C. J. Ducasse is Professor of Philosophy at Brown University. He is an intelligent man, but a rationalist at heart. Reading between the lines of his letter I suspect (as anticipated) that he strongly disapproves of the Notes. It is quite true that they are extremely difficult to follow if one is not acquainted with the Pali texts, but Ducasse is a professional philosopher and cannot be quite unaware of the general intention of the Notes. In the Preface I make not one but two assumptions about the reader, and the second one is that he is concerned about his own welfare. But I fancy that Ducasse is not concerned about his own welfare (for the rationalist it is an incomprehensible attitude), and, though he excuses himself from understanding the book on the ground that he is not familiar with the texts, the real reason is that he has no wish to understand it. If this were not so he would have said something to the effect that he much regretted that his unfamiliarity with the texts had prevented him from understanding as much as he would have liked of such a thought-provoking book, etc., etc. But he is, unfortunately, too polite to say what he really thinks about the Notes, which I had hoped that he might.

This is the first expression of opinion (at least by implication) from a university don. I am inclined to think that this will be the normal academic reaction to the Notes. Are we perhaps to interpret the silence from Peradeniya[1] as indication that the dons there agree with Ducasse, but don't have the excuse of unfamiliarity with the texts, and so prefer to say nothing rather than admit that they are not really interested? Or am I doing them an injustice? Good will is the first requisite for understanding the Notes.




[L. 86]   25 January 1964

The infinite hierarchy of consciousnesses, one on top of the other, is always there, whether we are engaging in reflexion or not. The evidence for this is our consciousness of motion or movement, which does not require reflexion -- we are immediately conscious of movement (of a falling leaf, for example) --, but which does require a hierarchy of consciousness. Why? Because a movement takes place in time (past, present and future), and yet we are conscious of the movement of the falling leaf as a present movement. This is perhaps too short an explanation, but it is not very important that you should grasp it.[1] When we wish to reflect (we often do it almost automatically when faced with difficult situations) we make use of this hierarchy of consciousness by withdrawing our attention from the immediate level to the level above.

The reason why we cannot say 'consciousness is' or 'consciousness of consciousness' is simply that the only thing (or things) that consciousness (viññána) can be consciousness of is name-and-matter (námarúpa). Consciousness is the presence of the phenomenon, of what is manifested in experience (which is námarúpa), and we cannot in the same sense speak of 'consciousness of consciousness', which would be 'presence of presence'; in other words, the nature of the relation between consciousness and name-and-matter cannot be the same as that between one consciousness and another (the former relation is internal, the latter external).

What we have in the pre-reflexive hierarchy of consciousness is really a series of layers, not simply of consciousness of ascending order, but of consciousness cum name-and-matter of ascending order. At each level there is consciousness of a phenomenon, and the different levels are superimposed (this is not to say that the phenomenon at any one level has nothing to do with the one below it [as in a pile of plates]; it has, but this need not concern us at present). The relation between two adjacent layers of consciousness is thus juxtaposition -- or rather super-position, since they are of different orders. In reflexion, two of these adjacent layers are combined, and we have complex consciousness instead of simple consciousness, the effect of which is to reveal different degrees of consciousness -- in other words, different degrees of presence of name-and-matter. This does not allow us to say 'consciousness is present' (in which case we should be confusing consciousness with name-and-matter), but it does allow us to say 'there is consciousness'. Successive orders of reflexion can be shown verbally as follows:

Immediate experience:	'A pain', i.e. 'A pain (is)' or '(Consciousness of) a pain'.
First order reflexion:	'There is a (an existing) pain' or 'There is (consciousness of) a pain'; and these two are each equivalent to 'Awareness of a pain' -- but note that awareness (sampajañña) is not the same as consciousness (viññána).
Second order reflexion:	'There is awareness of a pain' 'Awareness of awareness of a pain'
Third order reflexion:	'There is awareness of awareness of a pain' 'Awareness of awareness of awareness of a pain'

And so on. (In your illustration you pass from immediate presence ('Pain is') to reflexive presence ('There is consciousness of pain'). But these two do not correspond. If you say immediately 'Pain is', then reflexively you must say 'There is existing pain'; and only if you say immediately 'Consciousness of pain' can you say reflexively 'There is consciousness of pain'. As you have put it you make it seem as if consciousness only comes in with reflexion.)

I am very far from being in a position to give an opinion of the nature of viññánañcáyatana and the transition to ákiñcaññáyatana,[2] but I feel it might be wiser to regard your conclusions as still to some extent speculative -- which raises the question whether I should discourage you from speculation. For my part I have given up thinking about things that are out of my reach, since I have no way of checking my conclusions, and I find this a source of frustration. That the question presents difficulties from the theoretical point of view can be seen from the fact that ákiñcaññáyatana is still a conscious state -- it is the sattamí viññánatthiti, or 'seventh station of consciousness' (Mahánidána Suttanta, D. 15: ii,69) -- and so long as there is consciousness I don't see how the layers can be removed; indeed, in so far as the transition may be regarded as involving a conceptual abstraction, the layers would seem to be necessary for the abstraction (which is a reflexive act) to be possible. But this, too, is verging on the speculative.

P.S. If you succeed in seeing clearly why reflexion cannot be consciousness of consciousness, I will give you an A.




[L. 87]   21 February 1964

Nalanda, is it not now a centre of Buddhist studies (a kind of Buddhist university)?[1] Perhaps you will know about this. In earlier days, certainly, Nalanda was a very large Buddhist university, with many thousands of students; and some (or at least one) of the early Chinese pilgrims studied there. In the Buddha's day it was a flourishing city (not far from Rájagaha, King Bimbisára's capital), appearing in several Suttas (see the Brahmajála Suttanta, Dígha 1; Kevaddha Sutta, Dígha 11; Upáli Sutta, Majjhima 56). There is certainly no harm in sending a copy of Notes there.

I have just received a letter from London. It is from a man who has read my translation of Evola's book, The Doctrine of Awakening (which, however, I cannot now recommend to you without considerable reserves).[2] Since he seems to have a certain liking for samatha bhávaná I have been encouraging him to go on with it -- I think it will do him more good than harm, and it is an excellent way of occupying the later years of his life (he is now past sixty, I think). How many people promise themselves to spend their retirement profitably, and then find it is too late to start something new!




[L. 88]   9 March 1964

About Lin Yutang. People who find life worth living are usually confining their attention to this particular life; they forget (or do not know) that there has been no beginning to this business of living.[a] This particular life may perhaps be not too bad, but how about when they were a dog, or a hen, or a frog, or a tapeworm? Alam -- Enough!

Mr. Wijerama[1] has written a very intelligible letter, and I have found something to say in reply; but whether my reply will make things clear is another matter -- the question of change and movement is notoriously perplexing and not easily disentangled. But even without entirely clarifying the situation, it is necessary to point out the source of certain current misinterpretations of the Dhamma -- in particular, the view that 'since everything is always changing nothing really exists, and it is only our ignorance that makes us think that things do exist', which is quite erroneous but very widespread. If Mr. Wijerama wants further discussion of this or other matters, he has only to write me.

Last month I was visited unexpectedly by a Swiss gentleman. He is Roman Catholic, and had just encountered the Buddha's Teaching for the first time. There is no doubt that he had been astonished and profoundly impressed, and he said that his head was still going around in bewilderment. He asked me a number of very pertinent questions, and did not seem to be upset at getting some rather difficult answers. He struck me as being a very intelligent man, and perhaps capable of making use of the Dhamma. I gave him a copy of the Notes, but was sorry to have to apologize to the gentleman for the fact that the Notes contain a lot of Pali, which he would not understand; and I began to think about this later.

I finally decided that there would be no harm (you know I am against translations), and perhaps some good, if the Notes were provided with a Pali-English Glossary and English translations of all the Pali passages. Accordingly, I set to work to do this, and finished the task last night. I feel that there may be people (such as this gentleman) knowing nothing of the Dhamma, or at least of Pali, who might nevertheless find the Notes a better introduction to the Teaching than a popular exposition giving the impression that the Dhamma is really quite a simple matter -- indeed, most intelligent people do not want anything very simple, since they have understood already that whatever the truth may be it is certainly not a simple affair. The Glossary and Translations will make the book -- if it comes to be printed -- much more widely accessible than it is at present.




[L. 89]   15 March 1964

The passage on Western philosophy that you quote from Lin Yutang is partly justified, but it must be remarked that it refers only to speculative (or abstract) philosophy, in other words the classical Western philosophies. Existential philosophy, as its name implies, is concerned with existence, and Lin Yutang could hardly complain that Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, and Marcel -- to name only three -- did (or do) not live in accordance with their philosophies (even though he would scarcely agree with them -- they do not regard life as a 'poem').[a] Kierkegaard's views on abstract philosophy are quite definite; for example:

Now if we assume that abstract thought is the highest manifestation of human activity, it follows that philosophy and the philosophers proudly desert existence, leaving the rest of us to face the worst. And something else, too, follows for the abstract thinker himself, namely, that since he is an existing individual he must in one way or another be suffering from absent-mindedness. (CUP, p. 267)

On the other hand, a study of such philosophies, in certain circumstances, may not be a waste of time. Shortly before his parinibbána, the Buddha told Mára[2] that he would not pass away before there were disciples who were capable of correctly refuting any outside views that might spring up, and this argues that for those who had themselves reached right view a study of wrong views would be an advantage rather than a disadvantage -- that is, when dealing with people who did not accept the Buddha's Teaching. But here, it will be understood, these various speculative philosophies would be studied against a background of right view, with the effect that they would be fitted into their proper place -- just as the king, who could see the whole of the elephant, was able to reconcile the widely divergent descriptions of the blind men and put them in the proper perspective.

It may also not be a disadvantage to have a fairly wide knowledge of various philosophies when one is in the position of having to understand the Suttas when no trustworthy (i.e. non-puthujjana) living teacher is available. If one has to find out for oneself what the Texts mean, such a background may -- at least for certain people -- be a help rather than a hindrance. And, finally, the development of a lucid understanding of these philosophies -- of their virtues and their limitations -- may become a real pleasure to the mind. (In my present state of health I myself, for example, get most of my pleasure from the smooth working -- such as it is -- of my intelligence when contemplating the inter-relationships of the various views that come my way. I confess that I should prefer to spend my time practising concentration (samádhi), but I can't do it; and so, faute de mieux,[3] I enjoy the consolations of philosophy.)

As it happens, I have just received the two volumes of Bradley's Principles of Logic. You will see that I refer to Bradley in ANICCA [a], and actually in connexion with the question of identity and difference in the process of change. I have started reading him and find him stimulating and perspicacious (and very sympathetic) in spite of certain limitations -- in some respects the Notes almost seem to be a continuation of his work.

It[b] is identical, not because it is simply the same, but because it is the same amid diversity. In the judgment, beside the mere distinction of the terms, we have an opposition in time of A to B. And the subject of which A---B is asserted, being subject to these differences, is thus different in itself, while remaining the same.[c] In this sense every judgment affirms either the identity which persists under difference, or the diversity which is true of one single subject. It would be the business of metaphysics to pursue this discussion into further subtleties. (PL, p. 28)

So much for philosophy and Lin Yutang[e] except to repeat an anecdote from Plutarch (quoted by Kierkegaard, CUP, p. 34). It seems that when a certain Lacedaemonian by the name of Eudamidas saw the aged Xenocrates and his disciples in the Academy, engaged in seeking for the truth, he asked 'Who is this old man?' And when he was told that Xenocrates was a wise man, one of those occupied in the search for virtue, he cried 'But when does he then propose to use it?'

I can't tell you very much about the Eleatics -- the Elastics, if you prefer --, except that (according to Kierkegaard) they held the doctrine that 'everything is and nothing comes into being'. Parmenides, I think, was an Eleatic, and you will see his views on pp. 14-15 of Russell's M&L. The doctrine of the Eleatics is the opposite of Heraclitus and his flux: but as K. points out, both are speculative views, abstracting from existence where change and unchange are combined (and so back to Bradley!).

As to Achilles and the tortoise, the problem as stated by Russell on p. 88 makes the assumption that all 'places' are the same size. But if Achilles is going faster than the tortoise each 'place' that he goes to must be correspondingly larger (i.e. longer) than the tortoise's 'places'. There is thus no paradox. But there is also the assumption that one can be in a 'place' in a 'point-instant' of time -- i.e. no time at all. This is really the root of the trouble, both for Zeno and for Russell -- they assume that time (or being, or existence) is made up of instants of no time, which is a misunderstanding. However many instants of no time you add together (or put contiguously) you still get no time. So Russell, seeing this, says (p. 82) 'there is no such thing as the next moment', which means that though his moments are 'in time' they are not 'part of time'. But he does not go on to explain what 'time' is.

The fact is, that one cannot use the word 'be' in connexion with a point-instant of time, and one cannot say that Achilles, or the Arrow, 'is' in a particular place at each 'moment' (understood as a point-instant). (The solution to the problem of time, as I suggest in FUNDAMENTAL STRUCTURE, lies in a hierarchy of 'moments', each understood as a 'unit of time', and each with a sub-structure of a plurality of similar moments but of a lesser order.)

But as to the problem of Achilles and the tortoise, all we need to say is that during each second of time both Achilles and the tortoise are within the boundaries of a certain extent or strip of ground, but since Achilles is moving faster than the tortoise his successive strips of ground (each occupied for one second) are longer than the tortoise's. So Achilles catches the tortoise. But note that since we decide upon one second of time (or whatever it may actually be) as the limit to the fineness of our perception, we are unable to find out what Achilles or the tortoise is doing within each second. We know that during any given second Achilles is occupying a certain strip of ground (he is in that strip), but we are not entitled to say whether he is moving or stationary. (This does not say what movement is -- which needs a more elaborate discussion --, but it does solve Zeno's problem, or at least indicates the solution.)

As a solution to impermanence you suggest that we might forgo 'an impermanent use of what is impermanent'. Impossible! We are making impermanent use of what is impermanent all the time -- and this is as true for the arahat as it is for the puthujjana. So long as there is consciousness at all there is the passage of time, and the passage of time consists in the use of things, whether we like it or not. The eating of food, the breathing of breaths, the thinking of thoughts, the dreaming of dreams -- all are impermanent use of what is impermanent. Only in nirodhasamápatti does this lapse for any living being.

In the last Sutta of the Majjhima (M. 152: iii,298-9) the desperate expedient is suggested of 'not seeing forms with the eye, not hearing sounds with the ear', but the Buddha ridicules this, saying that this is already achieved by a blind and deaf man. He goes on to indicate upekhá, indifference, as the proper way. The fault does not lie in the impermanence (which is inevitable), but in attachment to (and repulsion from) the impermanent. Get rid of attachment (and repulsion) and you get rid of the suffering of impermanence. The arahat makes impermanent use of the impermanent, but with indifference, and the only suffering he has is bodily pain or discomfort when it arises (and that, too, finally ceases when his body breaks up).

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Footnotes:

[88.a] It is always advisable, when taking up a new author, to find out whether he accepts or rejects survival of death. If one knows this, one can make the necessary allowances, and one may perhaps make sense of what would otherwise seem to be rubbish. Camus is a case in point -- to find him sympathetic it is necessary to know that he passionately loathes the idea of survival. [Back to text]

[89.a] Actually, Kierkegaard would appall Lin Yutang; and this perhaps shows up the weakness of both sides. Though they are agreed in rejecting speculation, Kierkegaard is for self-mortification whereas Chinese philosophy is for self-indulgence (and will not bear too close an intellectual scrutiny). [Back to text]

[89.b] I.e. the reality to which the adjective A---B is referred. [Back to text]

[89.c] This is thitassa aññathattam exactly. [Back to text]

[89.d] A recent Indian philosopher, de Andrade, was an enthusiastic disciple of Bradley's, and refused to consider Russell as a philosopher at all -- with some reason. [Back to text]

[89.e] Lin Yutang is right in saying that if one pays court to a girl, it is ridiculous not to marry her and have a family; but perhaps the truth that the classical German philosophers were flirting with is not the kind that you can have children by. [Back to text]















Editorial notes:

[85.1] Peradeniya: The University of Peradeniya, near Kandy, is the centre of Buddhist scholarship in Sri Lanka. [Back to text]

[86.1] Apparently the author was not acquainted with Edmund Husserl's Vorlesungen zur Phänomenologie des inneren Zeitbewusstseins, originally written as lectures from 1904 to 1920 and compiled and published by Martin Heidegger in 1928. An English translation by James S. Churchill, The Phenomenology of Internal Time-Consciousness, was published in 1963 (the year of this letter) by Indiana University Press. Husserl had developed a similar idea concerning the present movement of time. [Back to text]

[86.2] ákiñcaññáyatana: Beyond the four jhána states are the four higher attainments or perceptions, the perceptions of the limitlessness of space, of the limitlessness of consciousness, of the sphere of nothingness, and of the sphere of neither-perception-nor-non-perception. It is the second and third of these to which the author refers. [Back to text]

[87.1] Nalanda: Yes, it has been re-established as a university for monks, foreign as well as Indian. [Back to text]

[87.2] Doctrine of Awakening: During World War II the author (then known as Captain Harold Musson) served as an interrogator with intelligence in North Africa and Italy. He came across Evola's book and, in order to brush up his Italian, translated it. It was in fact his first contact with the Buddha's Teaching, aside from a distant look when, from 1927 to 1929, his father serving in Rangoon, Port Blair, and Maymyo, the sight of monks would have become familiar to young Musson. But there is no evidence that as a boy he came to know anything of the Teaching. His translation of Evola's book was published by Luzac in 1951. [Back to text]

[88.1] Mr. Wijerama: Section III, L. 6-8. [Back to text]

[89.1] earlier letter: L. 42. [Back to text]

[89.2] Mára = The Evil One, a non-human being. [Back to text]

[89.3] faute de mieux: for want of anything better. [Back to text]