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The Way to the Beyond: A Study of the Pārāyanavagga (2 of 4)

Introduction and Recap

Greetings everybody, I hope you're all well and it's good to see you back again. You might notice that my voice is a bit gravelly; I've had a bit of a cold the last few days. If you find that it's too rough for you, just close your eyes and imagine that the Dhamma talk is being given by Tom Waits, and then everything will be better. [Laughter]

We're here for the second of our installments on the Pārāyanavagga of the Sutta Nipata. I am speaking to you, as usual, from a place in Harris Park, which is on the unceded land of the Barramattagal people of the Darug Nation. I pay respects and honor to their elders past, present, and emerging. I hope that you've all had a great week and that life is treating you as well as could be expected.

Let's start with a brief recap from last week. We began with the introduction to the Pārāyanavagga, which is the fifth chapter of the Sutta Nipata, one of the books of the Khuddaka Nikāya of the Sutta Piṭaka (the basket of discourses, the minor collection, and the anthology of discourses). Pārāyanavagga means "The Way to the Beyond." Last week, we looked at the first chapter, which is a narrative introduction. I talked about the fact that this narrative introduction is a bit lowbrow compared to the bulk of the text. While it is clear that this is a substantially later addition to the text, I also argued that it has a narrative purpose. Particularly, it situates the collection as a whole as a conversion narrative, telling us something about how the early Buddhist communities spoke to the people around them in ancient India at that time, especially as they were spreading to new areas. Even though that first section is linguistically, narratively, and doctrinally quite distinct from what we find in the central portion of the Pārāyanavagga, there are still many connections between the two, which I'll point out as we go today.

Today, we will begin with the sixteen questions—or rather, sixteen sets of questions—asked by the various Brahmin students of Bāvari^[1] when they came to see the Buddha. After their long journey, they finally had the chance to ask their questions. A number of these passages are actually quoted elsewhere in the suttas. This gives us a chance to explore some intertextuality, checking how the same text might be used in different places. It's worth bearing in mind that these particular verses, even if we just consider them within the Pāli canon, are used and quoted in a variety of contexts. The Sutta Nipata is their primary context, but there are also occasional cases where they're quoted in the four Nikāyas, in the Niddesa (the canonical commentary on this chapter), in the Nettipakaraṇa (a guidebook to the interpretation of the suttas), and in the Khuddaka Nikāya. These were dealt with, explained, and interpreted from a variety of perspectives from the earliest times.

Susan Pembroke has given an announcement in the chat for a beginner's Pāli class being offered on Zoom. That's really interesting; please do join if you're interested in learning some Pāli.

The Questions of Ajita

Let's look at the first set of questions from Ajita. He was the first of the Brahmins who spoke to the Buddha, and the Buddha invited him to ask whatever he wanted. Ajita's questions are in some ways the most famous, and they give a succinct overview of the scope of the questions asked by these Brahmins.

“By what is the world shrouded?” said Venerable Ajita. “Why does it not shine? Tell me, what is its tar pit? What is its greatest fear?” “The world is shrouded in ignorance,” replied the Buddha. “Avarice and negligence make it not shine. Prayer is its tar pit. Suffering is its greatest fear.” “The streams flow everywhere,” said Venerable Ajita. “What is there to block them? And tell me the restraint of streams—by what are they locked out?” “The streams in the world,” replied the Buddha, “are blocked by mindfulness. I tell you the restraint of streams—they are locked out by wisdom.” “That wisdom and mindfulness,” said Venerable Ajita, “and that which is name and form, good sir; when questioned, please tell me of this: where does this all cease?” “This question which you have asked, I shall answer you, Ajita. Where name and form cease with nothing left over—with the cessation of consciousness, that’s where they cease.” “There are those who have assessed the teaching, and many kinds of trainees here. Tell me about their behavior, good sir, when asked, for you are alert.” “Not greedy for sensual pleasures, their mind would be unclouded. Skilled in all things, a mendicant would wander mindful.”

Here, in these questions of Ajita, we have an extremely succinct and very powerful set of questions. First, he asks: what is the problem? Why are things like they are? That is about dukkha^[2]. His second question asks: what can we do about it? How do you practice? The third asks about the goal of practice. Do we just keep practicing forever, or is there an end to these things? Finally, he asks about those who have assessed the teaching (the arahants^[3]) and the many kinds of trainees (those who are still on the path). He asks how those people live who have fully or partially attained the goal. Even within just these few verses, there is a broad, succinct, and powerful expression of the whole scope of the Buddha's teaching.

There are a number of interesting linguistic details here. The first is the word "shrouded" (nivuto). This is the past participle of the same word we are familiar with in nīvaraṇa^[4], meaning "hindrances." Literally, it asks: "By what is the world hindered?" The basic meaning of nīvaraṇa is to shroud, enclose, or darken. In the Rigveda, Vritra is the cosmic serpent or dragon that enshrouds the world. The idea is that it covers things up, obscures wisdom, and brings darkness.

The idea of the "tar pit" might make you think of Brer Rabbit falling into the tar pit. There is a story in the suttas that talks about a monkey getting its hands, feet, and even its face stuck in tar. The word for tar there is lepana, the same root we find here in ābhilepana. It means some kind of sticky substance you get stuck in.

One of the most interesting lines is when the Buddha says that "prayer is its tar pit." Notice the Buddha's psychological strategy: he begins by saying the world is shrouded in ignorance (avijjā). This calls back to the original narrative, where the teacher Bāvari was afraid his head was going to split into seven pieces. The Buddha's answer was that the head is ignorance, and knowledge is what splits it. Avarice and negligence make the world not shine. The Buddha finds common ground with this Brahmin who is interested in knowledge and overcoming ignorance.

But then he says, "Prayer is the tar pit." The word translated as "prayer" is jappā. Jappā basically means incanting Vedic mantras, whether as a religious service, a sacrifice, a curse, or simply recollecting the Vedas. However, jappā has an ambiguity: it also means to wish for or to desire something. In that sense, it neatly encompasses the English word "prayer." To pray is to repeat sacred words, but it is also to ask, beg, or wish for something. The Buddha tells Ajita: "You think that when you recite your sacred scriptures, you will get what you want, that this will help you focus your mind and aspiration to realize your goal. But actually, this is what you are stuck on. This is what is holding you back." It is a dense line with powerful implications; you can imagine the sixteen Brahmins would have been challenged by this.

Then we hear, "The streams in the world are blocked by mindfulness (Sati tesaṁ nivāraṇaṁ). I tell you the restraint of streams—they are locked out by wisdom." The basic idea is that mindfulness keeps the streams of desire in the world checked, but they are not fully locked out until wisdom comes into play.

Ajita then asks about wisdom, mindfulness, and name and form (nāma-rūpa), and where they all cease. Nāma refers to the conceptual side of life (mentality), and rūpa to the physical dimension. He asks if even these good things come to an end. The Buddha answers, "With the cessation of consciousness (Viññāṇassa nirodhena), that’s where they cease." This directly contradicts the teachings of Yajnavalkya^[5] in the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, who saw consciousness (vijñāna) as the higher self and the ultimate goal of practice. Upanishadic doctrine claims this world of manifestations is like individual rivers with their own names and forms that eventually merge into the infinite ocean of consciousness—your true self. If you know a little about ecology, you know that is not how the world works. The ocean evaporates, becomes rain, falls on the land, and flows back into the ocean as a cycle of mutual dependency. The Buddha's teaching is naturalistic; it deals with cycles, patterns, and dependency. He doesn't posit an absolute consciousness outside of conventional reality.

For the last question about "those who have assessed the teaching" (saṅkhātadhammā), the word saṅkhāta is important. It means agreed on, reckoned, calculated, or named. In business, you keep books to know exactly what is there and how it fits into place. Indian philosophies were often very businesslike, interested in categorizing and recording everything. To have "assessed the teaching" (saṅkhāta) implies having surveyed and understood the nature of things. How do they behave? Not greedy for sensual pleasures, their minds unclouded, skilled in all things, a mendicant would wander mindful (Sato bhikkhu paribbajeti).

This last verse is quoted in another sutta. In the Bhūtasutta, the Buddha says to Sāriputta: "This was said in 'The Way to the Beyond,' in 'The Questions of Ajita'... How should we see the detailed meaning of this brief statement?" Sāriputta kept silent. It is a dramatic moment: Sāriputta, the greatest disciple accomplished in wisdom, is asked for the meaning and says nothing. The Buddha asks a second and third time. Finally, the Buddha prompts him: "Sāriputta, do you see that this has come to be?" (Bhūtamidanti, sāriputta, passasīti). The idea of bhūta contains the notion of something produced, generated, or conditioned. When Sāriputta heard this framing, he recognized what the Buddha wanted. Sāriputta answered that one who sees with right wisdom that this has come to be—seeing how things are conditioned (dependent origination)—is practicing for disillusionment. Such a person is a trainee (a stream-enterer, once-returner, or non-returner). One who has been freed by not grasping is one who has assessed the teaching (an arahant). This shows that in the earliest Sangha, there wasn't just a single interpretation; there was an open, contextual creativity in approaching the teachings.

The Questions of Tissametteyya

Next, Venerable Tissametteyya appears. Tissametteyya has no relation to Metteyya (Maitreya), the future Buddha, though later traditions sometimes connected them.

Tissametteyya asks a very powerful question: "Who is content here in the world?" (Kodha santusito loke). I was reading that this morning, and it really struck me. We always want something. Even when we come to a spiritual life, it seems we are still driven by desire and ego. Finding someone who is truly content is powerful. "Who has no disturbances (iñjitā)? Who, having known both ends, is not stuck in the middle? (Ko ubhantamabhiññāya, majjhe mantā na lippati). Who do they say is a great man? Who here has escaped the seamstress? (Idha sibbinimaccagā)."

The Buddha gives terse answers: "Leading the spiritual life among sensual pleasures, rid of craving, ever mindful; a mendicant who, after assessing, is quenched: that’s who has no disturbances. That sage, having known both ends, is not stuck in the middle. He is a great man, I declare; he has escaped the seamstress here."

The Buddha doesn't give much detail, leaving room for interpretation. In the Aṅguttara Nikāya (AN 6.61), we find an interpretation of this. The Buddha was in Benares, and several senior mendicants discussed this verse: "What is one end? What’s the second end? What’s the middle? And who is the seamstress?"

One mendicant said contact is one end, the origin of contact is the second end, the cessation of contact is the middle, and craving is the seamstress, for craving weaves one to being reborn in one state of existence or another (taṇhā hi naṁ sibbati tassa tasseva bhavassa abhinibbattiyā). It is a powerful simile. It reminds me of Penelope weaving in Odysseus's castle while he wandered the world—this binding and tying together of the world.

Other mendicants offered different answers: past/future/present, pleasant/painful/neutral feelings, name/form/consciousness, interior/exterior sense fields, and identity/origin/cessation. They all seem to make sense.

One mendicant suggested they go to the Buddha and inform him. Notice they didn't get angry at each other for having different opinions; they were mature adults who understood that other people can have different opinions. When they asked the Buddha who had spoken well, he replied, "You’ve all spoken well in a way." However, he clarified what he was referring to: "Contact, mendicants, is one end. The origin of contact is the second end. The cessation of contact is the middle. And craving is the seamstress... Knowing and understanding thus, they make an end of suffering in this very life."

The first answer was the one the Buddha intended. You have to imagine that monk felt pretty pleased with himself! But this shows us the life of these teachings within the community. They were alive, discussed, and engaged with; they were not just a dead letter.

In the chat, someone asked about the "stream." The stream flowing everywhere in Ajita's question refers to the senses and sensory activity, not the "stream" as in stream-entry. Another asked if each stitch is a life. In the suttas, there is the idea of bhavanetti—a cord that binds to existence. It's like things being woven together to create a tapestry that tells a story.

The Questions of Puṇṇaka

Puṇṇaka's questions are also quoted elsewhere in the Nikāyas.

“To the imperturbable, the seer of the root,” said Venerable Puṇṇaka, “I have come in need with a question (Atthi pañhena āgamaṁ). On what grounds have hermits and men, aristocrats and brahmins here in the world performed so many different sacrifices to the gods? I ask you, Blessed One; please tell me this.” (brūhi me) “Whatever hermits and men,” replied the Buddha, “aristocrats and brahmins here in the world have performed so many different sacrifices to the gods: all performed sacrifices bound to old age, hoping for some state of existence.”

Sacrifice is an important part of Brahmanical religion and religions worldwide. It's so strange, but we get used to it and forget that it's deeply weird. Bāvari had just performed a sacrifice. The Buddha gives a challenging answer: even their own teacher, Bāvari, performed sacrifices out of concern with old age.

Puṇṇaka asks if those devoted and diligent in the methods of sacrifice have crossed over rebirth and old age. The Buddha gives an uncompromising answer: “Hoping, invoking, praying, and worshiping, they pray for pleasure derived from profit (paṭicca lābhaṁ). Devoted to sacrifice, besotted by rebirth, they’ve not crossed over rebirth and old age, I declare.”

The word for hoping here is āsīsanti. This touches on the sociological role of sacrifice: only those who are wealthy can perform sacrifices, to burn off excess wealth or distribute it. Even though sacrifice seems to be about giving things up, it is bound up with a cycle of acquisition and profit.

Puṇṇaka asks who has crossed over rebirth and old age. The Buddha replies: “Having assessed the world high and low (Saṅkhāya)... There is nothing in the world that disturbs them (Yassiñjitaṁ natthi kuhiñci loke). Peaceful, unclouded, untroubled, with no need for hope—they’ve crossed over rebirth and old age, I declare (Atāri so jātijaranti brūmī).”

The Pāli word translated as "hope" here is āsā. Spiritual practice in Buddhism is based on who we are now and what we can realize now, not on hoping for a better world in the future. We practice out of the knowledge that doing the right thing now creates a better world right now. To say we should lose hope doesn't mean embracing despair. We just don't have to rely on hope. Hope is just a feeling, an emotion.

The Questions of Dhotaka

Skipping ahead slightly due to time, we look at the questions of Dhotaka.

"I long for your voice, great hermit. After hearing your message, I shall train myself for quenching.” “Well then, be keen, alert,” replied the Buddha, “and mindful right here. After hearing this message, go on and train yourself for quenching.” “I see in the world of gods and humans a brahmin travelling with nothing. Therefore I bow to you, all-seer: release me, Sakyan, from my doubts.”

This description of a "brahmin travelling with nothing" echoes the description of Bāvari. The Buddha replies with a very powerful verse: “I am not able to release anyone in the world who has doubts, Dhotaka. But when you understand the best of teachings, you shall cross this flood.”

This famous idea—that the Buddha cannot liberate anyone or get them enlightened, but can only show the path—finds one of its main sources here. It is a radical notion and a gesture of humility. It's up to you to practice.

Dhotaka asks to be taught the principle of seclusion so he may practice right here, "as unimpeded as space" (Yathāhaṁ ākāsova abyāpajjamāno). The Buddha says: "I shall extol that peace for you, that is apparent in the present, not relying on tradition (Diṭṭhe dhamme anītihaṁ). Having understood it, one who lives mindfully may cross over clinging in the world.”

The Buddha explains that once you understand that everything you are aware of in the world—above, below, all round, between—is a snare (Etaṁ viditvā saṅgoti loke), you shouldn't crave for life after life.

The Questions of Upasīva

Upasīva's questions draw on the narrative from the previous section, where the Buddha said he couldn't carry someone across the flood. Upasīva says, "Alone and independent, O Sakyan, I am not able to cross the great flood. Tell me a support, All-seer, depending on which I may cross this flood." (Ārammaṇaṁ brūhi). He wants something to help him.

“Mindfully contemplating nothingness,” replied the Buddha, “depending on the perception ‘there is nothing’, cross the flood (Ākiñcaññaṁ pekkhamāno satimā. Natthīti nissāya tarassu oghaṁ). Giving up sensual pleasures, refraining from chatter, watch day and night for the ending of craving.”

Here, the Buddha explicitly teaches the dimension of nothingness. The eightfold path includes right samādhi^[6], which encompasses the four jhānas and the four formless attainments (infinite space, infinite consciousness, nothingness, and neither-perception-nor-non-perception). When the Buddha practiced with his former teachers, Āḷāra Kālāma and Uddaka Rāmaputta, he developed the base of nothingness with Āḷāra Kālāma. It seems this circle of Brahmins were experienced meditators perhaps affiliated with Āḷāra Kālāma or practicing in a similar way. The Buddha doesn't ask them to throw out the valuable parts of their tradition; he wants them to build upon this powerful meditation.

Upasīva pushes further: "One who is free of sensual desire (Sabbesu kāmesu yo vītarāgo), depending on nothingness, all else left behind (Hitvā maññaṁ); freed in the ultimate liberation of perception: would they remain there without travelling on?" (Tiṭṭhe nu so tattha anānuyāyī).

His language is very precise. The dimension of nothingness is the "ultimate liberation of perception" because the next stage is neither-perception-nor-non-perception. This describes a non-returner practicing the dimension of nothingness. Upasīva asks if they get reborn in that realm, do they remain there?

The Buddha says they would remain there without traveling on (Tiṭṭheyya so tattha), even for many years. (Traditionally, rebirth in such a realm lasts for 60,000 eons, so "many years" is an understatement!) Upasīva asks: "And, growing cool right there, were freed, would the consciousness of such a one pass away?” (Cavetha viññāṇaṁ). Upasīva keeps pushing for answers about these exalted states.

“As a flame tossed by a gust of wind,” replied the Buddha, “comes to an end and no longer counts; so too, a sage freed from mental phenomena comes to an end and no longer counts.” (Atthaṁ paleti).

This is very evocative imagery. The word "counts" translates saṅkhaṁ, to reckon or measure. "Mental phenomena" (nāmakāyā) is used precisely because someone reborn in the formless realm has already left physical properties behind.

Upasīva is still not satisfied. I like Upasīva; he keeps pushing, which is how you get the really good stuff. "One who has come to an end—do they not exist? (Atthaṅgato so uda vā so natthi, udāhu ve sassatiyā arogo). Or are they eternally well?" The normal Brahmanical idea would be that they stay eternally well.

The Buddha gives an enigmatic answer: “One who’s come to an end cannot be measured (Atthaṅgatassa na pamāṇamatthi). They have nothing by which one might describe them. When all things have been eradicated, eradicated, too, are all ways of speech.” We describe things by their features and properties. Someone in that state has escaped concepts, so the words to describe them do not exist.

Concluding Thoughts

Looking at the chat, someone mentioned that “abandon all hope, ye who enter here” could be thought of as a Buddhist idea. It is interesting because hope is a central Christian idea (faith, hope, and charity). The fact that it's Christian doesn't mean there's anything wrong with it, but it really isn't a focal point in Buddhism. It's not that Buddhism is "lacking" something. The Buddha approached things differently: "What is there that is apparent in this very life? (Diṭṭhe dhamme)." We don't have to rely on tradition, long for something, or wait for something in the future.

I hear a lot, especially regarding climate change, that "we have to have hope." It often feels a bit desperate or fearful to me. I gave up hope years ago, and I'm doing all right. Hope is just a feeling, an idea. It's okay. You get up in the morning, and you still live a good life. What are we going to do today? That's the important thing.

A final question from the chat asked if the word for "count" is active ("one who counts") or passive ("one who is counted"). It seems to play on both senses: someone who has reckoned and fully assessed what's happening, but who has also stepped out of that realm of reckoning and can themselves no longer be counted.

We've reached the end for today. It has been great sharing this time with you to talk about the Pārāyanavagga. I hope I conveyed something of the sense of these passages and their role within Buddhism, but also my own love and devotion for these suttas. I find them to be precious moments passed down to us, and I still come back to them after so many years and find so much of value. I wish you the best and look forward to speaking with you again next week.