Commentarial Illumination on the Karaṇīya Mettā Sutta

[13/4/20: Expanded the final comments with a bit more reflection]
 

Introduction

The Karaṇīya Mettā Sutta is a cherished teaching of the Buddha on loving-kindness, always worth reflecting on, but perhaps more so than ever in the present coronavirus situation.  It's usually recited in translation at meetings of a local Dhamma group.  We use the version produced by the Sangha at Wat Amaravati, but have been aware for some while that there are alternative translations.  So in this post I shall explore a few of the differences and make reference to commentarial literature to see if this can elucidate.

Canonical references 

This teaching appears in the Sutta Nipāta of the Khuddaka Nikāya, the fifth nikāya of the Pali canon.  The Sutta Nipāta has five chapters; the Mettā Sutta appears in the first, the Uragavagga (Chapter on the Serpent).  My main reference source for the Pali original is the Pali Text Society (PTS) edition.  Hence the reference is Sn 1.8 PTS: Sn 143-152.  However, note that there are variants among other editions.

Role or Purpose of the Sutta

Karaṇīya means ‘that ought to be done’; hence ‘Karaṇīya Mettā’ is the mettā that needs to be cultivated.   The sutta is one of several parittas (others include the Mahamangala Sutta and the Ratana Sutta) chanted as a protection – here the cultivation of mettā, a universal virtue, attracts the outward protection of devas.  However, it’s also, perhaps primarily, aimed at being an inner protection – of one’s practice.

Bhikkhu Bodhi has given lectures on these and other teachings in the Sutta Nipata, available from Bodhi monastery.

Sutta Translations

Wat Amaravati’s translation into English on Access To Insight sits alongside others offered by Ven. Ñanamoli, Ven. Buddharakkhita, Ven. Piyadassi and Ven. Thanissaro. Many others have been collated by Leigh Brasington, including Bhikkhu Bodhi’s translation (need to scroll to the right to view many of them).

Seeing some significant differences in the translations, we may look to the Paramatthajotikā, the Commentary to the Sutta Nipāta, to see what light it may shed.  Hence I have used as my main reference Bhikkhu Bodhi’s translation and analysis, The Suttanipāta: An Ancient Collection of the Buddha’s Discourses Together with Its Commentaries.  (Other translations are available.)

To help clarify further, I look at some particular phrases of the original Pali and make use of the Pali Text Society (PTS) Pali-English dictionary, which I have in a single printed volume, but it’s also conveniently available as a searchable index from the University of Chicago's Digital Dictionaries of Asia  and as part of the Digital Pali Reader.

Notes on the Sutta Nipāta

Just a few notes, with reference mainly to Bhikkhu Bodhi’s introduction to his translation of the commnetary. First, what is the significance of this division of material in the canon? 

The PTS Pali-English dictionary states the definition of nipāta as ‘falling (down)’ – as in udabindunipātena, a drop of water falling down, Dh. 121; when prefixed by diṭṭhi it means ' a glance'  (as in another commentarial reference, VvA 279, the Vimanavatthu Atthakatha being Dhammapala’s commentary on stories of the Vimāna, the Sixth Book of the Sutta Pitaka).  It makes me think of the expression, ‘at a glance’, as in “the Buddha’s teachings at a glance…”, which suggests a flavour, a sample.  The Paramatthajotikā seems to indicate that; it opens by saying that “it is so designated because it was recited by compiling suitable suttas from here and there.”  So the suttanipāta is simply a ‘section’ (compilation) of suttas and because it's not arranged in the same deliberate way as other books, I think of ‘cross section’ as in a cross section of society. 

The contents appear to be a mixture of old and new – Bhikkhu Bodhi relates that of the five chapters, the Atthakavagga and the pucchās of the Parayanavagga are extremely old because they are quoted in the Samyutta Nikāya and the Anguttara Nikāya “and evidently existed as collections in their own right before they were integrated into the Sutta Nipāta.”  He further considers that it’s an anthology that “spans several phases of Buddhist literary activity”, reflecting that its eventual form shows systematic re-arrangement from its original smaller core.  Bodhi cites N.A. Jayawickrama for the most thorough attempt to explain the formation of the Sutta Nipāta; Jayawickrama indicates that the Mahamangala Sutta and the Mettā Sutta are younger than the Atthakavagga and the Parayanavagga, but still predate Emperor Asoka. (Among the youngest he takes the Ratana Sutta.)

Furthermore, Bhikkhu Bodhi notes that the Sutta Nipāta appears to be unique to the Theravāda school, which I find surprising.

Commentarial Background

There is much to be learnt in Bhikkhu Bodhi’s discussion of the commentary – its sources, purpose and other useful contextualisation.  For now, I only glean some basic facets.

The commentary to the Khuddaka Nikāya (‘Collection of smaller texts’), the Fifth Book of the Pali Canon is called Paramatthajotikā (paramattha means ‘ultimate sense’, whilst jotikā means ‘explanation, commentary’ derived from jotaka, which means ‘illuminating, making light; explaining’).  It is non-canonical and was probably compiled in the fifth century CE by Buddhaghosa.  Somewhat confusingly, the commentary of the Sutta Nipāta specifically is also called Paramatthajotikā, so in this context it has the suffix ‘II’ and abbreviated as Pj II.   Here, as we are only interested in the one sutta, when we refer to Paramatthajotikā we mean this latter commentary.

The Paramatthajotikā provides background context to the suttas as well as detailed explanations of the texts.  To give some indication of their extent, Bodhi’s translation of the Sutta Nipāta occupies fewer than 200 pages, whereas that of the commentary amounts to just under 1000 pages.  Likewise, the Mettā Sutta is quite short, but its commentary runs in translation to 20 pages,.

It starts with the following background story: it is said that a group of monks, each having received some instruction from the Buddha, had requested venturing elsewhere for the rains retreat.  The request granted, they arrived in unfamiliar territory at the foot of the Himalayas and were welcomed by local villagers, who made kuṭīs (meditation huts) for them, including beds and chairs.  

So the monks prepared themselves to settle.  However, their arrival (and radiance from practice) had displaced the local tree sprites [rukkha devata (‘Earth-bound devas’)?], who were displeased and attacked the bhikkhus through various senses with fearsome visions, sounds, and bad odours until they were so disturbed they had to leave.  Frightened, the monks went to the Buddha for help, seeking somewhere else to stay.  The Buddha indicated they should go back, instructing them in the Mettā Sutta as an antidote for their fear, but also as a meditation subject, indicating that it could help them eliminate the ‘influxes’ (āsavas, I assume). The monks duly returned, recited the sutta, developed the practice, and the sprites, feeling the mettā, were won over and became benevolent to them.

Incidentally, the area is described as blue-green, so it could be in a region known for Tibetan Turquoise Gemstone.

Brief Observations on the Commentary

Here I make reference to Bodhi’s translation, pp. 565 -584.

It’s the first time I recall having read a sutta commentary from start to finish; previously I had looked up occasional references, but never read a commentary in its entirety.  

Bodhi informs us that the first two and a half verses are aimed at the conduct of the forest dwellers (i.e. monks).  The commentary expands on the text to show how it includes instructions on the upholding of the Pāṭimokkha, the monastic rules of training – hence what should be done and what should not be done.

However, Bodhi comments “under the heading of the forest dweller, he has also spoken for all those who have learned a meditation subject and wish to dwell thus."  The Buddha instructs on the development of advanced meditation practice – which is the arguably the real import of the verses – exhorting the practitioners to keep mettā in mind in all four standard postures.  With the words “May all beings be happy and secure”, he begins to discuss loving-kindness both as a protective device for dispelling the peril from those deities and as a meditative subject for attaining jhāna to be used as the basis for insight.

The commentary concludes:

Having developed loving-kindness as they were taught, those bhikkhus took it as a basis, aroused insight, and within that three-month period all attained arahantship, the foremost fruit.  They then held the great Pavarana ceremony in purity…

In terms of style, I note:

• The commentary is exegesis, i.e. a scholarly critical analysis of the text drawing on various sources and looking at the structure of the text and then its meaning.  So, I imagine Buddhaghosa in a large library with various accounts at his disposal, mainly provided by monastic colleagues.  
• So this is not a definitive account, but rather one than reads like: “One account says, whilst another says…” Likewise, in terms of the text, a number of alternative explanations are offered, some with extensive details 

Some Phrases

Now we examine a few points of difference or refinements in translation between Bhikkhu Bodhi and Amaravati (abbreviated by ‘B’ and ‘A’ respectively) and ask: What light do the commentaries shed on the meaning of these particular phrases?  As this is a very popular sutta, there is much discussion, even on how to do the translation; there’s an interesting thread on Sutta Central.)

143. yaṃ taṃ santaṃ padaṃ abhisamecca

A: And who knows the path of peace

[later versions replace ‘knows’ by ‘seeks’]

B: [One] Having made the breakthrough to that peaceful state

abhisamecca comes from abhisamāgacchati, which the PTS dictionary defines as ‘to come to (understand) completely, to grasp fully, to master’.

The commentary explains that this is concerning one who wishes to really know that breakthrough to that peaceful state which is nibbāna – whether they have only an aspiration or already possess some mundane understanding and not yet achieved it.  So Bodhi’s translation appears to be correct, but it  sounds less elegant, but substituting ‘seeks’ for ‘knows’ loses the sense of knowing that is in the text.  

Given that the recitation is for those who have yet to reach nibbāna and as I like the rhythm of the first, I think it may suffice to insert a few words: 

>> ‘And who would [come to] fully know that state of peace:’

143. sūvaco cassa

A: “Straightforward and gentle in speech”

B: “Amenable to advice”

[PTS offers for suvaca: 'gentle speech', but also 'obedient; meek; compliant' (see subbaca); the ū is just an alternative to u]

The commentary explains that this means they welcome and encourage criticism based on observation from the wise, so Bodhi’s interpretation again appears correct, especially as the commentary makes clear that this revolves around monastic instruction.

But it’s simpler and more generally appealing to say: “easy to speak to” 

144. appagabbho kul-esva-nanu-giddho

A: “Not proud or demanding in nature”

B: “courteous, without greed when among families”

The commentary explains that this instruction concerns the monks' almsrounds, specifically when they enter people’s homes.  It means not becoming attached to their concerns, nor being covetous for requisites.  It makes sense in the monastic context, but for the general reader it’s cumbersome and potentially confusing for householders.  In coming up with some alternative, we need to convey the sense that the monastics mustn’t become lax or allow themselves to become spoilt by enthusiastic lay supporters, but try to come up with some other expression.  I like the word 'demanding', so wonder about:

>>  Not demanding of hospitality.

146.  Ye keci pāṇa bhūtatthi 

tasā vā thāvarā vā ...

Whatever living beings … 

A: Whether they are weak or strong...

B: Whether frail or firm...

The translations are comparable, but I wasn't sure of the meanings.  The commentary explains:

• Frail: those that tremble (or thirst), i.e. those with craving and fear – arahants are those who stand firm

A bit further down we have the terms .

• avidūre (‘near’): those beings dwelling within one’s body / vicinity / monastery … world sphere
• dūre (‘far’): those beings dwelling outside one’s body …

Those are relatively straightforward alternative explanations.  More complex ones are offered for bhūta (‘born’) and sambhavesī (‘to be born’).  One interpretation is:

• ‘those born’ = “those who have come to be”, but won’t be reborn, i.e. arahats
• ‘those to be born’ = those who will be reborn, i.e. not arahats; 

Another one reads:

• ‘those born’ = “those who have emerged" (and similarly for 3 other modes of birth such as spontaneously arising beings
• ‘those to be born' = those who have yet to emerge from womb or shell.

146. Dīghā vā ye mahantā vā
majjhamā rassakāṇukathūlā,

A: The great or the mighty, medium, short or small

B: Those that are long or those that are large, middling, short, fine or gross

The commentary indicates that the last characteristic ('small' or 'fine') mean too subtle to be discerned with the physical eye.  Small conveys a sense of dimension, but some beings may be quite voluminous, but may have subtle bodies, so escape detection, so Bodhi is again more accurate with what he writes.  As I like the rhythm of Amaravati's translation, I suggest:

>>  The great or the mighty, medium, short, fine or gross 

149. niyaṃ puttaṃ āyusā ekaputtam

A: “Her child, her only child”

B: “Her son, her only son.”

Bhikkhu Bodhi generally gives a more literal translation, reflecting the views of the society, but Amaravati's still valid according to the Pali and makes perfect sense.

150. asambādhaṃ a-veraṃ-asapattaṃ.

A: “Freed from hatred and ill-will”

B: “without enmity, without adversaries”

The commentary explains ‘without adversaries’ as “the absence of hostile persons; for a person who dwells in loving-kindness is dear to humans, dear to non-humans and there is no one hostile to him.”

There is wonderful ambiguity; it seems that asapattaṃ has both meanings, i.e. by being friendly, one harbours no ill feelings and at the same time receives none.  'Free from ill-will' covers both senses and could stand alone.  The first translation sounds natural, so I choose to stick to it.

152. Diṭṭhiñ ca anupagamma ... nahi jātu gabbhaseyyaṃ punaretīti

A: “By not holding to fixed views… [one] is not born again into this world”

B: “Not taking up any views …one never comes back into the bed of a womb.”

The Pali for anupagamma breaks down to an-upa-gamma, hence not resting (or holding) on views. I''m not sure about the insertion of 'fixed', but the qualification makes sense from the commentary, which explains that it means to have a proper detached view of nāmarūpa (name and form, i.e. the khandas).  For the last clause, Bodhi's translation is again the literally correct one and I think it may be better to follow this, hence:

>>   [one] is not born again into the womb.”

The Sutta Central discussion thread raises a further issue concerning lines where there seems to be agreement, but the translation is actually wrong.

One case that I’m persuaded by is to change:

148. Na paro paraṃ nikubbetha

“Let none deceive another”

to

“Let none put down another”

The nikubbetha is from nikaroti [Sk. nikaroti, ni+karoti] and the PTS defines this as “to bring down, humiliate, to deceive, cheat”.  

Just by reasoning that when not practising mettā, there is separative tendencies come to the fore; there is usually comparison that leads to differentiation and dislike, hence people put down (and look down on) others.  The sense of deception doesn’t make sense in the context of the story.

Final Comments

I've found the commentary provided by the Paramatthajotikā on the Metta Suttā informative; knowing the background to a teaching certainly helps to draw out some of the meaning.  In his translation, Bhikkhu Bodhi has been once again exceedingly helpful to make this more accessible and I start to get a feel for how the commentarial tradition has become firmly established in Buddhist lands.

Buddhaghosa’s ability to analyse and categorise, epitomised in the Abhidhamma, is evident here.  Yet one may cultivate mettā very simply and describe it simply too: like the sun emerging from a cloud it radiates brightly in every direction.

The Buddha taught that our object of meditation must be kept within "this fathom-long body".  If we, as it were, put the sun inside ourselves and it becomes our sun, then we should know its centre and hence our centre.  Furthermore, we might imagine that for it to shine to maximum effect, the body should become transparent, crystalline. 

One doesn’t have to be Buddhist to practice.  In my walks in the locality, I’ve often come across a man called Felix, whom I regard as a modern day sramana (wanderer).  Appearing calm and content within himself, he is articulate about his own spiritual outlook on life developed over the years.  He said to me that if one radiates happiness and friendliness, people will almost invariably respond positively.  It’s mettā that he is describing and he practices well.

Whilst I've learnt from the accuracy of Bhikkhu Bodhi's more literal translation, it's the rhythm and quality of naturalness that I especially appreciate in the Amaravati Sangha's rendering, so I think I will stick with that version for now.

Finally, as a wonderful manifestation of the sutta's universality, Ven. Dhammarakkhita has provided a translation into Arabic. 

A Rare Opportunity: On ‘Buddhism and Pali’

There's a new book that I'd like to introduce:

Cover for 'Buddhism and Pali' (from mudpiebooks.com)

A little over 10 years ago I had the good fortune to study under Professor Richard Gombrich at the OCBS Pali Summer School of 2008.  I subsequently used the knowledge gained to read and translate from the Pali some passages in the Theravada Buddhist canon as part of my Master’s thesis.   So, I was pleased to see the publication of Prof. Gombrich’s latest book, Buddhism and Pali.

In this post I offer some thoughts about the material - they're more ad hoc responses to some ideas put forth than a book review because I’m not qualified to assess the finer points of linguistics.

Introduction

The title of this post is quoted from page 8 of Gombrich’s ‘Buddhism and Pali’, where the author indicates why, despite being somewhat sceptical about its appeal to members of the public, he decided to go ahead and write this small volume: he sees its potential to raise awareness about the far-reaching significance of Pali.  I think he went ahead because he is a believer!  That is, he truly believes in the importance of the Buddha as a historical figure, in the value of his teachings, particularly for the depth of the philosophy, and in the necessity of knowing Pali as the means to properly access that knowledge and interpret it accurately.

I remember maybe 20 years ago hearing about the Jesus Seminar and its efforts to determine the historicity of Jesus and what could be reliably attributed to him.  It seems that in recent years this kind of approach has been attempted in respect of the Buddha Gotama, leading to similar results, where some academics deny that the canonical texts can be attributed to the Buddha himself and hence cast all kinds of doubt on the material.  As someone who is interested in Buddhist texts primarily as a practitioner, I’ve always felt that these kinds of scholarly views are rooted in a kind of hindrance, specifically sceptical doubt (Pali: vicikicchā - for the definition, I'm linking through to an online edition of the Pali Text Society's Pali-English dictionary).

So I naturally welcomed this new book, which constructs an argument, mainly linguistic, but backed up by cultural, historical and other observations, that shows how Pali could in fact be the language the Buddha actually used in his teachings across a vast swathe of what we now refer to as India.  As a scholar specialising in Indo-Aryan languages over his long career, Gombrich is sensitive to various issues that need to be addressed, especially concerning matters such as the integrity of texts and their preservation.

The book itself comprises four chapters and I’ll briefly introduce them and pick up on points I found interesting.

1. Pali in History

In the first chapter, Gombrich sets the scene, indicating the current use of Pali in the canon of the Theravada School of Buddhism, how it was essentially a language of recitation used by monks and nuns to maintain the teachings.  He then traces its linguistic history back to a few centuries BCE, showing in particular how it relates to Sanskrit.  The book is concise and succinct, making it easy to digest and follow the lines of thought.  Thus, we have a nice overview of the history of the Buddha, the geography of India and the modes of usage of Pali, especially among monastics.  Then the ancestry of Pali is outlined in three steps, altogether covering a single page.  So it’s a kind of primer, with some footnotes provided for further exploration.

Being condensed, many points are made only briefly. One of the first to catch my eye was that the word phāsa (p.11), which means ‘language’, was originally attached to ‘Pāli’ .  The same word has been brought into Thai (phāsa is rendered as ภาษา, hence ภาษาไทย). In fact, Thai has incorporated many such ‘loan words’ from Pali and Sanskrit, but also from many other languages (its influences are complex)!

The transmission of the Buddha’s teachings was initially an oral tradition, only later written down, typically on palm leaves.  We may take writing for granted now, but (I didn't see this mentioned by Gombrich) one doesn’t have to go back very far to find practitioners who did not make use of written texts.  For example, the founder of Wat Phra Dhammakaya on the outskirts of Bangkok was an illiterate nun, Khun Yay Upasika Chandra Khonnokyoong.

It's remarkable that the texts have been handed down over the centuries with hardly any corruption.  Gombrich uses his philological expertise to cleverly argue how Pali has been preserved and evolved for a variety of pragmatic and conventional reasons, usually under the influence of Sanskrit, but used in a distinct way; its distinction arising because it is an artifice - a vehicle for transmission that needs careful memorisation, but also reflects adaptation to local environments.  He makes the argument easier to follow by comparison with the use of the English language, which he furnishes with examples.

In passing, he also makes the point that the teachings tell us that all this is subject to impermanence and will eventually perish.  From a professional perspective, as another aside, I wonder about the digital context, where we can easily replicate data in the Cloud and ensure integrity using checksums.   Well, checksums are themselves subject to bit rot (corruption) and according to Buddhist cosmology our world and many realms above eventually get destroyed, so that would include all the data centres in the Cloud and in clouds!

I find conservative Gombrich’s statement that “as far as we know” Theravada Buddhism was confined in its first millennium to India and Sri Lanka (p. 22): I am persuaded by the thesis proposed by Lewis Lancaster in the Maritime Buddhism Project that traders carried religious practices across South and South-East Asia much earlier (e.g., across the Bay of Bengal, the Andaman Sea, through the Malacca Strait, and up to the South China Sea).  Collaborative research is ongoing to form an electronic atlas.  Whilst the picture is patchy, there is significant archaeological evidence - for example, in Thailand, as reported by Suchandra and Lipi Ghosh,  excavations have unearthed objects with Buddhist inscriptions (in Pali or Hybrid Pali and Sanskrit) dated to the Dvāravatī period that have strong associations with the sea: such as amulets, carried by seafaring merchants to ensure a safe voyage and even images of Buddha Dipankara calming the waves.  I also asked my uncle, Sean Trafford, who spent his working life at sea, much of it in and around SE Asia, and he found the thesis credible.

Perhaps the first intimation I received of such early connections for Thailand was a visit to Phra Pathom Chedi in 1988, which I subsequently wrote about as one of my first articles on the Web.   A traditional overview of how Buddhism came to Thailand was compiled by Ven. Dr. Saddhatissa  There is, of course, a large gap between the time of Emperor Ashoka and the mid first millennium C.E., but it’s narrowing - see e.g. Stephen A. Murphy and Miriam T. Stark’s introduction to period transitions. (Coincidentally, one of my cousins has just started her first year as an undergraduate in the Faculty of Archaeology at Silapakorn University, so I may get to hear about further developments!)

2. The Linguistic Character of Pali

The second chapter - on ‘The Linguistic Character of Pali’ - is the most technical.  It contains material that is second nature to the author, so it’s both easy for him to spell out and difficult for him to gauge how accessible it might be for the reader.  For anyone who has made an initial attempt to learn the language it’s a useful refresher of the main concepts, but others may well observe the guidance, thoughtfully inserted, to just read some of the more general remarks.

These include the use of verse, which I tend not to give much attention to, even though I frequently come across them in sutta study; although the texts are largely prose, verses do feature.  My appreciation and understanding of verse is limited, but some while ago I became keen to learn the meaning of a daily chant called 'A Buddha Prayer Song', so eventually I produced a translation, aided by Thai friends.  It was an example of prosody, so I was pleased to learn more about the metrical structure of such verse. 

3. Pali Prose Style

In the third chapter - on ‘Pali Prose Style’ - Gombrich discusses how its style was especially shaped by the oral tradition.  He also explores the question of how the oral transmission has been so efficient, with some corroboration from neuroscience and illustrations from other disciplines such as music.  There are practical strategies indicated for memorisation such as the division of labour and Gombrich indicates how the Buddhist Councils have helped ensure their preservation.

He goes on to use a linguistic argument based on an incremental style of prose, where words are successively augmented - in length and meaning.  When considered from the view of the practice, we find that the experience is often of gradual development, gradual evolution and progression, so to record this it is fitting to choose words that reflect this in structure and meaning.  This insight helps in the validation of texts, i.e. there is scope for validation through practice. This is particularly the case when undertaking a practice with a sequence of steps, as exemplified by the Ratha-vinita Sutta  (Relay Chariots, translation by Thanissaro Bhikkhu).

Gombrich takes as an example (pp. 57-61) the homage (vandanā) in the iti pi so formula, which is a standard recitation in Pali chanting.  I think it’s an ambitious choice because it’s very condensed with meaning at mundane and supramundane levels, but I think through meticulous analysis he arrives at a sensible interpretation, showing the value of a proper understanding of Pali - it makes rational sense.

However, the scholarly method follows a particular intellectual discipline, so the result is often carefully couched and sometimes speculative; perhaps its deeper meaning cannot be convincingly made by linguistics alone.  In particular, whilst Gombrich also makes the important point that the text carries with it an injunction, of ‘ought’, scholarship doesn’t necessarily bring about this ‘ought’ response, i.e. "Right, let’s undertake the practice!"  To me it seldom is that compelling.  Even from the perspective of practice, it still is a matter of interpretation dependent on view (diṭṭhi) and according to the path (magga) taken.  However, to some extent the words can help to validate practice, so it works both ways.  

Indeed, the linguistic reading can lead on to practice and I’ll try to illustrate this by focusing on the ‘ought’, drawing on the Dhammakaya tradition to which I belong.  I’ll start by making the assertion that the presentation style of a practitioner can be more persuasive about the ‘ought’.  I think especially of the late Chao Khun Phramongkolthepmuni, the re-discoverer of this practice.  When he was delivering sermons as Abbot of Wat Paknam Bhasicharoen in Thailand he spoke with a directness and assuredness that arose from meditation experience.  His audience was roused in large numbers over the years and it came about as the audience engaged a different mode of listening and interpreting, through the citta, a Pali word that I would render along the lines of “heart-mind”, to distinguish it from the brain alone. 

The Chao Khun explained every word in the iti pi so, and gave the formula a sense of direction reflecting investigation within what the Buddha referred to as “this fathom-long body” (Rohitassa Sutta).  I summarise the respective interpretations in a table as follows:

Term	Gombrich	Dhammakaya tradition	Comment (Dhammakaya)
svākkhato	well-taught	well-taught
Bhagavatā	Blessed One	Blessed One	Because the Buddha is breaker of the wheel of Samsara
Dhammo	Teaching	Dhamma	Teaching (mundane) and Truth as supramundane reality
sanditthiko	practical	to be seen	Directly observable
akāliko	immediate	timeless and ever-present	Whether there are Buddhas in the world or not, the Path to Enlightenment lies open, all the same
ehipassiko	Come and see	Come and see
opanāyiko	useful	leading inwards	the operative mode is given by phrases such as kāye kāyānupassī, ‘contemplating body in body’ in accordance with the Middle Way.
paccattam	individually, by oneself	individually, by oneself
veditabbo	o be understood	to be realized	directly, not just intellectually
viññuhi	by the intelligent	by the wise

This practice-based approach was even reflected in the design of published materials.  For example, several of the terms, including opanāyiko, were employed on the front cover of a magazine of the Bhikkhus of Wat Paknam, surrounding the image of the Buddha in meditation.

Another area where the orientation of practice can prompt or fashion a different response concerns repetition (pp. 62-68). Certainly some formulaic repetition acts as little more than packaging, but the repetition in the ‘contents’ does need care.  As mentioned, repetition aids and reinforces memory, but it also establishes a rhythm, which can be cyclical in nature, like a spiral staircase, where the completion of each full 360 degree rotation brings a different aspect viewed from a series of successively higher windows (perhaps these are the “small changes” that Ven. Dr Walpola Rahula alluded to?).  Lists are usually intentionally ordered.  Hence the khandhas (pp. 64-5) are to be contemplated, each in turn (it’s not an intellectual exercise, it’s a sermon on practice, not about the practice).

But some cases of repetition do appear to be far less necessary: repetition that arises through reporting - the convention of repeating verbatim each time a new person is to hear what has been said.  Such preservation can make for excessive, even quite absurd, repetition as illustrated (p. 66) and I confess that in study groups we often skip reading out such repeated reports.

Gombrich makes the key point that repetition occurs at every level, which suggests that the Buddha used repetition in his speeches, thereby strengthening the case that the Pali does indeed record the Buddha’s own words.

4. Pali in Buddhist Ideology

Having laid the foundations, the final chapter presents the main thesis: that the Buddha gave his teachings in Pali as part of his ideology; the use of Pali emerged in opposition to Sanskrit as integral to the Buddha’s teachings being in contradistinction to the Vedas.  I hadn’t thought that the Buddha might so deliberately using language (or avoid the use of a particularly structured language) to take an ideological stance, but I can imagine it fits like this. 

Then Gombrich builds his case, showing how the Buddha gave his teachings to anyone who was prepared to receive them, instructing his disciples to make language accessible and adaptable to locality.  A particularly difficult area is establishing what language was used between the time of the Buddha and when it was first formally written down in Sri Lanka.  So Gombrich proceeds to develop a linguistic argument, inviting the reader to imagine the conditions in which the Buddha roamed far and wide and how Pali appears to have accommodated a wide range of dialects to match whilst being based on a predominant dialect, a ‘lingua franca’, becoming the ‘argot’ of the Buddha and his followers (rather than quoting Google, I suggest the entry in an online etymology dictionary).

Such language was used in a pragmatic fashion to convey meaning, so it can be argued that implies purging language of foreign terms.  I’m cautious about that; some terms need to be introduced with all nuances of the original meaning properly established or else much can be lost.  I think, for example, of the term “mindfulness”, which is typically used for sati, but in the process the sense of clear comprehension with an ethical basis has often been removed (think about the sequence of the Eightfold Noble Path).

Conclusion

In the epilogue, Gombrich leaves us with an open problem: how best to teach a basic course in Pali that will enable students to tackle the translation of texts with the aid of a dictionary and other tools.   From past experience, Gombrich has found that the course needs to be intensive over a short period, usually 2-3 weeks, but that has presented various challenges in terms of organisation and commitment irrespective of whether that is offered in person at a physical location or online. 

Efforts are currently being made to provide a more sustainable option through online courses with recorded sessions, which should improve retention, though it will mean reduced personal interaction.  Having been involved in developing and support e-learning platforms, and even a little research, I expect A.I. to offer considerable potential, especially assistance in understanding particular concepts being taught in drill practice.  Financial support would make things easier, remove some barriers, but overall I think that it still largely depends on the student's determination as to whether there will be a successful outcome.

---

Overall, this little volume has been stimulating and enjoyable and I'm pleased to recommend it.  It has reminded me how fortunate I was to learn the rudiments of Pali from an expert so that I could be in a position to explore the Buddha's teachings with more assurance; today, I mainly use that knowledge outside the academic context, in a local Buddhist group (where we follow chanting and meditation with sutta study, using a plethora of books and some electronic tools).

Postscript [12 January 2019]

After posting the article, I recalled having written about how the Buddha transmitted Dhamma based on knowing the receptivity of his audience and their kamma.  To explain how this worked, I tried to use analogies with concepts in physics (mainly holography, first introducing the basic idea and then elaborating with a further analogy of a radio set.

The Teachings at Wat Paknam (Attā and Anattā: Part Three)

[Updated on 23 June 2019: fixed some typos and inserted a few missing diacritics]

Continuing with the theme of attā and anattā raised by Horner, having indicated some of the scholarly response (or lack of), I turn now to some views from Thailand.

My own Buddhist background comes mainly through my mother, the late Fuengsin Trafford, who belonged to the Dhammakaya tradition; she used to practise meditation at Wat Paknam Bhasicharoen in Thonburi, Thailand. It was she who introduced me to the teachings of Chao Khun Phramongkolthepmuni (Sodh Candasaro), or simply Luang Phor Sodh, as he was popularly known, who was its Abbot from 1916 until his passing in 1959. (Luang Phor means something like ‘respected father’; he is also popularly referred to as Luang Pu —‘respected grandfather’.)

Luang Phor Sodh delivered many sermons, some of which, mainly the later ones, were recorded, and quite a few of these have been translated from Thai into English. Most of my reading has ben from two volumes published by the 60th Dhammachai Education Foundation, part of Wat Phra Dhammakaya. The title is ’Visudhivācā: Translation of Morradok Dhamma’, where Morradok is a Thai word that means something like 'legacy' or 'inheritance' (but the book link above is incorrect — Volume II can be read online / downloaded at calameo.com). Unfortunately, Volume I, from which I will quote, is out of print and I can’t find any copy online.

I shall focus on one particular sermon by Luang Phor entitled 'Self as Refuge', which he gave on 13th September B.E. 2496 (1953), so it is contemporaneous with Horner’s article. It also includes several of the passages that Horner cites. Further, in Luang Phor’s main treatment of the topic of attā, we may discern a pattern of teaching that mirrors Horner’s gradual approach, i.e. Luang Phor starts by reviewing what is compounded and mundane before moving onto the supramundane. In both cases he asserts there is attā, respectively conventional and transcendent. However, whereas Horner relies on study of the texts, the main basis of Luang Phor’s teachings is his meditation experience — which has been verified by many of his disciples and their disciples (of which my mother was one).

As a warm-up Luang Phor recounts the episode where, shortly after his Enlightenment, the Buddha encounters a group of princes, searching for a woman who is suspected of having made off with some precious jewellery. The Buddha addresses them, recorded in Pali as:

“taṃ kiṃ maññatha vo, kumārā, katamaṃ nu kho tumhākaṃ varaṃ — yaṃ vā tumhe itthiṃ gaveseyyātha, yaṃ vā attānaṃ gaveseyyāthā”ti? “etadeva, bhante, amhākaṃ varaṃ yaṃ mayaṃ attānaṃ gaveseyyāmā”ti. “tena hi vo, kumārā, nisīdatha, dhammaṃ vo desessāmī”ti.

(Vin. Mahāvagga i.23, i.e. 1. mahākhandhako, 11. bhaddavaggiyavatthu])

Horner translates (p.32):

“What do you think of this, young men? Which is better for you, that you should seek for a woman or that you should seek for the self?”
“Truly this were better for us. Lord, that we should seek for the self."
"Well then, young men, you sit down, I will teach you dhamma."

The account relates that the princes were given gradual instruction on sense restraint and magga (the meditative path of liberation) so that in due course:

“having seen dhamma, attained dhamma, known dhamma, plunged into dhamma, having crossed over doubt, having put away uncertainty, having attained without another's help to full confidence in the teacher's instruction,’ spoke thus to the Lord: May I, Lord, receive the going forth in the Lord's presence, may I receive ordination?'

(It’s the same formula as used for Venerable Aññata Kondañña, one of the Pañcavaggiyā (Five Ascetics), p.18).

Luang Phor proceeds to give his main teaching to connect attā and dhamma based on the following passage from the Mahāparinibbāṇa Sutta (DN 16), which is also quoted by Horner

attadīpā attasaranā anaññāsaranā
dhammadīpā dhammaasaranā anaññāsaranā

[D. ii. 100, DN etc.]

Luang Phor explains this word by word:

attadīpā means having the self as an island.
attasaranā means having the self as a refuge.
anaññāsaranā means having nothing else as a refuge.
dhammadīpā means having Dhamma as an island.
dhammaasaranā means having Dhamma as a refuge.
anaññāsaranā means having nothing else as a refuge.

So the Abbot’s repeated translation as ‘self’ adds cumulative weight; it is more than a mere conventional reference to oneself or ourselves. He then goes on to elaborate on what this ‘self’ means by reference to successive stages in Dhammakaya meditation.

Each stage makes reference to a body and that body is to be regarded as ‘self’. There is a succession of bodies, so there are various levels of ‘self’. Each ‘self’ is what one works with in practice, what is to be thoroughly known; when bringing the mind to a standstill, it dissolves, allowing the next body to arise at its centre. (This bringing to a standstill is what the Buddha meant when declaring he had stopped to Angulimāla).

The succession starts with manussakāya (the human physical body). That’s self. It dissolves and then so too is panīta-manussakāya (the refined human body, ‘astral’ or ‘dreaming’ body), this is self. The process repeats for increasingly refined bodies, hence: dibbakāya (celestial body), panīta-dibbakāya (refined celestial body), rūpabrahmakāya (form Brahma body), panīta-rūpabrahmakāya (refined form Brahma body), arūpabrahmakāya (formless Brahma body), panīta-arūpabrahmakāya (refined formless Brahma body).

There are eight of these bodies. Luang Phor explains:

These are all 'selves’, bodies within bhavaloka (the three planes of becoming)... The various selves of the three planes of becoming are conventional; they are not real, and will remain only for a certain period of time. Such bodies are transient.

There are more bodies beyond those planes and Luang Phor proceeds to enumerate them, but I will change the order by bringing forward what he says about conventional Dhamma and relate this to self. Likewise there are various levels of Dhamma:

Dhamma is a dwelling-place for the self; the self could not exist without Dhamma. The human body, the refined human body, the dibbakāya, the refined dibbakāya, the rūpabrahmakāya, the refined rūpabrahmakāya, the arūpabrahmakāya; the refined arūpabrahmakāya; all possess Dhamma. Without Dhamma, such could not survive.

Luang Phor teaches that each body (self) has Dhamma, where the Dhamma is located at the centre of the respective body and that it is a sphere, hence Dhamma-sphere. However, for these 8 bodies, these Dhamma-spheres are conventional; Luang Phor quotes the Buddha: “The Great Lord said: Sabbe dhammā anattā ti; ‘all dhammas are not-self’.” To clarify he states: “Self is not Dhamma — self is self — Dhamma is Dhamma”, but the Dhamma-sphere is what makes self possible.

I suspect that all these stages would have already been attained before the Buddha’s Enlightenment and the beginning of his dispensation. The Brahmajāla Sutta, which describes a long list of false views includes the belief held by eternalists that loka (the world, be it form-filled or formless) and the highest self are the same. This erroneous view could be reached by those who had surveyed through considerable efforts in meditation cycles of universes over many aeons, including numerous past lives, but without seeing beyond the three planes.

Given the Buddha’s refutation of a permanent self in all that, it’s perhaps not so surprising that many scholarly interpretations will stop at ‘all dhammas are not-self’ and conclude that this includes nibbāna, but this would contradict the Buddha’s utterance in the Udana 8.3 and bind us all to the lower shore.

Descriptions of the path to liberation typically involve purification with the abandonment of the kilesas (the defilements of greed, hatred and delusion) and proceed to the destruction of the asavas (deep-seated taints). Today there are many explanations about the process but references to magga (path or way), specifically the Middle Way are often vague or not made explicit. Yet, it could only be from outside the three planes of becoming that the appropriate insight could be gained.

In contrast, Luang Phor gives these terms explicit meanings and proceeds to show how the mode of practice through the centre of the body continues to apply. This is the vehicle for the Middle Way, a process of body within body, performed repeatedly (an approach I’ve tried to express by using the image of microscopes).

But are there canonical references for this? Yes, in the Mahāsatipatṭhāna Sutta (The Greater Discourse on the Foundations of Mindfulness), the Buddha uses the phrase kāye kāyānupassī viharati (dwells contemplating body in body), and similarly for vedanā, citta and dhamma. This is explained by Luang Phor in another sermon dedicated to that sutta, also translated into English in Visudhivācā Volume I. Further, in the Samaññaphala Sutta (on the Fruits of the Contemplative Life) the Buddha describes the relationships of ‘body in body’ through imagery: like a reed being pulled from a sheath or a sword from its scabbard. Without understanding the mode, kāye kāyānupassī has been mistranslated, often with reference to external bodies and even as ‘contemplating the body in and of itself’. No, it means ‘body in body’ (two bodies, one inside the other).

Continuing with the sermon on attā, Luang Phor goes on to introduce 10 further kāyas, all transcendent, by this mode. The first of these is the entry point to the ariyan states, the dhammakāya-gotrabhū. Gotrabhū means ‘transition of lineage’. It’s referenced in AN 9:10 (the sutta on those worthy of offerings), but Gotrabhū is often weakly translated as “member of the spiritual clan or family”. Luang Phor is indicating that it’s specifically the Ariyan family, the stage of entry or threshold, as defined by Nyanatiloka in his Manual of Buddhist Terms and Doctrines.

There follows the refined dhammakāya-gotrabhū, the dhammakāya-sotapanna, the refined dhammakāya-sotapanna, the dhammakāya-sakadāgāmi, the refined dhammakāya-sakadāgāmi, the dhammakāya-anāgāmi, the refined dhammakāya-anāgāmi, the dhammakāya-arahatta, the refined dhammakāya-arahatta, making 10 transcendent bodies in all, each of which possess spheres of Dhamma successively larger in dimension in which the respective bodies (selves) dwell. Thus there are pairings throughout — the body, which is perceived, and the Dhamma on which that is based, without which it cannot exist. Both are of two kinds: the conditioned and unconditioned, 8 and 10 in number respectively.

After describing the qualities of each stage from the point of view of a practitioner Luang Phor revisits the Pali phrase attadīpā attasaranā anaññāsaranā, explaining first how self is an island:

How is it that the body or 'self’ is an island, and how is it our own refuge? To start with, picture a vessel that has been attacked by a storm and wrecked in the ocean. The passengers are forced to swim to reach the shore. They surely need something to rest on, such as an island. What if, whilst swimming, they suddenly see in the distance an island? You can imagine how pleased they would be. That island is their refuge; they now have a place upon which to rest, to take a break from swimming, which is very tiring. Once they find they have an island they can reach, they are no longer tired; their difficulties and hardship are alleviated...

Then explaining how self is a refuge:

What does it mean to say body is a refuge? How come you have your self as a refuge? What happens when you see the island? The answer is that you are happy because you can stay on that island, you can rest on that island. Since you have nowhere else to go, you take that island as your refuge.

Luang Phor goes on to provide a further explanation based on practical reality:

At present, we human beings take our own bodies as the place in which we live. If we do not depend on the human body as an island, then why don’t you let go of it? When a human has no material-form that could be called a body, the refined body is unable to exist. Others would not be able to see you, which would mean that you were dead. This supports my explanation that the human body is truly an island.

There is further elaboration in the sermon, but I think that’s enough for this post.

In summary, the late Abbot of Wat Paknam's teachings on attā and anattā are emphatic and nuanced; whereas many scholars make reference to just one (physical) body with which to work with, Luang Phor indicates that there's a notion of 'body' at each level and that is to be regarded as 'self'. Each such 'self' is to be paired with Dhamma, which for the mundane levels (corresponding with the first 8 kāyas up to the formless Brahmakayas), are actually anattā, but for the 10 supramundane kāyas they are attā.

There were many skeptics in his day, but Luang Phor never wavered in his conviction and he eventually convinced many of his detractors once they practiced themselves or sometimes when they faced difficulties that they could not resolve, but Luang Phor could.

I’ll just finish by relating an episode from my first stay in Thailand, during which I had my fourth birthday. I don’t remember very much apart from a dream in which I was on board a ship, out at sea. There was a storm and I fell overboard and was washed up on shore. As I walked along the shore a hole appeared and I fell into it. Maintaining my awareness I observed it getting larger, but I don’t recall being afraid. And then it morphed into my room and I was awake.

Appendix

I have been unable to locate the original Thai transcription of Luang Phor’s talk, though I have found an extract from a Thai collection of Luang Phor's sermons (Vol. 1), page 33, which corresponds to page 40 of Visudhivāca I. It has its own title of กายในภพ-กายนอกภพ ('Body in the world — body outside the world'). It contrasts the conventional with the supramundane. I include a portion below along with my own translation, which I carried out partly to confirm the English in Visudhivāca I (it seems fine, likely better than mine).

เพราะฉะนั้นจะต้องเรียนให้รู้จักกายของตัวเสียก่อน ว่ากายมนุษย์นี่ แหละเป็นตัวโดยสมมุติ ๘ กายที่อยู่ในภพนั่นแหละเรียกว่า อตตสมมุติ เรียก ว่าตัวโดยสมมุติทั้งสิ้น

So we must study and get to know initially the self of the world. About this human body (manussakaya) it has a conventional self. There are 8 sammuti [conventional] bodies in the world [bhavaloka]. These [bodies] are called attāsammuti, that is they are all called conventional self.

ส่วนธรรมล่ะ คือธรรมที่ทำให้เป็นกายมนุษย์น่ะ ก็เรียกว่าธรรมสมมุติ เหมือนกัน สมมุติชั่วคราวหนึ่ง ไมใช่ตัวที่พระองค์ทรงรับสั่งว่า “สพุเพ ธมมา อนตฺตาติ” ธรรมทั้งสิ้นไม่ใช่ตัว ตัวทั้งสิ้นไม,ใช่ธรรม ตัวก็เป็นตัวซิ ธรรมก็เป็น ธรรมซิ คนละนัย

As for Dhamma it is Dhamma that causes the human body. So it is called sammuti dhamma as well — being sammuti it is temporary; it’s not a permanent dwelling place for self. Of this it is said “Sabbe dhammā anattā ti”. None of these dhammas are self. Self is not this Dhamma. For self is self and Dhamma is Dhamma — they are different from one another.


มีตัวกับธรรม ๒ อย่างนี้เท่านั้น กายมนุษย์ก็มืตัว กายมนุษย์ก็มืธรรมที่ ทำให้เป็นตัว ตลอดทุกกาย ทั้ง ๑๘ กาย มีตัวกับมีธรรมที่ทำ'ให้เป็นตัว แต่ว่า ตัวทั้งหลายเหล่านั้น ทั้ง ๘ กายในภพ เป็นอนิจจํ ทุกขํ อนตฺตา หมดไม่เหลือ เลย ทั้ง ๑๐ กายนอกภพ เป็น นิจฺจํ สุขํ อตฺตา หมดไม่เหลือเลย ตรงกันข้าม อย่างนี้เป็น นิจฺจํ สุขํ อตฺตา เป็นของที่เที่ยงของจริงหมด แด,ว่าในภพแล้วเป็น ของไม่เที่ยงไม,จริงหมด

There is self and Dhamma. Merely these two things: there is human body and there is self. The human body has also dhamma which makes it have self. Each and every body, all 18 bodies, have self and dhamma, which makes it [possible to] have self. But the self across all 8 groups in the world are aniccam, dukkham and anattā, all of them. On the other hand all ten bodies outside the world are completely niccam, sukham, attā. They are all the same in this way niccam, sukham, attā; they are completely certain and true, but regarding those [bodies] in the world they are transient, not real at all.

Contextualising attā (Attā and Anattā: Part Two)

Having introduced Horner's essay on Attā and Anattā and related some of the (more) open questions around the meanings of attā, we now consider the third and final part, where Horner presents various passages containing ‘attā’ (or more, exactly, “the logical opposite of an-attā”), which she regards as “too much overlooked”.

For example, from S. i. 140. [SN 6.2.2] Gārava Sutta (Respect):

Tasmā hi attakāmena,
mahattamabhikaṅkhatā;
Saddhammo garukātabbo

Horner translates as (my italics):

So he to whom the self is dear,
Who longs for the great self,
Should homage to true dhamma pay.

Yet Bhikkhu Bodhi translates this as (again, my italics):

Therefore one desiring his own good,
Aspiring for spiritual greatness,
Should deeply revere the true Dhamma.

and Bhikkhu Sujato renders it:

Therefore someone who loves themselves,
aspiring to transcendence,
should respect the true teaching.

There is considerable variation in these, but the second and third translations both avoid using the word ‘Self’, though Ven. Sujato does assign to 'mahattama' transcendence, which is not the conventional. My knowledge of Pali is not sufficient to be clear on this, but the key to the translation of the second line is how one deals with 'mahattam' (or 'mahatta[m]') - the PTS dictionary translates 'mahattam' as 'greatness' (from the Sanskrit mahattva). So technically Horner's translation of this line looks erroneous, though they may well share linguistic roots. However, I think the key point is that the second line reinforces the first one, so the sense is actually correct.

More generally, I notice that other modern translations of some of these passages replace references to 'self' by something vaguer, with conventional meaning, or otherwise gloss over the words. Whilst in some cases this may be closer to the intended meaning, it seems to me that more often it’s rooted in a particular limited view of self, entailing some aversion to writing ‘self’ without qualification. Sometimes there’s even an insistence in the footnotes that any reference to attā can’t be metaphysical, as is the case for the following famous passage that Horner includes in her list:

tasmā attadīpā attasaraṇā anaññasaraṇā dhammadīpā dhammasaraṇā anaññasaraṇā

Horner translates this as:

Wherefore fare along with self as island, with self as refuge, and no other, with dhamma as island, with dhamma as refuge, and no other. (D. ii. 100, etc.)

But in a footnote Walshe is adamant it can’t be other than a reflexive pronoun.

Yet Horner was not convinced by the conclusions of Walshe and those with similar views and I believe that by reprinting the essay in the ‘70s she purposely wished to re-express her view:

As the idea of brahma in the Pali canon has been overlooked—in spite of the ever recurring brahmacariya, the Walk to or with Brahma, the Sublime—so has that of attā. Both were of the utmost significance in the Upanishads. Both have a significance, even if we have not yet assessed it, in the Pali canon.

Substantially, she proposed a philological basis to glean the meanings, but she indicates it would require far-reaching studies across the Vinaya and Nikayas and furthermore a proper understanding of Indian cultures and beliefs at that time.

She starts us off with a selection of quotes around the use of “brahma” and “dhamma”, suggestive of affinities with. They include:

He who sees Dhamma, Vakkali, sees me; he who sees me sees Dhamma. Truly seeing Dhamma, one sees me; seeing me one sees Dhamma.

[S iii 119 [SN 22.87] Vakali Sutta]

And a teaching to Vasettha where the Buddha referred to himself using the terms dhammakāya, brahmakāya, dhammabhūta, and brahmabhūta. The passage is from D. iii. 84 [DN 27] Aggañña Sutta, and is as follows:

He whose faith in the Tathagata is settled, rooted, established, solid, unshakeable by any ascetic or Brahmin, any deva or mara or Brahma or anyone in the world, can truly say: “I am a true son of Blessed Lord, born of his mouth, born of Dhamma, created by Dhamma, an heir of Dhamma.” Why is that? Because, Vasettha, this designates the Tathagata: “The Body of Dhamma” [dhammakāya], that is, “The Body of Brahma” [brahmakāya], or “Become Dhamma” [dhammabhūta], that is, “Become Brahma” [brahmabhūta].

Academic Response

So what has been the response to Horner’s paper? When I search online I can find few citations; in fact, it seems to be little known, not even listed in Google Scholar.

Even so there have been a few scholars who have delved into the subject matter. Among them was Joaquín Pérez-Remón, who made a bold attempt to explore at length in his thesis, Self and Non-self in Early Buddhism (De Gruyter), which is partially accessible via Google Books.

A general sense of his position is expressed in his reflection about the Buddha:

Is it not far better to say that what he affirmed and what he denied were not one and the same thing? When he affirmed the existence of attā against the materialists, he affirmed the reality of something objectively true. When he denied the attā against the eternalists, he did not deny the true attā, but the attā of the eternalists that is wrongly identified with the khandhas.

(from Pérez-Remón's concluding section, page 302)

I find this a fair assessment, but his work was considered controversial; reviews found aspects useful, but seem to be critical — it seems that whatever the philological analysis, if it came to conclusions that challenged prevailing views it would not be regarded favourably and might just be dismissed as intellectual speculation (see e.g Vijitha Rajapakse’s review for the Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies).

The book is a reworking of the author's doctoral thesis at the University of Bombay under the title: 'The Anattavada in the Suttapitaka' (page v). At 1810 pages it seems that the institution had a very liberal attitude to limits, but I feel sorry for the examiners! The considerable length may explain why the author has seemingly inverted the presentation by devoting the first half of the book to numerous references containing attā: part one (of only two) is entitled ‘The Existential Self’ before treating — in part two, ‘The Metaphysical Self’ — attā and anattā more together. However, with Horner starting mainly with anattā, I find the ordering odd; I think a more balanced approach to treat them alongside each other all along, a more natural process to show how there might be complementarity instead of apparent contradictions or inconsistencies.

It would have been interesting for Pérez-Remón to have disseminated his ideas more widely and continued with his research, but he passed away only a few years after its publication [In memoriam]. However, it looks like Arthur Wells took up the baton with his Master’s thesis: The Early Buddhist Affirmation of Self (Atman) in the Logic, Parables and Imagery of the Pali Nikāyas.

I was only made aware of his work very recently; it seems not so widely circulated. At least it has been considered and cited in the academic literature and it does get occasionally mentioned in online discussions. I wonder why Pérez-Remón went to such great lengths in his research. It may be due to his own religious convictions; he was a Jesuit who explored interreligous dialogue, especially mysticism - among his other publications is Misticismo Oriental y Misticismo Cristiano, Caso Típico: Teresa de Jesús. Having studied some of the imagery of St. Teresa of Avila, I add this to my reading list. Other Buddhist scholars have also been interested in this mystic; Lance Cousins wrote a paper about her, suggesting parallels with the path of purification as expressed by Buddhagosa.

More recently, Chanida Jantrasrisalai’s PhD thesis has examined in depth the meaning of language in the Indian context — around terms such as Brahmacariya, Brahmakāya and Dhammakāya. It’s entitled, 'Early Buddhist dhammakāya: Its philosophical and soteriological significance', available to download from the University of Sydney. It's the Dhammakāya tradition that I wish to explore next.

Attā and Anattā (Part One)

The title of this post is copied from an essay written by the Pali scholar, Isaline Blew Horner — attā means ‘self’; an- means ‘not, without’; hence anattā means ‘not self’ or ‘without self’. I. B. Horner had been working on this topic for quite a while with some earlier drafts (IH A/12) dating to Nov 1948 and the publication of a similar paper in French, 'Attā et Anattā dans les Textes du Canon Pali’ in La pensée Bouddhique, Bulletin des Amis du Bouddhisme, Jan. 1949. pp. 6-13. But it seems it wasn’t until 1952 that it appeared in English, in The Golden Lotus (Philadelphia) and The Middle Way (the journal of the Buddhist Society in London). About 20 years later it was reprinted for Studies in Comparative Religion, Vol. 7, No. 1. (Winter 1973).

It’s quite an unusual essay: whilst Horner presents some philological analysis, as befits her professional background, her main point is that there’s a major gap in terms of research, though she doesn’t really reveal her intentions until the second half of the paper. Her argument, or plea, is that passages mentioning attā have been relatively neglected and should be given closer attention. She appears to be demonstrating this in the title by placing attā alongside anattā, from which we may infer that these two terms should be studied in tandem. However, being a major undertaking, it is beyond the scope of such an article to provide the detailed analysis, so she cites a number of passages where attā could be usefully explored further, an open invitation to the community.

Horner felt strongly that this was needed: she included a similar call in her introduction to her Pali Text Society translation of the Mahavagga in the Khandhaka, the second book of the Vinaya, the book of monastic discipline, where she writes (in 1951), "Various passages in the Pali canon, including the Attavagga of the Dhammapada, should not be ignored in estimating the position of attā as a philosophical concept in Early Buddhism." (p. xxiv)

I was quite struck by the article, hence this post. After summarising her approach and selective quotes, I indicate how it has been received and responded to, and then offer some response from my own tradition in light of the teachings of the late Chao Khun Phramongkolthepmuni, the late Abbot of Wat Paknam, and re-discoverer of the Dhammakaya tradition. The aim is to show how the teachings can be harmonised, setting these concepts in the framework of a path of practice. Originally intended to be a single post, I’ve split it into three owing to its length, but they should ideally be all read together. If there’s sufficient interest and time, I may tidy up my writing and put together a more formal article.

References are made to the Pali canon in the conventional way, i.e. first to the Pali Text Society edition of the Pali original, using the PTS abbreviations, i.e. a Roman numeral for a book number and then the Arabic numeral; then the Arabic number and section for the translation, as used by popular websites such as Access to Insight. For example: S iii 119 [SN 22.87].

Towards a More Nuanced View of attā

Horner opens by expressing the problem:

It is becoming more and more general to think and to say that Buddhism teaches not-self, anattā...

[It’s certainly a general view today.]

However, based on her extensive readings of the Pali canon (which probably only a handful of scholars could match), she perceives this all-encompassing view as invalid. Choosing her words carefully, she observes:

But Early Buddhism, the Buddhism of the Vinaya and the Suttapitaka, does not exactly teach not-self, except in so far as it says that certain definite things are not-self; therefore put them away, they are not yours (S. iii. 33-34; M. i. 140-141).

She was well aware that her position could (and would) be seen as controversial, so she makes her case gradually, in three parts. Initially, she cites a number of passages relating to anattā, how they are variously framed. She provide explanations that few scholars would disagree with — the five khandhas (aggregates) of grasping, namely rūpa (form), vedanā (feeling), sañña (perception), saṅkhāra (mental formations) and viññāna (consciousness), are of the nature to be impermanent and thus not-self. She goes on to describe how an ordinary worldling is bound by this grasping through the senses, giving rise to a wrong view about oneself. Such false views are to be got rid of. So far, so good.

In addition to establishing the common ground, for the next step Horner intimates in various ways how the meaning of attā is not so clear-cut. And in fact one of her first quotes, from the Vinaya, specifies a condition for attā:

Had they been self: rupam (etc.) c'idam attā abhavissa (Vin. i. 13), there would have been power of disposal over them: Let my body be such, let it not be such. But as they are not self, one cannot alter them.

This could be argued as hypothetical as it doesn’t say whether there really are such attā. However, Horner follows up with a statement by the Buddha that is more direct:

"What is not self, that is not my self" (yad anattā . . . na meso attā) (S. iii. 45, iv. 2) [Anicca Sutta].

This is a strong statement that seems to posit attā: besides the fact that it’s contained in the attādīpa Vagga (‘Self as Island’ section) of the Samyutta Nikaya, the context of eradicating the asavas (taints) across each of the khandhas to obtain final release points to the non-conventional.

To further indicate that there may be more subtle meanings to attā Horner relates the Buddha’s encounter with a wandering recluse called Vacchagotta, to whom the Buddha remains silent when asked in turn: “Is there Self?” and then "What then, is there not self?"(S. iv. 400-401).

Evidently there was no definitive statement that the Buddha could make in this instance. When questioned by his disciples the Buddha made reference to false doctrines that were prevalent at the time (and there were a vast array, including eternalism, as described in the Brahmajāla Sutta). Giving an answer depended not only on the context of the question and what the Buddha knew as true, but also on the questioner's state of mind and frames of reference, which in this case could not support right understanding. Nevertheless, the questioner was asking about ultimate truth and in this context the Buddha would not make a general denial about attā. I think it is this matter of context operating at various levels is what Horner wishes to draw to our attention, though I do not agree with her parenthetical comment about all things (dhammas) being not-self include nibbāna.

Here I would insert a quote attributed to the Buddha from Udana 8.3, which, although not using the term attā, is an affirmation of what lies beyond the khandhas, pointing to a higher sense that may be related:

There is, bhikkhus, a not-born, a not-brought-to-being, a not-made, a not-conditioned. If, bhikkhus, there were no not-born, not-brought-to-being, not-made, not-conditioned, no escape would be discerned from what is born, brought-to-being, made, conditioned. But since there is a not-born, a not-brought-to-being, a not-made, a not-conditioned, therefore an escape is discerned from what is born, brought-to-being, made, conditioned.

[Translated by John D. Ireland]

When I was 15 years old the head master at my school required every pupil to write about their spiritual beliefs. Even though I had been brought up as a Roman Catholic, I wrote about ‘God’ in terms of energy and superconsciousness. By the time I had reached my early 20s I had reflected intellectually on the recursive dissolution of matter into smaller and smaller parts, finding it inherently formless and devoid of self. At the same time I also intuited superconsciousness with effects in the world of form, but, confining my view of such agency to experience I queried the anthropomorphism, and could not perceive anything beyond a kind of supramundane awareness.

Then, as though reading my mental state, my mother casually remarked, “Apparently there is a realm of Buddhas.” My mother practised a lot of meditation, it was not a statement I could ignore. Very soon my view changed radically as I ceased being annihilationist (from the Latin ad + nihil. literally: to/towards nothing). I’ll try to intimate this in the next two parts.

[Next: Part Two]

Notes from the OCBS Pali Summer School '08

Evaŋ me sutaŋ:

I've been mentioning 'Pali' with quite some eagerness to various friends and neighbours, particularly on buses, and even to a couple of diners at a restaurant. Usually, the initial response has been a blank face or slight confusion - some hear 'Bali' - but when I've gone on to explain that this is a language related to Sanskrit and approximately that spoken by the Buddha, then interest has been aroused. It's not that surprising as two were language teachers, though perhaps the more general interest shown is just due to it being Oxford!

My enthusiasm has been due to the Pali Summer School, an annual course run by the Oxford Centre for Buddhist Studies to enable beginners to obtain a reasonable grasp of the Pali language in less than 2 weeks! This year's course, which ended yesterday, was taught mainly by Professor Richard Gombrich with the able assistance of Geoff Bamford and Tomoyuki Kono. It took place at one of the campuses of Brookes University, which provided affordable arrangements, especially for accommodation.

There were 11 of us as students, with varying backgrounds (7 different nationalities, originating from Belgium, Israel, Norway, Taiwan, Thailand, UK and US), so for the majority English was not their first language (so I'm very impressed by the way they handled this course!) I think we all got a great deal out of it. It's fun to work as a small group and we were encouraged to help each other, which was a useful technique to establish how sure you were about your understanding. The 2 hour lunch breaks allowed us to wander into town and have leisurely lunches; a good gap was needed because the material to absorb is quite considerable and condensed. Furthermore, we had homework every evening!

One of the first things I learnt about Pali even before the course is that it doesn't have it's own script, so it is transliterated - into e.g. Devanagiri, but fortunately this course used the Roman alphabet. Having said that, it doesn't use the 'A' to 'Z' ordering familiar in modern European languages, but rather the sounds are produced in sequence according to the how they are formed in the mouth, starting at the back of the throat with 'k','kh' (aspirated), and working forward through to the lips. (And now I can see how it has influenced the Thai alphabet, with the ordering there bearing some resemblance, though it's certainly not the same.) Memorising the order was actually our first exercise, intended to be learnt before we started so that we had facility in using Pali dictionaries. The dictionary recommended for the course is by Rhys Davids and Stede and published by the Pali Text Society, available from the PTS Web site or Wisdom Books if a courier delivery is not suitable for you). There is also an online edition of the PTS dictionary provided Digital Dictionaries of South Asia, an excellent implementation developed by the University of Chicago, but I generally refrained from using it!

I was very surprised at the start of the course by the requirement of learning how to pronounce the language correctly. Given that Pali is the language of texts to be analysed and scrutinised by scholars, I naturally thought of it as study most befitting for libraries, where silence is the order of the day! However, Prof. Gombrich was very firm in his conviction that correct pronunciation leads to correct spelling, which is essential for establishing the correct meaning. To help encourage this, we had daily chanting and he led us very vigorously, making each and every syllable distinctly long or short! And after a while it made sense to me. Pali has 41 letters, a number of which have diacritical marks, which at first glance sounds a bit of a chore, but once you know the sounds and the phonology rules, it does enable you to pronounce words correctly, work out why some words are spelt the way they are, and also to hear them correctly (useful when making notes!).

I found Prof. Gombrich not only immensely knowledgeable, but also very well organised, presenting a set of materials consisting of what we really needed to know in an order to have a good go at translating a variety of passages from the suttas. There's as much skill in knowing what to leave out or only touch on as in knowing what to include! He is very clear in delivery and provides very helpful (and patient) explanations. When translating, he seemed to pick out straightforward meanings that were well informed by his knowledge of Indian society and culture at the time. And he's very humorous too. :-) I think just the mere fact that we were there attempting to learn Pali was a source of happiness for him as he strongly believes that there is a severe paucity in this area.

At the conclusion of the course and several times we were encouraged to keep it going - appamadena sampadetha (strive on with diligence)! (previously expressed more colloquially as, "Use it or lose it!")

Although at first glance, learning Pali is a daunting prospect - e.g. it has many inflexions, owing especially to having 8 cases - it's not so complex, because it's essentially a spoken language for the general public. It's not as elaborate as Sanskrit. Having said that, I felt it helped to have studied foreign languages at school, particularly Latin.

Before the course I knew a few Pali words from traditional chants, but not much more than that. I belong to a Dhamma study group which goes through texts, making use of various translations. However, we often delve into the Pali as translations can vary markedly in meaning, but lacking any serious study of the language, it has been very laborious and sometimes inconclusive. After the course I feel I can at the very least find words in a dictionary, but more than that I feel I have been given tools that will enable me to gradually work through texts sentence by sentence, working out the structures - the logical subject, the grammatical subject, the main verb and so on. It could be useful for the M.St., but I shall need plenty of practice before publishing anything with confidence...!