Pāli for Practice

This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Pāli for Practice with Claralynn Nunamaker. It likely contains inaccuracies, especially with speaker attribution if there are multiple speakers.

The following talk was given by Claralynn Nunamaker at The Sati Center in Redwood City, CA on August 27, 2023. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Pāli for Practice

Introduction

It is really great to be here and to see so many people coming out for Pāli for Practice. Who would have thought? Thank you, Rob. It is wonderful to be here under the auspices of the Sati Center^[1], and thank you for choosing to spend a couple of hours on your Saturday doing this.

What I would like to do is give a short introduction to our time together. But before I do that, I would like to start with a short Sanskrit chant, which I think brings a lovely vibe to a study session. Some of you may know this; it is from the Upanishads. It is a chant that would have been around at the time of the Buddha, traditionally chanted when a teacher and student sit down together for a period of practice. I will recite this in Sanskrit and then give a translation so that we all have a good understanding of what it means.

[Chanting in Sanskrit]

May we be protected in body, but also in mind. May we both be nourished in body and mind. May we arouse energy. What we study, what we learn, what we attain—may that be bright, brilliant, and shiny. Let us not quarrel, let us not argue, let there be no animosity. Peace, peace.

This brings a lovely energy. We are here to investigate together, to use the hive mind to come to some understanding of these teachings and how we can apply them to our practice. It is not about argument, scoring points, or debate; it is about working together without animosity, arousing energy so that what we study today is brilliant and bright.

Lovely to see so many faces, some familiar and some new friends. While I give a short introduction to what we will be doing today, I invite you to pop into the chat your name, where you are calling in from, and one or two words about your level of Pāli (e.g., none, a little, some, a lot) to get a sense of who is here today.

Who am I? You heard the details from Rob, but I will jump in with one of the reading groups he mentioned. That is with John Kelly^[2]. I am part of a weekly reading group with him, and one of the first suttas we read was the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta^[3]. That was a really interesting experience because, of course, I knew the sutta in English. I was expecting certain words as we were reading it in Pāli, and some of those words were different than what I expected. I found that quite interesting, so I made a list of those words, looked them up, contemplated them, and they have really informed my practice.

I am also part of an online peer-to-peer sangha, Dharma Mechanics^[4]. When it came time for me to offer something for the group, I thought I would offer these words that leapt out at me from the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta. They recorded their sessions, and Kim Allen^[5] saw one of those sessions, found it helpful, and asked if I would do something similar here. Of course, I said yes, so here we are!

These words we will be going over—just a handful of them—have really helped my practice, and my aspiration for today is that they will give you some insights and food for thought that might help your practice as well.

We have two sections today. The first covers the key words that leapt out at me from the sutta. We will look at the standard English translation, the etymology, and other ways to look at these words. I invite you to actively engage with this, to feel your own way into these words and what they mean to you. Rather than trying to memorize things, let's get a flavor of what these words mean and the range of meanings they can have. After looking at this first handful of words, we will go into breakout rooms so you can chew over these things in smaller groups. Then we will take a break, come back, and do the same thing with the hindrances.

I want to be really clear that what we are doing today is not challenging the standard translations or saying they are wrong. They are great. The issue is with Pāli—and you find this with Sanskrit as well. (I started studying Sanskrit last year, and that has also informed my understanding). There is such a richness in the language that the translators have an impossible job. You lose richness and double entendres when you translate to English. Thank goodness we have the translations that we do. What we are trying to uncover today are the other nuances that the translators just couldn't capture in any single word. Please feel free to ask questions and make comments as we go.

Anupassanā: Following Along Seeing

The very first word we read through, I was thinking, "Mindfulness of the body, that's going to be something like kāyasati, right?" But it wasn't. It was kāye kāyānupassī viharati.

The keyword here is anupassanā. This occurs in all four sections of the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta (mindfulness of the body, feelings, mind, and dhammas). So we have kāyānupassanā (mindfulness of the body) and vedanānupassanā (mindfulness of feelings).

Common translations use words like "contemplating" (Bhikkhu Bodhi^[6]) or "observing" (I.B. Horner^[7]). When we look at the various Pāli dictionaries:

• Digital Pali Dictionary (DPD)^[8]: watching, witnessing, following, observing.
• Pali-English Dictionary (PED)^[9]: looking at, viewing, contemplation, consideration, realization.
• Margaret Cone's Dictionary^[10]: looking at, viewing, contemplation.

This is where it gets really interesting. Anupassanā is a feminine abstract noun derived from the verb anupassati. When we look at the etymology, anupassati comes from the prefix anu and the verb passati. Passati is a bog-standard Pāli word meaning "to see." The prefix anu has a sense of "following" or "along."

Cone defines anu as "with a long one after the other, repeated mode." If you put these together, you get this sense that you are seeing, but you're not just seeing once. You are seeing again and again and again. You are following along with something—maybe following along with the breath or with feelings.

In the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, there is an exquisite analogy for this: the carpenter or the carpenter's apprentice working on a lathe. If you have ever worked on a lathe, you know you have a piece of wood that is turning, and you need to be on the ball. You don't just pay attention for two moments, check out for two more moments, and then come back to it, because then you have ruined your piece of wood. You need to stay with it again and again. There is this continuity, one after the other. It is an absolutely perfect analogy for anupassati.

Breaking this apart into the etymology made this word come alive for me.

Participant: What grammatical construct is anupassī? Does it mean "following along seeing"? Claralynn: It has a long "ī" ending that denotes "one who is." So it translates roughly to, "One who is following along, dwells." Participant: When we say "following along seeing," are we using attention or our eyes? When I do a body scan, I notice my eyes moving as my attention moves. Claralynn: I relate to this as following along with attention. But I want to invite us to make this our own and not get locked into rigid interpretations. If you're a carpenter working on a lathe, you are following along with your attention, absolutely with your eyes, and with your hands as well. Play with this in your practice and see how "following along seeing" manifests for you. Participant: In addition to the mindful or concentrated aspect, I'm also getting a sense of alertness out of breaking this down. Claralynn: Absolutely. This moved my practice from passively observing to a much more active, on-your-toes quality.

Ñāṇamattāya and Satimattāya: A Measure of Knowledge and Mindfulness

This next word applies to body, feelings, mind, and mind objects. In the text, they appear as ñāṇamattāya and satimattāya, which are dative forms of the nominative mattā. We have translations like "bare knowledge" and "bare mindfulness." Bhikkhu Bodhi translates it as "necessary for knowledge and mindfulness," and I.B. Horner says "precisely to the extent necessary for knowledge and mindfulness."

Let's break down these words. We have ñāṇa, which is knowledge, understanding, or insight. There's not a lot to unpack there. But here is where it gets interesting: the word mattā comes from the root mā, which means "measured," and the tā ending makes a noun out of it. It can occur as an adjective (meaning "mere," "simple," or "only") or as a noun. DPD defines the noun as "amount of, measure of." PED has "measure, consisting of measuring."

If you put these together, it struck me that we are talking about a measure of knowledge, a measure of mindfulness. What does it mean to have a measure? Think about cooking: if the recipe says you want one cup of flour, you use one cup. You don't say, "Half a cup is enough," or "One cup is good, two cups must be better." You ruin the recipe if you do that. The measure is the measure.

What I see this saying is that it's just enough knowledge, just enough mindfulness. It's not too much, it's not too little. Early in my practice, there was this granular emphasis on mindfulness of every little movement, which I found very effortful. But Jack Kornfield^[11] noted that the mind secretes thoughts like the salivary gland secretes saliva. The body creates movement. This instructs us to have enough attention to know what the body is doing, but just enough. Not too much, not too little.

Just this morning, I checked the Tipitaka Pali Reader^[12], and they defined ñāṇamattāya as "the measure of understanding," and satimattāya as "the measure of mindfulness." In the dative case, it means "enough for a measure of understanding, enough for the measure of mindfulness."

Participant: This phrase "bare knowledge"—I wondered how it was in the Pāli, because other places in the text don't really support this. How can "mere" and "measure" be the same? Claralynn: One interpretation takes mattā as a noun, and the other makes it an adjective. How do you make an adjective out of "a measure of something"? That's where we get the idea of "mere" or "simple." It's merely one cup; it's simply one cup. "Mere knowing" carries the sense of not taking away anything, and not adding anything extra. Participant: It reminds me of Right Effort^[13], not too much, not too little. Like a bowstring on an instrument—if it's too tight or too loose, but just right^[14]. Participant: I think "mere" in this case just means bare knowing, seeing it as it is without adding anything to it. Participant: I am a musician, so I think of measure as a musical term. It's the unit by which things are measured. It relates to the string metaphor and a kind of universal proportion. Claralynn: The theme I hear through these comments is the sense of letting it just be what it is, not making it too much or too little. It is very consistent with Right Effort.

Kāyasaṅkhāra: Concoctions of the Body

This word comes up in relation to the body (kāya), usually in the context of "stilling the kāyasaṅkhāra." Translations are all over the place. Bhikkhu Bodhi: "bodily formation." Thanissaro Bhikkhu^[15]: "physical process." I.B. Horner: "activity of the body."

DPD has: "physical process, bodily function, intention which results in bodily action." PED has: "the material aggregate, substratum of body." Cone has: "a bodily motive force, physical emotion." Let's go to the Pāli to see what it has to reveal.

Kāyasaṅkhāra is a compound. Pāli does this a lot; it smushes words together. We have kāya (body) and saṅkhāra (one of the aggregates). Saṅkhāra breaks down into the prefix saṃ and the root kar. The root kar means to make, do, or create (related to kṛ in Sanskrit). The prefix saṃ has a sense of "together" or "completion." So a saṅkhāra is something that is made together.

If you have individual ingredients in your kitchen and you put them together into a soup, the soup is a saṅkhāra. It is the sum total of those ingredients; it only exists because these other things make it up. DPD literally defines it as "making together." So, a kāyasaṅkhāra is a concoction of the body, a making together in the body.

Last year I had a major surgery and dealt with a lot of pain. I worked with that pain as a kāyasaṅkhāra. It felt like this thing in the body, but when I brought attention to it, I imagined it as this thing put together of pieces: a little bit of sensation here, sensation there, interpretation of sensation there. It brought a sense of, "Ah, that's something the body has created, and anything that is created can dissolve."

The Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta asks us to still whatever that making—that saṅkhāra—is in the body. If you can dissolve it, that is the ultimate stilling. It could be physical, energetic, or emotional.

Participant: I used to think of contemplation of the body as only the physical body, but this includes saññā^[16], our perception of the body. I'm trying to work with pain, and realizing it's our perception that we can dissolve is interesting. Claralynn: Yes, saññā is involved, but the emphasis is on what we are creating with an individual saññā. Vidyamala Burch^[17] talks about going into the pain and noticing the sensations it is composed of. We think of pain as monolithic, but it is actually a saṅkhāra. When we see the parts, we have a better chance of dissolving them. Participant: So the goal is to calm or still the concoctions in the body? Claralynn: That is the instruction given, yes.

Pajānāti: Knowing Forward

In the English translations, we are instructed to "know this" and "know that." I was absolutely certain the Pāli verb was going to be jānāti, the standard verb "to know." But it wasn't. It was pajānāti.

If you look this up, DPD has "knows, knows clearly, understands, distinguishes." Cone has "knows, understands, finds out." But when we dive into the Pāli, the word reveals itself. We have the prefix pa added to jānāti. English and Pāli are cousins from a Proto-Indo-European root. The prefix pa is very much like our English prefix "pro" (as in progress or protect). It has a forward motion to it. DPD defines it as "forward" or "towards."

So we are "knowing forward." What does that mean? In the Dharma Mechanics group, someone suggested it sounds like being on the balls of your feet. It's not sitting back; it's bringing our mindfulness forward so we are actively following along.

Furthermore, jānāti comes from the root ñā (to know). If you put pa and ñā together, you get paññā (wisdom). Pajānāti comes from the same etymological base as wisdom. It is the kind of knowing that gives you wisdom.

Someone suggested pajānāti sounds like "grok," a verb coined by Robert A. Heinlein meaning to know something in your bones, to the core. We are asked to know deeply. This is not just a simple knowing.

Participant: I keep thinking of Old English, where the verb "know" implies sexual union (e.g., "Adam knew Eve"). That knowledge is absolutely in your bones because it's a knowing of body, mind, and soul together. Claralynn: That makes sense. English, Pāli, and Sanskrit are cousins, and we have moved away from the depth of meaning of a lot of these words.

Sampajānakārī Hoti: The Clearly Aware Doer

This is another interesting one, and this is me going a bit rogue. I follow the Pāli and my practice, and I don't feel overly constricted by standard translations.

In the text, when you are looking ahead, looking to the side, bending, wearing a robe, or carrying a bowl, this is what you are supposed to do: sampajānakārī hoti. Translations include "acts in full awareness" (Bhikkhu Bodhi), "makes himself fully alert" (I.B. Horner), or "acting in a clearly conscious way" (Bhante Sujato^[18]).

Sampajānakārī is a compound: sampajāna plus kārī. The long "ī" ending denotes "one who is." Kārī comes from the root kar (to make, do), meaning a doer, maker, or agent. Sampajāna has the same etymological base we just saw: the prefix pa (forward) and saṃ (together or completeness). So we have a doer of this clear, complete comprehension. And hoti simply means "is." So literally: "There is a doer of clear comprehension."

What does that mean? When you first started meditating and watching thoughts, you may have felt completely entangled in them. "How do I create space? I am the thought!" Over time, you start to get little spaces, and you can separate the observing part of you from the thought.

I think this asks us to do the same thing with the actions of the body. If I open a door, usually that's just me opening the door, fused with the action. But if I practice recognizing, "There is a doer opening the door," it starts to give a little bit of space between me and the action. There is a clearly aware doer of washing the face, a clearly aware doer of closing the door. It's a degree of separation.

Participant: Could we say "witness"? The one who is aware that this action is being performed? Claralynn: That is definitely in the ballpark. Participant: I'm wondering if this is one of the many views of disentangling the knower and the known. When one becomes aware of the space between those aspects, you have choice. Claralynn: Yes! When you are fused, it feels like there is no choice. When you separate it out, choice may arise, and you can rest in that space. Participant: The experience of kamma^[19] ties in with this. When there is a doer, that doer can be aware of the consequence. Is there an awareness of a choice of what the kamma is and its effect? Claralynn: That sounds like a very rich thread to take into practice. Participant: I was thinking of the Bāhiya Sutta^[20], where "in the seeing there is just the seeing." But that takes out the doer. Does that make sense? Claralynn: This instruction is only asking us to deeply know that doer in our normal everyday consciousness. It's not saying that when one is awakened the doer is still there. It's recognizing that the doer is here right now, so let's be aware of it and grok it from the inside out.

Paccavekkhati: Looking Back Down

This is an interesting verb for examining the body. DPD has "reviews, regards, reflects, considers, literally looks back down." PED has "to look upon, consider, review, realize."

When you break this apart, weird things happen with Pāli through sandhi^[21]. Paccavekkhati breaks down to the prefix paṭi, the prefix ava (down), and the root ikkh (to see).

Paṭi is a fascinating prefix. It carries a sense of going back to the exact extent that something has come towards it. For example, gīta is a song, but a paṭigīta is a counter-song or response. You can't have a counter-song without the original call. Ghosa is sound, and paṭighosa is an echo. Paṭi sets up a relationship dependent on what came before, without adding to it.

So when you are examining the body, you are looking down and just seeing what is there. You are not adding to it.

Participant: As someone with a background in linguistics, how do you get from paṭi to pacca? When you juxtapose sounds, they bounce against each other. If you say "pat your back" really quickly, it sounds like "patcha back." That is what sandhi is. In English, we don't write down those changes, but in Sanskrit and Pāli, they do.

Upasaṃharati: Bringing Near

We find this verb in the charnel ground contemplations. When contemplating bodies in various stages of decay, this is often translated as "compares." Other definitions include "likens to, collect, bring together, keep up, gather."

Literally, we have the prefix upa (near), saṃ (together), and harati (to bring). So you are seeing what is out there, and you are bringing it together near you. This exquisite word captures a no-holds-barred bringing of that reality right to you. The opposite would be shying away.

Participant: I wondering if it could be similar to being met by what's there? There are also places where it talks about "I am of the same nature." Claralynn: Yes, that absolutely fits, because you are not putting any space between you and the thing you are observing. Participant: As a dedicated student, I wanted to work with the charnel grounds, so I went to a medical site and contemplated a cadaver. Talk about bringing it close! I lasted three days doing that practice. Claralynn: This is why I find this verb so breathtaking. The reality of what it is asking us to bring near is really challenging stuff.

Reflections and Break

[A brief break was taken.]

The purpose of studying Pāli is not for intellectual stimulation or buzzwords; it is Pāli for practice. It is about finding elements you can integrate to make your practice more alive and active.

The Hindrances

We will buzz through the hindrances. I have not included the first hindrance (sensual desire) because it seemed straightforward.

Nīvaraṇa (Hindrance)

Dictionaries define nīvaraṇa as obstacle, obstruction, or barrier. But when you look at the Sanskrit, you find "disturbance" or "trouble." The Buddha is giving us these five ways the mind naturally goes when it is disturbed or troubled. This allows us to connect with the hindrances with a little more compassion: "Oh, here is the mind doing this natural thing again."

Vyāpāda: Ill Will and Vexation

Usually translated as ill will. It comes from vi + ā + pada and has a sense of going wrong. The verb form means "to go wrong, to fail, to disagree, to be troubled." DPD defines it as "is troubled" or "is vexed." It can be hatred or hostility, but it could also just be something that is vexing you—something troubling that won't go away.

Thīna-middha: Sloth and Torpor

Thīna is dullness, drowsiness, sluggishness, or fuzziness. Literally, it means "being stiff," coming from the root thī (to be dense or compact). Cone defines it as "grown dense, coagulated, congealed." The Buddha gives the simile of a bowl of water covered over with water plants and algae. There is no movement there; it is congealed.

Middha is drowsiness, sluggishness, torpor, or stupidity. PED notes it is likely connected with the Sanskrit medhī, which is a pillar or a post. We usually think of sloth and torpor as sleepiness in the body. But being like a pillar implies rigidity—checking out, going on autopilot, or being adamant and unmoving about a decision.

Uddhacca-kukkucca: Restlessness and Worry

Uddhacca (restlessness) has two possible etymologies. One is ud (up) + dharati (to hold or carry). Imagine holding something up, turning it over in your mind, and not wanting to let it go. Cone suggests it comes from ud + hanati (to strike, thresh, kill). This points to a flurry of agitation and energy.

Kukkucca (remorse or worry) comes from the prefix ku (bad, useless, defective) + kar (to do). It is something bad or useless that is being done. You can see where remorse comes from, but the Tipitaka Pali Reader also includes "fidgeting or fiddling." It includes pointless things we might be doing right now.

Vicikicchā: Doubt and Perplexity

Usually translated as doubt, but dictionaries also include "uncertainty" and "perplexity." Doubt implies, "I'm not sure if this is true." Perplexity implies, "I may believe this, but I don't really understand it." The analogy is someone lost in a desert trying to find their way. They are uncertain about which route to take. It's not just questioning validity; it's also perplexity.

Final Q&A

Participant: Regarding kāyasaṅkhāra, is the body our physical body or the breath? Claralynn: In the commentaries, the in-breath and the out-breath are considered kāyasaṅkhāras. However, those are just two; there are zillions of them.

Participant: Could you do a brief reminder of what Prakrit and sandhi are? Claralynn: Prakrits^[22] were the various regional dialects spoken in India, like Māgadhī^[23]. The Buddha likely spoke a Merchant's tongue—a Prakrit intelligible across different dialects. Sandhi refers to the grammatical rules of how sounds change when words are put together. Unlike Sanskrit, which was highly codified by the grammarian Pāṇini^[24], Pāli (as explained by Richard Gombrich^[25]) was more relaxed.

Thank you again for spending two hours of your Saturday here. You could have been in a lot of different places, and you chose to be here.