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The Way to the Beyond: A Study of the Pārāyanavagga (4 of 4)

Introduction

Welcome, everybody. I'm coming to you from Parramatta, from the land of the Burramattagal people of the Darug nation. We acknowledge their custodianship of this land, past, present, and future.

I'm not sure if I mentioned this in the first message, but I'll just mention it now so all of you folks in the US know what's going on here in Australia. You may or may not know about when the white folk, a.k.a. my ancestors, took over the country; there was no treaty, no ceding of the land. There wasn't even the acknowledgment that the land was formerly occupied. Estimates are that between one to three million Indigenous people were living here, and they called this the doctrine of Terra Nullius^[1]. This was the kind of legal fiction on which the nation of Australia was founded.

There is currently a movement instigated by Australia's Indigenous peoples to have the acknowledgment of Aboriginal ownership in our Constitution. This is called the Uluru Statement from the Heart^[2]. So we are finally taking some steps to do this long-awaited movement. The people who are organizing this are seeking the support of Australia's religious bodies, apart from other people. We need a broad-based consensus in Australia to make a constitutional reform; you need two-thirds of the population in a referendum to make a constitutional reform. I made the Buddhist contribution for this. We're putting it together in a book which is hopefully going to be presented to Parliament and be part of the widespread movement for the establishment of an Indigenous voice in Australia's parliament. I've been one of the representatives on behalf of the Australian Buddhist community, and we've been very proud to support this. I just want to let you know that this is one of the things that we're doing here in Australia. Now, let us go forward.

This is the fourth and final of our sessions on the Pārāyanavagga^[3]. Most of you have been with us since the beginning, so I will briefly recap. The Pārāyanavagga is the final chapter in the Sutta Nipata^[4], and it is a collection of sixteen sets of questions by brahmins to the Buddha on diverse subjects, often concerned with quite deep matters of philosophy and meditation. These are bookended by a narrative. The narrative, especially the introduction, was clearly written some time later, but the whole creates a large-scale structure, which is unusual in the Sutta Nipata. In fact, you could even consider the whole of the Pārāyanavagga as a single, long sutta, which could even belong in the Dīgha Nikāya^[5] or something as a single sutta. It's tightly integrated in that way.

We've read through many of the sets of questions so far, and for today, we will look at some of the remaining sets of questions. We will also look at the closing verses. The closing verses to me are very moving and some of my favorite passages in the suttas.

Please do pop questions into the chat. If you have any questions or comments, please do put them there. Even if you just want to say "g'day," then please do so. By the way, it's okay, you can say "g'day." Australians are not going to be upset about cultural appropriation or something, that's fine. [Laughter]

Okay, very good. Now, here we go. We're going to begin with Chapter 5.13, The Questions of Bhadrāvudha.

The Questions of Bhadrāvudha

Interesting name, Bhadrāvudha. It literally means "the auspicious weapon." I'm not quite sure why he had that name. Anyway.

“I have a request for you, the shelter-leaver, the craving-cutter, the imperturbable,” said Venerable Bhadrāvudha, “the delight-leaver, the flood-crosser, the freed, the formulation-leaver, the intelligent.”

Here Bhadrāvudha begins with a series of epithets to address the Buddha, and obviously, it's a bit difficult to capture these descriptions in an elegant way in English, so I tried to do my best. The first one is interesting, the shelter-leaver or taṇhacchidaṁ—the one who leaves behind the home. Another one worth commenting on is kappañjahaṁ, which I've translated here as "the formulation-leaver." It's a terrible translation. If anyone's got a better idea, please tell me. The word kappa is a tricky one to translate. We find that more characteristically in the Aṭṭhakavagga^[6], but here, as we have seen a couple of times previously, there are idioms that are found fairly commonly in the Aṭṭhakavagga that we also find, if more rarely, here in the Pārāyanavagga. Kappa means something like a formulation, a thought, a creation, an idea, a theory, or an imagining. The basic root of it is to create or to make something, so it could even be like a plan. It's one of these psychological terms that doesn't quite match exactly onto the terms we have in English. "Plan" might even be a good one, but it has that idea of developing a fantasy. You could even say a "fantasy-leaver" or something like that—someone who's left behind just that capacity of the mind to build up fairy castles and live in this world of make-believe.

“Many people have gathered from different lands wishing to hear your word, O hero. After hearing the spiritual giant they will depart from here.”

I use "spiritual giant" to translate the nāga. You're familiar with the nāga as the mythical serpent, like a dragon. But nāga also means an elephant, an arahant, or the Buddha, and generally has this idea of a giant or a powerful being.

“Please, sage, answer them clearly, for truly you understand this matter.”
“Dispel all craving for attachments,” replied the Buddha, “above, below, all round, between. For whatever a person grasps in the world, Māra^[7] pursues them right there. So let a mindful mendicant who understands not grasp anything in all the world, observing that, in clinging to attachments, these people cling to the domain of death.”

It's a somewhat curious question here. Bhadrāvudha doesn't seem to be really asking a specific question, but he's encouraging the Buddha to answer the questions of others. So it's not exactly clear what the Buddha is answering, but in any case, the substance of his answer is clear enough. Okay, let's move on to Udaya.

The Questions of Udaya

Okay, jhāyiṁ virajamāsīnaṁ. “To the meditator, rid of hopes, who has completed the task, is free of defilements, and has gone beyond all things (pāraguṁ sabbadhammānaṁ), I have come in need with a question. Tell me the liberation by enlightenment, the smashing of ignorance (aññāvimokkhaṁ pabrūhi, avijjāya pabhedanaṁ).”

Aññā in this case is a technical term that we find in the suttas that basically always means enlightenment, awakening, or arahantship. So this is asking for what we would call enlightenment. Remembering again that the introductory narrative begins with the question of head-splitting, the Buddha responded to that with his answer in terms of ignorance and knowledge.

“The giving up of sensual desires,” replied the Buddha, “and aversions, both; the dispelling of dullness, and the cessation of remorse. Pure equanimity and mindfulness, preceded by investigation of principles—this, I declare, is liberation by enlightenment, the smashing of ignorance.”

The Buddha's answer here teaches the abandoning of the five hindrances. Many of you may recognize some of them. Kāmacchanda is the first of the five hindrances. Domanassa here appears as a synonym for vyāpāda, the second of the hindrances. Domanassa often means sadness or depression, but also sometimes, as here, it means aversion. Then panūdanaṁ, the dispelling of that darkness. And kukkucca is remorse. The only hindrance missing here is doubt. This is very characteristic of the verses: we find standard doctrines that we're very familiar with from elsewhere—the five hindrances, which are taught countless times in the suttas—and here in the verse, we find them somewhat reformulated and loosely phrased. One of the factors is missing, but generally speaking, the idea is the same.

Normally in the suttas, the abandoning of the hindrances is also the attaining of jhāna^[8]. The relationship between these two things is very, very close in the suttas. It's almost so close that you could say they are the same thing from a different perspective. The abandoning of the hindrances is a negative perspective—what's let go—and entering into jhāna is the positive perspective of what is realized.

But here, the Buddha goes on to speak of upekkhāsatisaṁsuddhaṁ, which is almost identical with the normal phrase in the fourth jhāna, upekkhāsatipārisuddhi: pure equanimity and mindfulness, a clear reference to the fourth jhāna, preceded by investigation of principles. "This I declare is liberation by enlightenment, the smashing of ignorance." The interesting phrase here is dhammatakkapurejavaṁ, preceded by investigation of principles. Dhamma: phenomena, teachings, principles. Takka: thought, rationality, inquiry. So dhammatakka is probably a synonym for something like vīmaṁsā—inquiry, investigation, and so on. Purejavaṁ: pure, beforehand; javaṁ is to run, almost like driven. So, driven by previous investigation of principles.

The idea here is that there is an abandoning of the hindrances, and there is a previous reflection on the dhamma. Applying the principles of the dhamma in your mind and your body, listening to the teachings, you ask yourself, "How do they apply to me?" Hopefully, we're doing this right now. As we listen to this, we think of these things: Sensual desires, what are they? Aversions, what are they? Dullness, what are they? Remorse, what are they? Are these things that I'm experiencing right now? What is going on in my mind as I'm hearing this? Sometimes when you hear a particular teaching, your mind might be like, "Eww, I don't like that. It makes me uncomfortable." That's when you're getting the good stuff! When you hear teachings that make you go, "Oh, yes, I know that. Yes..." well, those are just feeding your ego. They are just telling you that you already know things, which makes your pride go up. So always be a little bit careful of those things. But if you hear something and you go, "Eww, surely not. That couldn't be me. That doesn't apply to me," then that's a sign. There's some resistance there. What's going on with that? This is where we start to get interested and look into what actually is happening.

This is that investigation of principles, dhammatakkapurejavaṁ. We can do that now as we're listening to dhamma. We can do that as we go about our business during the day, during a dhamma talk, reading a dhamma book, or in meditation or conversation. We're always looking, investigating, and inquiring. The meaning of the dhamma in this case is that we understand all of these things are natural. Sensual desire is natural. Aversion is natural. Dullness and drowsiness are natural. Restlessness, remorse, and doubt, these things are all natural. They're normal. They're part of what it means to be human. There's no call to be ashamed of them. From a Buddhist point of view, we don't really think of things in terms of "wrong" and "bad." Rather, you think of things as being kusala or akusala—meaning it leads towards happiness, or it leads towards suffering.

So when you experience these things and you experience a resistance to them, investigate it. Ah, okay, you feel that resistance, that's worth looking at. Why? Because that thing will lead to suffering. So don't be worried about it. Don't be judgmental. Don't be ashamed to experience those bad things in yourself. Actually, it's good. If I see any spiritual practitioner who's feeling angry and greedy and feeling all of these things, I'm like, "Whew. That's a relief." [Laughter] The ones who don't have any of those things, I start to think, "Maybe this is a bit of a worry." Actually, inside, they're normal. It's alright. Just understand them, and let's move along past them.

Udaya asks the next questions:
“What fetters the world? (kiṁsu saṁyojano loko) What explores it? (kiṁsu tassa vicāraṇaṁ) With the giving up of what is extinguishment spoken of?”
“Delight fetters the world. Thought explores it. With the giving up of craving extinguishment is spoken of.”

And Udaya:
“For one living mindfully, how does consciousness cease? We’ve come to ask the Buddha; let us hear what you say.”

In a way, a very simple and straightforward question, but he's also talking at a very high level. We've already been talking at the level of the fourth jhāna. We heard in the introduction that these are all meditators, and we've seen a number of questions that suggest they genuinely are very highly attained meditators. So the Buddha is pitching his answers at this high level. How does consciousness cease? This is showing that this brahmin has moved beyond, or understood, the doctrine of the Upanishads^[9]. The Upanishadic doctrine states that consciousness is infinite and eternal. He's heard something from the Buddha about the cessation of consciousness, and he wants to know kathaṁ satassa carato. How does this come about? He's asking a pragmatic question, not a metaphysical one.

"For one living mindfully. Not taking pleasure in feeling, internally and externally. For one living mindfully. That's how consciousness ceases."

This comes back a little bit to what was said before about upekkhāsatisaṁsuddhaṁ. Living pure mindfulness in deep meditation. Then, without taking any delight in feelings, and living mindfully, consciousness comes to an end; no attachment.

The Questions of Posala

Alright, let's move on to the question of Posala.

“Yo atītaṁ ādisati,” said the Venerable Posala. “To the one who reveals the past, who is imperturbable, with doubts cut off, and who has gone beyond all things, I have come in need with a question. Consider one who perceives the disappearance of form, who has entirely given up the body, and who sees nothing at all internally and externally. I ask the Sakyan about knowledge for them; how should one like that be guided?”

Again, zero to one hundred very quickly here. He's asking a very profound question. Of course, how you take a question like this depends very much on the context. In this particular case, we've already had strong indications that these are meditators practicing these kinds of things. The meaning of the phrase vibhūtarūpasaññissa as a compound can be interpreted in a number of different ways, and you'll find different translators will render this in different ways. But I believe the key to this is found in the Kalahavivāda Sutta, which is in the Aṭṭhakavagga (Sutta Nipata 4.11), where there is a series of questions including the term vibhūtarūpasaññissa. This is what I think it means: one who perceives the disappearance of form. In other words, somebody who has attained the formless attainments.

The four normal jhānas, or the four rupa jhānas, are all attained with some mental residue or echo of a physical property, which is usually perceived as a light by the meditator. When the meditator is perceiving a light, that light is a rūpa. It's a part of the rūpakkhandha^[10], the aggregate of physical form. This is one of the differences between the way Buddhism sees things and the way Western science sees things. In Western science, our perception of a light that isn't physically there is considered to be entirely a mental phenomenon. Whereas in Buddhism, it's considered to be a material thing. It's a rūpa because it has material properties. In Western science, things are considered to be physical because of their underlying substance. It's a substantialist philosophy; it's made up of atoms, neutrons, protons, and stuff like that. From a Buddhist point of view, something material is something that seems material. It has material properties like shape, color, and position—these are all matters of perception.

So things that are perceived as material, like a light, are regarded as being part of the rūpakkhandha. In the first four jhānas, even though you're not perceiving the coarse physical form of the material realm, you are still perceiving the sukhuma-rūpa, the subtle matter, which is the reflection of that external material form perceived in the mind. After the fourth jhāna, going into the formless attainments, even that subtle form disappears. Posala speaks of one who perceives the disappearance of form, who has entirely given up the body (sabbakāyappahāyino), and who sees nothing at all internally and externally (ajjhattañca bahiddhā ca). "I ask the Sakyan about knowledge for them; how should one like that be guided?”

The Buddha replies: “The Realized One directly knows all the planes of consciousness. And he knows this one who remains committed to that as their final goal.”

The planes of consciousness, viññāṇaṭṭhiti, are elsewhere defined in terms of the different realms of rebirth. The development of consciousness corresponds with the realm into which one is born. It's important to understand the distinction, though. In Buddhism, rebirth is not produced by your level of consciousness; it is characterized by your level of consciousness. Your rebirth is produced by your kamma^[11]. Always remember that. Whatever your intention is, whatever your choice—that's the energy that activates a rebirth and sends you to one or other of these planes of consciousness.

This highlights the difference between the Buddhist point of view and the Upanishadic point of view that these brahmins are representing. For the Buddhists, all of these stations of consciousness are merely conditioned dimensions in which consciousness can abide for a while, but from which it will inevitably fall. Whereas for the brahmins, that consciousness is the true absolute underlying ground of being from which they came and to which they will ultimately return.

The last line of the verse is a bit of a tricky translation. In the text, it has vimuttaṁ, whereas I think it should read 'dhimuttaṁ, an abbreviated form of adhimuttaṁ, which means "dedicated to" or "committed to that."

The Buddha is talking about his ability to see the consequences of different spiritual paths and the outcome of different practices. It seems the Buddha is referring here to the kinds of Brahmanical paths that he encountered before his own awakening, namely those of Āḷāra Kālāma and Uddaka Rāmaputta^[12]. We've seen already that the sixteen brahmins are associated with those brahmin schools. He's referring to those who remain committed to that attainment of rebirth, understanding that the desire for rebirth in the dimension of nothingness is a fetter (ākiñcaññasambhavaṁ). This is, in fact, almost exactly what the Bodhisattva said when he rejected the teaching under Āḷāra Kālāma. He said that this is no good because it leads only to rebirth in the realm of the dimension of nothingness.

“Directly knowing what this really means, one then sees that matter clearly. That is the knowledge of reality for them, the brahmin who has lived the life.”

This is the overall thesis of this whole collection: a very clear expression that even that most refined of spiritual goals still is not good enough.

The Questions of Mogharājā

Let's go on to Mogharājā, 5.16. Mogharājā is another slightly odd name; it means "King of Fools."

“Twice I have asked the Sakyan,” said Venerable Mogharājā, “but you haven’t answered me, O Seer. I have heard that the divine hermit answers when questioned a third time.”

Interesting opening there, obviously very noteworthy. We haven't heard from Mogharājā before this point, so clearly not everything that was said has been passed down. He asks the Buddha, and the Buddha doesn't answer. Curious, right? Why? He's answering all of these other people. I wonder whether this even relates to what we saw before with Bhadrāvudha, where Bhadrāvudha was saying, "Answer them clearly. People have come here, please give them an answer, for you truly understand this matter." Perhaps Bhadrāvudha was really subtweeting Mogharājā in that particular one! That's a bit of a hypothesis. But what is clear is that for some reason the Buddha didn't answer. The text itself doesn't tell us why, but the commentary explains, reasonably enough, that the Buddha felt Mogharājā was not ready to understand the answer previously. He wanted him to wait, hear the questions and answers from the others, gradually learn, and then by this time he was ready to understand.

“Regarding this world, the other world, and the realm of Brahmā with its gods, I’m not familiar with the view of the renowned Gotama. So I’ve come in need with a question to the one of excellent vision. How to look upon the world so the King of Death won’t see you?” (Kathaṁ lokaṁ avekkhantaṁ, maccurājā na passati.)

Very beautiful question, very powerful one. How do you see the world so that the King of Death won't see you?

“Look upon the world as empty, Mogharājā, ever mindful. Having uprooted the view of self, you may thus cross over death. That’s how to look upon the world so the King of Death won’t see you.”

Here the Buddha is teaching the famous Buddhist doctrine of emptiness. We find emptiness taught many times in the suttas. As usual, the doctrine of emptiness in the early texts is very closely related to the idea of not-self. In fact, as here, it often seems to be pretty much a synonym for not-self. The idea of emptiness underwent a lot of philosophical reflection and development over the years, but it's important to keep that grounded approach. When the Buddha was talking about emptiness, he was talking about it in a specific way: it's empty of a specific kind of thing—empty of a self. He wasn't advocating some kind of abstract metaphysical principle of emptiness.

"See the world as empty, ever mindful." Once again, the Buddha is advocating a method of reflection, of meditation. I find sometimes there's a dialogue in modern Buddhist studies where people say this whole emphasis on meditation is a Western imposition on Buddhism. I'm like, have you read the suttas? It seems like it was important to the Buddha. The Buddha was talking about these kinds of things all the time. We don't find throughout the suttas that the Buddha is telling people to do lots of rituals. Not to say that you can't do those things—doing rituals and making offerings is nice, there's nothing wrong with it. But the thing that the Buddha was really emphasizing all the time was about knowing. It's about being aware. How do you see the world?

The Questions of Piṅgiya

I'll do the last one of the sets of questions here, and then we'll go to the chat. So from Piṅgiya. You could translate Piṅgiya as "Pinky," if you wanted. Not quite sure why he is called Piṅgiya, but anyway.

“I am old, feeble, and pallid,” said Venerable Piṅgiya, “my eyes unclear, my hearing faint. Don’t let stupid me perish meanwhile; explain the teaching so that I may understand the giving up of rebirth and old age here.” (Māhaṁ nassaṁ momuho antarāva.)

He's come such a long way. Poor Piṅgiya. Bāvari said that he couldn't come because he was too old, but Piṅgiya came. "I'm old, feeble, and pallid." (Jiṇṇohamasmi abalo vītavaṇṇo.)

“Having seen those stricken by forms,” replied the Buddha, “negligent people afflicted by forms; therefore, Piṅgiya, being diligent, give up form so as not to be reborn.”

Here the Buddha again uses this word rūpa, which has so many different connotations and implications. One of the indications here is form as the body. When you get attached to the body, it becomes an affliction for you. The more you get obsessed with bodies, beauty, and form, the more it comes back to bite you. Inevitably, that's what happens. Give up form, so as not to be reborn.

And Piṅgiya responds:
“The four quarters, the intermediate directions, below, and above: in these ten directions there’s nothing at all in the world that you’ve not seen, heard, thought, or cognized. Explain the teaching so that I may understand the giving up of rebirth and old age here.”

This is a very common formulation: diṭṭha, suta, muta, viññāta (seen, heard, thought, cognized), found constantly in these passages where we're finding the Brahmanical teachers. I've probably mentioned this before, but I'll say it again: muta here means "thought." It doesn't mean "sensed" as many translators render it. That is purely an Abhidhamma^[13] meaning. In the suttas, muta has the meaning of what has been thought. The four of these things taken together are generally not sensory categories; they are our ways of knowing and learning spiritual truths. These are epistemological methodologies. "To see" is to see a spiritual teacher or saint and be uplifted. "To hear" is hearing the teachings of the oral tradition. "To think" (muta) refers to cognition and philosophy, to rationalize about the truth of spiritual things. And "to cognize" (viññāta) means to be aware of spiritual truths, especially as revealed in meditation and altered states of consciousness.

When Piṅgiya is praising the Buddha, saying there's nothing he hasn't seen, heard, thought, or cognized, he doesn't literally mean there's not a mote of dust on the other side of the galaxy that he hasn't been aware of. He's talking about all the different spiritual truths and teachings that have been passed down. There's no means of knowing these things that the Buddha is not familiar with.

The Buddha continues:
“Observing people sunk in craving, tormented, mired in old age; therefore, Piṅgiya, being diligent, give up craving so as not to be reborn.” (Taṇhādhipanne manuje pekkhamāno.)

The Buddha is taking Piṅgiya's reflections from the beginning and turning them upside down. Piṅgiya's like, "How do I practice when I'm old? It's difficult because I don't have energy." And the Buddha says, "Use this for your insight. This is how you find wisdom. You look at your own experience, and you understand: this is the suffering. And it's not just me who's going through that suffering, everybody is." At the very least, when we reflect in that way, it gives rise to compassion and a sense of connection.

Q&A

All right. So I'm going to stop there and come to the chat.

Gabriela from the unceded Coast Salish territory in Canada asks: "Can you comment on the idea that absence of hindrances equals absorption? This is a general widespread understanding of the sutta."

In the suttas, the way meditation is presented is that you sit down, establish mindfulness, and abandon hindrances. When the hindrances are abandoned, the mind goes into jhāna. In the commentaries, they develop this more and talk about things like khaṇikasamādhi and upacārasamādhi—an in-between state where the hindrances are abandoned but the jhāna is not yet fully attained. The commentaries want to split apart the abandoning of hindrances and the entering of jhāna. I don't necessarily take the commentaries as being as authoritative as the suttas, but we are listening to the voice of experience of meditators of old, so we shouldn't dismiss it lightly. Generally speaking in the suttas, the abandoning of the hindrances and the entering of jhāna are more or less the flip side of the same experience. Spiritual development is always described both as a negative letting go and a positive realization. For instance, from the first jhāna you abandon vitakka-vicāra and enter the second jhāna. The letting go of that negative thing is equated with the realization of the positive thing. So when reading the suttas, try to avoid looking for "gotchas" to try and prove a point; listen to what the suttas are saying.

Eric asks: "Does cessation of consciousness only refer to parinibbāna and saññāvedayitanirodha?"

In this particular case, I would say it's referring to parinibbāna—to the ending of consciousness at parinibbāna. The cessation of perception and feeling is a bit more of a specialized kind of thing.

Eric also comments: "‘Afflicted by forms’ preserves the Pali pun of ruppanti rūpesu."

Yes, that's what I'm trying to do. Not easy to get.

Another question asks: "Does your comment about seen, heard, thought, and cognized apply to the Bāhiya Sutta too?"

It does, yes. This is generally true throughout the suttas. If you want to look at the details, I recommend K.N. Jayatilleke's Early Buddhist Theory of Knowledge. In the Abhidhamma, which came a few hundred years later, they were very concerned about mapping certain teachings onto other teachings. Sometimes that mapping happens in a way that misses the nuances of what was originally being talked about.

Eileen asks: "We can be aware of craving fairly easily, but does one need to enter states of jhāna in order to abandon craving?"

Again, it comes back to the flip side of things. Think of that language: "Do you need to enter jhāna?" Jhānas are just what happen when you let go of defilements. If you don't have any hindrances, jhāna is just a natural state of mind. It's not an extra thing you need to do on top of that.

Julian asks: "Has this course on Abhidhamma been recorded? If not, would you do it again in one or two years?"

I did the course on Jayatilleke's book. I haven't actually done a course on the Abhidhamma. I did one on the Visuddhimagga^[14], which covers a lot of these areas. Maybe I should do one on Abhidhamma. Ask on our SuttaCentral forum, and somebody there will probably be able to point you to the recording of the first course.

The Closing Verses

I'm going to go back to sharing the screen again, and we're going to look at the last couple of sections. We've now heard from all sixteen brahmins, and it comes back to a narrative voice.

“This was said by the Buddha while staying in the land of the Magadhans at the Pāsāṇake shrine. When requested by the sixteen brahmin devotees, he answered their questions one by one. If you understand the meaning and the teaching of each of these questions, and practice accordingly, you may go right to the far shore of old age and death. These teachings are said to lead to the far shore, which is why the name of this exposition of the teaching is ‘The Way to the Beyond’.”

Then it resumes with some verses, again in the narrative voice:
“Ajita, Tissametteyya, Puṇṇaka and Mettagū, Dhotaka and Upasiva, Nanda and then Hemaka, both Todeyya and Kappa, and Jatukaṇṇī the astute, Bhadrāvudha and Udaya, and the brahmin Posala, Mogharājā the intelligent, and Piṅgiya the great hermit: they approached the Buddha, the hermit of consummate conduct. Asking their subtle questions, they came to the most excellent Buddha. The Buddha answered their questions in accordance with truth. The sage satisfied the brahmins with his answers... If you practice in accordance with each of these questions as taught by the Buddha, you’ll go from the near shore to the far. Developing the supreme path, you’ll go from the near shore to the far. This path is for going to the far shore; that’s why it’s called ‘The Way to the Beyond’.”

These verses recap the main events and form a narrative framework. When we looked at the Vatthugāthā, the Introductory Verses, it was very clear that they were quite late, probably among the latest additions in the Pali canon. Here, it's not entirely clear what the relationship is. There's nothing really in these closing verses that allows us to date them in the same way. They certainly could be earlier; perhaps originally the sixteen questions ended with these chapters, and the introduction was added later.

From the impersonal narrative voice, the final chapter returns to a much more personal verse here:
“‘I shall keep reciting the Way to the Beyond,’ said Venerable Piṅgiya, ‘which was taught as it was seen by the immaculate one of vast intelligence. He is desireless, unentangled, a spiritual giant: why would he speak falsely?’”

Here we find the return of Piṅgiya, who was described as the great hermit. One detail which is easy to miss in the Pali here is anugāyissaṁ. Gāyati is "to sing." The prefix anu has the implication of "to keep on." So he's not just going to gāyati, he's going to anugāyati—to keep on reciting. He is saying he will take responsibility to recite these to make sure we've got them for later. In a way, he's announcing that he is going to establish the oral tradition so that these verses can continue to be remembered. It's almost like recording the moment when it was decided that these would be retained as a set of scriptures.

Piṅgiya continues:
“‘Come, let me extol in sweet words of praise the one who’s given up stains and delusions, conceit and contempt. The Buddha, all-seer, dispeller of darkness, has gone to world’s end, beyond all rebirths; he is free of defilements, and has given up all pain, the rightly-named one, brahmin, is revered by me. Like a bird that flees a little copse, to roost in a forest abounding in fruit, I’ve left the near-sighted behind, like a swan come to a great river. Those who explained to me previously, before I encountered Gotama’s teaching, said ‘thus it was’ or ‘so it shall be’. All that was just the testament of hearsay (itihītihaṁ); all that just fostered speculation.’”

We've seen similar complaints before. "The testament of hearsay," itihītihaṁ, refers to the oral tradition, and perhaps more specifically to legendary tales—maybe the stories we know today as the Mahabharata and Ramayana. A fun fact is that the earliest recorded versions of many primary events in the Ramayana and Mahabharata are found in the Pali Jataka^[15] stories, which are earlier than any of the Hindu versions.

“‘Alone, the dispeller of darkness is splendid, a beacon: Gotama, vast in wisdom, Gotama, vast in intelligence. He is the one who taught me Dhamma, visible in this very life, immediately effective, the untroubled, the end of craving, to which there is no compare.’” (Yassa natthi upamā kvaci.)

Then the brahmin to whom Piṅgiya is speaking responds:
“‘Why would you dwell apart from him even for an hour, Piṅgiya? From Gotama, vast in wisdom, from Gotama, vast in intelligence? He is the one who taught you Dhamma, visible in this very life, immediately effective, the untroubled, the end of craving, to which there is no compare.’”

It's not specifically identified here, but it's likely that this is Bāvari, Piṅgiya's teacher, that has been referred to here. According to the commentary, that is the case.

Piṅgiya replies again:
“‘I never dwell apart from him, not even for an hour, brahmin. From Gotama, vast in wisdom, from Gotama, vast in intelligence. He is the one who taught me Dhamma... Being diligent, I see him in my mind’s eye day and night. I spend the night in homage to him, hence I think I dwell with him. My faith and joy and intent and mindfulness never stray from Gotama’s teaching. I bow to whatever direction the one of vast wisdom heads. I’m old and feeble, so my body cannot go there, but I always travel in my thoughts, for my mind, brahmin, is bound to him. Lying floundering in the mud, I drifted from island to island. Then I saw the Buddha, the undefiled one who has crossed the flood.’”

These are beautiful lines showing that sense of devotion and deep personal connection. Then there is an intervention from another unnamed speaker, who seems to be the Buddha:

“‘Just as Vakkali was committed to faith—Bhadrāvudha and Gotama of Āḷavī too—so too you should commit to faith (pamuñcassu saddhaṁ). You will go, Piṅgiya, beyond the domain of death.’”

The phrase here to commit to faith, muttasaddho or pamuñcassu saddhaṁ, is the same phrase spoken by Brahmā after the Buddha was enlightened. The Buddha spoke of people who pursued the path with different faculties foremost. For some people, the devotional faculty is foremost; for others, it might be wisdom and investigation. Because of Piṅgiya's very strong devotion and love for the Buddha, he has been encouraged to find liberation with faith as foremost. I think this is really beautiful. The Buddha was not critical of people who were very devotional. As long as their path is leading them in a positive direction, he would encourage them to practice in the way that is nourishing for them. In the Buddhist tradition, this is regarded as one of the special qualities of the Buddha. Other disciples tend to encourage students to practice in the way they themselves have practiced. The Buddha had a higher vantage point and was able to teach in a diverse way to respect where each individual is coming from.

Piṅgiya says:
“‘My confidence grew when I heard the word of the sage, the Buddha with veil drawn back, so kind and eloquent. Having directly known all about the gods, he understands all top to bottom, the teacher who settles all questions for those who admit their doubts. Unfaltering, unshakable; that to which there is no compare. For sure I will go there, I have no doubt of that. Remember me as one whose mind is made up.’” (Asaṁhīraṁ asaṅkuppaṁ, Yassa natthi upamā kvaci; Addhā gamissāmi na mettha kaṅkhā, Evaṁ maṁ dhārehi adhimuttacittan’ti.)

These are the final words in the Sutta Nipata. I love that verse. Just that confidence in it. He just comes out and says, "I just don't care. Whatever happens, I'm going there. My mind is made up." When I did my translation project for the suttas, I deliberately left the Sutta Nipata to the last book because I knew that this would be the last verse in the last book I was going to translate. I had something to look forward to—translating my favorite verse—to give me that inspiration.

What a journey those sixteen brahmins went on, what they endured, and that deep sense of questioning they brought to their own tradition. And their depths of dedication to their meditation and spiritual practice, but also the humility they brought to see the Buddha and practice his teachings. The way the whole chapter is wrapped up and included in this narrative gives a human context that makes the whole thing more relatable and engaging.

Elizabeth asks: "Why have these sixteen questions and answers not been included in the four nikayas?"
Good question. I don't think there's really an answer for that. It would have been nice if they had been included, especially in the Agamas in Chinese, and we would have parallels for them. But as it stands, we don't have parallels for most of them. It's one of these mysteries.

I think we've finished for today.