Showing posts with label Philology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Philology. Show all posts

22 November 2019

Heart Sutra and Social Reality

This essay continues on from: Heart Sutra: Author, Scribe, Editor, Translator, Reader. (25 October 2019)

In John Searle's account of social reality, the ontologically subjective can become epistemically objective when everyone agrees to treat it as such. One of his best examples is money. Although it seems peripheral to the issues I write about, money is one of the best systems to look at to see how social reality works. We all know and use money, yet we seldom stop to think about it. I will first give an account of money in terms of social reality and then look at how this can be applied in terms of Buddhist texts. And I circle back to previous essays in this series to consider the issues raised by Jonathan Silk, especially the idea of the ur-text. The Heart Sutra, being what it is, is difficult to slot into the standard narratives of philology.


Money

The vast majority of money today, some economists say 97%, is in fact debt owed to banks and has no basis in physical reality, not even in token form. Most money is just notations in an electronic ledger. Modern money is by and large just a concept, that is, it is ontologically subjective. Can we then say that money is not real? Seemingly not, since we behave all the time as though money is real. I can go into a shop, hand over money, and come away with a loaf of bread. The shop keeper must believe that money is real or they would not give me real bread in exchange for it.

Sometimes this concept of money is called fiat currency because the government just declare that there is money and, lo, there is money. The Latin fiat comes ultimately from the verb facere "make, do" and means "let it be done" (3rd person singular present subjunctive of the passive mood). Hence also: fiat lux "let it there be light". 

Of course, not just anyone can state what money is. Typically only the government are empowered to do this. One of the agreed functions of government is to decide what forms of payment are valid for settling debts and paying taxes (which are a kind of debt to the state).

The government are able to do this in a meaningful way because we agree that the government is empowered to make this kind of declaration, and we agree to act as if the declaration is the way things are. While we are in agreement, the subjective idea of money is an epistemic fact. This is tantamount to being real. When we cease agreeing, as happens in cases of hyperinflation, then money ceases to be real and we cannot use it to settle debts. Money is ontologically subjective, but epistemically objective. 

So, money is whatever a suitably empowered person or body declares it to be. Such a declaration is a speech act with the specific illocutionary function of defining money. I wrote about speech acts in the previous essay. And this is possible only because we all agree to act as if the government has this power and to act as if money has value. As I wrote in 2016:
"Money is defined socially by collective intentionality rather than by any appeal to ontology or reality. Searle calls this an institutional fact." (Institutional Facts & Language). 
Intentionality here is the idea that our thoughts have an object. Collective intentionality is the idea of a group of people all having mental states related to the same object. One way to understand collective intentionality is with respect to a physical, mind-independent object. Think of the ball at a football match watched by 100,000 fans. The reason they all know at the same time when the ball goes into the goal is because it the ball is a mind independent object being tracked by 100,000 independent minds. Coordinating such responses in the absence of mind independent objects is a very difficult task.

With money we sometimes have physical objects in the form of coins and notes. However, as I said, money is largely notional, an idea, an abstraction. So there need not be a physical object for there to be collective intentionality. A credit card ,for example, represents not money, but the right to transfer  electronic funds, including borrowed funds, from one account to another. Such transactions never involve physical money, only electronic notations in databases.  

The value of modern tokens that represent money (notes and coins) is typically a fraction of the monetary value of the objects, particularly in the case of notes. Objectively, money is worth precisely the paper it is written on. The first modern paper money was worth vastly more than its weight in gold, because it represented the promise to pay a certain, much greater, amount of gold. The founding of Bank of England broke this connection between money and goods, and set the scene for the creation of modern currencies, so let me sketch an overview of what happened.


The Bank of England

In 1694, King William III was asset rich but had racked up enormous debts fighting wars in Ireland and France. Financing this debt had become a serious problem. An idea by William Patterson was to fund it by public subscription. That is, British subjects would give money to the crown via an intermediary to pay off the debts in the short term on the promise of being paid back with interest in the long term. Today we would call it refinancing. The intermediary was incorporated as a private company, with limited liabilities, and was given a royal charter than enabled it to trade in government bonds (i.e., to trade the debts the government owed to subscribers) and to issue bank notes.

The newly incorporated Bank of England raised a large amount of cash which was used to buy up government debt, allowing the King to use his cash-flow to run the country (pay the army and public servants). Cash poured in because of the promise of good interest rates. But the investment had to exist first, before the investors would cough up their cash. One of the attractive things about an investment is that a reputable institution has already committed to it, which suggests that the risk of losing one's capital is acceptable. Banks actively lead investment; they don't passively respond to it. The debt comes first, then they seek investors to cover it. Funding government spending commitments is still a solid investment opportunity with low risk in most nations.

By this time, money had already begun to take the form of notes. The notes were IOUs for a certain amount of gold. These were originally issued by goldsmiths who typically held large amounts of gold and could easily pay out when an IOU was presented. But people soon realised that the value lay in the promise to pay and they began trading the notes themselves as a way of settling debts. At this stage the value of money was still pegged to the value of gold, also known as the gold standard.

We have tried using the gold standard off and on since 1694 but keep abandoning it. Advocates for using a gold standard are called "goldbugs". The physically limited amount of gold places constraints on the supply of money . For example, in 1971 the value of the US dollar was pegged to the value of gold as a result of global post-war monetary reforms. Just as the USA needed to expand the supply of money to pay for the Vietnam War, the French were hoarding gold. This put a squeeze on the US money supply and threatened to make the war unaffordable. So the USA once again broke the connection of money to physical reality which allowed them to create as much money as they needed by selling government bonds.

The goldsmith's IOUs were easily forged and the supply of notes was soon several times the amount of gold that existed. This is a weakness in most forms of physical money. One of the jobs of the Royal Mint was to ensure the integrity of the coinage, a job that Isaac Newton prosecuted with savage efficiency during his tenure. The new bank notes issued by the Bank of England were designed from the outset to be difficult to counterfeit. However, the new notes still represented a promise to pay and were still linked to the ability of the Bank of England to honour that promise.

The success of the Bank of England rested on a number of intangible factors. The Royal charter empowered the bank to issue bank notes. In effect it created the modern notion of money as a promise to pay. Thus the success also rested on how that promise was perceived. As long as people believed that the promise could be made good, they acted as if the bank note had value. The Bank had to seek investors to continue to ensure that their reserves were able to meet the day to day need to pay out gold on the promise, but in practice the demand for actual gold was small compared to the size of the debt they took over from the King, and the demand for gold diminished over time. People became comfortable dealing with bank notes: gradually bank notes became banknotes. We stopped thinking of the notes as IOUs and started thinking of them as money.

I say "people", but in fact during the 17th and 18th Centuries the only people investing in the Bank of England were wealthy aristocracy and the emerging class of industrialists. In all likelihood they were all men. Common people still mainly used coins which were valuable because of the stuff they were made of. Coins were still literally made of gold or silver or copper. The breaking of the link between the value of the substance and the face value of the coin took longer.

The value represented by the banknote was notional. It existed because English businessmen agreed to act as if it did. The reputation of the Bank of England started out as an adjunct of the reputation of the King and the businessmen involved. The King had to declare, via the Royal charter, that notes issued by the Bank were a valid way to settled debts and pay taxes. At this point paying tax became a matter of returning an unredeemed IOU from the King, to the King. Gradually the Bank came to have its own reputation as reliable and dependable. Banks became the epitome of conservative and reliable social institutions. They were models of probity and rectitude. This reputation is long gone in 2019, but I can still remember a time when banks prided themselves on their reputation. 

Reputation is a vitally important part of the social reality. The mere whiff of a bank being insolvent, i.e., unable to pay what is promised, can cause a run on the bank. This is when people scramble to get their money out before the bank can no longer make good on their promise to pay. We've experienced this in recent living memory, which is part of why banks' reputations have changed. 

This form of banking, in which a bank issues debts and then seeks investors, is now the model that all banks use. It is the source of most of the money in circulation. We are sometimes mislead into believing that banks lend out our savings but this is not really what happens. To be sure, banks do invest our savings, but they do so in deals that are arranged before we make our deposits. Debt first, then deposits. 

This kind of money is not ontologically objective, rather it is ontologically subjective; it primarily exists in our minds. But it is epistemically objective because anyone who knows what money is accepts that money represents value and participates in the system. When I buy a book printed on hundreds of pages of paper I simply hand over one or two small paper notes. I'm not exchanging paper for paper, because the shopkeeper and I agree to act as if the notes have value, via a promise to pay made by William of Orange in 1694. And the huge weight of social reality is behind this transaction. Indeed, opting out is scarcely an option. If I unilaterally decide that money has no value then I cannot participate in the economy. Nor will shopkeepers haggle over the value of a banknote, even if in some countries they will haggle over the price of goods and services. 

In this social reality, the government is empowered, by virtue of being the office-holder, to perform certain functions. One of these is to define money and control the supply of money, i.e., to regulate how much debt banks can create.

There is nothing special about kings or gold. We simply collectively decide to treat them as if they are special and mark this with a speech act (and in the case of kings, with some form of ritual action). A king is just a human being and gold is just a metal. The value we place on them is subjective. George III was not materially changed when the USA declared itself a republic in which "all men are created equal". This subjective value may be based on objective qualities such as the rareness or ductility of gold, or the personal qualities of a particular king. Even so, the concept of value is  itself subjective. And it is the value we place on kings and gold that influence our participation in social reality.

Having outlined a relatively clear case study of social reality, I now want to argue that the situation with texts and Buddhist communities is somewhat analogous.


The Social Reality of Buddhist Texts

A given text is considered to be a Buddhist sūtra because Buddhists, or enough Buddhists of the right status, accept that it is so. There are, of course, disputes over some texts. The Heart Sutra is a rather brilliant example because it is emphatically not a sūtra by most formal definitions of the concept. Nonetheless it is accepted as a sūtra and is seen by many as the acme of Buddhist sūtras. One regularly sees it referred to as the most popular Buddhist sūtra. If we can understand the social reality of the Heart Sutra we may get some important insights into the social reality of Buddhist texts more generally. 

Buddhists in early medieval China developed a list of criteria for judging the authenticity of a text. They had to do this partly because almost as soon as Buddhism was introduced into the China, the literati set about writing their own Buddhist texts, such as the Forty-Two Section Sūtra or the pseudo-Śuraṃgama Sūtra, or the Awakening of Faith in Mahāyāna. Lest we be judgemental, this is not new or distinctive to China. In fact, this also happened throughout the history of Buddhism in India. 

Indian Buddhism seems to have lacked the idea that texts were unchanging and sacrosanct. Brahmins had this attitude and took extraordinary measures to preserve the Vedas with very high fidelity. Unusually, the Vedic oral tradition is more accurate than the Vedic manuscript tradition that started in the Common Era. By contrast, Buddhist texts changed, probably with every retelling of the story and with every copy of a manuscript once writing was introduced into India, in the 3rd Century BCE.

The Heart Sutra lacked all of the features that would make it a sūtra. It is considered to be a sūtra despite this because the text itself says (speech act) that is a sūtra and that it was translated by Xuanzang. He was a prestigious individual in his time, known for his trip to gather Indian Buddhist texts and for his translations of the same. The extent to which the Buddhist stories about his relationship with successive emperors are true is something that is very much up for discussion (both Jeffrey Kotyk and I are waiting for articles to be published on this subject). Xuanzang does seem to have attracted considerable royal sponsorship to support his translations, which included a large team of collaborators and assistants paid for by the state. 

We now know that the Heart Sutra is not a translation at all, it is a chāo jīng 抄經 or "digest text". The Heart Sutra combines passages copied from the Large Sutra (T 223) and the Dhāraṇīsamuccaya (T 901) with some passages composed in Chinese. What's more we know that Xuanzang's chief follower (Kuījī) and a prominent collaborator (Woncheuk) both expressed doubts about the status of Heart Sutra in their commentaries. They seem to have been aware that it was not a sūtra. Still, by the end of the 7th Century the association with Xuanzang, the great pilgrim and translator, is enough for Chinese Buddhists to agree that a non-sūtra is in fact a sūtra, that is, they acted as if it were a sūtra. And now it is de rigueur for commentators to remind readers that the Heart Sutra is the most popular Buddhist sūtra. Not only is this non-sūtra accepted as a sūtra, it has become the epitome of a Buddhist sūtra. In fact, the text has also transcended the Buddhist context and become a pop-culture meme; we find it printed on lampshades, hats, and mousepads.

It is quite common to find Buddhists who say that simply hearing the text was enough to spark their conversion to Buddhism. Such people tend to emphasise the mystery said to be inherent in the text (though research has shown the mystery to be largely the result of spelling and grammatical errors). 

I've argued that the digest text is a distinctively Chinese genre and I still think this is accurate. However, Jonathan Silk raises an interesting objection to thinking of such texts as "apocryphal" or "pseudo-epigraphical". As he points out:
"Nearly all Buddhist scriptural literature from the very earliest times follows the same pattern: texts are constructed out of parts, stock phrases, pericopes, elements which are drawn upon to create – with of course some new elements as well – new works."
At face value, the Chinese digest texts seem to fit this same pattern. So if I want to draw a distinction I have to try to say why I think they are different. Digests were consciously a condensation of a larger text and attempted to capture the essence of it. Even the most modular Pāli Sutta usually tries to convey some new point and often expands on existing works rather than making any attempt to condense them. The digest as epitome is distinctively Chinese. It's not just a storytelling medium, but reflects a conscious attempt to simplify long, complex, and abstruse Buddhist texts for the local culture.

Another objection here is that the Chinese criteria would have excluded many Indian texts, such as the well-known Karaṇīya Metta Sutta, which similarly lacks all of the necessary features to be considered a sūtra. Think of the case of the Dhammapada, which is also not a sūtra but has other claims to authenticity, despite being a collection of verses, some of which also circulated beyond the Buddhist community and despite each version having a different but overlapping selection of verses. 

Silk's point is well taken. It raises a number of important questions. If the formulaic nature of Buddhist texts is evident throughout history, then to what extent is any Work (in the sense I outlined in the two previous essays) a new Work? In what sense is any text an ur-text if it copies passages from elsewhere. Is the Heart Sutra a distinct work or is it derivative of the Large Sutra? How disruptive is the presence of Guānzìzài 觀自在 or the dhāraṇī in the scheme of things, given that they do not come from Prajñāpāramitā sources?


Empowerment

The Buddhist version of social reality is no different in principle from any other social reality. It is based on collective intentionality and it consists of relationships between members of a social group  that is characterised by social cohesion and cooperation, status hierarchies, in-group privilege, and so on. It's just a variation on the standard social primate architecture.

Social functions are carried out by individuals and groups. People are empowered to carry out functions, usually by speech acts that declare that they are empowered to do so. Within the "priesthood" of Buddhism some members are agreed to play special roles: teacher, preceptor, hierophant, political leader, and so on. Sometimes they all come together in one person such as the "Pope" of Tibetan Buddhists, His Holiness the Dalai Lama. This is possible because of the collective intentionality of the community and their agreement to act as if such things are real, i.e., to treat speech acts as creating new epistemically objective, institutional facts.

The only real power that one person has over another is physical. The strongest can bully the weakest if they want to. However, we are a social species, so lone bullies can be dealt with by a coalition of weaker individuals. A coalition of bullies working for a cunning strategist is much more difficult to deal with and becomes a feature of human culture as we settle into cities. To some extent kingship is an extension of physical strength, at least in its origins. The state is able to exert physical force, usually through proxies, to compel obedience. Although we sometimes see similar models in religion, or we see religious and secular functions merge or unify in order to use violence in a religious cause, this is not the norm. The power of a priesthood is more often psychological. 

Some modern Buddhist groups have rejected some of the traditional social distinctions (i.e. monk/lay) but we tend to reproduce the features of primate social reality in any case. Various forms of hierarchy emerge, the worst of which appears to be the monarchy, i.e., the singular leader with no peers. Without checks and balances there is often abuse of power in monarchies. And indeed we see this all the time in monarchic and deeply hierarchical social setups that are found in Buddhist groups. Buddhist monarchs are no better than any other kind. However, monarchs cannot rule without the explicit consent of their subjects, especially when they don't have an army to enforce their will. They maintain their position purely by charisma. A religious monarchy of the type very often found in Buddhist groups centred around a charismatic living teacher is not usually maintained by violence or the threat of it. It's maintained because people are willing to be subjects of a monarch. And it breaks down when people no longer consent to be subjects, often because the monarch has not fulfilled their social obligations.

The dynamics of sexual relations within religious communities is a minefield. Religieux often have extremely negative attitudes towards sex and desire. Monarchs who lack peers are almost always lonely and sometimes naive about power differentials. There will always be some people that will trade sex for higher social status; and who will be resentful if they do not obtain it. Fundamentally people who are coerced resent it; we are acutely attuned to ingroup fairness and unfairness provokes a disgust reaction. Any form of tyranny inevitably breeds discontent and, eventually, rebellion. Monarchies are inherently unstable. Moreover, the question of succession becomes fraught because truly charismatic leaders are rare. Good kings are almost inevitably followed by bad kings.

Even with more equitable groups, there will be formal and informal functions that members play with the consent of the group. Deciding which texts form the doctrinal basis of a Buddhist movement is a function that leaders usually take on. They determine the curriculum and set texts for the community. For many Buddhists, the curriculum was set centuries ago by some founder figure; or we may operate on an even longer term tradition without an identifiable founder, or we may attribute our tradition to the mythical founder of Buddhism (though this does not bear scrutiny).

I think the group I'm a member of is slightly unusual in that members acknowledge some common texts, but on the whole we each rely on wide range of different texts. Our Venn diagram has a small intersection and large areas of non-intersection. What's more our founder was eclectic in the texts that he commented on; far more eclectic than any of his followers who cannot hope to keep all of his teachings in mind while also being engaged with any number of other teachers. We are also strongly influenced at times by non-Buddhist texts.

Coming back to the Heart Sutra again, we cannot see exactly what happened for it to be incorporated into the Chinese Buddhist canon. One plausible narrative is that Xuanzang himself created the Heart Sutra as a gift for Gaozong and Wu Zhao on the occasion of Wu Zhao's son becoming Crown Prince (in 656 CE). We still cannot say how the digest text came to be considered an authentic text, only that when it did (some time before March 661 CE), it was precisely the association with Xuanzang that enabled this. 

A reference to Xuanzang invokes his journey to India and return with many authentic sutras. On the other hand, the standard narrative says that he obtained the Heart Sutra before he left China. There is no reason to believe this narrative and several reasons to doubt it. So, for now, the situation remains unclear. The traditional stories are not historical accounts, but serve to increase the prestige of the text (and perhaps the protagonists). The prestige of the Heart Sutra and of Xuanzang have fed off each other to create a charismatic narrative that is itself a religious text. Few people reference the traditional sources directly, but nonetheless the story continues to circulate and be told, if only in bastardised forms such as the legend of Monkey.

The social reality of the Heart Sutra in China is not based in physical reality. It is based on facts that are declared to be true and accepted as true on some other basis; a subjective basis. Nonetheless, it is a fact that Chinese Buddhists have treated the Heart Sutra as an authentic Indian sūtra for more than 1200 years. This raises the question that I've been trying to get at for some time.


Buddhist Text Permissions

Systems administrators talk about the "permissions" of files in their computer systems. This is a set of parameters which allows different users, or classes of users, different rights to look at documents, to edit documents, and to run programs (the read, write, and execute parameters). Adjusting these parameters allows the sysadmin to, for example, prevent naive users from accidentally deleting important files or running malicious software. The sysadmin is empowered to make and apply such determinations to protect their system and to protect users from their own incompetence.

When it comes to who can read, write, or execute a Buddhist text the situation is very complex. Here I will take "execute" to mean "put into practice." For example, some Buddhist practices require an initiation; while some are sectarian. The meditation practices referred to in the Heart Sutra were not for beginners. The attainment of emptiness requires a good deal of experience as well as a temperament for and a lifestyle conducive to a very reduced level of sensory stimulation.

These are issues that can only exist with respect to social realities that themselves are localised in time and space. If I ask the question in one place at different times (diachronic), then I get a set of different answers for each time. If I ask the question at one time (synchronic) in different places I get a different set of answers in each place. There is not one place or one time which speaks for all places or all times, not even the mythical India of the past.

There are no agreed standards on the file permissions on the Heart Sutra. I've literally had Asian lay people tell me that I could not possibly understand the Heart Sutra because I do not speak Japanese, despite the fact that I can read Sanskrit and they believe that the text was originally composed in Sanskrit. And this despite my publishing on the text in both Sanskrit and early medieval literary Chinese.


Historical Development

The Heart Sutra was composed in the mid-7th Century, mainly using passages copied an early 5th Century Chinese translation of a 4th Century manuscript copy of a Text that existed before the 3rd Century CE, but grew out of a text that itself developed in stages over centuries.

If we take Joseph Walser's suggestion, the mainstream texts of Prajñāpāramitā literature began as a couple of pages, but as Huifeng/Matt Orsborn has shown, it must have quickly expanded into the chapter structure of the Small Sutra that by the Pala Dynasty (9-12th C) was called the Aṣṭasāhasrikā. The Large Sutra was a threefold expansion, incorporating a raft of new material (including Gāndhārī alphabet practices) that occured at an unknown date and continued to expand over time, leaving versions such as the Aṣṭadaśasāhasrikā, the Pañcaviṃśātisāhasrikā, and the four-fold expanded Śatasāhasrikā.

At any given point in this chronology, in any given place, there would be an answer to who was empowered to read, write, and execute a text. There would be an answer to the question of what the authentic text looked like that was not disrupted by the historical existence of earlier versions or contemporary parallels in other communities that were different. Thus, as I noted in a previous essay, the concept of an ur-text may not apply at all.

When we look at and try to understand this history we have to be cautious. One potential misstep is to assume that what applies now applied in the past. This is almost certainly not true. Not only does Buddhism change all the time, but the surrounding cultures change also, and there are complex interactions. Buddhism may change in response to changes in society; reacting positively or negatively to those changes, either going along with them or taking a different (perhaps even oppositional) path. On the other hand, that Buddhism is often dependent on patronage from political elites and politics is an important consideration. Very few living Buddhists are in the position of being able to criticise their national government, for example. Religious Buddhists often appear to endorse the authoritarian regimes we find in nominally Buddhist nations. Contrary to the peaceful self-image many Buddhist converts have, Buddhists in traditional countries routinely advocate violence against cultural/religious minorities, e.g. in Myanmar and Sri Lanka.

Another potential misstep is to assume that we have clear information about what rules applied in the past. We are reliant on normative texts that outline someone's, sectarian, idealised situation. This is not a guide to actual practice. Indeed, Greg Schopen has shown us that archaeology almost always conflicts with normative accounts, suggesting that they cannot be taken on their own terms.

Prajñāpāramitā is now universally met out of context, separated from the practical traditions that gave rise to it. I suspect, for example, that the Chinese never encountered a living Prajñāpāramitā tradition, rather they met the literature as interpreted by other Mahāyāna sects that had never practiced the type of meditation described by the literature. Once Madhyamaka metaphysics took hold, Prajñāpāramitā came to be seen as a mere adjunct, but my impression is that the two are unrelated. Prajñāpāramitā rejects the kind of metaphysics expounded by Nāgārjuna. 


Conclusion

Searle's outline of social reality is a powerful way of understanding and appreciating a variety of social groups and phenomena, especially when we combine it with his earlier work on speech acts. It allows us to appreciate that there are different kinds of facts that play different roles in how we understand ourselves, our world, and our place in the world. As a philosophical framework it affords us an interesting perspective on social phenomena such as money. And the description of money is a good way of setting out the key elements of the framework, including the idea of collective intentionality, and the four different kinds of facts.  

By showing that there are analogies between such disparate social phenomena as money and Buddhist texts I hope to have opened up a new way of looking at issues such as the authenticity and legitimacy of Buddhist texts or, indeed, Buddhist teachers. Such things are seldom based on ontologically objective facts, although such facts are always relevant. Rather, the issues are largely dependent on observer relative features, by institutional or epistemically objective facts as well as some ontologically subjective facts.

Buddhists at different time and places take different texts to be authentic. In the case of the Heart Sutra, which is not a sūtra, there were  still mechanisms by which the reputation of Xuanzang could be leveraged to make a claim to authenticity. Such claims are not based in ontologically objective facts, despite the earliest Heart Sutra being one carved into a stone slab dated 661 CE. Particularly in China we know that texts were frequently passed off and accepted as authentic, when even by their own standards they were not. The association with India, even via a pilgrim like Xuanzang could be the overriding factor.

Buddhist texts are institutional; they are authentic if Buddhists act as if they are authentic. This is what authenticity boils down to, or rather is built up from. In the case of the Heart Sutra, the legitimising narratives came after the physical instantiation as a Document. Indeed, some details of the Heart Sutra myth did not emerge for decades after the first evidence for the text. Like the case of debt preceding deposits in banking, we may wonder if texts proceed legitimising narratives in Buddhism. Given how flimsy the story of the Buddha is, perhaps this too came after the fact. 

I think this approach has some promise as a way of understanding the crisis of methodology in studying Buddhism and Buddhist texts that Jonathan Silk has put his finger on. 


~~oOo~~


Bibliography

Searle, John R. (1995). The Construction of Social reality. Penguin.

Jonathan A. Silk (2015) 'Establishing­/­Interpreting­/­Translating: ­Is­ It­ Just­ That­ Easy?' Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies. Vol. 36/37: 205-225.


Michael McLeay, Amar Radia and Ryland Thomas. Money creation in the modern economy. Bank of England, Quarterly Bulletin 2014 Q1.

25 October 2019

Heart Sutra: Author, Scribe, Editor, Translator, Reader

In this second essay on philology and the Heart Sutra I will once again take up Milikowsky's tripartite description of a text as consisting of Work, Text, and Document. The Work being the author's intended message, expressed in a Text (or several Texts) using words, and then encoded in a Document (or Documents). Mostly in studying the history ancient Buddhism we're dealing with physical Documents that postdate the composition of the text by some centuries, supported by sparse and contradictory archaeology and epigraphy (inscriptions). There is no mention of Buddhism from external sources until Lāja Devapiya (aka Asoka) ruled the Moriya Empire in the mid 3rd Century BCE (Yes, he did spell Rāja with an L; no, he never used Sanskrit).

When studying a Work conceived of centuries ago in a language now long dead, the Documents we have to hand are very often translations. Suttas were probably not composed in Pāli, for example. We may think that anyone who reads Chinese characters as, say Mandarin or Cantonese, would be able to read the Xīnjīng (like Icelanders reading the Nordic Sagas) but this is not so. The Chinese grammar used in the Heart Sutra is early medieval (much of it composed in the early 5th Century). It's full of loan words, transliterations, and Indic grammar. It's rather like a modern English-speaker reading Chaucer. There's no privileged access to these Texts or to the Work. 

A translation is someone's interpretation of a Text that is someone's interpretation of a Work. It is thus twice removed (at least) from the Work. In effect, a translation has at least two authors. Some would say a translation is a wholly new Work, but I think this goes too far. A translation is genetically related to a source Text. One derives from the other. The self-appointed role of philologers is to try to use Documents and Texts to infer knowledge about the Work. Religieux don't usually seek out philologers because they already consider their narratives about the Work to constitute all the desirable knowledge to be had.

In this essay, I will introduce a cross-current in the form of some ideas and terms from speech act theory, developed by John L. Austin and his student John Searle. Speech act theory arose in the tradition of American pragmatic philosophy, which often stands in contrast to European concern with semantics and/or semiotics (i.e., what words and things mean). The focus in pragmatics is less on what speech means and more on what it does. Speech act theory is interesting because it sidesteps the intricacies and controversies of etymology and grammatical analysis. It also has a broader reference. Words are certainly at the heart of language, and language is at the heart of communication, but semantics tends to ignore the halo of other ways with which we influence our world using speech. 


Pragmatics

If I say "Nice hat" in a pleasant tone of voice it is a compliment, but in a sarcastic tone it is derogatory. Same words, different meaning. Pragmatics also takes into account the way contextual factors may affect the message. If my interlocutors believe that people who wear hats fit into a stereotype and I say of some third party, "Nice hat", then I am saying that person fits our stereotype. It's not a comment on the hat, but an invocation of shared presuppositions about the person wearing it. The hat is merely a metonym for the stereotype and my attitude to it. The study of semantics is admirable and fun, but it often misses the point of speech. Semantic methods can be blind to the fact that a statement like "Nice hat" may have little to do with hats at all. 

This point is particularly important where speech is encoded in written words. We tend to assume that the words are the Work and that semantic methods will allow us to infer all the knowledge we need. We may not consider the pragmatics at all. I noted this tendency in my contribution to the special issue of Contemporary Buddhism on the term vedanā (Attwood 2018). In fact, the words are the Text; a representation of the Work. And meaning can be entirely unrelated to etymology, as the term vedanā shows.

Scholarship on the Heart Sutra to date has been too mired in unnoticed editorial and hermeneutical  mistakes for semantic methods to gain much traction. Or at least, we can point to spectacular failures of semantics to notice simple grammatical and lexical mistakes. We are all still working with faulty Texts but seemingly do not notice because our hermeneutic embraces concepts like the equality of opposites. 


Speech Acts

It is a while since I read Austin's classic book How to Do Things With Words, and my interpretation may well have drifted away from his. Where semantics focuses on the meaning of words, speech act theory thinks of speech as instrumental: speech does something. A speech act has several aspects:
  • locution, what one says, an utterance, i.e., a speech act seen from the point of view of semantics, grammar, and prosody; 
  • illocution, what one does or intends to do with speech; and 
  • perlocution, the actual effect of speaking, especially the impact of the speech act on the audience. 

A Work exists in the mind of an author. In order to communicate it, the Work must be made into a Text. The instantiation of a Work in words as a Text is a locutionary speech act. That said, an author does not gain an audience simply by writing down their thoughts. They must publish them, i.e., make them known to the public. Making known the Text is another locutionary act, with the specific illocutionary function of persuading people to obtain and read the Text. The illocutionary function of the Text is likely more complex.

It may be true that we use words to communicate facts some of the time, but Texts almost always have some illocutionary purpose related to the nature of the Work: to persuade or dissuade, to entertain or distract, to educate, etc. In this essay, for example, I'm trying to alert the reader to certain complexities of dealing with Buddhist texts that I think have important ramifications for my project to revise the text. I was persuaded (a perlocutionary function) that I needed to go through this exercise after reading a Text by Jonathan Silk, which is itself part of a broader project he is involved in which questions the applicability of traditional philology to Buddhism and the problem of what might replace it. My essays often take the form of my "lecture notes" and "thinking aloud" as I educate myself about such issues.

A Buddhist sūtra began life as a Work many centuries ago in a culture that is long gone. We sometimes assume that ancient India is clearly reflected in modern India. Perhaps it is, but only to the extent that Iron Age Britain is represented in the modern United Kingdom. That is, hardly at all. India is as much the product of history as any other modern nation. Rediscovering the historical context is not simply a matter of projecting modern-day life in, say, rural Bihar back 2500 years. Rather, the culture must be painstakingly reconstructed from clues closer to the time. In the case of the Prajñāpāramitā, the culture was Gandhāra under the Kushan Kings. Previous rulers included Achaemanid Persians, then Greek invaders, then Central Asians. The people spoke Indic languages in the east and Iranian languages in the west. The different cultures each contributed something to the substratum of local cultures to produce a unique place and time with no parallel in modern India.

The Work behind a Buddhist sūtra may not be the product of an individual mind. My sense is that the underlying Work was always a multifaceted network of stories developed amongst the members of a community that grew, splintered, and reformed many times. Texts emerged and constantly changed, with each storyteller adding, making their contribution. Later attempts to unify the stories tell us that disunity was the norm but at some point, probably under a political hegemony, it came to be perceived as a problem. In this case identifying the Work as a singular, coherent, unified entity is impossible. The Texts do not point back to an ur-text which reproduces the Work with great fidelity.

I also presume that the first Buddhist communities emerged from an existing culture. Judging by the language of the early Buddhist Texts, through surviving Documents, they emerged as a result of repeated storytelling based on central themes which were elaborated upon over considerable stretches of time. Whether the figure of the Buddha lived or whether the idea of a teacher was just appealing to the community, we don't know. There is no corroborating evidence outside of the texts. What we conclude on this score depends entirely on our starting assumptions. However, we can say that along the way some sūtras were expressed in the theological language of a kind of Brahmanism. Some were in the language of Jainism. Some show influence from autochthonic cultures via deities like the yakkha. Terms from these sectarian accounts made their way into general circulation. There is some evidence also that storytelling proceeded in local languages for centuries before the adoption of what have been called "church languages" emerged (we don't know when this happened). 

From a semantic point of view, a Buddhist sutra is an attempt to communicate an idea. From the pragmatic point of view, it is an attempt to do something in the world. It may be that the authors of a sūtra sought to instruct a student, to convert a stranger, to arouse zeal in a flagging disciple, to argue with a rival, or to preserve a cherished memory. Or all of the above. Intentions are as varied as authors. And each author will have multiple and perhaps competing intentions. Thus, the Text is partial, in the sense of being an imperfect representation of the Work; in imperfectly conveying the author's intentions in communicating the Work; and also in achieving what the author sought to do.


The Context of Speech Acts

The context within which a speech act operates is social reality. I outlined my take on John Searle's social reality in a series of essays in 2016. I will return to social reality in my next installment, but will make a few general comments here. Texts are very much embedded in systems of social reality:  culture, laws and customs, language, alphabets, historical narratives, editions, translations, and so on.

Austin and Searle referred to the illocutionary force of an utterance. A speech act has the power to change social reality through its illocutionary force. I'm not sure the metaphors of "power" and "force" are the most appropriate here. I would prefer to say, for example, that an illocution is a tool for bringing about change. Illocution is instrumental and the agent of change is the author. The text is a tool for bringing about the change that the author desires.

Importantly, speech act theory extends Milikowsky's tripartite scheme. Perlocution, what is actually achieved by a speech act, acknowledges that the reader plays an active role in the process of bringing about change. The reader is a not a blank sheet on which the author writes, they have their own worldview, their own context. They have to allow themselves to be acted upon by the Text (which in turn invokes Foucauldian ideas about the technology of the self). Changing the world via Texts involves persuasion and negotiation, but it also involves subjection. It order for the author to achieve their goal, the reader must subject themselves to the will of the author. 

This is not the post-modern idea that the reader is the author or that in fact there is no author. I am not arguing that the Text is different for everyone who reads it. This kind of relativism seems to be a dead end that denies the possibility of communication or deliberate changes in social reality. And this flies in the face of experience: we do communicate and social reality does change. 

The reader has their own worldview, beliefs, knowledge, emotional state, and very likely their own ideas about what changes are necessary and desirable in the world. But the Document the reader refers to is a constraint. It means that both the meaning and purpose of the Document is not arbitrary. The assumption of pragmatics is that the author is attempting to do something with a Text. If a reader argues that the author's intention was something arbitrary or unrelated to the words, then this creates at best a burden of proof on the reader or cognitive dissonance in other readers. Whence the phrase "Did we read the same book?"

For example, when Libertarians argue that Marxists want to enslave everyone, the Marxist can point to what Marx wrote about liberating the proletariat from the dominion of capitalists. Collectivism need not be a tyranny. The totalitarian states of Soviet Russia and China would have horrified Marx every bit as much as the Classical Liberal Capitalism of his day did. He wanted to see power and resource ownership vested in workers' collectives, not in government. One can see why the 1% fear this prospect, but it does not make their lies about Marx any truer.  

Of course, we are seeing this stretched to breaking point right now. Orwellian doublespeak has become the norm for politicians and big business. And the media report it all with no filters or analysis. The tools of semantics leave us scratching our heads when someone says something and then claims not to have said it, or to have said something different, or to have meant something different (all three have occurred in the last week). Semanticists cry out, "but... words have meanings, you can't just make them say something else." This is the position that Alice takes in her confrontation with Humpty Dumpty:
 “When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean–neither more nor less.”  
“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean different things–that’s all.”  
“The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master–that’s all” (Carroll 1872: 112).

Pragmatics does not endorse the political nonsense, but it gives us a way to understand speech acts that defy semantics. The question is not what the author meant, but what the author of the speech act  was trying to do. For example, sowing confusion amongst your enemies by spreading disinformation is a classic military tactic. It undermines the ability of the enemy to understand your true intent and leaves them expending time, energy, and resources sifting through your utterances looking for the truth. The use of disinformation and propaganda in warfare is not new. The routine overt use of them in domestic politics is a modern disease. When the government adopts this style of disinformation campaign we can conclude that they see themselves as on a war footing. The problem is that it is we, the people, who are their enemy that must be kept in the dark. The government seeks to conceal its true intent from its own citizens. Frank Zappa said that "government is the entertainment wing of the military industrial complex." But since he said that the role of government has moved from distraction to more active deception.

Because speech acts are aimed at doing something within social reality they are almost always political in the broadest sense. As we will see, this is related to the idea of empowerment to perform functions in social reality. To some extent, primate communications always exist in a social milieu characterised by relative status and power. In the massive, loosely bound communities of modern urban life, where the bonds of mutual obligation are weak, we don't always treat our neighbours as part of our ingroup.

The power to produce, transmit, or authenticate texts is not open to everyone. Typically, the community empowers someone to carry out these functions by agreement.

Importantly those involved in transmitting a Text across time, across boundaries—scribes, editors, redactors, translators—may inadvertently or deliberately change the Text in the production of new Documents. And in extreme cases, of which the Heart Sutra is one, this can create false leads as to the nature of the Work, and even confusion as to the provenance and authenticity of the Text. In a case such as the Heart Sutra, where ties with the Work were broken, then we are creating a wholly new Work.


Approaching a Work

When I first started studying Buddhist texts, my instructors were very unsophisticated. They took  and encouraged a naive realist approach to texts. The view was that we had direct access to the Work through the Document at hand, even though the Document was inevitably an English translation. We effectively acted as though the Buddha spoke modern English. At best we acknowledged that two translators could phrase the ideas of the Work somewhat differently, but we had no coherent theory of how this happened and no access to source texts. We could compensate to some extent by looking at multiple translations, but this was not always possible in the mid-1990s before the world wide web.

The first text that really attracted my attention was the Bodhicaryāvatāra (a book I now loathe). I had access to two translations: Marion Matics' translation from Sanskrit and Stephen Bachelor's translation from Tibetan (the Tibetan being itself a translation from Sanskrit). At first I was not aware of how a double translation might differ from a single translation. But it did spark an interest in source texts in canonical languages that eventually motivated me to teach myself Pāli and begin reading Pāli suttas independently. This opened my eyes to the vast gulf between a source and a translation that often exists. But it was not until I begun to try to understand that Heart Sutra that I realised just how complex the relationship of Text to Document could become, and how that complexity could skew any inferences we might make about the Work.  

In the case of Nepalese manuscripts from the 18th and 19th Centuries, which are relatively plentiful, they are full of scribal errors. When I described British Library Manuscript EAP676/2/5 for the first time, my diplomatic edition required 142 notes to mention all of the omissions, additions, and spelling mistakes with respect to Conze's text and the rules of Sanskrit. Such manuscripts have gone through several generations of being copied by scribes who did not know Sanskrit. These scribes seem not to have been writing for comprehension. The Documents they created were good enough to attract puṇya (credit towards a better afterlife) and/or to be an object of worship. Even the oldest Sanskrit Heart Sutra manuscript, previously held in the Hōryū Temple in Ikaruga, Japan has errors and editorial additions that are not found in the Chinese source texts.

So when a reader holds a translated Buddhist sutra in their hand, and reads it in an attempt to understand what the author was attempting to communicate, there are multiple human minds at work: the locution and illocution of the author; of various scribes; of editors; of translators, each of them embedded in a cultural context. And at each step there is a chance that the perlocution fails to match the illocution of the author, scribe, editor, translator, or reader.


A New Text

The illocution of the popular Chinese Heart Sutra Text (of which there are probably millions of Documents) has resulted in a skewed perlocution that changes our whole understanding of the text. Traditionally, it is read as a kind of anti-realist metaphysics that denies the existence of Buddhist categories. When we point out the key term that was misunderstood, the text starts to seem like an epistemic account of an altered mental state. Of course, the ability of the human mind to enter the state of emptiness has broader metaphysical implications, but they are not anti-realist in flavour. Thus the mistaken reading must be due to the retroactive influence of the Sanskrit translation produced in China. My understanding is that it was intended to deceive the Chinese Buddhist establishment about the provenance of the Heart Sutra, which is all too obviously not a sūtra and not Indian.

The case of the Heart Sutra is somewhat unusual. For example, we can see that 以無所得故 yǐwúsuǒdégù does not mean aprāptitvāt because we know that it was copied from Kumārajīva's translation of the Large Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra, i.e. 《摩訶般若波羅蜜經》 (T 223). By comparing Kumārajīva's translation with the extant Sanskrit manuscripts we can see that he used 以無所得故 to represent anupalambhayogena. So here, Kumārajīva, as translator, had the locution anupalambhayogena in mind, but 以無所得故 was misread as aprāptitvāt, which was in turn assumed to be correct. So, we came to (mistakenly) read 以無所得故 to mean "being in state of non-attainment".

Worse still, when Kumarajīva was translating the Large Sutra he either had a faulty manuscript or he fluffed the translation of na prāptir nābhismaya as 無智亦無得, which is conventionally read to mean na jñānaṃ na prāptiḥ. Mokṣala and Xuanzang both got this right. What's more the context shows that na prāptir nābhismaya is significant because the terms are standing in for marga and phala here. Kumarajīva's mistake was copied into the Xīnjīng, then translated into Sanskrit. 

Understanding this, we could create a new Text which more accurately conveys the Work. But here's the rub. The new Text has never existed before. It will be unfamiliar to the world's Buddhists. Huifeng laid out the rationale for the change, and he did create a new English translation, but he did not propose changing the Sanskrit Text (which is still widely if erroneously believed to be the source text). Let us say that I create this new Text (which I have done) and early in 2020 I manage to get it published. Would anyone take any notice at all? Would there be any obligation to?

Such questions move us closer to the heart of the matter I am wrestling with. 


~~oOo~~


Bibliography

Attwood, Jayarava. (2017). '‘Epithets of the Mantra’ in the Heart Sutra.' Journal of the Oxford Centre for Buddhist Studies,12, 26–57. http://jocbs.org/index.php/jocbs/article/view/155

Attwood, Jayarava. (2018). 'Defining Vedanā: Through the Looking Glass.' Contemporary Buddhism, 18 no. 3, 31-46. https://doi.org/10.1080/14639947.2018.1450959. Academia.edu.

Jonathan A. Silk (2015) 'Establishing­/­Interpreting­/­Translating: ­Is­ It­ Just­ That­ Easy?' Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies. Vol. 36/37: 205-225.

11 October 2019

Heart Sutra: Work, Text, Document

Some time ago I uploaded a draft of an eclectic edition of the Chinese Heart Sutra (Xīnjīng) for comment on academia.edu. Richard K. Payne responded with a terse, but ultimately very interesting question: "what do you see as the value of critical editions in general?"  I had to confess that I was not sure. Some years later and  I'm struggling with the plethora of versions and variations on the text. People keep asking me for my translation of "the Heart Sutra" but there isn't just one Heart Sutra to translate. There are many. The history of the text is complicated.

The problem is non-existent for most people since there is a canonical version. But the thing is that almost no one uses the canonical version unchanged. The version in the popular Taishō Shinshū Daizōkyō edition of the Chinese Tripiṭaka has a mistake in the dhāraṇī and the popularly chanted version is better. This is just one character out of about 250, but still it means that one cannot simply take the canonical version on trust.

Worse, Huifeng (now Matthew Orsborn) has convinced me that there were two other errors in the existing versions of the Xīnjīng. One goes back to Kumārajīva's 5th Century translation of the Large Sutra, and the other probably dates from the mid 7th Century when the Xīnjīng was composed. The former is moderately serious since it confuses the meaning of the text at that point, but it also contributes to obscuring the latter mistake which is much more serious and completely changes how we even approach the text. We definitely want to repair this damage but it dates from the 7th Century and has (more or less) always been this way. What would be the warrant for changing something that has been accepted as authentic for 1300 years?

Subsequently, I looked into the old inscriptions of the Xīnjīng. I located a full image of and transcribed the Beilin Stele, believing Kazuaki Tanahashi's claim that this was the earliest dated Xīnjīng (678 CE) and noted several places where the scribe used different characters with more or less the same meaning. Then I discovered the Fangshan Stele is considerably older (661 CE). I noted that it too had different characters to the canonical version (my article on this is due out any day now).

So which version should I translate? The canonical? The popular? The oldest? Or should I fix the errors, creating a new variant that had never existed before and translate that. I had a hunch that no Buddhists in the world would accept a change to the ancient text. Probably no academics would either. So was I stuck trying to translate a defective text, knowing it to be defective and gritting my teeth while transmitting a falsehood that was accepted because it had become canonical?

In parallel to this I was still working on the Sanskrit text, following up work done by Jan Nattier. She had concluded, quite rightly, from her investigation, that the Hṛdaya was a translation of the Xīnjīng. My own work repeated Nattier's method on another copied passage (the "epithets") and drew the same conclusions. Then, I believe put the conclusion beyond any doubt by finding a Chinese idiom encoded in Sanskrit in a portion of the text that was not copied, but composed. This showed that the language of composition was Chinese.

As part of this I had identified and corrected two errors by Conze and shown that the phrases rūpaṃ śūnyatā śūnyataiva rūpaṃ  rūpān na pṛthak śūnyatā śūnyatāyā na pṛthag rūpaṃ had history linking them back to very old Buddhist similes exemplified by rūpaṃ māyopamaṃ "appearance is like an illusion". I had also begun to assemble the Sanskrit parallels to the copies passages in the Xīnjīng as they appeared in the Giligit manuscript of the Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra (Pañc). And it showed that the person who created the Hṛdaya was unaware of the idioms of Pañc. A Hṛdaya reconstructed in idiomatic Buddhist Sanskrit looked very different, indeed. I could put all this together into a text, but such a text had never existed before.

I had been somewhat resistant to committing to making a translation while the source text remained unclear. This seemed to frustrate some of my colleagues because they all assumed that the source text was a settled matter. My last paper on the source text is out being reviewed right now. I never know what reviewers and editors will find. There are usually many problems to overcome to get to the point of publication. Until the last article is published, I regard the matter as unsettled. Nonetheless, I am confident about the conclusions of that forthcoming paper, partly because it rests on the excellent work by Jan Nattier and Matthew Orsborn. And partly because my old Sanskrit teacher seemed very impressed by the argument. So I began to think about translating from three texts:
  1. A repaired version of the received Sanskrit text (which is expected but, in fact, a bit pointless given what we now know about the history of the text). 
  2. A repaired version of the received Chinese text.
  3. An idiomatic Sanskrit translation of No. 2.
And then I thought about Richard Payne's question again and I re-read an article by Jonathan Silk (2015). Payne also pointed out that Lewis Lancaster has written on this subject (and I still need to read those articles). This raised some serious questions about my project. This essay is part of my attempt to see beyond a conceptual impasse.


Philology

As I understand it, the methods of modern philology were born out of European imperialism. As Europeans conquered and occupied the so-called Middle East (including eastern North Africa, the Levant, and Arabia) they began to discover old manuscript copies of the Bible in Greek and other languages like Syriac. These were different to the versions of the Bible in Europe. And this might not sound so surprising in our modern world, but back then the Bible was the literal word of God and if there were different versions of the it, then this was a disaster. So they developed methods for reconstructing what they called the "ur-text", i.e. the original text as composed by God and obscured by man. This turned into classical textual criticism, which consists of four stages:
  1. Heuristics
  2. Recensio
  3. Emmendatio
  4. Higher Criticism
 The goal here was to recreate the Word of God, to rediscover the intention of God. There are some serious questions about whether this approach applies to a literature that is not considered a divine revelation. For example, there is a real question about my wish to revise a text that is unquestionably accepted as the Heart Sutra amongst Buddhists in China and Japan. Such people have every right to go on using the familiar text and my attitude might well be seen as imperialist and colonialist. Just another stupid fucking white man who thinks he knows better. I don't think this is my attitude but, nevertheless, I'm taking the time to think about what my project is and who it is for. 

In his recent article Silk (2015:205-6) draws out a threefold distinction first made by Chaim Milikowsky. First we have the Work, which is the author's or editor's product. This may only exist conceptually and never have been committed to words. Or the author may have attempted to put it in words and be more or less satisfied that the result, but still consider this as inferior to their conception of the Work. A presentation of the Work in words is a Text. A single Work may generate multiple Texts; for example, one story that is told many times, but with minor differences each time. No single Text is the "original" in this case, because the Text is not the Work. Lastly a Document is some physical instantiation of a Text. Typically, in studying Buddhist manuscript cultures, we are faced with multiple Documents representing multiple Texts. This is certainly in the case of the Heart Sutra.

One can see this hierarchy in my outline of the problems with the Heart Sutra. The Work was conceived, probably by Xuanzang and a Text was created. Early evidence is that the Text was quite fluid at first. Characters were freely substituted by different scribes (who thus become secondary authors). Various Documents were created on the basis of the different Texts - the oldest we still have is carved in stone and dated to 13 March 661. The oldest plausible literary reference is from 688 but refers to an event in 656 CE. The dhāraṇī was probably copies from another Text (Dhāraṇīsamuccaya) translated into Chinese in 654 (T 901).

After this various elements of a standard myth appeared over the next few decades, especially in the Biography by Huili and Yancong (688 CE), and in the Kaiyuan Catalogue (730 CE). There appears to be a concerted effort to promote the idea that the Work is Indian, that the Chinese Text is the result of the translation by Xuanzang. Later, other stories about translations are added.

In the midst of this a Sanskrit Text was created by a Chinese monk who translated the Xinjing into Sanskrit without much of a grasp of Buddhist Sanskrit idiom. In all likelihood a Document was produced to make the story plausible. This Text purports to represent the Work; or to at least be the ur-Text from which the Chinese texts derive. This attempt at deception succeeds to the point that the Xinjing (of which it is a translation) is traditionally misinterpreted due to a mistranslation by the Translator.

Also around 730 CE the Damingzhoujing is constructed which remains more faithful to the Kumārajīva Large Sutra, and thus purports to predate the standard Text and better represent the Indian Work. Is the Damingzhoujing a new Work, or merely a new Text? The earliest surviving Document of the Damingzhoujing is from the 11th Century. Consider this, the Damingzhoujing stays faithful to the Large Sutra translation by Kumārajīva (T 223); it copies from it word for word. And this means that whoever created it must have known that the Xīnjīng was not a translation, but rather a selection of copied passages from the Large Sutra. The author of the Damingzhoujing restored a missing line (character for character) from the middle of the longest copied passage (often called the "core section") which could only have come from the Large Sutra. We have been deliberately deceived about the provenance of the Hṛdaya and also of the Damingzhoujing

The story is still incomplete, because another editor saw fit to provide the text with the requisites that it lacked: a nidāna starting "thus have I heard", announcing the location and occasion for the teaching; the addition of the the Buddha who endorses the teaching of Guanyin; and a colophon including praise from the audience. This extended version of the text never took off in China. No commentaries seem to have been composed on it, though it was translated from Sanskrit into Chinese four times, suggesting perhaps that the additions were made in Sanskrit (we could check the idiom of the extension to see if they better fit the Indian Buddhist context). The extended became the standard in India (eight commentaries survive in Tibetan translation), Nepal, and Tibetan (where it seems to have been translated twice).

For a text of about 250 words (about 1/3 of an A4 page in Times 12 point) this seems an absurdly complex and convoluted history. The Work is reflected in various Texts, and the Texts each in various Documents. In addition, there is a trail of seemingly deliberate misinformation about the provenance of the various Texts and how they relate to each other.  

I'll pause here, but there are several more layers of the onion to peel yet. The next step will be to the look at the composite nature of Buddhist texts. 


~~oOo~~


Bibliography

Jonathan A. Silk (2015) 'Establishing­/­Interpreting­/­Translating: ­Is­ It­ Just­ That­ Easy?' Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies. Vol. 36/37: 205-225.

Watanabe, Shōgo. (1991) 「般若心経成立論序説」 『仏教学』 “An introduction to the Theory on the Formation of the Prajñā-hridaya-sūtra,” Journal of Buddhist Studies 31, (July): 41-86. [Japanese]

12 January 2018

Types of Errors in the Heart Sutra

For a short and popular text, the Heart Sutra is poorly understood (or widely misunderstood) and poorly studied. A lot of basic research on the Heart Sutra has been left undone, presumably because it is hard to get funding for this kind of thing.

However, over recent years, Jan Nattier, Matt Orsborn (aka Huifeng), and I have all contributed to a reassessment of the basic text in Chinese and Sanskrit and the relations between the two. I'm hoping to publish the last of the necessary corrections in 2018, though this will leave a number of aesthetic issues and "would-be-nice" corrections to be made. Had I been in academia, the series of articles I've published since 2015 would have been my PhD thesis. Hopefully it will be a book soon.

There are several different kinds of error in the Heart Sutra. In this essay, I review the types of error that I have encountered while studying the sutra and give examples of each. There is a spectrum from errors that are matters of aesthetics to those which render passages unintelligible. And all this in a text of barely 250 words, just imagine what state the rest of the Buddhist Canon is in. 


1. Scribal Errors

These are only relevant for people who read manuscripts (and I may be the only person doing this currently for the Heart Sutra). Some may recall that in 2015 I identified a previously undescribed Heart Sutra manuscript in a newly digitised cache from Nepal. Transcribing and editing it required 142 footnotes to describe all the errors, most of which were simply due to being copied by generations of careless scribes who did not know Sanskrit. 

To give credit where it is due, Conze (1948, 1967) fixed a huge number of scribal errors found in the dozen or so manuscripts he used for his critical edition. Müller (1884) fixed some of the errors in his diplomatic edition of Hōryū-ji manuscript, though ironically many Japanese seem to prefer the uncorrected version.


2. Punctuation Errors in CBETA

CBETA, the electronic version of the Taishō edition of the Chinese Tripitaka, is notorious for its punctuation errors. There's only one big problem in the Heart Sutra, which is between the boundary of section V and VI (Huifeng 2014).

The standard version has: V... 無智,亦無得。VI. 以無所得故,菩提薩埵...
It should be:                      V... 無智,亦無得,以無所得故。VI. 菩提薩埵...

This one is understandable, since 亦無得 marks the end of the quote from T223, but Huifeng (2014) showed that 以無所得故 is, in fact, intended to go with section V. This makes quite a big difference to how we read this section and is key to understanding the meaning of the quoted section. It was also mistranslated into Sanskrit, and this may have been the source of the punctuation errors. I will deal with the Sanskrit errors and how to translate this passage under heading 4.


3. Conze's Editorial Errors

Conze made two main errors in his edition. In section II he read pañcaskandha as nominative plural pañcaskandhāḥ and vyavalokayati sma "he examined" as an intransitive verb (i.e., one that has no patient or object). Instead, the word should be in the accusative plural: pañcaskandhān, and is the object of the verb; i.e., Avalokiteśvara is examining the five skandhas. (Attwood 2015)

Conze also tacitly changed the Buddhist Sanskrit spellings, which are entirely regular across Mahāyāna manuscripts, to classical Sanskrit spellings that are not used by Buddhists: āryya → ārya; and bodhisatva → bodhisattva.

Section II, with sandhi rules applied and Buddhist spelling, should read
II. Āryyāvalokiteśvaro bodhisatvo gambhīrāṃ prajñāpāramitācaryāṃ caramāṇo vyavalokayati sma pañcaskandhāṃs tāṃś ca svabhāvaśūnyān paśyati sma. 
In Section VI Conze wrongly inserts a full stop after acittāvaraṇaḥ, breaking the sentence and creating a second non-sentence. (Attwood 2018; forthcoming)
VI. Tasmāt śāriputra aprāptitvād bodhisattvo prajñāpāramitām āśritya viharaty acittāvaraṇaḥ. Cittāvaraṇa-nāstitvād atrasto viparyāsa-atikrānto nishṭhā-nirvāṇa-prāptaḥ. 
Should read
VI. Tasmāt śāriputra aprāptitvād bodhisattvo prajñāpāramitām āśritya viharaty acittāvaraṇaḥ cittāvaraṇa-nāstitvād atrasto viparyāsa-atikrānto nishṭhā-nirvāṇa-prāptaḥ. 
However, even with the errors corrected, this is a bad translation. I show why in the next section. 


4. Ancient Sanskrit Translation Errors

Here, we are not speaking of the many paraphrases found in the quoted sections of the Sanskrit Pañcaviṃśati-prajñāpāramitā-sūtra that occur because of translating back and forth between Sanskrit and Chinese. These are actual mistakes.

In Section V aprāptitvād translates 以無所得故, but Huifeng (2014) showed that it should have been anulambhayogena, "engaged in non-apprehension [of dharmas]." It was confusing because in the previous word the character 得 is used to mean prāptiḥ. And note that since 以無所得故 is not part of the quote, it was the choice of the Chinese author of the Heart Sutra. That said, this usage is in line with the idioms used by Kumārajīva. Early commentaries by Kuījī and Woncheuk suggest that this passage was misread by the end of the 7th Century.

This changes the whole tenor of the quoted passage. Now it reads "In emptiness, by practising non-apprehension of dharmas, there is no form, sensation, recognition, volition, or cognition". In other words emptiness is not an entity or a quality, it is a state. In that state, attained by practising non-apprehension of dharmas, the experiential world ceases for the meditator. In other words this is an epistemology of deep samādhi rather than an every day ontology. No one is saying that form doesn't exist, they are saying that when someone is not-apprehending form, then for them there is no experience of form. And this changes everything.

Section VI required a major rewrite in two steps. Corrections to Conze's errors are above. Below is the fully corrected Sanskrit incorporating insights from Huifeng (2014), the argument for which will be in Attwood (forthcoming 2018c).
Yo bodhisatvaḥ prajñāpāramitām āśritya asya cittaṃ na kvacit sajjati, asaktvā so atrasto viparyāsa-māyāṃ ca samatikrāmati nirvāṇa-paryavasānaṃ |
The mind of the bodhisatva who relies on perfect gnosis is not attached anywhere; being unattached, [the bodhisatva] is unafraid and goes beyond delusions and illusions to the final extinction [of craving]. 

5. Ancient Editorial Errors

In Section III we see the addition of the phrase: yad rūpaṃ sā śūnyatā | yā śūnyatā tad rūpaṃ. As Nattier (1992) noted this passage has no parallel in any Chinese text, except those translated from a Sanskrit version with this addition. We can simply eliminate this line.

Note that Kazuaki Tanahashi (2014) eliminates the wrong phrase, and leaves in this one, causing him to mismatch the remaining phrases in Chinese and Sanskrit. It seems that the "translator" could not, in fact, read Sanskrit, which would explain his many other errors in that language. 

In Section VI, especially in the highly influential Hōryū-ji manuscript, we should have
na-avidyā, na-avidyā-kṣayo yāvan na jarā-maraṇaṃ na jarā-maraṇa-kṣayo
Instead we see (with additions in bold)
na vidyā na-avidyā na vidyākṣayo na-avidyāksāyo yāvan na jarāmaraṇaṃ na jarāmaraṇakṣayo
It's as though some later editor confused the point of this part of the sūtra as being about mere negation and also did not recognise the nidānas as a set. 

Also, in Conze's text: na jñānam, na prāptir becomes na jñānamna prāptir na-aprāptiḥ. Some of the manuscripts have this, so it is considered under this heading rather than as Conze's mistake, even though he did fail to correct it. There is a further problem here that comes under Heading no.8.


6. Errors in Modern Translations

Conze mistranslated vyalokayati sma as "looked down" when it means "examined". It's also a transitive verb and so requires an object; the subject has to be examining something, and in this case it is the skandhas.

Most of the modern translations mistranslate śūnyatā in an effort to shoehorn their modern Zen ideology into the text. The word means "emptiness" or perhaps "absence". It does not mean "openness" or any of the other wishy-washy attempts to get ahead of readers misconceptions. The latter seems pointless. I've yet to meet any Buddhist that mistakes emptiness for non-existence precisely because it is drummed into them from the outset.


7. Ancient Chinese Translation Errors

Kumārajīva incorrectly translated the end of Section V. All of the other text, Chinese and Sanskrit have na prāptir na-abhisamayo. For some reason Kumārajīva switched these two and chose an ambiguous translation for abhisamaya that ended up being mistaken for jñāna.


8. Errors in Exegesis

Technically this is not a problem with the text, but a problem with those who interpret it. Between them, D. T. Suzuki and Conze  thoroughly poisoned the well with Theosophy inspired mysticism. We are led to believe that the text does not make sense. Clearly, it does make sense, but only if one understands the context and can eliminate all the accumulated errors. I've included this because it gave rise to persistent errors and obscured many of the other kinds of errors from scholars who might otherwise have fixed the text decades ago.

In this category we might also mention Thich Nhat Hahn's "correction" to the Heart Sutra, which I have already commented on previously. And those comments now attract a solid Vietnamese readership - some of whom wish to inform me that there are no mistakes in the Heart Sutra and that TNH never said there were, and some of whom seem to want to discredit TNH. 


Conclusion

I'm not qualified to comment on the Tibetan text, though I am aware that the Canonical text does contain at least one editorial error that appears to have been transmitted from a faulty Indian Sanskrit manuscript. Instead of verbs "look" and "see", from vyava√lok and √paś, in the introduction, Tibetan has a verb corresponding to vyava√lok twice. (Attwood 2015)

Until the underlying text of the Heart Sutra is sorted out there is no point in continuing to translate it into English. Yet, no doubt, two or three erroneous translations will appear in 2018 to swell the bookshelves of Buddhist bibliophiles. It is likely that they will be produced by charismatic Buddhist "leaders". They may offer a "new translation" of the Sanskrit text, though chances are the translator is unlikely to know any Sanskrit apart from common jargon terms. 

Because the text is full of errors of all these kinds, we can say with confidence that all of the existing translations are wrong and need revising. The alarming truth is that those religious leaders who have translated it to date have been ignorant of most, if not all, of these errors. They have not read the text with an understanding of the context or even the language it is in. They pretend to understand the text because that is what is expected of them by their followers.

The result is that, for some centuries now, the Heart Sutra has been on a procrustean bed in which all kinds of sectarian Buddhists have stretched it to fit their belief system, whatever that happens to be. 

~~oOo~~


Bibliography


Attwood, Jayarava. (2015). 'Heart Murmurs: Some Problems with Conze’s Prajñā-pāramitāhṛdaya.' Journal of the Oxford Centre for Buddhist Studies, 8, 28-48. http://jocbs.org/index.php/jocbs/article/view/104 [open access] 

Attwood, Jayarava. (2017a).  ‘Epithets of the Mantra’ in the Heart SutraJournal of the Oxford Centre for Buddhist Studies, 12, 26–57. http://jocbs.org/index.php/jocbs/article/view/155 [Subscription required until May 2018]

Attwood, Jayarava. (2017b) 'Form is (Not) Emptiness: The Enigma at the Heart of the Heart Sutra. Journal of the Oxford Centre for Buddhist Studies', 13, 52–80. http://jocbs.org/index.php/jocbs/article/view/164. [sub required until Nov 2018]

Attwood, Jayarava. (forthcoming 2018a). 'A note on Niṣṭhānirvāṇaḥ in the Sanskrit Heart Sutra.' [submitted for peer-review Jan 2018]

Attwood, Jayarava. (forthcoming 2018b). 'The Buddhas of the Three Times and the Chinese Origins of the Heart Sutra.'

Attwood, Jayarava. (forthcoming 2018c). 'Problems with Section VI of the Prajñāpāramitāhṛdaya or Heart Sutra.'

Huifeng, Shi. (2014). 'Apocryphal Treatment for Conze’s Heart Problems: “Non-attainment”, “Apprehension”, and “Mental Hanging” in the Prajñāpāramitā.' Journal of the Oxford Centre for Buddhist Studies. 6: 72-105. http://www.ocbs.org/ojs/index.php/jocbs/article/view/75 [open access]

Nattier, Jan (1992). ‘The Heart Sūtra: a Chinese apocryphal text?’ Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies. 15 (2) 153-223. Online: http://archiv.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/ojs/index.php/jiabs/article/view/8800/2707

11 August 2017

Fixing the Broken Heart Sutra.

In this essay I do several things. I show that Conze bungled the editing of the Section VI of the Heart Sutra (Section VII in my nomenclature) and how to fix the received text. I review research by Huifeng which shows that the original Sanskrit translator also bungled, and go into detail on how to fix his mistakes. I incidentally show that Red Pine is also a bungler. By doing the basic philology that should have been done a century ago, I explain the grammar of this passage of the Heart Sutra and how to better construct it in Sanskrit. I give a revised Sanskrit text that is far more consistent with existing Chinese texts. I once again ponder the dire state of Buddhist philology. 
~o~ 

One of the many linguistic puzzles of the Heart Sutra is the construction nāstitvād that one finds in Conze's Section VI. I have been worrying away at this problem for five years and just now had a breakthrough, but it requires some context. The text in Conze's revised, 1967 edition and 1975 translation of the Heart Sutra tells us: 
Tasmāc Chāriputra aprāptitvād bodhisattvo  prajñāpāramitām āśritya viharaty acittāvaraṇaḥ. Cittāvaraṇa-nāstitvād atrasto viparyāsa-atikrānto nishṭhā-nirvāṇa-prāptaḥ. 
Therefore, O Śāriputra, it is because of his non-attainmentness that a bodhisattva, through having relied on the perfection of wisdom, dwells without thought-coverings. In the absence of thought-coverings he has not been made to tremble, he has overcome what can be upset, and in the end attains to Nirvāṇa (Buddhist Wisdom Books).
Almost everything about this translation is wrong. It is one of the most egregious examples of Buddhist Hybrid English in the entire canon of Buddhist translations. The English is execrable and incomprehensible. "Non-attainmentness" is a rather ugly neologism. And what on earth is a "thought-covering" (and why is it hyphenated)? Nor have other translators ever really got to grip with this passage. Those who purport to translate it from Sanskrit have failed to see a very basic mistake in Conze's Sanskrit (incidentally repeated by Vaidya in his edition). Red Pine simply dismisses the rules of Sanskrit grammar at this point with hand-waving and produces a translation that fits his preconceptions but has nothing to do with the underlying text (See p.137 of his book). 

As with previous essays of this kind, I will make frequent use of the Chinese. In a previous essay, I worked through Huifeng's treatment of the Sanskrit acittāvaraṇaḥ in light of the Chinese text. I accepted that he was right to reinterpret the passage, but disagreed on the definition of the key verb. He wanted 罣 to mean "hang" and I insisted on the more basic meaning of "stick".

The Chinese passage in T2521, which most East Asians take to be the Heart Sutra, reads (though note that the punctuation is modern):
以無所得故,菩提薩埵依 般若波羅蜜多故,心無罣礙;無罣礙故,無有恐怖,遠離顛倒夢想 ,究竟涅槃。
And this means more or less the same. I'll work through the differences as we go.  The first difference is to notice that the Chinese text has no "therefore Śāriputra" here.

Next, Huifeng has shown that aprāptitvād is an incorrect translation of 以無所得故.  In fact, Kumārajīva most often uses these characters to represent anupalambhayogena. And Huifeng makes a very good case for taking this word with the previous section and as ending a sentence. So if we make these corrections we get a working text that looks like this

Tasmācchāriputra śūnyatāyāṃ na rūpaṃ… na prāptir nābhsamayo anupalambhayogena ॥  
Bodhisatvo prajñāpāramitām āśritya viharaty acittāvaraṇaḥ. Cittāvaraṇa-nāstitvād atrasto viparyāsa-atikrānto nishṭhā-nirvāṇa-prāptaḥ. 

Now, bodhisatvo does not just start a new sentence, it starts a next paragraph or section. Focusing now on this new paragraph, since we have eliminated the possibility that 心無罣礙 means acittavaraṇaḥ, it is extremely unlikely that 無罣礙故 can mean acittavaraṇaḥ nāstitvād (and anyway this is a very weird construction). Moreover, there is no verb like viharati "dwell" anywhere in Chinese.

Unfortunately, although he gave an English translation which conveyed the correct reading of the Chinese, Huifeng didn't give a Sanskrit reading (and declined to do so when I pestered him in person). With the help of some colleagues I came up with an alternative Sanskrit reading based on the hints in Huifeng's article:
yo bodhisatvaḥ  prajñāpāramitām āśritya asya cittam na kvacit sajjati ।
The mind of the bodhisatva who relies on perfection of wisdom, does not get stuck anywhere.
The phrase "does not get stuck" could also be "does not get attached"  But how to deal with Cittāvaraṇa-nāstitvād atrasto viparyāsa-atikrānto nishṭhā-nirvāṇa-prāptaḥ? It is at this point that Red Pine simply abandons grammar and simply makes up a translation to suit his purposes. But the fact is that there is nothing very difficult here, except that Conze has once again led us astray.

In his 1948 edition, the last word in the sentence is nishṭhā-nirvāṇaḥ. Let us start here. Nirvāṇa is an adjective and thus properly takes the gender of the noun it describes. Buddhists often use it as a noun, and when they do so it is invariably neuter. The eagle-eyed reader will note that here nirvāṇaḥ has a masculine nominative singular ending. This can mean only one thing (and there is nothing "vague" here, contra Mr Pine)  which is that nishṭhā-nirvāṇa is a bahuvrīhi or adjectival compound. And it is describing a noun in the masculine nominative singular case. In Conze's Sanskrit, there is no such noun in this sentence. However, there is one in the previous sentence, i.e., bodhisatvaḥ (and note that -aḥ followed by p is unchanged, so bodhisatvo is wrong in Conze).

This tells us that Conze has blundered (again). Here we have just one sentence. It also tells us that we don't need prāpta. Prāpta (the passive past participle of prāpṇoti "to attain") was added to provide a verbal derivative because, just as in English, a Sanskrit sentence has to have a verb or a verbal derivative acting as a verb. By dividing one sentence, with one main verb, into two sentences, Conze has created an ungrammatical entity. Ancient scribes added prāptaḥ or in one case the verb prāpṇoti, but it was never needed. It also makes Red Pine's decision to take atikranto as the verb look silly (not to mention that this leaves viparyāsa undeclined, which is also not allowed).

The rules of grammar in any language are not simple. But the person who composed the Sanskrit followed those rules and it is the subsequent editors, translators, and commentators who have been at fault. Conze was an expert in Sanskrit so I cannot imagine why he went off piste in this case. Other experts, some of whom I hold in the highest esteem, have also failed to notice which rules were being applied.

There are, in fact, three bahuvrīhi compounds in a row, all of which describe the bodhisatva:
  1. atrastaḥ “one who is without fear”  
  2. viparyāsa-atikrāntaḥ “one who has overcome delusions”
  3. niṣṭhānirvāṇaḥ “one who has extinction as his end”
 So our working text now reads
yo bodhisatvaḥ  prajñāpāramitām āśritya asya cittam na kvacit sajjati  cittāvaraṇa-nāstitvād so atrasto viparyāsa-atikrānto nishṭhā-nirvāṇaḥ
A quick comparison with the punctuation of the Chinese text T251 tells us that the editors of Taishō were on the same wavelength (though inconsistently; in T250 they side with Conze and break the passage into two sentences!). But we can refine this further. I said above "it is extremely unlikely that 無罣礙故 can mean acittavaraṇaḥ nāstitvād". Based on Huifeng's research the Chinese characters most like mean asaṅgatvād "because of being without attachment". And this gives us
yo bodhisatvaḥ prajñāpāramitām āśritya asya cittam na kvacit sajjati asaṅgatvād so atrasto viparyāsātikrānto nishṭhānirvāṇaḥ |
However, when we look again at the Chinese we notice some further issues with these adjectival compounds. Firstly there are four of them in Chinese, and secondly the two key texts T250 and T2521 are different.
T250: 無有恐怖,離一切顛倒夢想苦惱,究竟涅槃。
T251: 無有恐怖,遠離顛倒夢想,究竟涅槃。
Well, take this a step at a time, and it is well worth taking our time because the first part of this provides us with a nice little insight. From the Sanskrit, we are expecting an adjective which means "he is not afraid". What we get is "non- 無, existent 有, terror 恐怖". Typically, we read this as "being without fear" to match the Sanskrit. But let's look again at the passage with the previous word added and without the modern punctuation.
無罣礙故無有恐怖遠離顛倒夢想
This is what the Sanskrit translator saw in the 7th Century. He had to figure out where the breaks come. We can see where the modern editors have put the breaks, but what if the translator became a little confused at this point and bracketed out the wrong characters and thought he saw something like this:
無 [罣礙故無有] 恐怖 遠離 顛倒 夢想
Now, this is an unlikely reading, but I'll tell you why I am highlighting it.  If we take the bracketed characters 罣礙故無有 the phrase 無 [罣礙故無有] 恐怖 says something like "not—because of the non-existence of mental obstructions—afraid". So is 無有 here the source of nāstitvād? There is no other explanation I can think of and no other explanation has ever been offered, to the best of my knowledge. Although the Chinese text is mangled in the process, we know it is not the first time the translator has mangled the text in the process of translating it into Sanskrit. But we also know that the translator does understand that 無 corresponds to the Sanskrit prefix a- or to the negative particle na. Which is to say that he knows better than to use nāstitvād when a- or na would do, and thus nāstitvād is in need of some explanation. If there is another explanation, I'd love to hear it.

Then we have some pairs of characters:
  • 恐怖 "afraid" 
  • 遠離 "goes beyond" = Sanskrit atikranto
  • 顛倒 "delusion = Skt viparyāsa
  • 夢想 "dream thoughts" i.e., illusions = Skt māyā.

In Chinese, the order of 遠離, "goes beyond"  and 顛倒, "delusion", suggests an active verb. And on this basis it would be possible to quibble with the construction of the Sanskrit. But I propose to leave the basic structure intact here. The translator has also mushed 顛倒 and 夢想 together into the familiar Sanskrit word viparyāsa, when he might have included the concept of māyā. Adding māyā here would be interesting in light of my observation about the relation of śūnyatā and māyā (soon to be published, but preliminary notes blogged) Now we want viparyāsātikrānta to be a descriptive compound and we would read this as "the bodhisatva has overcome delusions." I think we could follow the Chinese more precisely by having viparyāsmāyātikrānta. 

Note that T250 and T251 differ slightly here (added spaces for comparative purposes)
T251: 遠離        顛倒夢想,
T250:     離一切顛倒夢想苦惱.
The extra bits are 一切, meaning "all" (literally, "a single cut"), and 苦惱, meaning "misery and trouble", where 苦 is the character most often used for Sanskrit duḥkha. In T250, 離 means "depart, go away"; while in T251, 遠離 has the same meaning, but with greater emphasis. A similar distinction is found in Sanskrit between atikranta and saṃatikranta, for example.

The final piece of the puzzle, then, is how to translate 究竟涅槃. As I have explained in another previous essay, niṣṭhānirvāṇa was a poor choice. Kumārajīva uses these characters for a nirvāṇaparyavasānam. In our text it is being used an adjective of bodhisatvaḥ and must be given in the masculine nominative singular: nirvāṇaparyavasānaḥ. This gives us a final text:
yo bodhisatvaḥ prajñāpāramitām āśritya asya cittam na kvacit sajjati asaṅgatvād so atrasto viparyāsamāyātikrānto nirvāṇaparyavasānaḥ |
Of course, there are always difference ways to translate passages from one language to another. One only has to look at English translations of the Heart Sutra which continue to multiply and diverge from each other. With the Heart Sutra each exegete appears to be trying to put their own unique stamp on the text rather than all of us working towards a common understanding and a single standard translation. In other words, in the usual Buddhist critique, translating the Heart Sutra is more often an occasion for egoism than for transcending self. Rather ironic, really.  

At the very least, this essay has shown, again, how poorly the Buddhist community has been served at times by philologists and traditional exegesis. Here is a short text, barely 250 words or characters, that is supposed to be chanted daily by millions of Buddhists, and we still don't have an accurate text to chant.

I have spent a considerable part of the last five years forensically examining this text in Sanskrit and Chinese, with help from key allies, and have been posting my many notes here as I go in the form of more than 30 essays. My third peer-reviewed publication on the text will be out in November 2017. Not everyone is going to be able to follow the argument in this essay, but I hope some of you will at least try. Experience shows that traditionalists will resist any call to change the Heart Sutra and will probably deny that anything is wrong with the text. But people need to know that the familiar Heart Sutra is deeply flawed and in need of surgery. And that the so-called authorities on the text have never noticed this stark fact.

I confess that I am thoroughly vexed by all this bungling. I am far from the best person to be trying to sort this mess out, but the best people have come and gone and the mess remains. Some of them have made huge contributions to the field and clearly had bigger fish to fry, but the Heart Sutra is not exactly inconsequential in Buddhism. That is has been left in this state by philologists does my head in. If I can understand it, why did they not? I'm not special. Something as simple as noticing that a neuter noun is declined as masculine and therefore must be an adjective is just basic Sanskrit. You learn this in the first month of the first year of studying the language. How does anyone miss this, let alone everyone? I also missed it for years. I have studied this passage before and thought about how to translate it. I suppose I'm now something of an expert on the text (if not an authority) but if you look around the internet there are dozens of people with strong opinions on how to understand the text. It's just that none of them seems to actually read the text in Sanskrit and think about how to parse the sentences. 

In particular, in my circles, Conze and Red Pine are treated as reliable guides, but are, in fact, often, or even mostly, unreliable. Neither of them deserves their reputation for scholarship. Both are bunglers and have set back understanding of this text amongst Buddhists by decades. Kazuaki Tanahashi is not much better. Though his book is an improvement on Pine's, it is full of careless errors or just plain ignorance of Sanskrit. The dozens of commentaries are just rote recitations of sectarian gibberish. Mu Soeng frankly seems like a lunatic and his opinions on Sanskrit are laugh-out-loud wrong. The Dalai Lama is just going through the motions, reciting some ancient commentary by rote. D T Suzuki is busy doing his Mr Spock impression. It's all so depressing. How does the most popular text in Buddhism come to be treated so shabbily? It is gold. But not for the reasons that any famous Buddhists think it is. 

People often ask me what book they should read on the Heart Sutra. I get blank looks when I say that, in my opinion, it is better not to read any of the books currently available. They are full of inaccurate information. I mean it. The more you read about the Heart Sutra, the more wrong information you are assimilating that will only have to be unlearned in the end. I hope to remedy that situation soon by publishing a small book which gives an overview of recent research on the text (including mine, of course, but a few other people like Huifeng and Jan Nattier). In the meantime beware of fake Heart Sutra news, I guess. You're better off setting the sūtra  to one side and talking to someone who has some real depth of experience in meditation. Come back to it when you have experienced cessation for yourself. That would help head-off the most egregious wrong views. 

~~oOo~~


Conze, Edward (1948) Text, Sources, and Bibliography of the Prajñāpāramitā-hṛdaya. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, April 80(1-2): 33-51.

Conze, Edward. (1967) The Prajñāpāramitā-Hṛdaya Sūtra in Thirty Years of Buddhist Studies: Selected Essays, Bruno Cassirer, pp. 147-167. Modified version of Conze (1948).

Conze, Edward. (1975) Buddhist Wisdom Books: The Diamond Sutra and the Heart Sutra. George Allen & Unwin. First Ed. 1957.

Huifeng. (2014). ‘Apocryphal Treatment for Conze’s Heart Problems: “Non-attainment”, “Apprehension”, and “Mental Hanging” in the Prajñāpāramitā.’ Journal of the Oxford Centre for Buddhist Studies. 6: 72-105. http://www.ocbs.org/ojs/index.php/jocbs/article/view/75
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