Exploring Samadhi and Jhana in Buddhist Meditation (1 of 2)

This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Exploring Samādhi and Jhāna in Buddhist Meditation with Richard Shankman (1 of 2). It likely contains inaccuracies, especially with speaker attribution if there are multiple speakers.

The following talk was given by Richard Shankman at The Sati Center in Redwood City, CA on September 24, 2023. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Exploring Samadhi and Jhana in Buddhist Meditation (1 of 2)

Introduction

So let me just give you a basic overview of what we're going to do here together. I'm assuming, given the size of the group, that we're all coming from diverse backgrounds and experiences. We may be practicing in a range of Buddhist traditions, and some of you may not even be associated with the Buddhist world.

We're going to be talking about this term—and don't worry, we'll define everything as we go—Samādhi^[1], which is generally translated as "concentration." Honestly, "concentration" is a terrible translation for Samādhi. I'm going to explain why. I'll point out some things where other people have different views, and you may have different views too, which is fine. It might make our exploration quite interesting. We're stuck with the word "concentration" because everybody uses it, but there are so many connotations in English that we need to get clear about how it relates to actual meditation practice.

In particular, we'll be looking at the tradition of Theravada Buddhism^[2] and what is often called the "insight meditation scene" (such as the Insight Meditation Society or Spirit Rock Meditation Center). There has been a lot of confusion and controversy about concentration versus insight. Back in the day, if you wanted to get something called "insight," and you were doing "concentration," you were told you were not doing insight. How do these two fit together? Why can't you do one or the other? It was not always clear.

What I'm hoping we'll do here is twofold. First, I want to step back and go to the old source texts to see what they really say and try to tease out the meaning. Then, we can come back into modern times and see how that applies to the range of ways people teach today. We want to bring this material very much alive for our own practice. The idea is not that you have to remember all the details—though you can if you want to—but that it will inform your practice and clarify your inner meditation experience.

One last thing, and this is very, very important: there is not a single "right" or "wrong" way to practice. This is actually good news. I've been around in this scene for more than fifty years. From what I can see, people have attained tremendous levels of—pick your favorite word—liberation, enlightenment, realization, or awakening practicing in every different way you've heard of. We don't have to make people right or wrong or think we've got the one true way. It turns out there is no one correct way. Rather than getting confused, we want to inform our own doorway in. What works well for someone just isn't the best practice for someone else. How Samādhi and Jhāna^[3] unfold is not the same for everyone. We want to see what the different flavors are and how they relate to your own practice.

Historical Context of the Texts

To set the context for all of this, I need to give a little history. According to tradition, within a couple of months after the Buddha died, a great council was held. It is said that 500 monks came together—whenever you hear the word "500" in the old texts, it just means "a lot"—to recount and review the teachings so they could come to an agreement about what they were. (There were tremendous, enlightened women as well, but they were left out of the meeting. It seems that's the way it can go sometimes. [Laughter])

None of this was written down at the time of the Buddha. The tradition tells us that Ananda^[4], who was the Buddha's younger cousin and had been his attendant for the last 25 years of his life, had been present for all the Dharma talks. He recounted these teachings, and the council came to an agreement on the authentic teachings. When you go back into the Pali^[5] texts, many of them begin with the phrase, "Thus have I heard." That is Ananda speaking to you.

These teachings evolved into a body of work called the suttas (or sutras in Sanskrit). The word means "thread," and it's related to the English word "suture." For several centuries, the suttas were preserved purely as an oral tradition. They chanted them together in groups, which was probably more reliable than writing because they could self-correct one another. Eventually, they were written down and fixed in the form we have today.

Immediately after the Buddha died, people split off into different sects with sincerely held, differing understandings of the teachings. The traditional number is eighteen early Buddhist schools. All of those early schools died out except for one, which is still alive today as a living tradition: Theravada, the tradition of the elders. (The evolution of Mahayana^[6] Buddhism, like Chan and Zen, were later developments that went in different directions.)

Along with the suttas, a whole body of commentarial literature developed. This culminated in a treatise called the Visuddhimagga^[7] (The Path of Purification), written by Buddhaghosa many centuries after the Buddha. It brought together the commentarial understanding of what was meant in the suttas.

Today in Theravada Buddhism, you can broadly divide perspectives into two camps. Some people say if you want to understand the Pali suttas, you must look at them through the lens of the Visuddhimagga. Other people say the Visuddhimagga got it wrong, and you should go straight to the suttas as if there were no Visuddhimagga. These are two very important schools of thought, and they heavily influence how we view Jhāna, Samādhi, and insight meditation.

What is Samādhi?

Let's look at the word Samādhi. It is generally translated as concentration. However, if you go to the etymology of the word, it means "undistracted." We got the term "concentration" because the early translators from the Pali Text Society chose it more than a century ago. The term stuck, but "undistracted" is much more accurate. Nobody has a controversy about being undistracted. Every time you hear the word concentration, I suggest you think of the word undistracted.

This is a key point that will help clarify a lot of confusion: there are a number of ways in which an undistracted mind can manifest.

One way the mind can become undistracted is by getting so narrowly focused on where our attention is that we lose awareness of other experiences around us. For instance, you could get so skilled at staying concentrated on the breath that your concentration becomes exclusive. They call this "one-pointedness" or "fixed concentration." Your awareness excludes everything else. You won't feel your body, thoughts will be gone, and the experience of changing phenomena stops. You might experience only bliss and light.

There's another way it can go, which is just as deep but qualitatively different. Rather than the flow of experience stopping, the mind itself comes to a steadiness, but you haven't shut off the flow of changing experience. This is an inclusive Samādhi. It can be quite broad, spacious, and open, but it is so clear and undistracted that everything is seen and known as it arises and passes away within this presence. The great Thai master Ajahn Chah^[8] famously compared this to a "Still Forest Pool": "Make your mind like a still forest pool. All kinds of rare and wonderful animals will come to drink at the pool. You will see many things come and go, but you will be still."

Neither of these is better than the other. They are just different ways an undistracted mind can manifest. You can meditate in a way to purposely cultivate one style or the other, or your mind may naturally head in one direction on its own.

Right Samādhi and the Buddhist Lists

To understand where Samādhi fits into the path, we can look at the Four Noble Truths.

1. The truth of Dukkha^[9]: Often translated as suffering. Etymologically, it refers to the axle of a cart's wheel being out of round, giving you a bumpy ride. It becomes suffering when we are clinging to our experience.
2. The cause of Dukkha: Craving (taṇhā), where desire gets so strong that we cannot let go.
3. The ending of Dukkha: Nirodha, the cessation of suffering.
4. The Eightfold Path: The path leading to the end of suffering.

The Eightfold Path uses the word "Right" (Sammā), which doesn't mean "right versus wrong" in a moralistic sense; it means wise, skillful, or perfectly connected. The crown of the Eightfold Path is Right Samādhi. And Right Samādhi is explicitly defined throughout the texts as the four Jhānas.

There's no ambiguity about it in the texts: Right Samādhi is Jhāna. This raises an interesting question about how some traditions manage to de-emphasize Samādhi. My personal view is that while the suttas say Right Samādhi culminates in Jhāna, any degree of Samādhi you have is "Right Samādhi" as long as it is influenced by the other elements of the Eightfold Path (Right View, Right Intention, Right Mindfulness, etc.). You don't have to attain Jhāna to awaken; people seem to get their enlightenment in styles of practice that don't deeply emphasize Samādhi. But understanding it is incredibly valuable.

We can see this emphasis in other foundational lists as well. For example, the Seven Factors of Enlightenment are:

1. Sati (Mindfulness)
2. Dhamma vicaya (Investigation)
3. Viriya (Energy)
4. Pīti (Rapture/bliss)
5. Passaddhi (Tranquility)
6. Samādhi (Concentration)
7. Upekkhā (Equanimity)

Notice that the list culminates in equanimity. The Buddha is quoted as saying that everyone who has ever attained the final goal of this practice did so by setting aside the hindrances, practicing the Four Foundations of Mindfulness, and bringing to perfection these Seven Factors of Enlightenment. Because Right Samādhi is defined as Jhāna, I suggest that the Seven Factors of Enlightenment are actually describing Jhāna.

The Four Foundations of Mindfulness (Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta)

Many of you will be aware of the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, which gets a lot of attention in the insight meditation tradition. It translates as the Four Foundations of Mindfulness. The four foundations are:

1. Mindfulness of the Body: This includes mindfulness of breathing, the four postures (sitting, standing, walking, lying down), and breaking the body down into its elements or constituent parts.
2. Vedanā (Feeling Tone): Noticing the pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral quality that accompanies every experience.
3. Citta (Consciousness / Mind States): Noting the quality of the mind (e.g., is greed, hatred, or delusion present? Is the mind concentrated or scattered?).
4. Dhammas (Mental Objects): This involves practicing with specific lists, such as the five hindrances, the six sense doors, or the Four Noble Truths.

How are we supposed to practice with the Four Foundations of Mindfulness? People are all over the map on how they teach it. In fact, there are "Dharma wars" out there over the correct way to practice. There's even an ancient text that essentially says if you don't interpret it a specific way, you're going to hell. What's up with these Buddhists? [Laughter]

The Buddha didn't teach in just one way; he taught what was needed for each individual. You can approach the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta prescriptively (working your way through the foundations step-by-step as a set of instructions) or descriptively (describing what naturally happens as your mind settles).

My own practice for 53 years has been mindfulness of breathing. What I found is that if you start with the breath and get more concentrated, it opens into an inclusive Samādhi. You don't have to go searching for feeling tones or mind states; when the mind is steady and undistracted, everything else is known clearly as it arises and passes away.

The Mindfulness of Breathing (Anapanasati Sutta)

Another crucial text is the Anapanasati Sutta (Mindfulness of Breathing). This sutta divides meditation practice into sixteen steps, grouped into four tetrads. The first group focuses on the body and the breath, the second on feeling tones and mind states, and so on.

The sutta explicitly states that by practicing these sixteen steps of mindfulness of breathing, you fulfill the Four Foundations of Mindfulness. By fulfilling the Four Foundations of Mindfulness, you complete the Seven Factors of Enlightenment. And by completing the Seven Factors of Enlightenment, you come to liberation. It brings the entire path together into one unified practice.

Defining Jhāna and Its Factors

Now we are going to look specifically at the flavor of Samādhi called Jhāna. As mentioned, the word "Jhāna" simply translates to "meditation." (In Sanskrit, it is Dhyāna; when Buddhism moved to China, it became Chan; and when it moved to Japan, it became Zen). However, in the Pali suttas, Jhāna refers to a very specific set of meditative states.

The suttas provide a precise formula for the First Jhāna:

"Quite secluded from sensual pleasures, secluded from unwholesome states, a monk enters and abides in the first jhāna, which is characterized by rapture and pleasure born of seclusion and accompanied by thought and examination."

Let's break down these Jhāna factors, as they are crucial to understanding the state:

• Pīti: Often translated as rapture, bliss, joy, delight, or zest. It is a pleasant experience that can be intensely physical (like an energy of bliss moving through the body) or more subtly mental. The suttas never explicitly define exactly what Pīti is, so it is experienced differently by different people. It can be a very intense, almost ragged energy, or it can be very light and sweet.
• Sukha: Translated as pleasure or happiness. It is generally considered a smoother, more refined pleasantness than Pīti. Some view Pīti and Sukha as entirely separate things, while others view them as a continuum where the coarser bliss (Pīti) settles into a subtler happiness (Sukha).
• Ekaggatā: Unification of mind, singleness of mind, or one-pointedness. This is the profound steadiness of the mind. Think of water slowly freezing; it gets slushy and moves less and less until it finally turns to solid ice and stops moving. The mind doesn't go "clunk," but it reaches a point where it is fundamentally unmoving and profoundly undistracted.
• Vitarka and Vicāra: These are the most notoriously difficult terms to translate. They are often translated as "thought and examination," "thinking and pondering," or "connecting and sustaining" attention. Essentially, they point to a subtle level of mental activity. In the first Jhāna, the mind is steady, but there is still a slight application of attention or a whisper of discursive mental movement.

The Four Jhānas and Their Similes

In the suttas, the definitions of the four Jhānas are often accompanied by beautiful, descriptive similes.

The First Jhāna

"...He makes the rapture and pleasure born of seclusion drench, steep, fill and pervade this body so that there is no part of his whole body unpervaded by the rapture and pleasure born of seclusion. Just as a skilled bath man or a bath man's apprentice keeps bath powder in a metal basin and sprinkling it gradually with water, kneads it until the moisture wets his ball of bath powder, soaks it and pervades it inside and out, yet the ball itself does not ooze."

This imagery shows us that entering the first Jhāna involves some effort (the kneading). You are working with the meditation object (like the breath), and the arising Pīti and Sukha begin to mix with your awareness until they pervade your entire experience, blending into a unified state, much like water and powder turning into soap.

The Second Jhāna

"With the stilling of thought and examination, you enter and abide in the second jhāna, which is characterized by rapture and pleasure born of concentration, and accompanied by inner composure and singleness of mind without thought and examination... Just as though there were a lake whose waters welled up from below and it had no inflow from the east, west, north, or south, and would not be replenished from time to time by showers of rain. Then the cool fount of water welling up in the lake makes the cool water drench, steep, and fulfill the lake."

In the second Jhāna, the mental activity of Vitarka and Vicāra drops away. You enter a wordless, nonverbal state. You don't have to apply or sustain your attention anymore; the meditation is simply "doing you." The simile of the underground spring illustrates that the profound pleasantness is no longer generated by external effort; it is welling up naturally from a deep, internal composure.

The Third Jhāna

"With the fading away of rapture, you abide in equanimity, mindful and clearly aware, feeling pleasure with the body, you enter and abide in the third jhāna... Just as lotuses can be born and grow within the water, submerged under the water, and from their tips to their roots there is no part of them unpervaded by that cool water."

Here, the coarser rapture (Pīti) fades away, leaving only the subtler happiness (Sukha) and profound equanimity. The imagery of the submerged lotuses reflects a deep, motionless immersion. Things are simplifying and smoothing out.

The Fourth Jhāna

"With the abandoning of pleasure and pain, with the previous disappearance of joy and grief, you enter and abide in the fourth jhāna, which has neither pain nor pleasure and purity of mindfulness and equanimity... Just as though a man were covered from head to foot with a white cloth, so that there would be no part of his whole body not covered by the white cloth, so too a bhikkhu sits pervading the body with a pure, bright mind."

In the fourth Jhāna, all distinct feelings of pleasure and pain drop away, leaving only pure, bright mindfulness and absolute equanimity. The mind is entirely still and flawlessly balanced.

Divergent Paths After Jhāna

The suttas outline three divergent paths you can practice after developing Jhāna:

1. The Formless Attainments (Arūpas): Sometimes called the formless Jhānas. These are incredibly subtle states that include boundless space, boundless consciousness, nothingness, and neither-perception-nor-non-perception.
2. The Abhiññās (Psychic Powers or Iddhis): The texts list various psychic powers achievable through deep concentration, such as walking through walls, flying through the air, touching the sun and moon, or splitting your body into multiple copies. (I'm still waiting to see if I can actually do it, but that stuff is in there! [Laughter])
3. Insight Leading to Nibbana^[10]: The ultimate goal of the teachings is liberation. For those interested in awakening, the question is how Samādhi and Jhāna help support insight and the deep letting go of clinging.

Q&A and Reflections

Q: If meditation were not pleasant or beneficial, no one would do it. But aren't we taught not to get attached to states like Jhāna? A lot of people say, "Don't try to develop Jhāna because you're going to get attached." They don't say that about loving-kindness or mindfulness, but for some reason, they say it about Samādhi. Guess what? You are going to crave it, and you are going to get attached to it. It's no big deal. You will suffer when you don't get it, and through that, you will learn to let go. The Buddha didn't say to hold back; he said to go for it. You incline yourself toward the practice, but you learn not to make it an object of clinging.

I'll give you a quick story. I was once on a one-year long retreat. I had attained Jhāna previously, and I had it all planned out: I was going to get into Jhāna in the first month and then deepen my practice. Well, four or five months in, I had no Jhāna. I went to the teacher I was working with, Joseph Goldstein^[11], crying.

He said, "The real depth of the practice isn't attaining any particular state; it's the non-clinging with whatever's happening."

I replied, "Yes, Joseph, of course that's true. But in order for me to realize that deeply, I have to get it first!"

I proceeded to suffer for a while until I finally understood. Attaining Jhāna is not accomplished by "doing" or forcing; it arises from deep states of letting go.

Q: Do you recommend daily life practice or retreat practice? I used to be gigantic on retreats, and I still teach them and think they are great. But if I had to pick between only daily life practice or only retreat practice, it is an absolute slam dunk: daily life practice, no question about it. Using what you have, doing the best you can with your life circumstances, is enough. There are people who get deep into Samādhi while having demanding jobs and families. Please don't get discouraged if you cannot sit on long retreats.

Ultimately, the path is about finding your own way. The teachings, the lists, and the Jhānas are all there to support the liberation of your heart and mind.