaraü,

apadaü kena padena nessatha?[xv]

Before attempting a translation of this verse, some of the words in it have to be commented upon. Yassa jàlinã visattikà. Jàlinã is a syno­nym for craving. It means one who has a net or one who goes net­ting. Visattikà refers to the agglutinative char­acter of craving. It keeps worldlings glued to objects of sense. The verse may be ren­dered as follows:

"He who has no craving, with nets in and agglutinates to lead him somewhere - by what track could that Awakened One of in­finite range be led - trackless as he is?"

Because the Buddha is of infinite range, he is trackless. His path cannot be traced. Craving wields the net of name-and-form with its glue when it goes ranging. But since the Awakened One has the `endless' as his range, there is no track to trace him by.

The term anantagocaraü means one whose range has no end or limit. If, for instance, one chases a deer, to catch it, one might suc­ceed at least at the end of the pasture. But the Buddha's range is end­less and his `ranging' leaves no track.

The commentators seem to interpret this term as a reference to the Buddha's omniscience - to his ability to attend to an infi­nite number of objects.[xvi] But this is not the sense in which we in­terpret the term here. The very fact that there is `no object' makes the Buddha's range endless and untraceable. Had there been an object, craving could have netted him in. In support of this interpretation, we may allude to the following couple of verses in the Arahantavagga of the Dhammapada.

Yesaü sannicayo natthi,

ye pari¤¤àta bhojanà,

su¤¤ato animitto ca,

vimokkho yesa gocaro,

àkàse va sakuntànaü,

gati tesaü durannayà.

Yassàsavà parikkhãõà,

àhàre ca anissito,

su¤¤àto animitto ca,

vimokkho yassa gocaro,

àkàse va sakuntànaü,

padaü tassa durannayaü.[xvii]

Both verses express more or less the same idea. Let us exam­ine the meaning of the first verse. The first two lines are: Yesaü sanni­cayo natthi, ye pari¤¤àta bhojanà. "Those who have no ac­cumula­tion and who have comprehended their food". The words used here are charged with deep meanings. Verses in the Dham­ma­pada are very often rich in imagery. The Buddha has on many occasions pre­sented the Dhamma through deep simi­les and metaphors. If the meta­phorical sense of a term is ig­nored, one can easily miss the point.

For instance, the word sannicaya, in this context, which we have rendered as `accumulation', is suggestive of the heaping up of the five aggregates. The word upacaya is sometimes used with reference to this process of heaping up that goes on in the minds of the world­lings.[xviii] Now this heaping up, as well as the ac­cumulation of kamma, is not there in the case of an arahant. Also, they have comprehended their food. The comprehension of food does not mean simply the usual reflection on food in terms of elements. Nor does it imply just one kind of food, but all the four nutriments mentioned in the Dham­ma, namely kabaëiïkàràhàra, material food, phassa, contact, mano­sa¤cetanà, volition, and vi¤¤àõa, consciousness.[xix]

The next two lines tell us what the true range or pasture of the arahants is. It is an echo of the idea of comprehension of food as well as the absence of accumulation. Su¤¤ato animitto ca, vimokkho yesa gocaro, "whose range is the deliverance of the void and the signless". When the arahants are in their attain­ment to the fruit of arahant-hood, their minds turn towards the void and the signless. When they are on this feeding-ground, neither Màra nor craving can catch them with their nets. They are trackless - hence the last two lines àkàse va sakuntànaü, gati tesa durannayà, "their track is hard to trace, like that of birds in the sky".

The word gati in this last line is interpreted by the commen­tators as a reference to the `whereabouts' of the arahants after their pari­nibbàna.[xx] It has dubious associations of some place as a destina­tion. But in this context, gati does not lend itself to such an interpre­tation. It only refers to their mental compass, which is untraceable, because of their deliverance trough the void and the signless.

The next verse also bring out this idea. Yassàsavà parikkhãõà, àhàre ca anissito, "whose influxes are extinct and who is unat­tached in regard to nutriment". Su¤¤àto animitto ca, vimokkho yassa go­caro, "whose range is the void and the signless". âkàse va sakun­tànaü, padaü tassa durannayaü, "his path is hard to trace, like that of birds in the sky". This reminds us of the last line of the verse quoted earlier, apadaü kena padena nessatha, "by what track could one lead him, who is trackless"?[xxi] These two verses, then, throw more light on the meaning of the ex­pression anantagocara - of infi­nite range - used as an epithet for the Awakened One.

Let us now get at the meaning of the term sabbato pabham, in the context vi¤¤àõaü anidassanaü, anantaü sabbato pabhaü.[xxii] In our discussion of the significance of the drama and the cin­ema we men­tioned that it is the darkness in the background which keeps the audi­ence entranced in a way that they identify themselves with the char­acters and react accordingly.[xxiii] The dark­ness in the background throws a spell of delusion. That is what makes for `enjoyment'.

Of course, there is some sort of light in the cinema hall. But that is very limited. Some times it is only a beam of light, di­rected on the screen. In a previous sermon we happened to mention that even in the case of a matinee show, dark curtains and closed doors and win­dows ensure the necessary dark back­ground.[xxiv] Here, in this simile, we have a clue to the meaning sab­bato pabhaü, luminous or lustrous on all sides. Suppose a mati­nee show is going on and one is enjoying it, entranced and de­luded by it. Suddenly doors and windows are flung open and the dark curtains are removed. Then immediately one slips out of the cinema world. The film may go on, but because of the light coming from all sides, the limited illumination on the screen fades away, before the total illumination. The film thereby loses its enjoyable quality.

As far as consciousness, or vi¤¤àõa, is concerned, it is not some­thing completely different from wisdom, pa¤¤à, as it is de­fined in the Mahàvedallasutta. However, there is also a differ­ence between them, pa¤¤à bhàvetabbà, vi¤¤àõaü pari¤¤eyyaü, "wisdom is to be developed, consciousness is to be compre­hended".[xxv] Here it is said that one has to comprehend the nature of consciousness.

Then one may ask: `We are understanding everything with con­sciousness, so how can one understand consciousness?' But the Bud­dha has shown us the way of doing it. Wisdom, when it is developed, enables one to comprehend consciousness. In short, consciousness is as narrow as that beam of light falling on the cinema screen. That is to say, the specifically prepared con­sciousness, or the consciousness crammed up in name-and-form, as in the case of the non-arahant. It is as narrow as the perspective of the audience glued to the screen. The conscious­ness of the ordinary worldling is likewise limited and committed.

Now what happens when it is fully illuminated on all sides with wisdom? It becomes sabbato pabhaü, lustrous an all sides. In that lustre, which comes from all sides, the framework of ig­norance fades away. It is that released consciousness, free from the dark framework of ignorance, that is called the conscious­ness which is lustrous on all sides, in that cryptic verse in ques­tion. This lustre, associated with wisdom, has a special signifi­cance according to the discourses. In the Catukkanipàta of the Aïguttara Nikàya we come across the follow­ing sutta:

Catasso imà, bhikkhave, pabhà. Katamà catasso? Candappa­bhà, suriyappabhà, aggippabhà, pa¤¤àpabhà. Imà kho, bhikkhave, ca­tasso pabhà. Etad aggaü, bhikkhave, imàsaü catunnaü pa­bhànaü yadidaü pa¤¤àpabhà. [xxvi] "Monks, there are these four lus­tres. Which four? The lustre of the moon, the lustre of the sun, the lustre of fire, and the lustre of wisdom. These, monks, are the four lustres. This, monks, is the highest among these four lustres, namely the lustre of wisdom."

Another important discourse, quoted quite often, though not al­ways correctly interpreted, is the following:

Pabhassaram idaü, bhikkhave, cittaü. Ta¤ca kho àgantukehi upakkilesehi upakkiliññhaü. Taü assutavà puthujjano yathà­bhåtaü nappajànàti. Tasmà assutavato puthujjanassa citta bhà­vanà natthã'ti vadàmi.

Pabhassaram idaü, bhikkhave, cittaü. Ta¤ca kho àgantukehi upakkilesehi vippamuttaü. Taü sutavà ariyasàvako yathàbhåtaü pajànàti. Tasmà sutavato ariyasàvakassa citta bhàvanà atthã'ti va­dàmi.[xxvii]

"This mind, monks, is luminous, but it is defiled by extrane­ous defilements. That, the uninstructed ordinary man does not understand as it is. Therefore, there is no mind development for the ordinary man, I declare.

This mind, monks, is luminous, but it is released from extra­neous defilements. That, the instructed noble disciple under­stands as it is. Therefore, there is mind development for the in­structed noble disci­ple, I declare."

It is sufficiently clear, then, that the allusion is to the lumi­nous mind, the consciousness of the arahant, which is non-manifestative, infinite, and all lustrous. To revert to the analogy of the cinema which, at least in a limited sense, helps us to form an idea about it, we have spoken about the stilling of all prepara­tions.[xxviii] Now in the case of the film, too, there is a stilling of prepa­rations. That is to say, the preparations which go to make it a `movie' film are `stilled'. The multicoloured dresses of ac­tors and actresses become colourless be­fore that illumination, even in the case of a technicolour film. The scenes on the screen get blurred before the light that suddenly envel­ops them.

And what is the outcome of it? The preparations going on in the minds of the audience, whether induced by the film produc­ers or aroused from within, are calmed down at least temporar­ily. This symbolizes, in a limited sense, the significance of the phrase sab­ba­saïkhàrasamatha, the stilling of all preparations.

Then what about the relinquishment of all assets, sab­båpadhi­pañinissagga? In the context of the film show, it is the bundle of ex­periences coming out of one's `vested-interests' in the marvel­lous cinema world. These assets are relinquished at least for the moment. Destruction of craving, taõhakkhayo, is momentarily experienced with regard to the blurred scenes on the screen.

As to the term viràga, we have already shown that it can be un­derstood in two senses, that is, dispassion as well as the fad­ing away which brings about the dispassion.[xxix] Now in this case, too, the fading away occurred, not by any other means, but by the very fact that the limited narrow beam of consciousness got superseded by the unlim­ited light of wisdom.

Nirodha means cessation, and the film has now ceased to be a film, though the machines are still active. We have already men­tioned that in the last analysis a film is produced by the audi­ence.[xxx] So its cessation, too, is a matter for the audience. This, then, is the cessation of the film.

Now comes Nibbàna, extinction or extinguishment. Whatever heated emotions and delirious excitements that arose out of the film show cooled down, at least momentarily, when the illumina­tion takes over. This way we can form some idea, somewhat in­ferentially, about the meaning and significance of the term sab­bato pabhaü, with the help of this illustration based on the film show.

So now we have tackled most of the difficulties to the inter­preta­tion of this verse. In fact, it is the few words occurring in the first two lines that has posed an insoluble problem to schol­ars both east­ern and western. We have not yet given the com­mentarial interpreta­tion, and that, not out of disrespect for the venerable commentators. It is because their interpretation is rather hazy and inconclusive. How­ever, we shall be presenting that interpretation at the end of this discussion, so as to give the reader an opportunity to compare it with ours.

But for the present, let us proceed to say something about the last two lines as well. Vi¤¤àõassa nirodhena, etth'etaü upa­rujjhati. As we saw above, for all practical purposes, name-and-form seem to cease, even like the fading away of the scenes on the cinema screen. Then what is meant by this phrase vi¤¤àõas­sa nirodhena, with the cessation of consciousness? The refer­ence here is to that abhisaï­khata vi¤¤àõa, or the specifi­cally prepared consciousness. It is the cessation of that con­cocted type of consciousness which was for­merly there, like the one di­rected on the cinema screen by the audi­ence. With the cessation of that specifically prepared consciousness, all con­stituents of name-and-form are said to be held in check, upa­ruj­jhati.

Here, too, we have a little problem. Generally, nirujjhati and upa­rujjhati are regarded as synonymous. The way these two verbs are used in some suttas would even suggest that they mean the same thing. As a matter of fact, even the CåëaNiddesa, which is a very old commentary, paraphrases uparujjhati by ni­rujjhati: uparujjhatã'ti nirujjhati.[xxxi]

Nevertheless, in the context of this particular verse, there seems to be something deep involved in the distinction between these two verbs. Even at a glance, the two lines in question are suggestive of some distinction between them. Vi¤¤àõassa ni­rodhena, etth'etaü uparujjhati, the nirodha of consciousness is said to result in the upa­rodha of whatever constitutes name-and-form. This is intriguing enough.

But that is not all. By way of preparing the background for the discussion, we have already made a brief allusion to the cir­cum­stances in which the Buddha uttered this verse.[xxxii] What pro­vided the context for its utterance was a riddle that occurred to a certain monk in a moment of fancy. The riddle was: `Where do these four great primaries cease altogether?' There the verb used is nirujjhanti.[xxxiii] So in order to find where they cease, he whimsically went from heaven to heaven and from Brahma-world to Brahma-world. As we men­tioned earlier, too, it was when the Mahà Brahma directed that monk to the Buddha, say­ing: `Why `on earth' did you come all this way when the Buddha is there to ask?', that the Buddha reworded the question. He pointed out that the question was incorrectly worded and re­vised it as follows, before venturing to answer it:

Kattha àpo ca pañhavã,

tejo vàyo na gàdhati,

kattha dãgha¤ca rassa¤ca,

aõuü thålaü subhàsubhaü,

kattha nàma¤ca råpa¤ca,

asesaü uparujjhati? [xxxiv]

The word used by the Buddha in this revised version is upa­ruj­jhati and not nirujjhati. Yet another innovation is the use of the term na gàdhati. Where do water, earth, fire, and air find no footing? Or where do they not get established? In short, here is a word suggestive of plumbing the depth of a reservoir. We may hark back to the simile given earlier, concerning the plumbing of the consciousness with the perception of form. Where do the four elements not find a footing? Also, where are such relative distinctions as long and short, subtle and gross, pleasant and unpleasant, as well as name-and-form, com­pletely held in check?

In this restatement of the riddle, the Buddha has purposely avoided the use of the verb nirujjhati. Instead, he had recourse to such terms as na gàdhati, `does not find a footing', `does not plumb', and uparujjhati, `is held in check', or `is cut off'. This is evidence enough to infer that there is a subtle distinction be­tween the nuances associated with the two verbs nirujjhati and uparujjhati.

What is the secret behind this peculiar usage? The problem that occurred to this monk is actually of the type that the mate­rialists of today conceive of. It is, in itself, a fallacy. To say that the four ele­ments cease somewhere in the world, or in the uni­verse, is a contra­diction in terms. Why? Because the very ques­tion: `Where do they cease?', presupposes an answer in terms of those elements, by way of defining that place. This is the kind of uncouth question an ordi­nary materially inclined person would ask.

That is why the Buddha reformulated the question, saying: `Monk, that is not the way to put the question. You should not ask `where' the four great primaries cease, but rather where they, as well as the concepts of long and short, subtle and gross, pleasant and un­pleasant, and name-and-form, are held in check.' The question proper is not where the four great primaries cease, but where they do not get established and where all their ac­companiments are held in check.

Here, then, we see the Buddha relating the concept of matter, which the world takes for granted, to the perception of form aris­ing in the mind. The four great primaries haunt the minds of the world­lings like ghosts, so they have to be exorcised from their minds. It is not a question of expelling them from this world, or from any heav­enly realm, or the entire world-system. That exor­cism should take place in this very consciousness, so as to put an end to this haunting.

Before the light of wisdom those ghosts, namely the four great primaries, become ineffective. It is in the darkness of igno­rance that these ghosts haunt the worldlings with the perception of form. They keep the minds of the worldlings bound, glued, committed and lim­ited. What happens now is that the specifi­cally prepared conscious­ness, which was bound, glued, commit­ted and limited, becomes fully released, due to the light of wis­dom, to become non-manifestative, endless, and lustrous on all sides. So, to sum up, we may render the verse in question as fol­lows:

"Consciousness, which is non-manifestative,

Endless, lustrous on all sides,

Here it is that earth and water,

Fire and air no footing find,

Here it is that long and short,

Fine and coarse, pleasant, unpleasant,

And name-and-form,

Are cut off without exception,

When consciousness has surceased,

These are held in check herein."

Though we ventured to translate the verse, we have not yet given the commentarial interpretation of it. Since this might seem a short­coming, we shall now present what the commenta­tor has to say on this verse.

Venerable Buddhaghosa, before coming to this verse in his com­mentary to the Kevaóóhasutta, gives an explanation as to why the Buddha reformulated the original question of that monk. According to him, the question: `Where do the four great primaries cease?', im­plied both the organic and the inorganic aspects of matter, and in re­vising it, the Buddha limited its scope to the organic. In other words, Venerable Buddhaghosa pre­sumes that the revised version has to be interpreted with refer­ence to this human body. Hence he explains such words as `long' and `short', occurring in the verse, in a limited sense as re­ferring to the body's stature. How facile this interpretation turns out to be, one can easily discern as we go on.

Venerable Buddhaghosa keeps on reminding the reader that the questions are relevant only to the organic realm, upàdinnaü yeva sandhàya pucchati. [xxxv] So he interprets the terms dãgha¤ca rassa¤ca, long and short, as relative distinctions of a person's height, that is tallness and shortness. Similarly, the words aõuü thålaü, subtle and gross, are said to mean the small and big in the size of the body. Like­wise subha and asubhaü are taken to refer to the comely and the ugly in terms of body's appearance.

The explanation given to the phrase nàma¤ca råpa¤ca is the most astounding of all. Nàma is said to be the name of the per­son and råpa is his form or shape. All this goes to show that the commentator has gone off at a tangent, even in the interpreta­tion of this verse, which is more or less the prologue to such an intricate verse as the one in ques­tion. He has blundered at the very outset in limiting the scope of those relative terms to the organic, thereby obscuring the meaning of that deep verse.

The significance of these relative terms, from the linguistic point of view, has been overlooked. Words like dãghaü/rassaü and aõuü/ thålaü do not refer to the stature and size of some person. What they convey is the dichotomous nature of concepts in the world. All those deeper implications are obscured by the reference to a person's out­ward appearance. The confusion be­comes worse con­founded, when nàma¤ca råpa¤ca is interpreted as the name and the shape of a per­son. So the stage is already set for a shallow interpre­tation, even be­fore presenting the verse beginning with vi¤¤àõaü anidassanaü.

It is on such an unsound premise that the commentator bases his interpretation of the verse in question. We shall try to do jus­tice to that exposition, too. It might necessitate a fair amount of quotations, though it is difficult to be comprehensive in this re­spect.

The commentator begins his exposition with the word vi¤¤àõaü itself. He comes out with a peculiar etymology: Vi¤¤àõan'ti tattha vi¤¤àtabbanti vi¤¤àõaü nibbànassa nàmaü, which means that the word vi¤¤àõa, or consciousness, is in this context a synonym for Nibbàna, in the sense that it is `to be known', vi¤¤àtabbaü. This forced etymology is far from con­vincing, since such a usage is not attested elsewhere. Moreover, we come across a long list of epithets for Nibbàna, as many as thirty-three, in the Asaïkhatasaüyutta of the Saüyutta Nikàya, but vi¤¤àõa is not counted as one.[xxxvi] In fact, no­where in the dis­courses is vi¤¤àõa used as a synonym for Nibbàna.

Next, he takes up the word anidassana, and makes the fol­lowing comment: Tad etaü nidassanàbhàvato anidassanaü, that Nibbàna is called anidassana because no illustration for it could be given. The idea is that it has nothing to compare with. Then comes the explana­tion of the word anantaü. According to the commentator Nibbàna is called ananta, endless, because it has neither the arising-end, up­pàdanto, nor the falling-end, vayanto, nor the otherwiseness of the persisting-end, ñhitassa a¤¤athatta. Strangely enough, even the last mentioned middle-state is counted as an `end' in the commentators concept of three ends. So this is the substance of his commentary to the first three words vi¤¤àõaü, anidassanaü, anantaü.

The commentarial interpretation of the term sabbato pabhaü is even more confusing. The word pabhà is explained as a syno­nym for papa, meaning `ford'. The bha element in the word, he explains, is a result of consonantal interchange with the original pa in papa. Pakà­rassa pana bhakàro kato. The idea is that the original form of this particular term for Nibbàna is sabbato pa­paü. The meaning attrib­uted to it is `with fords on all sides'. Nibbàna is supposed to be meta­phorically conceived as the ocean, to get down into which there are fords on all sides, namely the thirty-eight topics of meditation. This interpretation seems rather far fetched. It is as if the commen­tator has re­sorted to this simile of a ford, because he is already `in deep wa­ters'! The word pabhà, as it is, clearly means light, or radi­ance, and its association with wisdom is also well attested in the canon.

Though in his commentary to the Dãgha Nikàya Venerable Bud­dhaghosa advances the above interpretation, in his commen­tary to the Majjhima Nikàya he seems to have had second thoughts on the problem. In the Brahmanimantanikasutta of the Majjhima Nikàya, also, the first two lines of the verse, vi¤¤àõaü anidassanaü, anan­taü sabbato pabhaü, occur .[xxxvii] But here the commentator follows a dif­ferent line of interpretation. Whereas in his commentary to the Kevaóóhasutta he explains anidas­sanaü as an epithet of Nibbàna, in the sense of having nothing to compare with, here he takes it in the sense of not being visi­ble to the eye. Cakkhuvi¤¤àõassa àpàthaü anupagamanato ani­dassanaü nàma,[xxxviii] "it is called anidassana be­cause it does not come within the range of eye-consciousness".

In explaining the term sabbato pabhaü, he suggests several alter­native interpretations. In the first interpretation, he takes pabhà to mean light, or lustre. Sabbato pabhan'ti sabbato pabhà­sampannaü. Nibbànato hi a¤¤o dhammo sappabhataro và joti­vantataro và pari­suddhataro và paõóarataro và natthi. "Sabbato pabhaü means more lustrous than anything else. For there is nothing more lustrous or lu­minous or purer or whiter than Nib­bàna". In this interpretation Nib­bàna is even regarded as some­thing white in colour!

The etymology of the term sabbato pabhaü has been given a twist, for the word sabbato is taken in a comparative sense, `more lustrous than anything'. As we have pointed out, the term actu­ally means `lustrous on all sides'. Then a second interpretation is given, bringing in the word pabhå, `lord' or `chief'. Sabbato và pabhå, that is to say more prominent than anything else. In sup­port of it he says: Asukadisàya nàma nibbànaü natthã'ti na vat­tabbaü, "it should not be said that in such and such a direction Nibbàna is not to be found". He says that it is called pabhå, or lord, because it is to be found in all directions. Only as the third interpretation he cites his simile of the ford already given in his commentary to the Kevaóóhasutta.

What is the reason for giving so many figurative interpreta­tions as alternatives to such a significant verse? Surely the Bud­dha would not have intended the verse to convey so many con­flicting meanings, when he preached it.

No doubt the commentators have made a great effort to pre­serve the Dhamma, but due to some unfortunate historical cir­cumstances, most of the deep discourses dealing with the sub­ject of Nibbàna have been handed down without even a clue to the correct version among variant readings. This has left the commentators nonplussed, so much so that they had to give us several vague and alternative inter­pretations to choose from. It is up to us to decide, whether we should accept this position as it is, or try to improve on it by exploring any other possible means of explanation.

We had occasion to mention in our very first sermon that the Bud­dha himself has prophesied that those discourse which deal with voidness would, in time to come, go into disuse, with their deeper meanings obscured.[xxxix] The interpretations just quoted go to show that already the prediction has come true to a great ex­tent.

The phrase we quoted from the Brahmanimantanikasutta with its reference to anidassana vi¤¤àõa occurs in a context which has a sig­nificance of its own. The relevant paragraph, therefore, deserves some attention. It runs as follows:

Vi¤¤ànaü anidassanaü anantaü sabbato pabhaü, taü pañhaviyà pañhavittena ananubhåtaü, àpassa àpattena ananu­bhåtaü, tejassa tejattena ananubhåtaü, vàyassa vàyattena ana­nubhåtaü, bhåtànaü bhåtattena ananubhåtaü, devànaü devat­tena ananubhåtaü, pajà­patissa pajàpatittena ananubhåtaü, brahmànaü brahmattena an­anubhåtaü, àbhassarànaü àbhas­sarattena ananubhåtaü, subha­kiõhànaü subhakiõhattena ana­nubhåtaü, vehapphalànaü vehap­pha­latte ananubhåtaü, abhi­bhussa abhibhuttena ananubhåtaü, sab­bassa sabbattena ananu­bhåtaü.[xl]

"Consciousness which makes nothing manifest, infinite and all lustrous, it does not partake of the earthiness of earth, the wateriness of water, the fieriness of fire, the airiness of air, the creature-hood of creatures, the deva-hood of devas, the Pajàpati-hood of Pajàpati, the Brahma-hood of Brahma, the radiance of the Radiant Ones, the Subha­kiõha-hood of the Subhakiõha Brahmas, the Vehapphala-hood of the Vehapphala Brahmas, the overlord-ship of the overlord, and the all-ness of the all."

This peculiar paragraph, listing thirteen concepts, seems to con­vey something deep about the nature of the non-manifesta­tive con­sciousness. That consciousness does not partake of the earthiness of earth, the wateriness of water, the fieriness of fire, and the airiness of air. That is to say, the nature of the four ele­ments does not inhere in this consciousness, they do not mani­fest themselves in it. Similarly, the other concepts, like deva-hood, Brahma-hood, etc., which the worldlings take seriously as real, have no applicability or validity here.

The special significance of this assertion lies in the context in which the Buddha declared it. It is to dispel a wrong view that Baka the Brahma conceived, in regarding his Brahma status as permanent, ever lasting and eternal, that the Buddha made this declaration before that Brahma himself in the Brahma world. The whole point of the discourse, then, is to challenge the wrong view of the Brahma, by as­serting that the non-manifesta­tive consciousness of the arahant is above the worldly concepts of elements and divinity and the ques­tionable reality attributed to them. In other words, they do not mani­fest themselves in it. They are transcended.