Philosophically, then (as well as conceptually), flux is an utterly unsatisfactory doctrine, inasmuch as it totally ignores the fundamental hierarchical nature of experience. It fails to see the difference between the forest and the trees. If, however, one adopts the attitude, "So much the worse for philosophy," then it must be noted that flux was intended to explain not only discrete change but also attachment and its resultant unhappiness ("...it is because we fail to see flux that..."). Thus, it is not enough to assert that the small cracks on my concrete slab are the result of its being of the nature to be "always changing." We must also say that had I only been aware of this flux (as distinct from my indubitable awareness of perceivable changes) I would have known how pointless it must be to choose attachment to what is so changeable. Only thereby would I now be impervious to any apprehension that might be occasioned by the deterioration of the slab.
However, it is not the case that apprehension (which is internal) would be mitigated by a perception of flux (which is external). Flux neither gives rise to apprehension nor accounts for it: we need to look towards attachment for that understanding.[8] Further, if flux is to explain unhappiness due to one sort of change then it must explain it with regard to other sorts of change as well. Wear is not the only hazard to my concrete slab. It might fall and shatter irreparably. And while we might accept the explanation of sub-perceptual change, or even of flux, in the case of the gradual appearance of cracks, it is more difficult to do so in the case of breakage by sudden impact. The connection to an accumulation of a vast number of infinitesimal changes is tenuous. But this is not all. It is also possible that the slab could be stolen: slab-thieves lurk everywhere. Are we to suppose that the unhappiness occasioned by the theft of what is dear to me is also explicable meaningfully in terms of flux? But if flux is not relevant to the unhappiness resultant from loss by theft then it also cannot be relevant to loss by wear or tear, for both the loss and the unhappiness are in each instance of the same order.
After all, it is not change as such that is a source for unhappiness (in which case there would be no escape from sorrow), but change from the way I want things to be. A skillful repairing of my concrete slab is a change, but it is of itself cause not for anxiety but for gladness.
My electronic clock functions dependent upon a vibration rate of some thousands of cycles per second (admittedly, a long way from the enormous figure of 176,470,000,000, but not bad for all that), and the rapidity of its vibrations causes me no alarm (unless the alarm function is switched on). Rather, I would be perturbed if the clock were to stop vibrating, to stop changing (and registering) "all the time:" to become other than the way I want it to be.
A hundred-rupee note is no less negotiable today than it was a month ago, for all that it may be said to have changed 457,410,240,000,000 times in the interim. Where is the sorrow in that sort of change?
The sun courses daily across the sky; the seasons progress annually; and this in itself does not induce anxiety. Rather, I should be disconcerted and grieved if the sun were to stop transiting the sky, or if it were to remain always winter, or even always summer. This would be truly upsetting. Yet this is not so much a matter of change as of becoming otherwise, i.e. other than the way I want or expect things to be. The sun's position has stopped changing "all the time;" the seasons have ceased their advancement. This is the sort of change I turn from and wish to deny. For even if matters were not arranged in their most perfect possible order they were at least arranged: day followed night, winter followed autumn. There was not the threatening anxiety of uncertainty: if this, what next?
But the doctrine of flux is a doctrine of certainty: everything is always changing. It is therefore a falsification of our manifest awareness of the world's unreliability: things change when we expect (and wish) them not to. The need to hold to and proclaim this doctrine is thus revealed for what it is: not a coming to truth but a fleeing from it. In the face of the world's insecurity the doctrine of flux is an attempt to retreat into a position of certainty.
Yet despite our efforts we cannot change the fact that things change and become otherwise. What can be altered is our attachment to the things of the world whether or not they are in a state of flux. To make observance of flux the basis of one's efforts, then, at minimum misses the point by going too far (atidhávati: to overshoot the mark). It is a misdirection of effort. It diverts us from the task of recognizing our own inappropriate efforts to appropriate the world, steering us to a less relevant (but far easier) effort to perceive in the world our own notions about the world.
Rather than perceive impermanence as the decay and decrepitude of old age, as the weakening of the faculties, the loss of control over the body, the gasping for air as life ebbs, the fearsome uncontrollable slide from light to darkness as our very identity -- body, perception, consciousness, all -- fades away and breaks up -- rather than perceive impermanence as that, how much more comfortable to blandly assert that everything is always changing, and thereby to move from the threatening and vertiginous perceptual realm to the safely exorcised sphere of the conceptual, while at the same time concealing this entire movement by a dialectical dance of complacency. No, change is involved with suffering not because of change per se but because things do not remain the way we wish them to remain even when the way we wish them to be is "to be changing."
So then, even if conceptual and philosophical considerations carry no weight there are still other difficulties that must be faced by any who would have their beliefs (and disbeliefs) based on something more profound than somnolence. For we have seen that at the very least the question, "What is meant in the Buddha's Teaching by the term 'impermanence'?" is not so easily answered as has been sometimes supposed.
And yet, this same Teaching repeatedly insists that perception of impermanence is a necessary condition for uprooting the basis of human dissatisfaction. So it is clear that regardless of difficulties, complexities, or the length of our inquiry, we must explore, with openness and diligence, the question: Does the Buddha's Teaching of impermanence mean a teaching of flux, or does it not? For if it does then either we shall have to find a way to accommodate the objections already raised, or else we shall have to abandon the Buddha's Teaching as untenable. And if it does not then we shall have both to decide what it does involve, and also to account for the widespread and long-lived endurance of a misconception which cannot be regarded as trivial.
For it is not only nowadays that we find expositors setting forth the doctrine of continuous change as being what the Buddha taught. As far back as fifteen centuries ago we find this doctrine already firmly embedded in the perspective proposed in various expositions that have come down to us. But what do we find if we go back yet another ten centuries, to the oldest Buddhist texts extant? To those texts which represent, if any at all do, the actual Teaching of the Buddha?
It is generally agreed by both traditionalists and scholars alike that no Buddhist texts predate the four major Nikáyas of the Sutta Pitaka, and that these Nikáyas originate either with the Buddha himself or within a few score years of his decease.[9] Therefore the way to discover what the Buddha meant by change (or for that matter any other doctrinal concept) it is necessary to examine these texts and learn what is said therein.[10]
Rather than trying to be exhaustive (and perhaps exhausting) it will be adequate herein to offer but one quotation from each of the four Nikáyas, chosen from a host of congruous alternatives. Those who read the Suttas will discover for themselves the additional evidence that is to be found therein. Those who do not may prefer to consider the discussion which follows rather than peruse numerous citations of Canonical authority.
1) And which, friends, is the development of concentration which, developed and made much of, leads to mindfulness and awareness? Here, friends, feelings arise known to a monk, known they persist, known they go to an end. Perceptions arise known, known they persist, known they go to an end. Thoughts arise known, known they persist, known they go to an end. Friends, this is the development of concentration which, developed and made much of, leads to mindfulness and awareness. -- D. 33: iii,223.[11]All these statements are positive assertions that things not only arise and pass away but that they also endure. They are not statements that everything (or even anything) is in a state of flux. Indeed, although the four Nikáyas occupy some 5,500 pages of print in their abbreviated roman-script edition, there seems to be not a single statement anywhere within them that requires us to understand thereby (in opposition to the above passages) a doctrine of flux. On the contrary, the Suttas are wholly consistent on this point (as on others). Therefore even in precisely those passages where we would most expect to find such a doctrine, if it were to be found in the Nikáyas at all, the assertion is conspicuously absent. Thus for example at M. 28: i,185, we find:2) And those things in the first meditation -- thinking and pondering and gladness and pleasure and one-pointedness of mind, contact, feeling, perception, intention, mind, wish, resolve, energy, mindfulness, equanimity, attention -- these things are analyzed step by step by him. These things arise known to him. Known they persist, known they go to an end. He understands thus: Thus these things, having not been, come to be. Having been, they disappear. -- M. 111: iii,25.[12]
3) Friends, the arising of matter [...of feelings; ...of perception; ...of conditions; ...of consciousness] is manifest, ceasing is manifest, change while standing is manifest. -- S. XXII,37: iii,38.[13]
4) But indeed, sir, whatever is existent, conditioned, intended, dependently arisen, that is impermanent. What is impermanent is unpleasurable. What is unpleasurable is [to be regarded as] "This is not mine; I am not this; this is not my self." Thus this is correctly seen with right understanding as it really is. And I understand as it really is the uttermost refuge from that [suffering]. -- A. X,93: v,188.[14]
There comes a time, friends, when the external earth element is disturbed, and then the external earth element vanishes. For even of this external earth element, great as it is, impermanence will be manifest, liability to destruction will be manifest, liability to decay will be manifest, liability to become otherwise will be manifest. What then of this body, which is held to by craving and lasts but a little while?...[15]Here the impermanence of even the earth element (and, farther on, of the elements of water, fire, and air) is emphasized precisely to demonstrate the yet-greater impermanence of this body. If the notion of flux was congruent with the essence of the Buddha's Teaching would this not be a perfect opportunity to point out that even the four elements (let alone this body) are so impermanent as to be changing all the time? But no, all that is asserted is that even this body lasts "but a little while." Is "a little while" more than a single moment? Apparently so, for -- apart from what is implicit in this Sutta -- at S. XII,61: ii,94-5, it is said that, in contrast to the mind, "this body, formed of the four great elements, is seen enduring one year, two years, ...fifty years, a hundred years or more...."[16] And if the body lasts more than a moment, what then of the four external elements (i.e. external to the body), which the M. 28 passage asserts by implication to be longer-lived than the body? Why, if these elements were believed to be changing all the time, would it be said that "there comes a time?" Why too would the liability to change be asserted, rather than the posited moment-to-moment change itself? Why, if these elements were taken to be changing right now, is the future tense used, "will be manifest?"
Again, when we turn to S. XXII,99: iii,149-50 we find.... Ah, but let us not seek further, for in this matter of textual evidence examples could be multiplied almost endlessly. Yet in spite of such evidence (or perhaps because of it) there will still be those who will assert that the doctrine of flux is nevertheless central to the Buddha's Teaching. They will point to passages which, in speaking of impermanence, do not absolutely disallow an interpretation of flux. And it is certainly true that not every reference to change is so rigorously qualified as to eliminate every possible mis-reading. Unlike this essay, each Sutta was addressed to a known audience, with known attitudes and ideas. There would have been no need to correct misconceptions that those particular individuals did not hold. (And, unlike today, it seems that in the Buddha's time the notion of flux was neither widespread nor deep-rooted. This is evidence of the influence scientific materialism has had on contemporary thought, if not evidence of the "inevitable progress of mankind.")
That some texts do not specifically disallow a certain understanding, then, is insufficient as evidence that such an understanding was intended. What is needed if flux is to be demonstrated as centrally important to the Teaching is at least one single passage somewhere in those 5,500 pages of text which requires us to accept impermanence as meaning continuous change. This, and also a reconciliation between flux and the passages (such as those just quoted) which would seem to rule out such an understanding. Both of these things, and also a satisfactory response to the objections, both conceptual and philosophical, already raised to the doctrine of flux. All of these, and also a rigorous demonstration of the relevance of flux to attachment, and to the experience of dissatisfaction.
Inasmuch as a straightforward reading of those Suttas clearly requires an understanding inconsistent with the notion of flux an argument has been concocted to get around this difficulty. The Buddha, we are told, certainly did speak of impermanence in terms of discontinuous change, which, after all, is an aspect of the ordinary experience of ordinary people. But when he did so he was speaking in conventional terms, whereas when he taught about flux he used ultimate terms, a distinction which herein we have failed to make.
The acceptance of this dichotomy between conventional and transcendental language is widespread today, as is the suppositious parallel distinction between conventional and absolute truth, or reality. Therefore some may be surprised to learn that such a distinction (whether with regard to language, truth, or reality), like the notion of flux itself, is of later invention and is not to be met with in the Suttas. Quite the contrary, it is specifically and repeatedly condemned. At M. 99: ii,202, for instance, the Buddha goes out of his way to lead his listener to acknowledge the superiority of conventional speech (as well as of speech that is well-advised, spoken after reflection, and connected with the goal) over unconventional speech (and also over speech that is ill-advised, etc.). And consistent with this, at M. 139: iii,230 the monks are advised that when teaching they should (among other things) "not deviate from recognized parlance."[17]
The Suttas, then, clearly assert that they are to be understood as saying what
they mean. They are not to be interpreted, for to do so must result in
misunderstanding them. Inasmuch as the texts themselves advocate the use of
everyday language, and nowhere suggest the validity of some superior form of
expression (known, like some arcane password, to only the few) such a
dichotomy must be rejected.
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Footnotes:
8. He who is subject to craving, alas!,
his sorrows increase like abounding grass.
But he who surmounts this base craving sheds pain
just as the lotus sheds droplets of rain. -- Dh. 335-36
[Back to text]
9. This point is discussed in detail in my essay, Beginnings: The Pali Suttas (Buddhist Publication Society, Wheel series no. 313/315). [Back to text]
10. This procedure is not proposed as a substitute for the practice of the Teaching but as a part of it. For only thus may we be confident that we are proceeding correctly and in accordance with right-view guidance. [Back to text]
11. Katamá ca ávuso samádhibhávaná bhávitá bahulíkatá satisampajaññáya samvattati? Idhávuso bhikkhuno viditá vedaná uppajjanti, viditá upatthahanti, viditá abbhattham gacchanti; viditá saññá uppajjanti, viditá upatthahanti, viditá abbhattham gacchanti; viditá vitakká uppajjanti, viditá upatthahanti, viditá abbhattham gacchanti. Ayam ávuso samádhibhávaná bhávitá bahulíkatá satisampajaññáya samvattati. [Back to text]
12. Ye ca pathamajjháne dhammá vitakko ca vicáro ca píti ca sukhañ ca cittekaggatá ca phasso vedaná saññá cetaná cittam chando adhimokkho viriyam sati upekhá manasikáro tyássa dhammá anupadavavatthitá honti, tyássa dhammá viditá uppajjanti, viditá upatthahanti, viditá abbhattham gacchanti. So evam pajánáti: Evam kira 'me dhammá ahutvá sambhonti, hutvá pativentíti. [Back to text]
13. Rúpassa [Vedanáya; Saññáya; Sankháránam; Viññánassa] kho ávuso uppádo paññáyati, vayo paññáyati, thitassa aññatthattam paññáyati. [Back to text]
14. Yam kho pana bhante kiñci bhútam sankhatam cetayitam paticcasamuppannam, tad aniccam; yad aniccam tam dukkham; yam dukkham tam n'etam mama n'eso 'ham asmi na m'eso attáti: evam etam yathábhútam sammappaññáya sudittham, tassa ca uttarim nissaranam yathábhútam pajánámíti. [Back to text]
15. Hoti kho so ávuso samayo yam báhirá pathavídhátu pakuppati, antarahitá tasmim samaye báhirá pathavídhátu hoti. Tassá hi náma ávuso báhiráya pathavídhátuyá táva mahallikáya aniccatá paññáyissati, khayadhammatá paññáyissati, vayadhammatá paññáyissati, viparinámadhammatá paññáyissati, kim panimassa mattatthakassa káyassa tanhupádinnassa.... [Back to text]
16. Dissatáyam bhikkhave cátumahábhútiko káyo ekam pi vassam titthamáno, dve pi vassáni titthamáno..., pannásam pi vassáni titthamáno, vassasatam pi titthamáno, bhiyyo pi titthamáno.... This Sutta goes on to point out that although the body can last a century or more, yet the unenlightened commoner is able to be disenchanted with, dispassionate towards, and freed from the body. But on the other hand "what is called 'heart' (citta), 'mind' (mano), 'consciousness' (viññána) day and night arises as one thing and ceases as another," and yet "the unenlightened commoner is unable to be disenchanted with that, to be dispassionate, to be freed. What is the reason? For a long time, monks, the unenlightened commoner has subjectivized, identified with, and manipulated this [mind]: 'This is mine; I am this; this is my self.' Therefore the unenlightened commoner is unable to be disenchanted with that, to be dispassionate, to be freed." Evidently, then, it is not by perceiving the brevity of a thing's endurance that a liberative insight can arise: it seems to be more a matter of perceiving that however long a thing endures it cannot properly be identified as "mine," as "I," or as "my self." [Back to text]
17. Samaññam nátidháveyyáti: I. B.
Horner's rendering is used. Ven. Ñánamoli translates as: "he
should not override normal usage." Elsewhere I use my own translations.
[Back to text]