The fullest Sutta description of the káyasakkhi, ditthipatto, and saddhávimutto (referred to hereafter as k, d and s) is given in the Kítágiri Sutta, M. 70: i,477-78. The k is described as an individual who has reached the arúpa attainments and dwells therein, and, having seen with understanding, has got rid of some of the ásavá. The d is an individual who has not reached the arúpa attainments, but, having seen with understanding, has got rid of some of the ásavá, and has thoroughly seen and considered the Teachings of the Tathágata. The s is an individual who has not reached the arúpa attainments, but, having seen with understanding, has got rid of some of the ásavá, and whose saddhá in the Tathágata is thoroughly established and well-rooted. All three are at least sotápanna, but not yet arahat; and all three have some degree of samádhi, paññá, and saddhá, but each one emphasizes one of these three -- the k puts samádhi first, the d puts paññá first, and the s puts saddhá first.
The Ekáyano ayam bhikkhave maggo sattánam visuddhiyá... of the Satipatthána Sutta (M. 10: i,55; D. 22: ii,290) is, I regret to say, wrongly translated as 'This, monks, is the only way leading to the purification of beings...'; the proper translation (as pointed out by the late Ven. Ñánamoli Thera) is 'This way, monks, leads only to the purification of beings...', but the former translation is preferred by people who write about satipatthána since it gives an added importance to their subject. Actually, the 'only way' leading to nibbána is the noble eight-factored path (ariyo atthangiko maggo), of which satipatthána is only one of the factors (the seventh).
As regards samádhi, the situation is this. As soon as a person reaches the first path (not the fruition, which may come much later -- see CITTA) he gets the ariyapuggala's right view (sammáditthi), which is his paññá. And it is a characteristic of paññá that when one has it (as an ariyapuggala) one also has samádhi, viriya, saddhá, and sati.[a]
Now, one who has this paññá can, simply by developing his paññá, at the same time develop his samádhi; and when these have reached sufficient strength (more is required for each successive stage) the attainment of fruition takes place. Although the development of paññá is, of necessity, partly discursive (or intellectual), in the actual attainment of fruition (sotápatti, etc.) the mind becomes steady (since samádhi has been automatically developed together with paññá, and the two now combine as equal partners -- see M. 149: iii,289[1]) -- and there is direct intuition instead of discursive thinking. So in all attainment of fruition there is samádhi. But it is also possible for the ariyapuggala to develop his samádhi separately by means of ánápánasati etc., and this is, in fact, the pleasantest way of advancing (for some people, however, it is difficult, and they have to grind away at vipassaná practice -- i.e. development of paññá). In this way, a far greater degree of samádhi is developed than is actually necessary for the attainment of fruition; and so the k has arúpa attainments that he does not actually need to reach nibbána.
The minimum strength of samádhi that is necessary for fruition is as follows: for arahattá and anágámitá, jhána strength is needed (the first jhána is enough) -- see Mahámálunkya Sutta, M. 64: i,432-37; for sakadágámitá and sotápatti full jhána is not needed -- see A. IX,12: iv,378-82[b] -- but it is necessary to have the samádhi nimitta (which comes long before jhána) -- see A. VI,68: iii,422-3.[2] But the samádhi can be developed either separately beforehand (as explained above) or together with paññá, and presumably in cases where there is attainment simply on listening to the Buddha it is the latter. (I am aware that there has been a controversy about whether jhána is or is not necessary for the attainment of sotápatti, but, as so often in controversies, the disputants have gone to extremes. Those who assert that jhána is necessary believe -- rightly or wrongly -- that their opponents are maintaining that no samádhi at all is necessary. But the fact of the matter is that some samádhi is necessary, but not full jhána; and this may or may not, have been developed independently of paññá.) I am afraid (as you point out) that this question is rather complicated; but I think I have covered the ground. Let me know what is still not clear.
I shall sit on the letter from the French gentleman until I think of something to say to him. It seems that he wants me to publish a journal in French, but (i) my French is by no means equal to the task, and (ii) as the editor of a journal I should have to pass articles for publication that I see to be mistaken (nearly everything that is written these days is), and this I am not prepared to do at any price. (Let those who are 'objective' about their Dhamma, and are prepared to see two sides to every question -- including nibbána -- occupy themselves with publishing contradictory articles.)
I have watched the men harvesting their paddy. When they come to a stalk
that is still green they do not cut it at once but leave it to ripen. And if
they find a stalk that has been cut lying by itself on the ground they bend
down and pick it up and carefully put it with its companions where it belongs.
In this way they make sure that nothing is lost. Now if only we took as much
trouble over our thoughts what a harvest we should have!
[L. 93] 30 April 1964
Thank you for your letter. Just a quick note, while the postman is here, about the 'S.O.S.' There is no change in my condition whatsoever. The trouble is simply that the Colombo Thera asked me how I was, and I was imprudent enough to tell him. Anyway, he gave the letter[1] (unasked by me) to Ananda Pereira, who has sent me a scolding.
As to going to Colombo, I certainly have no intention of doing so until
(i) I hear from some reliable doctor that some good might come of it, and
(ii) the disturbance that my letter seems to have created has died down. I do
not propose to go there simply to listen to a series of lectures (with one thrown
in by the Venerable Objector on Abhidhamma for luck!).
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Footnotes:
[92.a] This fact is not understood by the puthujjana, who has no experience of such a phenomenon. Certainly he can get samádhi of a kind (by the practice of ánápánasati, for example), but this is not the sammásamádhi of the path (which he does not have). And similarly with viriya, saddhá, and sati. See BALA. [Back to text]
[92.b] This Sutta says that whereas the
anágámí is
samádhismim paripúrakárí,
the sakadágámí is na
paripúrakárí. (The former is one who 'fulfills
samádhi', the latter is one who does not.)
[Back to text]
Editorial notes:
[92.1] Mahásaláyatanika Sutta: The Buddha
discusses a man who knows and sees the eye, forms, eye-consciousness,
eye-contact, and the pleasurable, painful, and neutral feelings that arise
dependent upon eye-contact, as they really are (and mutatis mutandis
for the other senses:
'That view as to what really is is his right
view. That attitude as to what really is is his right attitude. That effort as to
what really is is his right effort. That mindfulness as to what really is is his right
mindfulness. That concentration as to what really is is his right concentration.
And his bodily actions, his verbal actions, and his livelihood have already been
well purified earlier. So this noble eightfold path comes to development and
fulfillment in him. When he develops this noble eightfold path, the four
foundations of mindfulness come to development and fulfillment in him. And
the four right endeavours... the four bases of potency... the five faculties...
the five powers... the seven factors of awakening come to development and
fulfillment in him.
'These two things -- peace and insight -- are
yoked harmoniously in him. By comprehension he fully understands those things
that should be fully understood by comprehension. By abandoning he fully
understands those things that should be fully understood by abandoning. By
developing he fully understands those things that should be fully understood
by developing. By realizing he fully understands those things that should be
fully understood by realizing. And what, monks, should be fully understood by
comprehension?...'
[Back to text]
[92.2] A. VI,68: '"One not delighting in solitude could grasp the sign of the mind (cittassa nimittam)": such a state is not to be found. "One not grasping the sign of the mind could be fulfilled in right view": such a state is not to be found. "One not having fulfilled right view could be fulfilled in right concentration": such a state is not to be found. "One not having fulfilled right concentration could abandon the fetters": such a state is not to be found. "One not having abandoned the fetters could realize extinction": such a state is not to be found.' [Back to text]
[93.1] the letter: One letter (labelled here L. 93a) and one undated rough draft of a letter (L. 93b) have survived.
[L. 93a] [n.d.]Dear bhante,
I was very pleased to get a letter from you, but I confess I was much distressed when I came to read it. I had heard reports that your operation had been successful after all, but now it seems that this cannot altogether be taken for granted. If sympathy could cure, you would at once be recovered; but, as it is, if your surgeon can't help, and you can't help, then I very much fear that I can't help either. Someone[1] once said 'the important thing is not to get cured, but to live with one's ills'; and so it is. Cure may be out of reach, but we do something difficult when we endure patiently.
As to myself, if I am to say anything I shall have to say rather a lot. But since you specifically ask me, and I have the time, paper, and ink to spare, I shall try to give you some account of my condition.
You know of course that since my early amoebiasis my guts have continued to give me trouble. This, however, had not become worse, and I was able to make some progress in spite of it. But in 1960 and 1962 I had fresh infections, and my condition deteriorated. In particular there was increased wind, constipation, and general intestinal discomfort, together with lassitude and debility, especially in bad weather. All these things I am long since accustomed to, and I mention them only to give you the background to what follows.
In June 1962, then, I found myself once more with live amoebiasis (blood and mucus and the rest), and so I wrote to Dr. de Silva, who kindly sent me a box of pills to take. After two or three days I began experiencing a violent erotic stimulation, as if I had taken a very strong aphrodisiac. If I lay down on the bed I at once started to enter upon an orgasm that could only be checked by a prodigious effort ofattention to the breath, or else by standing up. Even after stopping the course of treatment this persisted, so I decided to go to the Hermitage for Vas, to be within reach of Colombo for treatment if necessary. Dr. de Silva sent me some medicines, saying that he thought I would return to normal in due course. At the end of three months the intensity of the stimulation was certainly much less, but it was still very far from normal; and it did not seem to be improving any further.
This state of affairs, of course, was hardly satisfactory; and I decided, since there seemed to be no further promise of improvement, that the best course would be to rid myself of this body (I had already had vague thoughts of such a thing when my stomach was particularly bad). Accordingly, shortly after I returned here, I attempted suicide, but, as no doubt you will observe, without success (lack of experience, no doubt: it is not as easy as one might think to reach the point of making the attempt in earnest, and even then there remains the practical difficulty of actually killing oneself: sleeping tablets, if one has them, are all very well, but then one does not die mindfully). I wrote and told Dr. de Silva of the attempt, and said that unless there was some likelihood of getting a substantial improvement in my condition it was quite possible that I should make a further attempt. Dr. de Silva did not offer me any assurance that effective treatment was available, but after consultation with a specialist, sent me a tranquillising drug which, in fact, does give relief for a week or ten days, but thereafter loses its effectiveness and cannot again be used for about two months.
By now (February 1963) the weather had improved, and I succeeded in achieving a certain degree of concentration (with ánápánasati); which, as I found, temporarily removed the affliction. Indeed, if only I did not have the chronic intestinal disorder to contend with, I have no doubt but that I could altogether overcome this nuisance; but, as it is, even if I get three or four days' resonable concentration, it is immediately brought to an end by my guts or by a change in the weather (to which I am now very sensitive) and I find myself once more lying on the bed feeling good for nothing and invaded by lustful thoughts that I have neither the inclination nor the energy to resist.
From the very start, naturally, I have been much exercised about the Vinaya situation; and I took good care to study the relevant passages in the first sanghádisesa[2] (which, fortunately, Miss Horner has left in Pali, so I am not dependent upon her fanciful translations). I was determined not to fall into a sanghádisesa ápatti, and, in fact, I am not aware that I have done so; and for this reason I have not thought it necessary to come to Colombo to discuss the situation. (I may say that, except with my late venerable teacher, who always gave a definite answer 'yes' or 'no', I have more often than not found myself in greater doubt after discussion of Vinaya questions in Colombo than before; and in the present critical situation I cannot afford to have the ambiguous answer 'No, but...', which only increases worry. I do not want to add to my present difficulties by being made to feel morally obliged to undertake a vinayakamma that is not necessary.)
The situation is, in fact, precarious. Perhaps I shall be asked, 'Have you never heard of indriyasamvara?' Certainly I have; but at this point I have to confess my weakness. If it is a question of restraining my faculties (especially the mind) for a limited period, a week or a month say, then no doubt I can make the effort and do it; but this is not the question here. I have to decide how much restraint I can manage to practise as a normal rule, and then to consider on that basis the best course to follow. And I find, in fact, that with the persistent erotic stimulation and the persistent intestinal discomfort (a very demoralizing combination) I can manage only so much and no more.
What, then, should I do? (I don't think a day passes on which I do not consider this question.)
In the first place, there is (for obvious reasons) a frequent and pressing invitation to disrobe; but, on the one hand, I did not seek this nervous disorder, and I do not, in my calmer moments, see why it should be allowed to have its own way; and, on the other hand, as I understand the Dhamma and Vinaya, the only valid reason for disrobing is the fear of being párájika if one does not. Now, I do not see at present that I am likely to become párájika, and probably not even sanghádisesa (though in this matter I may not always have avoided dukkata); so disrobing does not commend itself at all.
In the second place, at the other extreme, there is suicide. Though I do not say this is good, I will say that, under the circumstances and in the long run, it is better than disrobing. See, for example, the Ven. Sappadása Thera's gáthá (Thag. 407).[3] (This, of course, is not the layman's view, and Mr. Samaratunga, when I told him the state of affairs, urged me to disrobe rather than kill myself; but then I pointed out that, whereas it is known that monks have become arahats in the act of suicide, it is nowhere recorded that anyone has ever become arahat in the act of disrobing.)
In the third place, there is the possibility of continuing as I am. But the question here is whether I am doing myself more harm than good in doing so; and this is an extremely difficult question to answer. On the one hand, I am certainly practising more restraint than I should be as a layman in similar circumstances; but, on the other hand, I should really prefer not to be accepting alms in my present state of mind. (Actually, I should be only too happy just quietly to starve to death; but I don't suppose I should be allowed to do it undisturbed.)
In addition to these theoretical considerations about what I had best do under the circumstances, there are practical ones about what I am going to do. As it is, I find myself in a state of delicate equilibrium: even a slight increase of my present burdens (fresh sickness, for example) might well tip the scale in favour of suicide (the thought is constantly with me, though it remains at arm's length), or the presence of some subhanimitta (a chance encounter, perhaps, or change to more worldly surroundings) might easily tip it the other way towards a return to lay life.
Possibly you will be wondering whether I am well advised to go on living here alone as I am doing. The answer seems to be quite simple: here I am as well insulated as I could possibly be against disturbing influences (few visitors, no newspapers, no gossip), and I do find it possible to gain some respite by samatha practice or by reflective thinking. Even at the Hermitage this is not possible -- the climate is not good, and there are visitors, newspapers, and people to talk to -- and I find myself occupied most of the time with kámavitakka. And if it is like this at the Hermitage, how much more so would it not be in Colombo! I have so far avoided all visits to Colombo since the trouble started. (As it happens, I have just now been offered a three-month's holiday in England to improve my health, and I am afraid to accept for this very reason -- I might quite well decide not to return to Ceylon. But, also, there are other reasons for not accepting; for example, since I cannot manage bread or potatoes what should I eat in England?)
Perhaps, after all this, you may be thinking that I live in a state of depression and gloom. This is not so. I do not say that I am complacent about my situation or that I do not find it difficult. But I am not a person of moods, and also I am aware that it is necessary to accept limitations imposed on one with good grace. I recognize that -- unless my bodily condition improves, which is most unlikely -- I cannot hope to make any further progress in this life: now is the time to draw a line under the account and add it up, and then see whether it shows profit or loss. And I have to say that, while the sum might have been greater, I have no reason for dissatisfaction. I have done what I did not expect to do, and so I am content. Certainly, the age of forty-four is rather early to close the account, but when I left England at the time of the first Berlin crisis I told myself that if I managed to practise the Dhamma for even one year I should count myself fortunate.
And what, then, of the future -- now that I can no longer hope to make progress, what have I to look forward to? At present I find that more or less my only concern is with the Notes; I spend much of my time revising them and adding to them to prepare them for eventual printing. This means that I do a lot of thinking and a certain amount of reading (when I can get the books), and this in itself also helps to keep my trouble at a distance. But publication of the Notes (which I think is desirable, in spite of the fact that they may be unpopular) is, after all, a purely temporal (kálika) aim, and I can only regard it as a device for killing time until I am rid of this disordered body. But this throws me back to the crucial question, whether or not I should do better to abbreviate the process, and instead of killing time, simply to kill the body.
And so the matter rests -- in the air.
[L. 93b] [n.d.][1]Dear bhante,
I was sorry to hear, the other day, that your condition is apparently getting no better and that you are having to endure increasing pain. It is rather unwillingly that I am writing this to bother you again with my own affairs. Actually, you already know how I am situated, and this letter will not really tell you anything that you might not already be expecting. If I write at some length, then, it is more for the sake of other people who, finding it difficult to understand my position, may be puzzled or worried about what I am proposing to do.
As you know, the satyriasis with which I am afflicted (and which is no better) presents me with a constant temptation to disrobe, and, when it becomes acute, the only means I have of resisting it is by contemplating suicide. To some extent, however, these alternatives (disrobe/suicide) are kept at arm's length when I find myself with something to say or write about Dhamma; and since last June I have been busy enlarging and retyping my Notes on Dhamma. But in due course this came to an end, and I found myself with nothing further to say.
In consequence of this -- and since my amoebiasis more than doesn't permit samatha practice -- my situation once again became acute and, in fact, I again made an attempt to end my life. (After the Ven. Ñánamoli Thera's death I came into possession of a few objects that had belonged to him. Amongst these was a small glass ampoule containing a liquid that, for various reasons, I thought was very probably a solution of potassium cyanide -- which, as you know, is an extremely quick and efficient poison. I was glad to have this, but I did not want to break the ampoule until I actually intended to use the contents. And when eventually, having made all the necessary arrangements, I did come to break it I found that the contents, whatever they were, were certainly not cyanide, which has a very characteristic smell. So I was most reluctantly obliged to go on living. These repeated attempts at suicide are instructive -- I am rapidly becoming an expert -- and they certainly provide good practice in preparing for death; but it is always a painful business to face this life again once one has decided that one has no further interest in it.)
This second unsuccessful attempt leaves me at present without any particular desire to go on living, but without any very comfortable way of dying. (I have my razor, of course, but it is not so easy to make up one's mind to cut one's throat.) But what is significant about the whole episode is that it tends to confirm what I had already long suspected, that is to say, that sooner or later I shall either disrobe or else make a successful attempt at suicide. For a few weeks, a few months perhaps, possibly longer, I might manage to keep my balance between these two alternatives; but if it is to be a question of years (and I see no prospect of an early natural death), then it is extremely unlikely that I shall do it -- and the reason (as you know[2]) is quite simply that I no longer have any very strong motive for making the necessary effort. Even if I fail in keeping a balance and fall to one side or the other (and, obviously, in my case suicide is the lesser evil), it will not make any difference to the ultimate outcome, and so I am not ultimately interested in keeping my balance.
At this point, no doubt, people will come forward with constructive suggestions how I should employ my time so as not to fall into either temptation. But this is not so easy. The good doctor, for example, who has the best of intentions, has asked me to 'forget my troubles and busy myself with some research work into the Dhamma'. But the advice to 'forget my troubles', however excellent it may be from the medical point of view, is directly opposed to satisampajañña; and further, once one has acquired the habit of mindfulness -- and it is quite soon acquired in solitude -- then one simply 'forgets how to forget', and one is incapable of following the advice even if one wants to. This idea of 'research work into the Dhamma', as far as I am concerned at least, has ceased to have any meaning for me -- what possible interest can I have in that? Is this not putting me back into the kindergarten? No -- with the best will in the world I cannot disengage myself from my existence and make believe that my troubles don't exist.
[Back to text]
[93a.1] Abbé Galiani, to Mme. d'Epinay. [ed.] [Back]
[93a.2] See the note to L. 45. [Back]
[93b.1] This draft was obviously written after revision of Notes had been completed, or nearly so: perhaps as late as 1965. It was therefore not involved in the 'stir' revolving around L. 93. It is included here inasmuch as it is addressed to the same recipient, and deals with the same topic, as L. 93a. [Back]