TWELVE

SHAMATHA AND VIPASHYANA IN THE INDIAN BUDDHIST TRADITION

SHAMATHA

As a result of the genocide perpetrated against Buddhist cultures throughout Asia during the twentieth century at the hands of various communist regimes, all waving the ideological banner of scientific materialism, the very survival of Mahayana Buddhism in particular has been imperiled. Thus, for many of its followers, the preservation of the vitality of the Mahayana tradition in the modern world is of the highest priority. Outwardly, the creation of images of the Buddha, translations and publications of Buddhist teachings, and the building of stupas are ways of preserving representations of the Buddha’s body, speech, and mind. All such efforts are expressions of sincere devotion. On one occasion, Dromtönpa (1005–64), the principal Tibetan disciple of the great Indian Buddhist master Atisha, encountered a man engaging in various devotional practices. He responded, “It is very good to apply yourself to devotional practices, but it is even better to practice Dharma.”

To preserve their tradition, many Buddhists nowadays place their highest priority on teaching and studying Buddhist texts. When Dromtönpa next met with this same practitioner, he found him studiously learning Buddhist scriptures, to which Dromtönpa responded, “It is very good to study texts, but it is even better to practice Dharma.”

In order to preserve the true meaning of Buddhism, many sincere practitioners commit themselves to months or even years of meditation, practicing mindfulness many hours a day or engaging in three-year retreats in which they practice a wide variety of Vajrayana meditations. When Dromtönpa came across the above practitioner for a third time, he found him immersed in meditation, to which Dromtönpa replied, “It is very good to practice meditation, but it is even better to practice Dharma.” When the meditator finally asked how to do this, he responded, “Give up attachment to this life and let your mind become Dharma.”

The essential way to let one’s mind become Dharma is to realize authentic bodhichitta, the Sanskrit term for a bodhisattva’s altruistic aspiration to achieve perfect enlightenment for the sake of all sentient beings. Bodhichitta becomes irreversible in this and all future lifetimes when it is supported by the insights gained from the vipashyana practice of the four close applications of mindfulness, thus transforming “earthlike bodhichitta” into “goldlike bodhichitta.” With a foundation in shamatha, bodhichitta, and insight, Vajrayana practice may indeed lead to the realization of perfect enlightenment in one lifetime. But without such a basis in mental stability, compassion, and wisdom, the idea of buddha- hood in this or any other lifetime is nothing more than wishful thinking.

To realize authentic bodhichitta and become a bodhisattva, many of the greatest scholars in the Buddhist tradition have taught, the mind must first be made thoroughly serviceable for spiritual practice by achieving shamatha, specifically access to the first dhyana. Although there isn’t full consensus on this point, all agree that a mind heavily prone to the attentional imbalances of excitation and laxity is unfit to realize the sublime states of bodhichitta and vipashyana. So at least partial development of shamatha is essential for developing both.

The fundamental structure of Buddhist practice, common to all schools of Buddhism, consists of the three sequential phases of ethics, samadhi, and wisdom. Within the context of these “three higher trainings,” samadhi refers not only to the development of single-pointed attention but also to other aspects of mental development, including the four immeasurables, renunciation, and, in the Mahayana context, bodhichitta.

Among the Buddha’s teachings recorded in the Pali canon, the shamatha practice most commonly emphasized is mindfulness of the breath, particularly for people whose minds are heavily agitated by involuntary thoughts. Compared to Indians living at the time of the Buddha or nomadic Tibetans living today, most of us can greatly benefit from such practice, which is specifically designed for people like us! The Buddha said:

Just as in the last month of the hot season, when a mass of dust and dirt has swirled up and a great rain cloud out of season disperses it and quells it on the spot, so too concentration by mindfulness of the breath, when developed and cultivated, is peaceful and sublime, an ambrosial dwelling, and it disperses and quells on the spot unwholesome states whenever they arise.¹

The very nature of such practice not only helps to bring calm and joy to the mind but also helps to bolster our “psychological immune system,” making the mind less vulnerable to mental afflictions.

Shamatha practice that is not motivated by renunciation and bodhichitta may result in nothing more than a temporary alleviation of stress and agitation, and may even lead to self-centered complacency and unfortunate rebirths. With an authentic motivation, shamatha may actually enhance one’s renunciation and bodhichitta, kindling great inspiration for spiritual practice. Well-motivated practice that is focused on external activities of the body and speech, including prostrations, circumambulations, and recitation of mantras and liturgies, will have little benefit if the mind is distracted. As Bodhisattva Shantideva wrote, “The Omniscient One stated that all recitations and austerities, even though performed for a long time, are actually useless if the mind is on something else or is dull.”²

The structure of the Mahayana path consists of the six perfections of generosity, ethics, patience, enthusiasm, dhyana, and wisdom. The practice of shamatha is included in the cultivation of dhyana, and it is based on the prior development of the first four perfections. This highlights the importance of cultivating an ethical basis for practice and wholesome states of mind before seeking to achieve single-pointed concentration.

Roughly 1,500 years after the Buddha’s time, Atisha composed the first teachings on the stages of the path (Tib. lamrim), specifically for Tibetans. This structure, which was subsequently adopted by all schools of Tibetan Buddhism, begins with devotion to one’s spiritual mentor (Skt. guru yoga) and culminates in the practice of vipashyana. For traditional Tibetans, raised in a Buddhist culture, with deep faith and a sound understanding of Buddhism, guru yoga may well be practiced at the outset of the path for the sake of the many blessings such authentic practice brings. But in the modern secular world, an initial focus on guru yoga, especially with emphasis on the perfect qualities of the guru, can lead to many problems, a point that has been discussed frequently by H. H. the Dalai Lama. For people with little faith or understanding or those new to Buddhism, it may be best initially to focus upon the guru simply as a representative or emissary of the Buddha. As one ventures further in Mahayana practice, one may view one’s guru as if he or she were a buddha. Finally, on the basis of deep faith and understanding of the teachings on buddha nature and emptiness, one may focus on the Vajrayana practice of viewing one’s guru as an actual buddha, while simultaneously developing divine pride and pure perception of all phenomena.

While there are many methods for developing shamatha, each with its special advantages, two are particularly emphasized in the Mahamudra tradition because of their great advantages for fathoming the nature of consciousness. The teacher of the Tibetan translator and founder of the Kagyü lineage, Marpa (1012–97), was the eleventh-century Indian mahasiddha Maitripa; he describes the first method, which focuses on thoughts, as follows:

In relation to the excessive proliferation of conceptualization, including afflictions such as the five poisons or the three poisons, thoughts that revolve in subject-object duality, thoughts such as those of the ten virtues, the six perfections, or the ten perfections—whatever wholesome and unwholesome thoughts arise—steadily and nonconceptually observe their nature. By so doing, they are calmed in nongrasping; clear and empty awareness vividly arises, without grasping; and it arises in the nature of self-liberation, in which it recognizes itself. Again, direct the attention to whatever thoughts arise, and without acceptance or rejection, let it recognize its own nature. In this way, implement the practical instructions on transforming ideation into the path.³

Here are Maitripa’s instructions on the second method, which focuses on the absence of thoughts:

With the body possessing the seven attributes of Vairochana,⁴ sit upon a soft cushion in a solitary, darkened room. Vacantly direct the eyes into the intervening vacuity in front of you. See that the three conceptualizations of the past, future, and present, as well as wholesome, unwholesome, and ethically neutral thoughts, together with all the causes, assemblies, and dissolutions of thoughts of the three times are completely cut off. Bring no thoughts to mind. Let the mind, like a cloudless sky, be clear, empty, and evenly devoid of grasping, and settle it in utter vacuity. By doing so, the shamatha of joy, clarity, and non-conceptuality arises. Examine whether or not this entails attachment, hatred, clinging, grasping, laxity, or excitation, and recognize the difference between virtues and vices.⁵

There are two traditional approaches to the path. One entails first gaining a thorough understanding of Buddhist doctrine, including the view of emptiness, and devoting oneself to meditation on that basis. According to this tradition, one practices shamatha only after studying Maitreya’s treatise revealed to Asanga, the Ornament for Clear Realization,⁶ and practices vipashyana only after a careful study of Chandrakirti’s (fl. seventh c. C.E.) Supplement to the Middle Way.⁷ According to the second tradition, one may seek the view of emptiness on the basis of first achieving shamatha. In his text The Highway of the Jinas: A Root Text on the Precious Geluk-Kagyü Mahamudra Tradition, Panchen Lozang Chökyi Gyaltsen, tutor to the Fifth Dalai Lama, exemplifies the latter tradition when he gives the following quintessential shamatha teachings, in which he synthesizes the two methods cited by Maitripa:

Of the two approaches of seeking to meditate on the basis of the view and seeking the view on the basis of meditation, the following accords with the latter approach. On a comfortable cushion for the cultivation of meditative stabilization, assume the sevenfold posture and with the ninefold breathing clear out stale vital energies. Carefully distinguish between the radiant purity of awareness and its defilements, and with a pristinely virtuous mind begin by taking refuge and cultivating bodhichitta. Meditate on the profound path of guru yoga, and after making hundreds of heartfelt supplications, let the guru dissolve into yourself.

Do not modify the nature of evanescent appearances with thoughts such as hopes and fears, but rest for a while in unwavering meditative equipoise. This is not a state in which your attention is blanked out, as if you had fainted or fallen asleep. Rather, post the sentry of undistracted mindfulness and focus introspection on the movements of awareness. Focus closely on its nature of cognizance and luminosity, observing it nakedly. Whatever thoughts arise, recognize each one. Alternatively, like a participant in a duel, complete cut off any thoughts that arise; when there is stillness after they are banished, relax loosely, but without losing mindfulness. As it is said, “Focus closely and loosely relax—it is there that the mind is settled.” Relax without wandering, as the saying goes, “When the mind that is tangled up in busyness loosens up, it undoubtedly frees itself.”

Whenever thoughts arise, if their nature is observed, they naturally disappear and a clear vacuity arises. Likewise, if the mind is examined when it is still, a vivid, unobscured, luminous vacuity is perceived, and this is known as “the fusion of stillness and motion.” Whatever thoughts arise, do not block them, but recognizing their movements, focus on their nature—like a caged bird on a ship. Sustain your awareness as in the saying, “Like a raven that flies from a ship, circles around, and alights aboard once again.”

The nature of meditative equipoise is not obscured by anything, but is limpid and clear. Not established as anything physical, it is a clear vacuity like space. Allowing anything to arise, it is vividly awake. Such is the nature of the mind. This is superbly witnessed with direct perception, yet it cannot be grasped as “this” or demonstrated with words. “Whatever arises, rest loosely, without grasping”: nowadays, for the most part, contemplatives of Tibet uniformly proclaim this as practical advice for achieving enlightenment. However, I, Chökyi Gyaltsen, declare this to be an exceptionally skillful method for novices to achieve mental stability and to identify the relative nature of the mind.⁸

The relative nature of the mind is sheer luminosity and cognizance, which are the defining characteristics of consciousness. The Buddha also referred to this as the sign (Pali nimitta) of the mind. He declared that if one cultivates the four close applications of mindfulness without the mind being concentrated and without having abandoned the impurities, one will not apprehend this essential nature of the mind.⁹ These teachings on shamatha provide a basis not only for the cultivation of the four immeasurables and bodhichitta but also for the cultivation of insight through the fundamental vipashyana practices of the four close applications of mindfulness.

VIPASHYANA

The achievement of shamatha is the direct means for penetrating, or acquiring, the sign of the mind, which the Buddha declared was necessary for overcoming various mental obscurations—the central purpose of vipashyana meditation.¹⁰ Although the Buddha taught dozens of kinds of shamatha practices, he most frequently taught mindfulness of breathing, which he presented in four tetrads comprising sixteen phases. The methods explained in the first tetrad are for the sake of achieving dhyana; the final three tetrads consist of vipashyana practices entailing the close inspection of feelings, the mind, and phenomena at large. These three are intended for those who have already achieved the first dhyana.¹¹ The Buddha’s discourse on the four close applications of mindfulness, the Satipatthana Sutta, likewise begins with the first tetrad on mindfulness of breathing, clearly indicating the necessity of achieving at least the first dhyana in order to fully realize the benefits of vipashyana meditation.¹²

The Buddha declared that the four close applications of mindfulness directed toward the body, feelings, the mind, and phenomena lead to an undistorted, direct experience of things as they are, independent of oral tradition and reasoning.¹³ This matrix of meditations, as presented in the Satipatthana Sutta, figures very prominently in Theravadin Buddhism.¹⁴ In the Mahayana discourses attributed to the Buddha, the most elaborate accounts of this practice are found in the one-hundred-thousand-line and the twenty-five-thousand-line versions of the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras. In addition, many of the greatest Mahayana scholars and contemplatives of India, including Asanga, Vasubandhu, Sthiramati (fl. sixth c. C.E.), and Shantideva, composed extensive commentaries on these practices.¹⁵

Such insight practices constitute the very foundation of the Buddhist science of mind. Their purpose is to gain freedom from all mental afflictions by knowing the nature of the mind and its relation to the rest of the natural world. There is no division in Buddhism between cognitive psychology and clinical psychology—we seek to know the mind in order to heal it.

The progression of the four close applications of mindfulness begins with the relatively coarse, easily apprehended nature of the body, and continues by attending to a continuum of increasingly subtle phenomena, including feelings, mental states and processes, and finally the very subtle interrelationships among all kinds of phenomena. We inspect each of these entities and processes, examining whether they are truly permanent or impermanent, satisfying or unsatisfying, and whether or not they constitute a real self.¹⁶

Mindfulness of the Body

We begin with the body, which is commonly regarded as the physical location or basis of the self and mistakenly regarded as intrinsically “mine.” By closely observing each of the constituents of the body—tissue, blood, bone, brain, and so on—we see that none of these body parts is a self, nor does any of them inherently belong to a self. They are simply impersonal physical entities. Such mindfulness of anatomical components entails not bare attention but recollection, which highlights the primary meaning of the Pali term sati.

Our close identification with the body lies at the root of the “ubiquitous suffering of conditioned existence,” the third level of suffering explained earlier. Because our experience of the body is tainted by mental afflictions, it is said to be “impure,” and all impure phenomena are found to be unsatisfying in nature. In this way, the close application of mindfulness to the body leads to direct insight into the first noble truth. Moreover, one of sentient beings’ fundamental delusions is misapprehending that which is impure as being pure, and this practice serves as a direct antidote.

While inspecting the four elements of the body—earth (solidity), water (fluidity), fire (warmth), and air (motility)—attention is directed not only internally to our own body but externally to others’ bodies and to physical phenomena throughout the inanimate world. By closely examining all kinds of physical phenomena, including visual forms, sounds, scents, tastes, and tactile sensations, we see that none of them is intrinsically attractive. Beauty is not an absolutely objective quality, nor does it reside solely in the eye of the beholder. The experience of beauty arises in the interrelationship between subject and object. Realizing this helps us to overcome craving for beautiful objects, by recognizing that their attractiveness is not inherent in the objects themselves but is related to how we perceive and conceptually designate them.

When we fathom the nature of our own body firsthand, we gain insight into the nature of others’ bodies and the rest of the physical universe. Perhaps this is what the Buddha had in mind when he declared, “It is in this fathom-long body, with its perceptions and its mind, that I describe the world, the origin of the world, the cessation of the world, and the way leading to the cessation of the world.”¹⁷ According to the Perfection of Wisdom teachings of the Mahayana tradition, all phenomena are empty of inherent nature, and physical phenomena are in reality insubstantial—they are of the nature of space. This is illustrated in the Mahayana discourse known as the Dharma Recitation Sutra, which states, “While addressing the question, ‘What is this body?’ one considers, ‘This body is like space.’ Thus one contemplates the body like space, perceiving the entire body as space.”¹⁸

Mindfulness of Feelings

The second of the four close applications of mindfulness focuses on feelings of pleasure, pain, and indifference, which are mistakenly regarded as experiences undergone by a real self. Rather than the various mental phenomena associated with the English term “feeling,” Buddhism defines feeling (Skt. vedana) as the faculty that experiences phenomena simply as pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. Such feelings are direct catalysts for craving, the ardent desire that pleasant feelings may continue and painful feelings cease. By examining the essential nature, causes, results, and impermanence of our feelings, we gain direct insight into the second noble truth, the reality of the source of suffering. In particular, by recognizing the momentary, fleeting nature of all kinds of mundane feelings, we realize that they are all tainted by mental afflictions and unsatisfying. Because feelings are momentary in nature and sooner or later vanish entirely, all craving and clinging to them inevitably leads to suffering.

Feelings are classified as “corporeal” and “mental.” The former includes all feelings that are aroused by stimulation of the five physical senses, whereas mental feelings do not depend upon such physical inputs. They can be generated internally, in dependence upon the body, but are not directly catalyzed by influences from the physical environment. Thoughts, memories, and dreams, for example, may arouse all kinds of mental feelings, but they are not composed of atoms and have no physical qualities, such as mass or location.

In the close application of mindfulness to feelings, we learn to recognize when pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral feelings occur and to know them for what they are. Then we experientially distinguish between “worldly” and “unworldly” feelings that are pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral. The former correspond closely to what are commonly called “hedonic” feelings aroused by pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral stimuli. Unworldly feelings correspond to experiences associated with spiritual practice. More specifically, the Buddha made three distinctions, characterizing worldly happiness as that which arises by way of the physical senses, unworldly happiness as arising from the achievement of dhyana, and completely unworldly happiness as resulting from insight into the nature of reality.¹⁹ While craving for hedonic pleasures is invariably unsatisfying and eventually leads to blatant suffering, the Buddha encouraged his followers not to fear happiness that has nothing to do with sensuality and unwholesome states of mind.²⁰

This practice plays a crucial role in discovering what constitutes true happiness and, based on this understanding, pursuing it. This is a central aim of the Buddha’s teachings in general.²¹ In terms of the kinds of genuine happiness resulting from authentic spiritual practice, the Buddha spoke of successive degrees of well-being gained by maintaining pure ethical conduct, restraining the senses, and achieving dhyana, as well as the ultimate joy of realizing nirvana.

Mahayana discussions of mindfulness of feelings not only focus on one’s own achievement of genuine happiness but also extend this practice to arouse great compassion for all sentient beings. The Sutra Requested by Ratnachuda explains:

O son of good family, the Bodhisattva who closely applies mindfulness to feelings develops great compassion toward those beings who are experiencing pleasurable feelings. . . . No matter what feelings he experiences, he experiences them all in a manner that is embraced by great compassion. Whenever he experiences a pleasurable feeling, he develops great compassion toward those beings who experience craving, and he abandons his own mental affliction of craving. Whenever he experiences a painful feeling, he develops great compassion toward those beings who experience hatred, and he abandons his own mental affliction of hatred. Whenever he experiences a feeling that is neither painful nor pleasurable, he develops great compassion toward those beings who experience ignorance, and he abandons his own mental affliction of ignorance.²²

Mindfulness of the Mind

The close application of mindfulness to the mind strikes at the root of clinging to the mind as constituting our real identity. When we closely examine the wide range of discursive thoughts, mental images, emotions, desires, and other mental impulses and states of consciousness that arise and pass moment by moment, we come to see that none of them, individually or collectively, constitutes a real self. They are simply mental events emerging in dependence upon prior causes and conditions. With the insight thus gained into the impersonal nature of the mind, we overcome the fear that our real self will be annihilated. This leads to an understanding of the third noble truth, the reality of the cessation of suffering and its source. Such practice also overcomes the deeply rooted tendency to view what is impermanent as being permanent, a fundamental delusion that gives rise to many other mental afflictions. Thoughts and all other mental events come and go from moment to moment, and our awareness of them also arises and passes in flickering moments of luminosity. Nowhere in this effervescent flow of mental events is there anything stable or abiding, anything constituting a self, or anything intrinsically “mine.”

This practice involves taking note of our state of mind when it is conditioned by such mental afflictions as craving, anger, and delusion as well as when it is not, when it is focused as well as when it is distracted, and when it is spacious as well as when it is narrow. The Buddha likened mindfulness of the mind to the use of a mirror to see one’s reflection, for this is an unparalleled method for knowing one’s own mind and the true nature of mental events and consciousness itself.²³ This method entails not only noticing mental events in the present but also observing the causal sequences of mental processes. These sequences, from the initial contact with the object of awareness to feeling, recognition, and thought, may in turn lead to an elaborate growth of conceptual proliferation, or rumination, in which we are passively carried along in a stream of compulsive ideation. In this way, we become the helpless prey of our own thoughts, memories, and associations.²⁴ Ultimately, it may be less accurate to say that we have a mind than to say that our mind has us!

This raises the practical question of what to do when we see that we have become victims of our own minds. First of all, it takes more than bare, nonjudgmental attention to discern which mental states and processes are afflictive and nonafflictive, or beneficial and unbeneficial. We must learn about the nature of mental afflictions and then intelligently draw from our memory to recognize them when they occur. We experience a great deal of misery when our mind helplessly falls into compulsive rumination. The first line of defense is to stop grasping at the “signs” and “secondary marks” associated with the objects of the five physical senses and the mind. From moment to moment, appearances to these six senses arise, and grasping at their “signs” occurs when we conceptually impute objects on the basis of such appearances and reify them as being independently, objectively real. The alternative is simply to be nonreactively present with these appearances to awareness, without reifying them as inherently existent objects. If reification sets in despite our best efforts, the mind may then grasp onto the “secondary marks” of the reified object, giving rise to further mental afflictions, such as craving and hostility. The best antidote at this point is to divert the attention elsewhere or simply to suppress such afflictive rumination so that it stops poisoning the mind.²⁵

In short, when the mind is sickened by the influence of these internal toxins, the Buddha’s advice is to respond in the same way that we react when the body is poisoned: strive to immediately expel the toxins to prevent further damage. This is quite different from the advice commonly given by modern, secular mindfulness teachers, which is to equally embrace everything that arises in the mind. On numerous occasions, the Buddha emphasized the importance of bringing the mind under control so that one can think what one wishes to think and direct the attention at will. Like a mahout controlling a rutting elephant, one must learn to control one’s mind instead of being controlled by it.²⁶

The Mahayana sutras in particular employ mindfulness of the mind to fathom the very nature of mind. The Sutra Requested by Ratnachuda goes beyond the investigation of the mind as it is influenced by craving, hostility, and delusion to probe the nature of mental events as they arise in the past, present, and future: “Now what is past has vanished, what is future has not yet come into being, and what is present is fleeting.” Moreover, the mind is “formless, invisible, insubstantial, unknowable, unstable, and baseless. Mind . . . is like an illusion . . . like the stream of a river, unsettled, breaking and dissolving as soon as it is produced.”²⁷ In short, through such investigation, we come to recognize not only that the mind is not a true self and is not truly “ours,” but also that it has no inherent nature of its own. It is not identical to any one of the myriad impulses and states of consciousness that arise from moment to moment, nor is it the same as the composite of all those events. We may conceptually designate “mind” upon a particular moment of awareness or upon a stream of mental processes, but such a unitary “mind” does not exist apart from the label we impose upon those appearances. According to the Buddha, these various modes of empirical inquiry into the nature of the mind and its relation to sensory experience lead to authentic discoveries that are valid regardless of faith, personal preferences, oral tradition, reasoning, and acceptance of any particular belief system.²⁸ This constitutes a true science of mind and its relation to the natural world, not confined to empirical observation of behavioral expressions and neural correlates of subjective experience.

Mindfulness of Phenomena

Finally, the close application of mindfulness to phenomena is designed to yield insight into the nature and origins of all kinds of experiential phenomena, revealing the disadvantages and antidotes for those subject to mental afflictions. In the first three practices of mindfulness, we focused primarily on the nature of each of the respective objects, but in this phase we attend especially to the dependent origination of all physical and mental events. The close inspection of the body, feelings, and mind demonstrates that none of these constitutes a real self; nevertheless, one might still hold to the belief that one is a discrete, unitary self that is an unmoved mover, existing beyond the veil of appearances to the senses. But this final mode of investigation shows that all physical and mental events occur naturally, in dependence upon prior causes and conditions, with no direct or indirect evidence for a self that controls the body and mind from behind the scenes. Just as the Buddha rejected the macrocosmic notion of an invisible, independent God who created and runs the universe, so he also rejected the microcosmic notion of an invisible, independent self that generates thoughts and controls the behavior of body, speech, and mind. In this way, mindfulness of phenomena leads to experiential insight into the nonexistence of such a self.

Analayo Bhikkhu elaborates on this point:

At the time of the Buddha, . . . some teachings claimed that the universe was controlled by an external power, either an omnipotent god or a principle inherent in nature. Some took man to be the independent doer and enjoyer of action. Some favored determinism, while others completely rejected any kind of causality. Despite their differences, all these positions concurred in recognizing an absolute principle, formulated in terms of the existence (or absence) of a single or first cause. The Buddha, on the other hand, proposed dependent coarising [Skt. pratitya-samutpada, or dependent origination] as his “middle way” explanation of causality. His conception of dependent coarising was so decisive a departure from existing conceptions of causality that he came to reject all of the four prevalent ways of formulating causality.²⁹

Mindfulness of phenomena includes close inspection of all the mental and physical things and events we normally identify with as “I” or “mine,” recognizing their arising, their presence, and their passing away. More broadly, we attend to all objects of the physical senses and the mind, recognizing when our experience of them is contaminated by the five obscurations: sensual craving, malice, laxity and dullness, excitation and guilt, and uncertainty. Furthermore, we note how an unarisen obscuration can arise, how it can be dispelled, and how it can be prevented. In a similar fashion, we mindfully focus on the mental factors that lead to freedom from suffering, known as the seven factors of enlightenment (Pali bojjhanga): mindfulness, investigation of phenomena, effort, joy, tranquility, concentration, and equanimity. Again we note when they are present, how they arise, and how they can be perfected in the future. In so doing, we gain clarity regarding what contaminates the mind and what purifies it, and in this way we come to an understanding of the fourth noble truth, the reality of the path to the cessation of suffering. Habitually, we tend to regard these obscurations and virtues as processes that cause a real self either to remain afflicted or to become spiritually purified. But the insights resulting from this practice show that they have no such influence on a real self, for no such personal identity exists.

The practice of the four applications of mindfulness results in insights beyond the mere absence of an unchanging, unitary, autonomous self. In fact, on one occasion when the Buddha was directly questioned about the existence of a self, he refused to give either an affirmative or a negative answer, explaining later that if he had simply denied the existence of a self, this might have been mistaken for a form of nihilism, which he thoroughly rejected.³⁰ It’s not that the self doesn’t exist at all—that would absurdly imply that there is no one who writes or reads these words—but rather that each of us arises in dependence upon verbal and conceptual designation. Our existence is nominal, with each self being imputed upon mental and physical events that are not a self. But once we have been designated as a person, each of us performs the functions of a person and causally engages with the world. This conceptually designated, nominal existence equally characterizes all other phenomena. Recalling the earlier example of a chariot, the term “chariot” is simply a conventional label superimposed upon appearances that are not inherently a chariot. Likewise, the four elements of earth, water, fire, and air that constitute the physical world are devoid of their own inherent nature, as is the rest of the world at large.³¹

Although references to the empty, illusory nature of all phenomena appear in the discourses of the Buddha recorded in the Pali canon, far more extensive explanations are found in the Mahayana sutras. The Lokanathavyakarana Sutra, for example, declares:

Nameless are all conditions, but illuminated by name; nevertheless, that which is of the nature of a name has been neither seen nor heard, is neither arisen nor disappeared. Of what do you ask the name? Name is a matter of habit; declarations are made by name. This man is Ratnachitra by name; that other man is Ratnottama.³²

Likewise, the Sutra Requested by Ratnachuda states:

Nothing but the elements arises when the elements arise; when they are observed, only the elements are observed. But in them there is no substance, there is no being, or living thing, or creature, or human being. . . . If they are brought about, they arise; but if they are not brought about, they do not arise. Whatever kind they are when brought about, of that kind they arise, good or bad or indifferent. There is nothing that can cause the elements to come into existence, nor can they arise without any cause at all.³³

Theravada and Mahayana treatises alike challenge the assumption that anything truly comes into existence either by itself, in dependence upon other factors, by both, or by neither. Nothing objectively comes into existence by its own nature; it emerges only conventionally in dependence upon verbal labeling and conceptual designation.³⁴ Neither the self nor anything else is utterly nonexistent, nor is it inherently existent. The existence of all things is conventional and relative to the apprehending mind.

If this is so, we may probe further and ask: Is there nothing to the whole of reality apart from these conventions brought into nominal existence by the thoughts of sentient beings? In fact, the Buddha spoke of an unborn, undying dimension of reality, namely nirvana, and the timeless, “nonmanifesting” consciousness that experiences it, even after the death of one who has achieved such liberation.³⁵ In the Kevaddha Sutta, the Buddha raises the question:

“Where do earth, water, fire and air no footing find?

Where are long and short, small and great, fair and foul—

Where are ‘name and form’ wholly destroyed?”

And the answer is:

“Where consciousness is signless, boundless, all-luminous,

That’s where earth, water, fire, and air find no footing,

There both long and short, small and great, fair and foul—

There ‘name and form’ are wholly destroyed.

With the cessation of consciousness this is all destroyed.”³⁶

Nyananada Bhikkhu explains that in nirvana, the four elements have no basis, for the familiar categories of “name and form,” subject and object, mind and matter vanish with the disappearance of ordinary, conceptually conditioned consciousness. This, he adds, is a corrective to the common notion that the four elements can cease altogether somewhere—which has its roots in the popular conception of self-existing material elements. The Buddha’s formulation of the question and the concluding line are meant to combat this misconception.³⁷

There are relatively few references in the Pali canon to this ultimate, nonmanifesting dimension of consciousness, but it figures very prominently in Mahayana Buddhism and is central to the Mahamudra tradition of Indian Buddhism.³⁸ It is a vital element of Vajrayana Buddhism, maintained by all schools of Tibetan Buddhism. Panchen Lozang Chökyi Gyaltsen, for instance, gives the following quintessential instructions on vipashyana in his text Highway of the Jinas: A Root Text on the Precious Geluk–Kagyü Mahamudra Tradition:

While in a state of meditative equipoise as before, like a tiny fish darting about in a still, limpid pond, with subtle consciousness intelligently examine the nature of the person who is meditating. The noble protector Nagarjuna wrote, “A person is not earth, nor water, nor fire, nor air, nor space, nor consciousness, nor all of them. But apart from them, what person is there? A person is not truly a composite of those six constituents, nor is a person truly any one of them individually.” Accordingly, when sought out in that way, not even an atom of meditative equipoise or of the person resting in such a state is to be found. Then single-pointedly and without distraction cultivate space-like meditative equipoise.

Alternatively, continuously place your mind in an unimpeded, luminous, and cognizant flow, one of sheer emptiness, without form and without obscuration, which manifests and emanates in various ways. As for objects of clinging, which appear and are grasped as if they were autonomous, the protector Shantideva declared, “A ‘continuum’ and an ‘assembly,’ like a rosary, an army and the like, are unreal.” Using textual sources and reasoning, single-pointedly rest in meditative equipoise with the awareness that nothing exists as it appears.

In short, in the words of my spiritual mentor Sangye Yeshé, who was truly all-knowing, “If you thoroughly recognize everything that arises as being grasped by discursive thoughts, the ultimate, absolute space of phenomena [Skt. dharmadhatu] will arise without reliance on anything else.³⁹ How wondrous to rest single-pointedly in meditative equipoise with your awareness immersed in appearances!” In a similar vein, Padampa Sangye expressed this same idea when he wrote, “Twirl the spear of awareness in the nature of emptiness. This view cannot be impeded or obstructed, O people of Dingri!”

At the conclusion of your meditation session, dedicate whatever virtues that have emerged from your meditation on Mahamudra, as well as your ocean-like virtues in the past, present, and future, to the great, peerless state of enlightenment.

By well acquainting yourself with such practice, whatever appearances arise as objects to your six senses, carefully examine how they manifest, and their mode of existence will suddenly and nakedly become evident. The essential point of the view is to recognize whatever arises.

In short, whatever arises, including your own mind, do not grasp onto its referent, but ascertain how each one exists, and sustain that awareness continually. By knowing this, all phenomena of samsara and nirvana are united in one nature. Aryadeva echoed this point when he wrote, “The observer of one entity is said to be the observer of everything. The emptiness of one thing is the emptiness of everything.”

While resting in authentic meditative equipoise in ultimate reality, there is freedom from the extremes of conceptual elaborations of samsara and nirvana, such as existence and nonexistence. Nevertheless, after arising from meditation, upon examination, dependently related events, each performing its own function, have only a nominal, imputed existence. Undeniably, they naturally arise like dreams, mirages, reflections of the moon in water, and apparitions. “When emptiness is not obscured by appearances, and appearances are not impeded by emptiness—when emptiness and dependent origination are perceived as synonymous—the sublime path has been reached,” so says the learned renunciate known as Lozang Chökyi Gyaltsen. By this virtue, may all beings swiftly triumph by this path, for there is no other entrance to nirvana.⁴⁰

Once one has fathomed the empty nature of all subjective and objective phenomena, as well as the very nonduality of the two, one is poised to realize the ultimate dimension of consciousness. This is described by the Indian mahasiddha Maitripa as follows:

The ultimate reality of the mind is free of the three extremes of birth, cessation, and abiding. It is released from the dualistic grasping onto “I” and “mine,” its essence is empty, its nature is luminous, and its character is unceasing awareness that is without an object, yet appearing in numerous ways. This luminosity transcends objects that are grasped as the seen and the seer. It is released from things that are objectified as the topic of meditation and the meditator. Without bringing anything to mind, that very freedom from mental engagement is inactivity free of all action, set at ease and unstructured. There is no grasping, for whatever appears is not recognized. One is mentally vacant, for one is free of the structured contamination of the consciousness of meditative equipoise. There is pristine emptiness, for there is no grasping onto signs. It is luminous, for it is by nature clear light. It is unmediated, for it is not contaminated by the dualistic grasping of discursive thoughts. It is vivid, for it knows its own nature. Appearances and the mind are indivisibly, unimpededly homogenous, for grasping onto subject and object has dissolved. It is ordinary consciousness, for awareness is settled in its own unstructured nature. It is “fresh awareness,” for the stream of discursive thoughts does not enter the heart, and this is the real essence of the practice of insight.⁴¹

Realization of the ultimate nature of consciousness, indivisible from the absolute space of phenomena, from which all phenomena arise, is the ultimate reason for first achieving shamatha, then proceeding to the mindful investigation of the body, feelings, mind, and phenomena, and finally ascertaining the empty, relative nature of all things. The path to the cessation of suffering has come to completion. That which was to be accomplished has been accomplished, and all that remains to be done is to liberate all other sentient beings from suffering and bring them to a lasting state of genuine happiness through ultimate freedom.