Showing posts with label Prajñāpāramitā. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Prajñāpāramitā. Show all posts

15 May 2026

Notes on Prajñāpāramitā and History

My most recently published article is an invited contribution to a special issue of the journal Religions.

In this essay, I want to explore some related ideas that didn't make it into the article.

In discussing ancient Indian history, we have to be very vague about dates. We can seldom be more precise than ± 100 years, often considerably less. For example, various Buddhist traditions place the death of the Buddha between 544 – 368 BCE, which can be expressed as 456 BCE ± 88 years. However, these dates are entirely based on interpreting religious texts. And they were arrived at using precisely the kind of method that, in Christian circles, places the creation of the Earth in 4004 BCE.

Asoka's dates have a precision of about ± 10 years. And they are more or less the only well established dates in pre-Common Era Indian history. One reason I found working on Chinese history fascinating is that dates are often far more precise. For example, I can say with confidence that the Heart Sutra was composed between 26 December 656 and 13 March 661 (my article on this is out being reviewed at present).

I need to remind readers that, for historians, a primary source is an eyewitness account, written down by the witness during their own lifetime. Ancient history is largely based on written sources, backed up by archaeology. A source written down in the 5th century CE is a primary source for the 5th century. And there simply are no primary sources from India for the period 456 BCE ± 88 years.

Anything that is based on hearsay is clearly not a primary source. Similarly, a text written down in one period cannot be a primary source for a period some centuries earlier. For example, Asoka's edicts are evidence of Asoka's beliefs and values in the mid-3rd century BCE. Asoka is unique in Indian history. His views clearly do not (cannot) represent those of the general population of North India in the 3rd century BCE anymore than the views, habits, and lifestyle of King Charles III reflect England in 2026. Charles is, and has always been, a man apart. So was Asoka.

Additionally, as historians we must critically evaluate the reliability of our sources: witnesses can set out to deceive, they can make mistakes, misremember, and so on. The most basic check that historians perform on any primary sources is seeking independent corroboration. A single primary source is insufficient to establish any proposition as a "fact".

Yes, these are severe limitations and wholly self-imposed (by historians on ourselves). The price of not staying within the limits, however, is unreliable history. Although even staying within the limits is no guarantee of reliability. We aim for objectivity because that would the most reliable and practical outcome. But this leaves ample room for failure and requires the kind of iterative approach that Georg Gadamer called the hermeneutic circle.

Note that a primary source is distinct from what philologers call "primary literature" which is any text from more or less any period, so long as it was composed in a canonical language. This distinction appears to be lost on the academics and theologians arguing for the historicity of the Buddha. The Pāli Canon is certainly a primary literature. But if it is a primary historical source, it is only a primary source for the history of Sri Lanka in the 5th century CE (or considerably later).

Keep in mind also that, despite some loud protestation to the contrary, the methods that philologists use to reconstruct ur-texts or that historical linguists use to reconstruct ur-languages cannot be applied to reconstructing prehistory (history prior to our available witnesses). The accumulation of copying errors in texts or the phonetic drift of languages are relatively simple and regular compared to human behaviour (and history is ultimately the study of human behaviour in the past). There are no regular, law-like, changes in history. Every situation is different. Historians are famously poor at predicting the future.

Note that "sutra" (without diacritics or italics) is a recognised loan word in English and found in all major English dictionaries. I have begun to use it to translate both Sanskrit sūtra and Pāli sutta.

Prajñāpāramitā is Old

Theravādins and their allies in academia make some big claims for antiquity and authenticity of the Pāli Canon. Incidentally, Steve Collins (2010: 8-9) points out that calling Southeast Asian Buddhism "Theravāda" is a "Western coinage." And the term only became popular after a resolution by the World Fellowship of Buddhists in 1959.

One of the main claims that Theravādins and their academic allies make is that the Pāli Canon was written down in the 1st century. As I note in Attwood (2026):

The Mahāvaṃsa (33.100), for example, states that the canon and its commentaries were committed to writing in the reign of King Vaṭṭagāmiṇi (29-17 BCE) at the Alu-vihāra in Sri Lanka.

The immediate problem is that the Vaṃsa literature itself seems to date from no earlier than the fifth century CE. If it is a primary source, then it is a primary source for the beliefs of Sri Lankans in the fifth century, it is not a primary source for the first century BCE (some 500 years earlier).

However, there is no corroboration of this specific claim from either historical or archaeological sources. The fact is that, like other figures from the Pāli imaginaire, King Vaṭṭagāmiṇi left no artefacts or traces that would securely tie him to history. He has no more claim to being a historical figure than the Buddha does.

When the only source one has for a historical event is a self-serving religious literature, any factual claims one makes are dubious at best. A king called Vaṭṭagāmiṇi may well have ruled Sri Lanka in the first century BCE. I certainly cannot disprove this claim. But equally, without some corroboration we do not know this and as historians we certainly cannot place any weight or value on such claims from such sources. As, historian, Kristin Schieble (2016: 118) has said:

We simply cannot be sure of the veracity or objectivity of any of the claims in the Mahāvaṃsa when it is read as a source for social history.

Treating such sources as "authentic" and "reliable" is all very well for religious or theological apologists but, as a historian, I am constrained by convention and inclination not to make use of inherently unreliable sources. If there were any independent and secular (or at least non-Buddhist) corroboration of this "fact", particularly in archaeology, it might be more plausible, but there is none.

In terms of primary sources, the oldest evidence we have for the use of Pāli is a fragment of text on gold foil from Burma, dated to "the mid-or late fifth century" (Stargardt 1995, 2000). What's more, the next oldest artefact is a fragment of manuscript from Nepal dated to the 9th century CE (Hinüber 1991). Meanwhile, the oldest extant copies of the Tipiṭaka are no earlier than the 15th century CE.

I recognise that a case can be made that the oral composition of some of the Pāli sutras took place somewhat earlier, likely before Asoka (since he is not mentioned). I find this a plausible speculation. However, it is no more than speculation. And such speculations cannot be corroborated. It is not a fact that Pāli existed as an oral tradition. Rather, it is an inference we draw from certain features of written Pāli that are similar to features of extant oral literatures. Such inferences cannot be tested because they refer to a period many centuries in the past.

The same argument applies to the Prajñāpāramitā literature which was also likely based on an existing oral tradition. This is important because a Gāndhārī manuscript of the Aṣṭasāhasrikā has been carbon-dated to 74 CE, with a two-sigma range of 47-147 CE (Falk 2011). The "two-sigma range" reflects a 95% confidence that the true value lies within this range; but it also admits a 5% chance that it lies outside this range. Palaeography is considerably less precise, but suggests dates consistent with this range. This is one of the most precisely attested dates in Ancient Indian history.

Notice that the extant evidence for the literature of Prajñāpāramitā is some centuries older than the oldest evidence for the Pāli literature. Based on this, I conjecture that Prajñāpāramitā is much older than is currently recognised. Indeed, while I cannot prove it, I believe that Prajñāpāramitā reflects a tradition that is every bit as old as the Pāli sutras.

Theravādins, with their axiomatic privileging of Pāli and the Sri Lankan mythology surrounding it, tend to see Pāli as precedent and Prajñāpāramitā as subsequent. I'm not convinced about this. I have argued, in Some Issues of Pāli Chronology (30 September 2022) for example, that the Pāli literature could also be a loosely curated collection of texts from a variety of geographical milieus. There is clearly some development over time, but chronology doesn't explain all the variants.


Pursuing Cessation

There, Elder Sāriputta addressed the bhikkhus, "Comrades, this extinction (nibbāna) is bliss (sukha)."
When this was said, Elder Udāyī replied to Elder Sāriputta: "But how, Comrade, is it bliss when nothing is experienced? (natthi vedayitaṃ)"
"Comrade, it is precisely because nothing is experienced that is it bliss." -- Nibbānasukha Sutta (AN 9.34)
My translation of: Tatra kho āyasmā sāriputto bhikkhū āmantesi: “sukhamidaṁ, āvuso, nibbānaṁ. Sukhamidaṁ, āvuso, nibbānan”ti. Evaṁ vutte, āyasmā udāyī āyasmantaṁ sāriputtaṁ etadavoca: “kiṁ panettha, āvuso sāriputta, sukhaṁ yadettha natthi vedayitan”ti? “Etadeva khvettha, āvuso, sukhaṁ yadettha natthi vedayitaṁ (AN IV 415).

Sensory experience, aka dukkha, is "everything" (Sabba Sutta SN 35.23) and everything is to be abandoned (Pahāna Sutta SN 35.24). Elsewhere, the meditator seeks "the end of the world" (loko anto), on which, see The World (18 May 2012).

The indefatigable Anālayo (2021) has speculated that practises aimed at bringing sensory experience to an end predate Buddhism. He draws attention to the Ariyapariyesanā Sutta (MN 26), which I have also written about. The Ariyapariyesanā Sutta contains what seems to be a primitive biography of the Buddha. As I pointed out in The Buddha's Biography (01 July 2011), this Ariyapariyesanā narrative conflicts with the received biographical tradition in various ways. Anālayo notes that the Buddha's pre-awakening teachers, Āḷāra Kālāma and Uddaka Ramaputta, teach the Buddha how to attain both the "stage of nothingness" (ākiñcaññāyatana)* and the "stage of neither recognition nor nonrecognition" (nevasaññānāsaññāyatana).

* Note ākiñcañña "the state of having nothing, absence of possessions; nothingness" is an abstract noun derived from the akiñcañña, which in turn derives from the adverbial pronoun: kiñcana (kiṃ + cana; = kiñci) "something, anything".

The Cūḷasuññata Sutta describes how one can attain these stages, and how to go beyond them to the "signless trance" (animitta-samādhi), and finally to "dwelling in absence" (suññatāvihāra)

NB, Pāli has two words: (1) suññato (noun) "Absent, empty"; the ablative case, used nominally; the expected counterpart *śūnyataḥ is not found in Sanskrit; and (2) suññatā (abstract noun) "Absence; emptiness". The title of the sutra uses the former, the meditative state uses the latter.

I see the Cūḷasuññata Sutta as a kind of missing link, in that it describes what seems to be a standalone meditation practice not (yet?) connected to the jhāna practice that dominates the Theravāda canon. Given the outcome, i.e. "dwelling in absence" (suññatāvihāra), this suggests a connection with Prajñāpāramitā, which is almost entirely focused on explicating the absence of sensory experience.

The practice in the Cūḷasuññata Sutta is not named. I have referred to it as suññatāvihāra and as āyatana meditation. It is clear, however, that the practice is not connected to the practice of jhāna. And the distinction is simple: the suññatāvihāra meditation aims directly at nirvāṇa, i.e. the absence of sensory experience; while jhāna aims at a particular kind of experience. From the suññatāvihāra point of view of, if you are still having an experience, that is not Prajñāpāramitā.

Still, in both approaches, the key is to gradually withdraw attention from sensory experience. In an unpublished essay called Sensory Deprivation and the Threefold Way (2022; SDTW), I extended earlier research I did on the so-called "Spiral Path". This doctrine is epitomised by the first five sutras of the chapters of tens in the Aṅguttaranikāya (and the almost identical sutras that begin the chapter of elevens).

In SDTW, I argue that sīla is less to do with morality, and more to do with avoiding the gross effects of sensory deprivation by accustoming practitioners to low levels of sensory stimulation. I also compare descriptions of strange experiences early in meditation (as described in a Buddhist meditation manual) and the hallucinations caused by sensory deprivation (as described by Oliver Sacks). We find almost exactly the same language in both descriptions. In this view, experiences such as "visions" or "energy in the body" in meditation are simply hallucinations, brought on by sensory deprivation. They have no soteriological or doctrinal significance. Of course, Buddhists are not going to admit this because hallucinations sound pathological.

According to the Prajñāpāramitā literature, if you are having any kind of experience, no matter how blissful or fascinating, that is not Prajñāpāramitā and you have to keep going beyond it. In this view, it is only when all sensory experience ceases, that one can attain liberation from rebirth.

Of course, Buddhist texts present several other, quite unrelated, methods for obtaining liberation from rebirth. That said, it seems that, for Prajñāpāramitā, the only state that counts is the state in which there is no experience. And as far as I can see, this is only achieved by systematically withdrawing attention from sensory experience until it stops registering. Note that his is an epistemic absence (śūnya), not a metaphysical non-existence (nāstitā).

Most people reading this will live in a milieu characterised by hedonistic chasing of pleasure, in which obtaining plentiful and frequent intense sensory experience is seen the acme of a well-lived life. As such it can be difficult to relate to people who advocate "abandoning sensory experience" and who spend hours every day in states of acute sensory deprivation. It is precisely the state in which all experience ceases that justifies this approach. Ancient Buddhists believes that good actions (puṇyakamma) led to good rebirth destinations (sugati) and evil actions (pāpakamma) led to evil destinations (duggati). However a good rebirth was was only a consolation prize for those who missed out on the necessary temperament and/or opportunity to pursue nirvāṇa. The lucky few are described as "beings that are only minimally defiled" (sattā apparajakkhajātikā).* Note that the phrase is often poetically translated as "having but little dust in their eyes", but the Pāli does not mention "dust" or "eyes". However we translate it, the ability to practice deep meditation was and is rare.

* apparajakkhajātika can be parsed as appa (little) + rakakkha (defilement) + jātika (having). Rajakkha is originally rajas-ka.

In this view, the goal of Buddhism was to undergo cessation and to dwell in the absence of sensory experience. Various comparisons make clear than this is what nirvāṇa "extinction" refers to. And it was upon arising from this state of absence that prajñā would dawn on the practitioner. I take prajñā to refer to precisely the knowledge that arises following a period of absence. Similarly, in the "Spiral Path" sutras, liberation (vimutti) is followed by the knowledge that one is liberated (vimuttiñāna).

Far too much "Buddhist history" is just self-serving narratives based on Buddhist mythology. The infiltration of academia by religieux, with their own religious agendas, has not helped the situation. Too many of the people making assertions about Buddhist history are wilfully ignorant sectarian apologists.


Original Buddhism?

Many Europeans have sought the origins of Buddhism in so-called "early Buddhist scripture". But here "early" is a misnomer. As we have seen, the use of Pāli cannot be dated before the 5th century CE. A couple of Old Sinhala inscriptions (ca 2nd or 3rd century CE) appear to use Pāli words, but these are ambiguous at best.

I have never understood the claim that Theravādins and their academic allies are fond of stating, i.e. that they perceive an "underlying unity" in the suttas, which they associate with authorship by one man. Such claims appear to emerge from the a priori belief that Buddhism was founded by "the Buddha". It's circular reasoning. To me, there is clearly more than one mind at work there.

When one actually reads Pāli sutras in bulk, one is struck by the wildly varying terminology. We see a plethora of different terms for the same idea. Many terms are only used in one text. There are contradictions. There is even evidence of different Prakrit languages or the later influence of Sanskrit.
The means to obtaining liberation from rebirth are a case in point. For example, some Buddhists appear to have exclusively pursued the cessation of sense experience, an approach preserved in the early Prajñāpāramitā traditions. Other Buddhists insisted that to become liberated one had examine the content of experience and try to see it as impermanent and insubstantial and lacking a soul (ātman). Texts that describe saṃjñāvedayitanirodha, do not mention anātman, and vice versa. The only time the two ideas appear together are in obviously late, encyclopedic lists of lists, epitomised by the Saṅgīti Sutta (DN 33).

Given the a priori belief in the historicity of the Buddha, such discrepancies are usually attributed to diachronic changes (over time) rather than, say, evidence of synchronic plurality (at one time). Asserting that one variant is old and another is new, is certainly an explanation for these differences. I have tried to show that it is not the only possible explanation for many of them (see Some Issues of Pāli Chronology. 30 September 2022). Mere chronology cannot explain why (at least) two different approaches are represented as "the (only) approach" in Buddhist sutras. Nor why more approaches, with different apparent ends, kept emerging throughout the history of Indian Buddhism.

It is a simple fact that all Buddhist sects, where we have evidence, continued to invent new doctrines, gradually moving away from the "original teachings" entirely. Those Buddhist modernists who insist that one form or another of modern Buddhism is more "historically authentic" somehow manage to ignore almost the entire history of Buddhism as well as the methods and theories of historians. One does not find "Theravāda" in Pāli sutras. Rather, one finds a variety of forms of Buddhism that no one practises anymore. And indeed, by the time historical sources begin to emerge, around the mid-3rd century BCE, its safe to say that no one could claim to be practising "original Buddhism".

The Pāli canon quite obviously reflects a synthesis, or indeed many syntheses, which retain obvious signs of the unsynthesised elements of doctrine and terminology. The language itself shows evidence of being synthetic in the same way, from a variety of related Prakrits, with later influence from Sanskrit.


Alternative History

Buddhism emerged from a social milieu that we only know from religious texts written down some centuries after the events they purport to record. And misinterpretations of these texts are legion. I still see it stated that Buddhism emerged from Brahmanism or (worse) Hinduism. We know this interpretation, which was once more or less universal, is false. And so on.

It's tempting for religieux and theologians to take the realistic setting of the Buddha parables as historical fact. However, this kind of quasi-realistic storytelling is also associated with, for example, all historical fiction and with a good deal of speculative fiction: King Arthur, Harry Potter, Sherlock Holmes, and many others. The problem for historians is that not a single single figure in the texts has ever been associated with any extant historical artefact. And this includes all the kings (and includes the kings in the Vaṃsa literature). There are no coins, no texts, no inscriptions, no images, no monuments, no law codes. There is nothing that would allow us to have a rational belief in the historicity of any of the characters in the Pāli texts. There is no chronology because there are no artefacts to date.

Of course, the absence of evidence is not evidence of absent. My argument is not that we know something about the Buddha or the other characters in the texts; I strenuously avoid the conclusion that we know that the Buddha didn't exist. So does David Drewes, though this has not stopped his detractors from attributing exactly this view to him.

My argument is that we know nothing about the Buddha, other figures of Buddhist mythology, or about "original" or even "early Buddhism". All the "facts" that we have in relation to the Buddha come from religious stories: parables, allegories, cosmogonies, eschatologies, hagiographies, and so on that were written down some centuries late (how many we simply do not know). Buddhism has no, or almost no, historical consciousness.

Buddhism and the Buddha enter the historical record when they are mentioned by Asoka in the mid-third century BCE. Asoka himself tells us that he was a Buddhist convert who was a bit perfunctory at first, but later started attending talks by the bhikkhus after which "there was real progress" (bādhi cha pakate Hultzsch 1925: 166-7, although I don't accept his reading).

All we get from Asoka is evidence of the bare existence of a religion which claims the Buddha as a significant figure. The term buddha is used by Asoka just four times: three times in Minor Rock Edict 3 (erected at Virāṭanagara, Rajasthan; then known as Bairat), and once in Minor Pillar Edict 1 (Lumbini). Buddha is not mentioned in any of the major edict texts, or in any of the Māgadhī edicts. The pillar edict at Sarnath mentions the saṃgha but not the Buddha, although only a fraction of it can still be read. The Sarnath edict forbids the saṃgha to undergo schisms, suggesting that schism amongst Buddhist monastics was a major problem in Asoka's time. Although one wonders how such a law could be enforced in the Iron Age or whether Buddhists acknowledged the emperors right to tell them what to do. Both seem doubtful.

By the time the Pāli sutras were written down, whenever that was, its apparent that Buddhism was already pluralistic, eclectic, syncretistic, and schismatic. This suggests that if the Buddha was a historical person, he lived a very long time before Asoka. However it is equally consistent with his being just another character in what Steven Collins (2010) called "the Pāli imaginaire", i.e. the "world" conjured into being by the Pāli stories. In speculative fiction writing, we refer to this as "world building". Realistic settings are part and parcel of some approaches to world building.

We should keep in mind Justin L. Barrett's comments on the contribution of what he called "minimally counterintuitive beliefs".

These minimally counter-intuitive beliefs may be characterized as meeting most of the assumptions that describers and categorizers generate—thus being easy to understand, remember, and believe—but as violating just enough of these assumptions to be attention demanding and to have an unusually captivating ability to assist in the explanation of certain experiences (Barrett 2004: 22).

A story like Little Red Riding Hood, offers a talking wolf in an otherwise entirely realistic setting. Talking animals are common form of minimally counterintuitive belief, across cultures and times. As are animal headed gods. Etc. So a man who performs miracles is, in many ways, the ideal storytelling protagonist. Albeit that naïve modern religieux tend to get caught up in the magic and forget about the actual point of such stories.

We know that Buddhists themselves were constantly reinventing Buddhism, inventing new doctrines, or assimilating them from other religions, constantly undergoing (intra-Buddhist) doctrinal arguments, schisms, and reconciliations. So-called "Buddhist cosmology" is all too obviously a bastardised version of Brahmanical cosmology. Various scholars have pointed out that depictions of Brahmanical cosmology in Buddhist texts are frequently accompanied by satirical commentary: for example the creator god Brahmā is portrayed in unflattering terms as a naïf or as a deceiver. Buddhists routinely portray the Vedic gods Brahmā and Indra as worshipping the Buddha. Later Buddhist texts also depict Śiva converting to Buddhism.

We also suspect that "Buddhist" practices actually predate Buddhism and were present across a range of milieus. We might suspect, for example, that Sāṃkhya philosophers interpreted the effects of sensory deprivation methods in terms of puruṣa and pradhāna/prakṛti. It is widely believed that Jains were similarly involved in seeking out altered states of mind, using similar techniques.

As I wrote in On the Historicity of the Buddha in the Absence of Historical Evidence (09 September 2022)

By contrast the stories about the Buddha all have a strongly religious character. They almost always include some supernatural element, a feature that intensifies in texts from later periods. A figure whose main features include supernatural powers is difficult to locate in an objective historical narrative, since objectively there are no supernatural powers. Objectivity is not neutral. No objective history includes accounts of supernatural powers because such powers are a product of the religious imagination.

Replying to criticism of his 2017 article, Drewes (2023: 404) points out:

Everything that makes the Buddha a Buddha is supernatural: his discovery of the Dharma by his own power; his understanding of karma, the geography of the world, the structure of the cosmos, the path to liberation, and the makeup of living beings and the material world; his freedom from desire; his omniscience; his thirty-two marks; his special characteristics and powers.

Buddhists in Asia routinely pray to Buddha for good fortune etc. Praying to Buddhist deities is a routine element of Asian Buddhism. We see it throughout the history of Xuanzang (ca. 600 - 664), for example. And it is a prominent trope in the history of the Heart Sutra.


Conclusion

In this essay, I have argued that when we stick to methods prescribed by historians, we arrive at a more deflationary account of Buddhist history. The resulting picture is likely to disappoint religieux since it lacks the razzamatazz that they have come to expect from "scholars" (who are, by and large, not historians or at least do not accept the strictures of modern historiography). The actual history does not flatter religieux or speak to their articles of faith. And predictably, many religieux and theologians have reacted to David Drewes with horrified anxiety not to say open hostility.

I don't doubt that Buddhism substantially predates its first appearance in the historical record, in some of the minor edicts of Asoka.

Even if Buddhism was founded by one person, it only spread and became established because it was a group activity. This much is acknowledge by Buddhist mythology, which portrays the Buddha as enthusiastically seeking out people who might understand his breakthrough and building up a following of lay people and ascetics. Had many other people not replicated his attainment of nirvāṇa, Buddhism would never have become popular.

In this sense the Buddha qua man is less historically significant than the fact that, at least in theory, nirvāṇa is a state that any human being could attain; and which, in practice, people continue to attain.

~~Φ~~


Bibliography

Anālayo. 2021. "Being Mindful of What is Absent." Mindfulness 13: 1671-1678.

Barrett, Justin L. 2004 Why Would Anyone Believe in God? Altamira Press.

Collins, Steven. 2010. Nirvana: Concept, Imagery, Narrative. Cambridge University Press.

Drewes, David. 2017. "The Idea of the Historical Buddha". Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 40: 1-25.DOI: 10.2143/JIABS.40.0.3269003

———. 2023. “A Historical Buddha After All?” Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 46: 401-416.

Falk, Harry. 2011. "The Split Collection of Kharoṣṭhī texts." Annual Report of The International Research Institute for Advanced Buddhology at Soka University (ARIRIAB) 14: 13-23.

Hinüber, Oskar von. 1991. The Oldest Pali Manuscript: Four Folios of the Vinaya-Pitaka from the National Archives, Kathmandu. Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur, Abhandlungen der geistes- und sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse, no. 6. Mainz: Akademie Der Wissenschaften und der Literatur; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag.

Hultzsch, Eugen. 1925. Inscriptions of Asoka. New Edition. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1925. Online: https://archive.org/details/InscriptionsOfAsoka.NewEditionByE.Hultzsch

Scheible, Kristin. 2016. Reading the Mahāvaṃsa: The Literary Aims of a Theravada Buddhist History. New York, NY, Columbia Scholarship Online. https://doi.org/10.7312/columbia/9780231171380.003.0006, accessed 1 Mar. 2024.

Stargardt, Janice. 1995. “The Oldest Known Pali Texts, 5–6th century: Results of the Cambridge Symposium on the Pyu Golden Pali Text from Śrī Kṣetra, 18–19 April 1995.” Journal of the Pali Text Society 21: 199-213.

Stargardt, Janice. 2000. Tracing Thought Through Things: The Oldest Pali Texts and the Early Buddhist Archaeology of India and Burma. Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences.

04 October 2024

The Mantra at the end of Xuanzang's Dà bānrě bōluómìduō jīng «大般若波羅蜜多經»

In my review of Ji Yun's article on the Heart Sutra (01 June 2018), I noted that, in section 7, in discussing the work of Chén Jiǔchéng 沈九成 (whom he refers to as "Shen"), Ji comments on the mantra as the end of Xuanzang's massive compilation of Prajñāpāramitā texts called Dà bānrě bōluómìduō jīng «大般若波羅蜜多經» (Dà jīng 大經). I noted then:

Ji makes a great deal of the fact that Shen found a mantra at the end of Xuánzàng's collection of Prajñāpāramitā texts that is very similar to the one in the Heart Sutra.... Ji writes about this as "an important discovery" (Ji 40), going to a lot of trouble to reproduce (and correct) the Siddham text from the Taishō page in his article.

In my review, I was more concerned with Ji's self-contradiction in this part of his article than with the implications of this fact. In this post, I will revisit this small point and show that the mantra in question is a late interpolation and thus not very significant when considering the origins of the Heart Sutra.

Note that Xuanzang's text fills three volumes of the Tasihō Tripiṭaka (V–VII). For comparison all the other Prajñāpāramitā translations, including multiple copies of most texts, fill just one volume (VIII).

On the last page (1110) of volume VII (fascicle 600 of 600) of the Dà jīng in the Taishō edition we find two mantras in Siddham script with a Chinese equivalent. They are labelled Bānrě fó mǔ xīn zhòu 般若佛姆心呪 *Prajñā-buddha-mātā-hṛdaya-mantra and Bānrě fó mǔ qīn xīn zhòu 般若佛姆親心呪 *Prajñā-buddha-mātṛpriya-hṛdaya-mantra.

tadyathā oṃ gate gate pāragate
pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā.

oṃ prajñā prajñā
mahāprajñā svāhā

The mantra on the left is the familiar Heart Sutra dhāraṇī, with the addition of oṃ and the inclusion of tadyathā (see also Tadyathā in the Heart Sūtra. 13.11.09). It's only Tantric Buddhists that add these features to the dhāraṇī, presumably with a view to making a non-tantric incantation appear to be a mantra. It might appear from this that the mantras are part of the Dà jīng. This is problematic, since Xuanzang the translator was not a tantric Buddhist, and his translation betrays no other influences from Tantric Buddhists.

Another problem is that the accompanying Chinese version is not the standard transcription found in the Heart Sutra (differences highlighted):

T220: 怛耶他 唵 伽帝 帝 鉢囉伽帝 鉢囉帝 菩提 薩
T251:      揭帝 揭帝 般羅揭帝 般羅僧揭帝 菩提 薩婆訶。

As far as I can tell, the version of the dhāraṇī from T 220 does not occur anywhere else in the Taishō Edition. This looks like an independent transcription based on the Sanskrit text of Hṛd, created at a time when Tantric Buddhism was ascendent. 

The positioning of the mantras is also problematic because they occur after the final line of the text:

時,薄伽梵說是經已,善勇猛等諸大菩薩及餘四眾,天、龍、藥叉、健達縛、阿素洛、揭路茶、緊捺洛、莫呼洛伽、人非人等一切大眾,聞佛所說皆大歡喜、信受奉行。(T 220 7.1110a17-21)

At that time, after the Bhagavān had spoken this scripture, the great bodhisattvas such as Śūravikrāntavikrāmin, as well as the fourfold assembly, devas, nāgas, yakṣas, gandharvas, asuras, garuḍas, kiṃnaras, mahoragas, humans, and non-humans, all the great assembly, having heard what the Buddha had said, were filled with great joy, and faithfully accepted and followed it.

This is followed by a restatement of the title, which is usually the end of a sutra. Thus the spells that follow in Taishō appear to be adventitious, adapted into mantras, and not the same transcription as the Heart Sutra.

The final lines in the Kimura edition of the Nepalese Pañc manuscripts reads

idam avocad bhagavān āttamanaso maitreyapramukhā bodhisattvā mahāsattvāḥ, āyuṣmāṃś ca subhūtir āyuṣmāṃś ca śāriputra āyuṣmāṃś cānandaḥ, śakraś ca devānām indraḥ sadevamānuṣāsuragandharvaś ca loko bhagavato bhāṣitam abhyanandann iti.

āryapañcaviṃśatisāhasrikāyāṃ bhagavatyāni prajñāpāramitāyām abhisamayālaṃkārānusāreṇa saṃśodhitāyāṃ dharmakāyādhikāraḥ śikṣāparivarto nāmāṣṭamaḥ samāpta iti

The Bhagavān spoke thus, and the bodhisattvas, led by Maitreya, the great beings, as well as Elder Subhūti, Elder Śāriputra, Elder Ānanda, and Śakra, the lord of the gods, along with the worlds of gods, humans, asuras, and gandharvas, rejoiced at Bhagavān's words.

The Noble Perfection of Wisdom in 25,000 lines, according to the Abhisamayālaṃkāra, the eighth [sic] section concerning the Dharmakāya is complete.

I think eighth (aṣṭamaḥ) is a mistake for eightieth (aṣṭāśīti). This is followed by two well-known incantations:

ye dharmā hetuprabhavā hetuṃ teṣāṃ tathāgato hy avadat, teṣāñ ca yo nirodha evaṃvādī mahāśramaṇaḥ.

oṃ gate 2 pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā.

It is relatively common for Buddhist manuscripts to use the numeral 2 as a kind of ditto mark. So instead of writing gate gate, they write gate 2. It's interesting that editors preserve this quirk and not others. For example, Buddhist manuscripts almost always write ārya as āryya (which is standard Sanskrit), and bodhisattva as bodhisatva (which is non-standard). 

Again, although the mantra is included, it is included after the conclusion and end title. Which means it's not "included in" the text, but rather appended after the end of it. In other words, it's not part of the original text, but was added some time later. That said, since it appears in different witnesses, it seems to have become naturalised.

Other Texts

A mantra is appended to Taishō version of Kumārajīva's Vajracchedikā translation (T 235; 8.7525-7):

那謨婆伽跋帝 鉢喇壤 波羅弭多曳 唵 伊利底 伊室利 輸盧馱 毘舍耶 毘舍耶 莎婆訶
Namo bhagavate prajñāpāramitāya oṃ īriti īṣiri śruta viśāya viśāya svāhā.

The transcription is from Sørensen (2020: 90). (Note that in this article, vajracchedikā is unfortunately mispelled as vajracheedikā throughout).


Where We Don't Find the Mantra

The CBETA version of the canon now includes links to the printed Tripiṭaka Koreana (13th century) which formed the basis of the Taishō Edition. The last page of the Dà jīng clearly has no mantras:


The text here seems to be more or less identical to T 220.

時,薄伽梵說是經已,善勇猛等諸大菩薩及餘四衆,天、龍、藥叉、健達縛、阿素洛、揭路茶、緊柰洛、莫呼洛伽、人非人等一切大衆,聞佛所說皆大歡喜、信受奉行。

大般若波羅蜜多經卷第六百

庚子歲高麗國大藏都監奉勅雕造

The only difference is that the last line refers to the carving of the woodblock: "In the gēngzǐ year (1231 CE), carved by imperial decree at the Dazang Directorate of Goryeo."

There are three other Chinese translations of the Large Sutra:

  • Fàng guāng bānrě jīng «放光般若經» (T 221), by Mokṣala (291 CE)
  • Guāng zàn jīng «光讚經» (T 222) a partial translation by Dharmarakṣa (286 CE)
  • Móhē bānrě bōluómì jīng «摩訶般若波羅蜜經» (T 223); by Kumārajīva (404 CE)

None of these contain the dhāraṇī either.

The Tibetan version of PañcShes rab kyi pha rol tu phyin pa stong phrag nyi shu lnga pa. Toh 9—has a lengthy colophon, including a religious poem, but it ends with:

At the time when the carving of the xylographs of this very text, along with those of the Multitude of the Buddhas (Buddhāvataṃsaka), was completed, in the presence of King Tenpa Tsering, the ruler of Degé, the beggar monk Tashi Wangchuk composed these verses at Sharkha Dzongsar Palace, where the wood-carving workshop was based. May they be victorious!

ye dharmā hetuprabhavā hetun teṣāṃ tathāgato bhavat āha teṣāṃ ca yo nirodho evaṃ vādī mahāśramaṇaḥ [ye svāhā]

The Tibetan Aṣṭādaśasāhasrikā prajñāpāramitā (Toh 10) has no mantras or formulas in the colophon

The last page of the Gilgit Pañc manuscript (Karashima et al 2016: 308) has some text following the final samāptaṃ

Gilgit Ms folio 308 verso

We are fortunate to have a transcription of the colophon by Oskar von Hinüber (2017: 129-130) which consists of the title of the eighty-second (and final) chapter (line 9), followed by four lines, and some interlineal notes, that record the names of the donors who sponsored the copy (many of whom have royal titles).

|| ʘ || prajñāpāramitāyām akopyadharmatānirdeśaparivartaḥ dvyaśītimaḥ samāptaḥ || ʘ ||

10: deyadharmo yaṃ mahāśraddhopāsaka mahāgakhravida nā(ma)siṃhasya. sārdhaṃ śrī deva paṭola ṣāhi vikramādityanandinā. sārdhaṃ śrī paramadevyā torahaṃsikayā. sārdhaṃ śāmīdevyā saharaṇamālena.

11: sārdhaṃ devyā surendrabhaṭṭārika(y)ā sārdhaṃ devyā di + (ysa) puṇyena. sārdhaṃ mātunā nāmasukhena. sārdhaṃ bhrātunā khukhisiṃhena. sārdhaṃ dāya cicīena. sārdhaṃ rājñī tejaḍiyena. rājaḍiena.

11a: sārdhaṃ gakhragavida śupha(rṇe)na.

12: sārdhaṃm maysakka jendravīreṇa sārdhaṃ kṣatra (s.) + pūrena. sārdhaṃ mahāsāmanta gugena. sārdhaṃ gakhravida titsena. sārdhaṃ mahāsāmanta la(tn)anena. sārdhaṃ sarena. sārdhaṃ burohida drugilena.

13: sārdhaṃ pariśuddhabuddhakṣetropapannena + + + + + lvāsena sārdhaṃ pitunā śāmathulena. sārdhaṃ utrasiṃhena. sumasteṇena. butsena. khavāṣena. śiri. yad atra puṇyaṃ tad bhavatu {sarvasatvā}nām anuttarajñānavāptaye stu

13a:  tvetsena || sārdhaṃ maghatī(rena) + + + + + +

Note that the repeating term sārdhaṃ means "together with". For further details one can consult von Hinüber's (2017) article, but for our purposes, this shows that there is no mantra or dhāraṇī appended to the text.

Conclusions

The mantra at the end of the Dà bānrě bōluómìduō jīng «大般若波羅蜜多經» (T 220) is clearly a late addition to the end of the text. This is a minor point, but it was useful to my project to clarify it.

We can see that the later addition of features such as mantras or the Ye dharma formula to manuscripts was by no means unusual. At the same time we see Buddhists adding other sources of good fortune to their texts, such as adding āryya or śrī to the title.

It's easy to forget that, unlike the Pāli texts, the Prajñāpāramitā texts were never canonised in India. That is to say, they never attained a fixed or final form. Rather they continued to be redacted, usually expanded, while there was life in Indian Buddhism. And each community saw the text that they had as "the text".

~~oOo~~


Bibliography

Hinüber, Oskar von (2017) "Names and Titles in the Colophon of the ‘Larger Prajñāpāramitā’ from Gilgit." ARIRIAB XX, 129 - 138.

Karashima, S., et al. (2016). Mahāyāna Texts: Prajñāpāramitā Texts (1). Gilgit Manuscripts in the National Archives of India Facsimile Edition Volume II.1. The National Archives of India and The International Research Institute for Advanced Buddhology, Soka University, Tokyo.

Li, Rongxi. (1995). A Biography of the Tripiṭaka of the Great Ci'en Monastery of the Great Tang Dynasty. Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research.

Liu, Shufen. (2022). “The Waning Years of the Eminent Monk Xuanzang and his Deification in China and Japan.” In Chinese Buddhism and the Scholarship of Erik Zürcher. Edited by Jonathan A. Silk and Stefano Zacchetti, 255–289. Leiden: Brill. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004522152_010

Sørensen, Henrik H. (2020). “Offerings and the Production of Buddhist Scriptures in Dunhuang during the Tenth Century.” Hualin International Journal of Buddhist Studies 3(1): 70–107.

Whitney, William Dwight. (1950). Sanskrit Grammar: Including both the Classical Language and the Older Dialects of Veda and Brahmana. Cambridge, Mass. Harvard University Press.

26 January 2024

A Provisional Revised Prajñāpāramitā Chronology

In the process of revising the history of the Heart Sutra, it has become clear that Conze's Prajñāpāramitā chronology is faulty in many respects. In this essay, I will discuss some of the main faults with the existing chronology and then propose a substantial revision, notably deprecating his use of the term "abbreviation". 

In "The Development of Prajñāpāramitā Thought" (1967) Conze outlined nine stages of development:

  1. The initial formulation represented by the first two chapters of Ratnaguṇasamcayagāthā (Rgs).
  2. Chapters 3-28 of Rgs.
  3. Incorporation of matter from the Abhidharma.
  4. Concessions to the Buddhism of Faith.
  5. The last third of the Large Prajñāpāramitā
  6. The short Sutras.
  7. Yogacarin commentaries.
  8. Tantra
  9. Chan.

Later, Conze (1978) boils this down to a fourfold chronology:

  1. The basic text (ca. 100 BCE – 100 CE)
  2. Expansion (ca 100 – 300 CE)
  3. Abbreviation (300 – 500 CE)
  4. Tantric/Magical influence (600 – 1200 CE).

There is some revision of this chronology in Stefano Zacchetti's (2020) authoritative encyclopedia entry for Prajñāpāramitā Sūtras in the Brill Encyclopedia of Buddhism, but even Zacchetti largely accepts Conze's views on the Heart Sutra. Unfortunately, neither Huifeng (2014) nor any of my research on the Heart Sutra made it into his article. Zacchetti's contribution to Prajñāpāramitā Studies was huge and his early death was a great loss to the profession. However, he did not go far enough in critiquing Conze and revising the chronology.


Ratnaguṇasamcayagāthā

Conze's rationale for dating the Ratnaguṇasamcayagāthā very early was never sound. The first translation of Rgs into Chinese was in 991CE, by Fǎxián 法賢 (T 229). As Zacchetti (2020) says "... external evidence clearly points to a much later date of composition of this text, as all its witnesses, including the Chinese translation, are comparatively late". Zacchetti also notes that Rgs is not included in Xuanzang's compendium of Prajñāpāramitā texts. 

Far from being an early exemplar, the Rgs played little or no part in the development of Prajñāpāramitā thought or literature and was a decorative after-thought.


Aṣṭasāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā

This makes Aṣṭasāhasrikā clearly the oldest Prajñāpāramitā text. The Split Collection manuscript of Aṣṭasāhasrikā has been carbon-14 dated to 74 CE with a two-sigma range of 47-147 CE (Falk 2011: 20). This date is consistent with paleographic dating of the manuscript. Thus we can place the existence of a written text in the first century, but we don't know when it was first written down, or when it was first composed. 

Aṣṭasāhasrikā was first translated into Chinese in 179 CE by Lokakṣema (T 224). The procedure of subtracting a century or two from the date of the earliest Chinese translation was never credible, despite being widely applied. Note, for the record, that the oldest extant Pāli text is from the fifth or sixth century. Which makes the oldest physical evidence for Prajñāpāramitā some 300-400 years older than the oldest Pāli text. As far as I know, the idea that the Pāli canon was written down around the beginning of the Common Era first occurs in a fifth-century Sri Lankan text: the Mahāvaṃsa.

My sense of Aṣṭa is that the written text reflects an older, probably oral tradition. Everyone seems to agree that the first Chapter of Aṣṭa is likely older than the rest and possibly represents the "original" Prajñāpāramitā text. The first chapter has no narrative structure but is an episodic (almost disparate) collection of independent dialogues. Aṣṭa often seems like a roughly edited selection of brief stories featuring fragments of dialogues between figures that feature in early Buddhist texts.

The fragments in Aṣṭa show a clear affinity to ideas found in early Buddhist texts, suggesting that Prajñāpāramitā is conceptually much older than its oldest texts. Anālayo (2021) argues that the practice of withdrawing attention from sensory experience (so that it ceases) seems to predate Buddhism since this is precisely what the Buddha learns from his pre-awakening teachers: Āḷāra Kālama and Udaka Ramaputta.

Later chapters of Aṣṭa still lack any sense of narrative, except for the story of Sadāprarudita (Chapters 31 and 32), but are more thematically consistent. Huifeng's PhD thesis identified several "chiastic" structures in the earliest Chinese translation of Aṣṭa. A chiastic structure involves a mirror image. Topics are introduced from the beginning to the middle and then recapitulated in reverse order from the middle to the end. Huifant identified chiastic structures in Chapters 1 and 2 and in Sadāpraruidita chapters. He also proposes that the entire text has a chiastic structure. This conflicts with the broadly accepted notion that the text was built up piecemeal from a core variously said to comprise Chapters 1 and 2, just Chapter 1, or some part of Chapter 1. Joseph Walser (2018: 130-134) gives a good overview of the "quest for the ur-sūtra"

While I don't know enough to comment on this, it does seem to me that no chapter of Aṣṭa has just one topic.


Vajracchedikā Prajñāpāramitā

The Vajracchedikā—which Conze placed in a later period—is now widely believed to be from an earlier period. However, the rationale for this early dating is unclear and difficult to check. Curiously, Zacchetti's (2020) account of the Vajracchedikā ignores the issue of its place in Conze's chronology, which risks people interpreting this as approval. 

It seems likely that Vajracchedikā was initially considerably shorter since there is in fact a clear ending at verse 13a. More text seems to have been tacked onto the end, which fits the same pattern of evolution of other Prajñāpāramitā texts. 

Harrison (2006) does not mention dates, but merely alludes to comments made by Gregory Schopen (1975: 153):

It is, however, worth noting that a number of Japanese scholars have suggested a date for the Vaj which is considerably earlier than the one suggested by Conze, and that the exact nature of the relationship between the Vaj and the [Aṣṭa] is far from clear.

The main text then points to a footnote which lists several sources of interest:


Two of these sources are repeatedly cited by other scholars also.

Nakamura, H. (1964). "A Critical Survey of Mahāyāna and Esoteric Buddhism chiefly based on Japanese Studies." Acta Asiatica 6: 64-65.
Ui, Hakuju. (1958). "Chronological Survey of the Vajracchedikā-Prajñāpāramitā." Nagoya-Daigaku-Bungakubu Kenkyu-Ronshū XXI: 49-51.

Ui (1958) is not available in any UK library as far as I can see. Cambridge, Oxford, and SOAS libraries all have this periodical, but their runs are incomplete and Vol XXI is missing from all three. Cambridge also lacks the early numbers of Acta Asiatica. None of these is online as far as I can see. So as of today, I have been unable to consult any of these (I haven't given up).

The citation, "Trans, by Hanayama Shōyū, 'SVRPL' (cf. n. 8) 55-61." refers to

Hanayama, Shōyū 花山勝友. (1966) "A summary of various research on the Prajñāpāramitā literature by Japanese scholars." Acta Asiatica 10: 55-6

Again, I have yet to get access to this. Schopen notes that:

"Ui says 'judging from its contents, this sūtra gives us the impression that it is a very old sūtra" (p. 56); and "... the latest date of the establishment of the Diamond Sutra will be 200 A.D. or probably 150 A.D., though we cannot decide the earliest possible date of this sūtra" (p. 60)."

However, it's not clear on what basis Ui is making this judgement. Although the article is widely cited, no one seems to say what was Ui's rationale for this date. And I can't find any more recent research.

The first translation into Chinese is Kumārajīva's T235 Jīngāng bōrě bōluómì jīng «金剛般若波羅蜜經» in 402 CE. However, extant commentaries have been attributed to both Asaṅga and Vasubandhu. This would help except that the dates of these two are not certain and such attributions cannot be taken at face value: numerous texts are attributed to both of them apocryphally. Asaṅga is assumed to have lived in the fourth century. Jonathan C. Gold asserts that Vasubandhu lived in the late fourth or early fifth centuries (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy). But there does not seem to be any consensus on their dates.

So Vajracchedikā seems to have existed by the end of the fourth century. If there is evidence compelling us to push this date back, I cannot find it (yet). I occasionally correspond with Paul Harrison and I know that he is writing a book on Vajracchedikā and has his own ideas on dates, partly based on the Central Asian manuscripts. Nothing he has published so far makes this any clearer.

Note 5 Feb 2024. Harrison has responded to an email saying that he believes Vaj was originally composed in a Prakrit based on Central Asian fragments. And that composition in the second century, per Ui (1958), seems likely. 


Expansion

Dates for the composition of the extended Prajñāpāramitā texts, particularly Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā, are uncertain. There are two Chinese translations from the third century: Guāng zàn jīng «光讚經» (T 222) by Dharmarakṣa in 286 CE; and Fàng guāng bānrě jīng «放光般若經» (T221), by Mokṣala in 291 CE. The earliest Sanskrit witness is the Gilgit Manuscript dated to the sixth or seventh century.

Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā retains the basic organisational plan of Aṣṭa, and includes more or less all of the text, but intersperses new material that is twice the length of the shorter text. Jan Nattier (2003: 62, n. 19) has likened the process to slicing bread and filling the spaces.


Abbreviations

While Aṣṭasāhasrikā certainly underwent massive expansion, notably producing Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā, (and several variants) there never was a period of "abbreviation" of Prajñāpāramitā. No Indian text was ever abbreviated. The closest we get to this in Indian Buddhist literature is passages quoted in anthologies. 

Moreover, the Heart Sutra definitely does not fit Conze's paradigm since it was composed in China in the mid-650s. It is incorrect to think of Vajracchedikā as an "abbreviation". Rather it is a short text targeting a particular type of wrong view about the relation between experience and abstract concepts. 

It is not plausible to think of the short Tantric texts as "abbreviated" either. As with Vajracchedikā, these are not "abbreviations" because this would imply the existence of some longer text that they were abbreviations of. No such longer text exists. They are simply short texts composed by Tantric Buddhists, with a Prajñāpāramitā flavour to them.

In my view, the development of Madhyamaka metaphysics was a wholly separate and unrelated process, though the two do share some antecedents. The mythology linking Nāgārjuna to Prajñāpāramitā is a late tradition and not entirely coherent, given the strikingly different emphases and conclusions of the two traditions.


Provisional Revised Chronology

In retrospect, we can speculatively identify a zeroeth phase of Prajñāpāramitā, as found in texts such as the Cūḷasuññatā Sutta (MN 121) and the Kaccānagotta Sutta (SN 12.15). Prajñāpāramitā has numerous antecedents in early Buddhist literature and, if legends can be taken as indicative, this form of practice predates Buddhism. For example, the Ariyapariyesanā Sutta (MN 26) points to the Buddha learning precisely this style of meditation, aimed at the cessation of sensory experience, from his pre-enlightenment teachers.

There is a major caveat here. While we can identify antecedents to Prajñāpāramitā it is a mistake to think of these as proto-Prajñāpāramitā. The prefix proto- implies a teleology: the idea that these earlier ideas and practices necessarily became Prajñāpāramitā (and only Prajñāpāramitā). In fact, there is no such necessity, and these particular antecedents are also antecedent to other forms of Buddhism. Buddhism is notable for constantly diversifying into new forms and converging from time to time in new syntheses (on the limitations of the branching tree model of evolution compared to a braided stream model, see: Evolution: Trees and Braids 27 December 2013).

The first phase of Prajñāpāramitā literature proper is what we now call the Aṣṭasāhasrikā. The first Prajñāpāramitā text was likely considerably shorter (based on extant witnesses that grow over time) and was probably originally just called Prajñāpāramitā. Arguments about an ur-text underlying the extant manuscript witnesses are speculative. This period is likely still intimately connected with an ancient tradition of meditative practice focussed on attaining cessation and dwelling for long periods (up to seven days) in the absence of sensory experience. As noted, this approach has clear antecedents in early Buddhist texts and likely predates Buddhism (based on Buddhist accounts).

The second phase involves both the expansion of Aṣṭa and the composition of the Vajracchedikā. In the first case, the basic Prajñāpāramitā text (in roughly 8000 lines) was expanded into versions of 10,000, 18,000 and 25,000 lines, incorporating a great deal of new material as well as unpacking some of the abbreviated expressions. Contra Conze, I don't think this involved Abhidharma or "concessions to the Buddhism of faith". A subsequent expansion of the 25,000-line text to 100,000 lines did not add new material, but mainly consisted of a full and complete expansion of all the abbreviated expressions. If there was still a distinct Prajñāpāramitā practice community, it had begun to adopt an approach that was both more eclectic and more scholastic.

A third phase was the composition of commentaries such as the Abhisamayalaṅkāra and the Mahāprajñāpāramitopadeśa, which were highly influential in Tibet and China respectively. These commentaries are quite clearly scholastic rather than practical. Thus I assume that Prajñāpāramitā as a distinct form of practice is no longer visible, though I think some form of this practice probably still existed and was passed on within other traditions (I think here particularly of Mahāmudra).

The fourth and final phase reflected the absorption of elements of Prajñāpāramitā into Tantric Buddhism and the disappearance or submergence of any remnants of Prajñāpāramitā as a distinct approach to Buddhist practice. This coincides with the production of a number of short texts expressing a Tantric worldview and the emergence of Prajñāpāramitā as a Tantric deity. Whether these are really Prajñāpāramitā texts is moot and I am inclined to lump them with Tantra.

~~oOo~~


Bibliography

Anālayo. (2021) “Being Mindful of What is Absent.” Mindfulness 13: 1671-1678.

Conze, Edward. (1967). "The Development of Prajñāpāramitā Thought." In Thirty Years of Buddhist Studies, 123-147. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal. [First published In Buddhism and Culture, Dedicated to Dr. Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki in Commemoration of His Ninetieth Birthday, ed. S. Yamaguchi, 24–45. Kyoto: Suzuki Gakujutsu Zaidai].

———. (1978) The Prajñāpāramitā Literature. (2nd Ed.) Tokyo: The Reiyukai.

Falk, Harry. (2011). The ‘Split’ Collection of Kharoṣṭhī Texts. ARIRIAB XIV (2011), 13-23. https://www.academia.edu/3561702/split_collection

Nattier, Jan. (2003). A Few Good Men: The Bodhisattva Path according to The Inquiry of Ugra (Ugraparipṛcchā). Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press.

Schopen, G. (1975). "The phrase ‘sa pthivīpradeśaś caityabhūto bhavet' in the Vajracchedikā: Notes on the cult of the book in Mahāyāna." Indo-Iranian Journal 17(3/4): 147-181.

Walser, Joseph. (2018). Genealogies of Mahāyāna Buddhism: Emptiness, Power, and the Question of Origin. London and New York: Routledge.

Zacchetti, Stefano. (2020) “Prajñāpāramitā Sūtras.” In Brill's Encyclopedia of Buddhism Online, edited by Jonathan A. Silk, Oskar von Hinüber, and Vincent Eltschinger (Unpaginated). Leiden: Brill. https://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/encyclopedia-of-buddhism/prajnaparamita-sutras-COM_0017 [accessed 6 Sept 2023].

25 November 2022

On the Cognitive Linguistics of Emptiness

This essay applies an analytical method developed by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, especially as it occurs in the book Metaphors We Live By, originally published in 1981, with a revised edition 2003. I will also draw on their other published works, notably Lakoff (1987) and Johnson (1987). Lakoff and Johnson tell us that "cognitive metaphors" are ubiquitous in human language. These metaphors involve treating a target domain as if it were a member of the same category as the source domain. In these metaphors the source domain is usually some form of physical interaction that humans have with the objective world, and the target domain is some feature of cognition. In this way, cognitive metaphors are what enable us to think about the world in abstract terms. 

This is a modern form of philosophical analysis not available to the ancient world. So this type of analysis offers the possibility of new insights when applied to old discourses. This method has occasionally been applied to Buddhism in the past, though the application has been patchy and the methods involved have not become mainstream. In this essay, I am going to use the methods developed by Lakoff and Johnson to critique the abstract concept of "emptiness" as we mainly meet it in accounts of Buddhism. In this case, I'm not criticising any particular usage, but want to make some general points about the concept. 


Cognitive Metaphors

A metaphor involves treating one things as if it were another. In a series of five blog posts in 2016, I outline John Searle's account of social reality in which "as if" plays a major role (see Social Reality). In that account of social reality I noted that language is an institutional fact:

Language itself only works because of collective intentionality, i.e. we all agree that certain verbal sounds count as words; that certain words count as representing concepts; that certain combinations of words count as sentences, and so on. (Institutional Facts & Language: Social Reality. II).

What this means is that language relies on us all agreeing that a given word means what it means.  As Wittgenstein famously said, 

“For a large class of cases—though not for all—in which we employ the word “meaning” it can be defined thus: the meaning of a word is its use in the language.” (Wittgenstein 1967, section 43)

This is often abbreviated to "meaning is use". Individualism has a role to play in the evolution of language, especially where the individual is influential.  But, generally speaking, language relies on our collective agreement on what words mean (semantics) or do (pragmatics). Cognitive metaphors are no different; other people must understand our use of cognitive metaphors in order for us to communicate about abstractions. 

The metaphor relation is not arbitrary. It is not that anything can be anything. The relation requires that the target domain has some properties that make it a good candidate for metaphorical projection. I won't go more deeply into this since it involves invoking the image schema and explaining this is too involved for an essay like this one. The standard work on image schemas is still (as far as I know) Mark Johnson's book The Body in the Mind (1987). Suffice it to say that the target domain for the metaphor must be a good fit. 

For example, we may state a commonly used cognitive metaphor: IDEAS ARE OBJECTS. (I use Lakoff and Johnson's convention of citing metaphors in small caps). In this metaphor, the source domain is our physical interactions with objects, while the target domain is a subjective experience of thought. If we accept the metaphor IDEAS ARE OBJECTS, then any operation we can physically perform on an object we can perform mentally on an idea. If I can grasp an object, then under this metaphor I can grasp an idea, as if it were an object. I can turn an idea over and look at it from another angle. I can look at an idea from different angles. If I have more than one idea, I can juggle them. I can throw an idea out, toss it around, and kick it into the long grass. Virtually anything I can physically do with an object finds a metaphorical application to an idea under the cognitive metaphor, IDEAS ARE OBJECTS.

A poor metaphor might be IDEAS ARE COWBOYS. Cowboys ride, bait, and subdue semi-wild animals for entertainment. It's not clear in what way an idea is like a cowboy. This metaphor is not intuitive. Another one might be FISH ARE BICYCLES. Note that these propositions are not forbidden by the rules of English grammar. Still, they don't make for obvious metaphorical usage. The metaphor IDEAS ARE OBJECTS works because ideas have a limited scope, they can often expressible in a succinct way that makes each idea seem discreet from other ideas. Expressing the idea leads to a transfer of that discreet piece of knowledge to another person. It's not that an idea is an object, but that an idea is sufficiently like an object in specific ways. The similarity occurs at the level of "image schemas", which I'm trying to avoid for reasons of brevity. 

It may seem simplistic to labour the point, but I think it's worth saying that ideas are not real objects. In making the metaphor, we are not reifying the abstraction. Moreover, contrary to the prevailing view of humans amongst Buddhists, people are not easily fooled into reifying cognitive metaphors. It would be odd for a person to claim that ideas are objects in a substantial sense. We know this is not true. No one ever literally held an idea in the palm of their hand, for example. We know it's a metaphor and we intuitively deal with thousands of such metaphors every day. If we had to stop to analyse each one, abstract thought would not be possible.

Unlike a computing language I don't have to "declare" the metaphor before using it. We effortlessly decode hundreds and thousands of these cognitive metaphors on the fly without even noticing that we are doing it. When people are sitting around a table at a meeting and someone says, "we need to move on", and they change the subject rather than getting up and leaving the room, no one is surprised by this.

In this case, it is because we can form a cognitive metaphor: A CONVERSATION IS A JOURNEY. For example, we might be having a conversation and it "takes a turn" (perhaps a strange or unexpected turn, or a turn for the worse). Someone might wish to "return" to what was said earlier. If it's going badly, we might say "Let's start over". If the conservation was difficult but productive, we may say: "we got there in the end". When a conversation is at an impasse, we might say that we have to move on and leave the impasse unresolved. And a conversation may reach a natural conclusion: "let's stop there".

These cognitive metaphors are not incidental but rather they form an integral part of language use. The richness of our metaphorical use of language is part of what makes us human. Our ability to talk about one thing as if it were a member of a completely different class of thing is what distinguishes human communication from all other animals. Clearly, some animals and birds are capable of abstract thought to some extent. But they don't communicate in metaphors. We do. 

Once we get attuned to this idea of cognitive metaphors, we begin to see them everywhere. When I talk about typing on my keyboard (a physical act) and words appearing "on my screen" this is two cognitive metaphors: WORDS ARE OBJECTS and SCREENS ARE SURFACES. Of course the screen is literally a surface, but the words are not on it in a physical sense. I can't physically interact with words on a screen. Even on a touch screen that's not what is happening. Rather the patterns of light and dark created by pixels make words seem to appear on the screen, and electrical interactions between surface and finger help to create the illusion of physical interaction. At the end of the day there is dust and fingerprints on my screen, but no physical objects called "words". Still, all the verbs that can be used to describe interacting with objects on a surface, can now be applied to "words on a screen".

In order to get at the underlying metaphors involved in talking about emptiness in a Buddhist context, we have to consider the use of container metaphors.


Container Metaphors

A very common cognitive metaphor involves likening something to a container. For example, in English we have the metaphor: A BOOK IS A CONTAINER. A book can, for example, be filled with ideas (here again: IDEAS ARE OBJECTS). With this combination we make a complex source domain: putting objects into a container maps onto putting ideas or words into a book. We use the same verb in each case, but use it substantively on one hand and metaphorically on the other.

A very common metaphor in English is MIND IS A CONTAINER and more specifically, mind is a container of experiences. In this view, experience happens in the mind; experience is the content of the mind qua container of experiences. Interestingly, however, Indian Buddhists do not seem to have used a specific container metaphor that we take for granted: i.e. sensory experience is contained in the mind. In Buddhism, the mind (manas) is more like a translator that turns (physical) sensory experience into (mental) perception. An ancient Buddhist could not, for example, say something like "empty your mind" because this relies on the container metaphor and they did not conceive of the mind as a container or sensory experience as the content of the mind. They are more likely to use a surface metaphor for the mind, and to talk about sensory experience as a disturbance of that surface. They may also talk about a sensory event in terms of the sense organ being struck by the appearance of an object. Keeping in mind that "appearance" (rūpa) is to the eye as sound is to the ear.

Despite the fact that ancient Buddhists did not use the container metaphor for the mind, it is so ingrained in us as English speakers that it's almost impossible to not think of the mind as a container and sensory experience as the content. 

Given all this, what can we say about how to understand the term "emptiness" (Skt. śūnyatā)


Emptiness and Experience

The adjective "empty" and the abstract noun "emptiness" are part of the broader cognitive metaphor involving containers. There is no abstract "emptiness" in the absence of a container that could potentially contain something. Moverover, emptiness in the dictionary sense boils down to "the absence of content". "Emptiness" is defined by the Online Etymology Dictionary as "the state of containing nothing". Similarly Merriam-Webster defines emptiness as "containing nothing, not occupied or inhabited" and "lacking reality, substance, meaning, or value."

These definitions are curiously opposed to Buddhist definitions of "emptiness" which specifically state that it does not mean "void" or "nothingness". As one writer seeks to clarify:

"Emptiness is not complete nothingness; it doesn't mean that nothing exists at all. This would be a nihilistic view contrary to common sense." - Lewis Richmond.

In other words, in a Buddhist the concept "emptiness" does not mean emptiness, at least in any general sense. Rather it means, we are told, that things are not as they appear to us. It is the difference between appearance and reality. In which case, "emptiness" is obviously the wrong term for this concept. Still I want to press on and consider the cognitive metaphors that apply to our English word and circle back to the doctrinal mismatch.

Any given container—physical or metaphorical—may contain something or not, but to be a container it must potentially contain something. If a container contains anything, then it is not empty. If it contains nothing, it is empty. 

Note that this is unrelated to the expected content of the container. I drink my morning coffee from a teacup I like. The rest is in a thermos and stays hot. One could say that my cup is empty of tea, for example, but by being specific one falls down a rabbit hole. My cup may well be empty of tea, water, lime-juice, cooking oil, kerosene, and every other kind of liquid, but it presently is filled with coffee and thus my cup is not empty at all. This gives emptiness an important parameter. Emptiness tends to be an absolute: if my cup has any kind of content, then it is not empty. My cup is only empty when there is no liquid in it; i.e. when there is emptiness.

So far, so logical. But this is not how Buddhists, especially Mādhyamikas, use the termin practice. Mādhyamikas use the abstract noun "emptiness" in a concrete sense. The classic example is the statement "form is emptiness". This is a valid English sentence, but there is something wrong with it. Even when we take "form" to be "form in the abstract" (or matter generally as many Mādhyamikas do), this sentence is not logically valid because it is trying to equate two different levels of abstraction. "Form" here is generally taken to mean "phenomena". If the metaphor is FORMS ARE CONTAINERS then we might validly state that form is empty. 

There are several problems here. The first is that rūpa is (in English at least) not the container of experience, it is the content of experience (or part of it). Rūpa is to eye what sound is the ear. And note that this applies across the senses. Importantly, rūpa is to the eye as tangibles (spraśtavya) are to the body (kāya). Rūpa is on the wrong side of the equation to be equated with body, even metaphorically. In Chinese, rūpa is routinely translated as 色 "hue (from original meanings "form, appearance, complexion"); visual surface quality." (definition from Kroll). In Sanskrit, rūpa is typically a property of a surface reflecting light, it is not a metaphorical container. 

That said, there is no doubt that some modern Buddhists do take rūpa to mean "substance", "matter", or "body". We can see that this is incoherent even at face value since the word is neither defined that way nor used that way in ancient texts. Even the translation "form" misleads most English-speakers into thinking in substantive terms about rūpa. Rūpa means "appearance". Moreover, even if we invoke the container metaphor, it can't be applied to rūpa because rūpa is an element of experience, this is to say that rūpa is content. Ancient Buddhists preferred to see rūpa as a disturbance on the surface of the mind, but even in this metaphor, rūpa is not substantive.

The second problem is that even if rūpa were a container we could go as far as saying that it is empty if it did not contain anything. We could not logically assert that it is "emptiness". If emptiness is the absence of content and rūpa is content, then the two are logical contraries. Despite a great deal of hand waving in modern Buddhist philosophy, "form is emptiness" simply does not make sense in English. But then it doesn't make any more sense to state this in Sanskrit; rūpameva śūnyatā is still equating two different levels of abstraction. This is an egregious wrong turn in Buddhist philosophy.

I might never have thought of this had I not discovered that the phrase was not originally rūpaṃ śūnyatā "form is emptiness", but rūpaṃ māyā "appearance is illusion" (Attwood 2017). This equation occurs in Aṣṭa and in a few places in Pañc as well. It is clearly translated into Chinese by Kumārajīva as 色不異幻、幻不異色,色即是幻、幻即是色。 (e.g. at T 223, 8.239c6-7). Here huàn 幻 translates māyā "illusion", though it originally meant "creation" or the creative power of the devas to keep the world in harmony (ṛta). Given the long history of Buddhists comparing sensory experience to an illusion this makes perfect sense. A classic example of this is the Pheṇapiṇḍūpama Sutta, which concludes with a well-known verse:

Pheṇapiṇḍūpamaṃ rūpaṃ, vedanā bubbuḷūpamā /
Marīcikūpamā saññā, saṅkhārā kadalūpamā;
Māyūpamañca viññāṇaṃ, desitādiccabandhunā
(SN iii.142).
Appearance is like a ball of foam, valence like a bubble.
Recognition is like a mirage, volition like a plantain.
Discrimination is like an illusion. So Ādiccabandhu taught.

Here, Ādiccabandhu means the Buddha, but it is a distinctively Brahmin name completely unconnected to any of the standard myths of the Buddha. A similar verse occurs at the end of the Vajracchedikā, where the simile becomes a metaphor:

tārakā timiraṃ dīpo māyāvaśyāya budbudaḥ |
supinaṃ vidyud abhraṃ ca evaṃ draṣṭavya saṃskṛtam ||Vaj 22 || (Harrison and Watanabe 2006)
We should see the conditioned as a star, a kind of blindness, a lamp;
An illusion, a dewdrop, a bubble, a dream, a lightning flash, a cloud.

We also find the simile in Aṣṭa, “appearance is like an illusion” (māyopamaṃ rūpam. Vaidya 1960: 9). And this is all quite straightforward: experience and reality are not the same thing; different rules apply. 

There is a popular rhetorical strategy for dealing with "form is emptiness" amongst Buddhists which can be illustrated with a random example from the Tricycle website:

Avalokita found the five skandhas empty. But, empty of what? The key word is empty. To be empty is to be empty of something.

If I am holding a cup of water and I ask you, “Is this cup empty?” you will say, “No, it is full of water.” But if I pour out the water and ask you again, you may say, “Yes, it is empty.” But, empty of what? Empty means empty of something. The cup cannot be empty of nothing. “Empty” doesn’t mean anything unless you know empty of what. My cup is empty of water, but it is not empty of air. To be empty is to be empty of something. This is quite a discovery. When Avalokita says that the five skandhas are equally empty, to help him be precise we must ask, “Mr. Avalokita, empty of what?”

What we see here is a fantastic distortion of reality, leading to a false conclusion. It is nonsensical for you to ask me what my cup is empty of, because to be empty in any sense, it has to be empty of everything. As I noted above, my cup could be and regularly is empty of tea (and all other liquids) but full of coffee: in which case my cup is not empty at all. The conclusion here—“Empty” doesn’t mean anything unless you know empty of what—is simply not true. This is a case of the tail wagging the dog. That is to say, we know what the answer had to be in order to legitimise Buddhist dogma on emptiness, and the question is phrased in such as way as to elicit only that answer. But in doing so, Buddhists blithely defy the conventions of language. 

We can never legitimately ask "empty of what?" The question is meaningless and the answer is simply a restatement of a dogma that doesn't make any sense. The idea that "empty of what" is a natural question is either extraordinarily naive or disingenuous. Either way, Buddhists propagate this falsehood in all sincerity. 

This invalid method and false conclusion are often parlayed into an even worse question using the abstract noun: "emptiness of what?" Such a thing is not allowed under English grammar. Emptiness is emptiness. "Of what" is an entirely meaningless question because if the answer is not "everything", then the vessel is not empty at all. 

We do sometimes suggest that emptiness might have degrees.  For example, we may say that a cup may be half full or half empty. Still, it's only from the point of view of being half full that we can ask "of what?" The "of what?" question only applies to the content of the container. An empty container has no content; a half empty container is half empty of all content. Even if we say the glass is half empty, no one in their right mind asks "Half empty of what?". This is simply not how the container metaphor works. 

We can see that the cognitive linguistic perspective is a powerful method for understanding utterances. But it also highlights how dogmatic the Buddhist discourse on emptiness is. This kind of invalid logic is de rigueur for Buddhist philosophy and is almost never questioned or critiqued: either from within or without. Rather such views are carefully curated by Buddhists, in the sense of being framed as deep truths, discovered by visionaries and mystics, and accompanied by frenzied hand waving so that they can be presented as something they are not, i.e. true. This is what we expect of a religious philosophy or theology. There are axioms that cannot be questioned or the whole thing would fall apart. The fabric of Madhyamaka is held together with unquestioned, religiously inspired, axioms. 

The same argument holds for Sanskrit which has identical cognitive metaphors. In Sanskrit it is nonsensical to say rūpaṃ śūṇyatā, but it is sensible to say rūpaṃ māyā, and even better to say rūpaṃ māyopamaṃ "appearance is like an illusion"

So my, rather awkward conclusion is this: Buddhists don't seem to understand the concept of empty, let alone the concept of emptiness. If they did understand, the question "empty of what?" would never occur to them. Worse, Buddhists routinely insist that this flawed concept of emptiness is what makes sense of Prajñāpāramitā. Two wrongs don't make a right. 

In this case, how should we understand the word emptiness?


Making Sense of Emptiness

The key here is to note that the first use of śūnyatā as a technical term is to refer to the state of meditative concentration in which all sensory experience has ceased due to the withdrawal of attention from the senses. This state is called suññatāvihāra or śūnyatāsamādhi. Since sensory experience is dependent on attention (manasikāra), by practising non-attention (amanasikāra), one prevents sensory experience from arising and causes arisen sensory experience to cease. 

Here, sensory experience can be seen as the content of experience or, in Buddhist terms as a distortion of the (naturally) smooth surface of the mind. As such, sensory experience may be present or absent and even admit degrees of these. Hence, between ordinary waking awareness and emptiness there are numerous stages (āyatana) of increasingly attenuated sensory experience. But here, too, absence is absolute; the presence of an any sensory experience means that emptiness doesn't apply. This point is made repeatedly in the Aṣṭasāhasrikā, for example. Emptiness in this case, is the complete absence of sensory experience. 

There are several Buddhist approaches to analysing the content of experience: a range of reductive ontologies into which experience is analysed. For example, the skandha-ontology, which focuses on the processes that give rise to experience, or the dhātu-ontology, which is focussed on the sense faculties and their objects. Mainstream Buddhism foregrounds this reductive, analytic approach of breaking experience down into simpler components in order to eliminate it as a source of absolute being. That complex objects disappear under analysis is not some great metaphysical truth, it is simply a consequence of methodological reductionism. 

If I dismantle my chariot, of course I no longer have a working chariot because I've just broken it on purpose. Who does that? Why would I want to dismantle a working chariot in the first place? And why would my destruction of the thing constitute proof that it never existed in the first place? This is the claim that many Buddhists make but, again, it is nonsensical.   

Prajñāpāramitā Buddhists, building on a tradition that is probably older than Buddhism itself, sought first to bring sensory experience to a halt. They didn't analyse sensory experience in any depth because the acme of their program was not an insight into sensory experience. What they sought, first and foremost, was an insight into death and rebirth. The whole fetish of emptiness was originally established on the analogy of emptiness with death. Mastery (vidyā) over sensory experience, in the form of the ability to voluntarily make it stop, equated to mastery over repeated death. This mastery was and is the driving force of Buddhism, even when it is buried in centuries of intellectual accretion. 

My current thinking is that the discovery of how to do this probably arose around the same time as major socio-political changes in India, reflected in, for example, the replacement of red and black pottery type by the painted grey ware style of pottery. Within a few centuries we see the emergence of walled city states which are stable for some 200-300 years before the Moriyan Dynasty of Magadha overwhelmed all the others, founding the first pan-Indian empire. One possible source of mind-training techniques that limit sensory experience is the "interiorisation" of Brahmanical rituals. In this development, some Brahmins began to perform their daily rituals in imagination rather than physically. This led to the discovery of radical changes in sensory experience, especially in the form of hallucinations due to sensory deprivation, and ultimately to the cessation and absence of sensory experience. By the time the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad was composed (in or around the Kingdom of Kosala) the correct performance of rituals was being linked to one's afterlife destination. Buddhists and Jains had similar ideas but focussed on actions more generally, with Buddhists refining this to just volitional actions. 

However it happened, it is apparent that in this milieu some religieux developed and shared the techniques that allowed them to bring sensory experience to a halt and to dwell in a state in which there is awareness but no content. Some Buddhists called this "emptiness" (śūnyatā). Other Buddhists called it "extinction"(nirvāṇa) and other names. This state is also known in modern times as "contentless awareness", "minimal phenomenal awareness", or "non-dual awareness". 

This is how I presently understand "emptiness" in Prajñāpāramitā.  I believe this is a better approach than anything based in later traditional interpretations based on the Madhyamaka telos (which sees Prajñāpāramitā merely as proto-Madhyamaka). 



Dharma as Container?

One of the key concepts in Madhyamaka is "the emptiness of dharmas". In this usage, dharmas have to be considered as metaphorical containers. The broader translation of dharmas as "phenomena" (as distinct from noumena; i.e. appearances rather than reality) seems to fit here, but what is the content of  a phenomenon? Is there really any phenomenon that is not sensory experience?

Nāgārjuna tells us that he expects that we will expect a dharma to have svabhāva in the sense of being autopoietic or self-creating. Nāgārjuna points out that this self-creating property of dharmas cannot exist in any changeable phenomenon. So far so good. The problem is that no one ever believed in self-creating dharmas. No one ever proposed this before Nāgārjuna. But he said that everyone believed it. Nāgārjuna appears to have lied about this. What puzzles me is that no one really cares about the lie. Many people seem to prefer this lie. 

The svabhāva of a dharma, according to Abhidharma lore, is the sui generis quality that gives us the ability to identify it. For example, it's important to all Buddhists to distinguish skillful (kuśala) motivations (cetanā) from unskillful (akuśala) ones. If I experience a moment of greed or generosity, I identify it as such by introspecting the content of the experience. The fact that I can identify an experience as motivated by greed or generosity doesn't imply anything like Nāgārjuna's autopoietic dharmas. As far as I can see, there is no way to even infer autopoietic dharmas from any early Buddhist doctrine. We have different kinds of experiences and these are identifiable by certain characteristics. No one disputes this, not even Nāgārjuna. 

However, Nāgārjuna also assumes that to be real a dharma must have svabhāva in his autopoietic sense. This axiom is incoherent, but is blindly accepted by all and sundry; even Graham Priest, the academic logician, seems to fail to see this basic logical error in Nāgārjuna's argument. Since he can (trivially) prove that no dharma can be autopoietic, he then deduces that dharmas are not real, that they don't exist. But this definition of "real" is completely incoherent. Not only did Buddhists never use this definition of real, they weren't even interested in the question of the reality or unreality of dharmas. They were interested in the arising and ceasing of dharmas; especially in the light of a state in which all dharmas cease except for the asaṃskṛtadharma, i.e. emptiness. Emptiness is asaṃskṛta because it does not occur due to the presence of a condition but rather occurs when all conditions for sensory experience are absent. 

In order to square the circle, Nāgārjuna has to introduce the nonsense idea of a "relative truth", which is not true at all. The ultimate truth, in this view, is that dharmas don't exist, because they are not self-creating. I can see no good reason to take Nāgārjuna seriously as a philosopher or even, frankly, as a Buddhist. He seems to have entirely missed the point of Buddhism and has gone off on a tangent. And still, he is routinely cited as "the most important Buddhist philosopher". 


Conclusion

The term "emptiness" is generally used in an incoherent way by Buddhists, especially in statements containing the idea "emptiness of...". We can never legitimately ask "empty of what?" let alone "emptiness of what?" because this is not how the container metaphor works. 

The idea that the proposition "form is emptiness" is meaningful now seems doubtful. Moreover, when we look at the kinds of post hoc arguments put forward to justify this proposition, they simply don't make sense. In addition, we know that it used to make sense when presented in the form: "appearance is an illusion." A sensory experience is like an illusion. I doubt anyone would argue with this.

It is also true that in the state called "emptiness" there are no dharmas because that state occurs only when all dharmas have ceased and no new dharmas are arising. This sense of the term is far more coherent than the general religious consensus that emptiness is reality. 

The incoherence reaches its apotheosis in Madhyamaka rhetoric about the emptiness of dharmas, by which Mādhyamikas mean that they think dharmas don't exist, since they tie existence to self-creation and it is trivial to show that dharmas cannot be self-creating. Nāgārjuna insists on an incoherent definition of what "real" means and uses that to argue that the concept of existence is incoherent. Prior to Nāgārjuna no one ever used this definition of real. Apart from his devotees, most Buddhists still don't use this definition. 

The standard ways we have of talking about this all seem to miss the point. Early Buddhists did not venture opinions on the existence or nonexistence of dharmas, except in the case of the sarvāsti doctrine. Even the Sarvāstivādins did not argue that the existence of dharmas was due to self-creation. The logic of sarvāsti is completely different but not difficult to follow. If a past dharma can be the cause of a present effect, then the doctrine of dependent arising itself says that it presently exists since imasmin sati, idaṃ hoti and imasmin asati, idaṃ na hoti. If the dharma doesn't exist now, then it cannot be a factor in the arising of a dharma in the present. This central argument is not even considered by Nāgārjuna, let alone refuted. 

The nature of dharmas is irrelevant in light of the fact that dharmas arise and cease, depending on where our attention goes. To say that dharmas lack svabhāva in Nāgārjuna's sense is trivial. To say that they have svabhāva in the Abhidharma sense is also trivial since we routinely recognise hundreds of different kinds of experience (for which we have thousands of words). The key to understanding Prajñāpāramitā lies in another direction entirely. The main point is that attention can be withdrawn from sensory experience. When we withdraw attention from sensory experience, it ceases, leaving us in a particular state characterised by some kind of basic awareness without any experiential content. That is, in a state of emptiness.

While it is not essential to my critique of Madhyamaka, it helps to understand the cognitive metaphors of emptiness and how cognitive metaphors function generally. This is so because "the emptiness of dharmas" is a cognitive metaphor: DHARMAS ARE CONTAINERS. But this is only true if dharmas exist and are capable of acting as metaphorical containers.

Still, it is only Madhyamakas who believe that in order to exist, to be real, a dharma must be self-creating. "Self-creation" is an odd choice for the content of that container. I can imagine a thing being self-creating, but I cannot imagining a thing containing self-creation. Self-creation doesn't fit the cognitive metaphor. 

So even if we could legitimately ask "empty of what?" the answer "empty of self-creation" is nonsense on several levels. For example, it would require us to relate to "self-creation" as content. To my mind this simply doesn't work. "Self-creation" is not a suitable target for the source domain of things we put in containers, except in the very broadest sense that IDEAS ARE OBJECTS. The idea of self-creation might be the content of a metaphorical container, the fact of self-creation cannot be.  

On the other hand, the emptiness of the mind, i.e. the concept of the absence of mental content in meditation, is not plagued by these inconsistencies and incoherences. In English it is natural to use the container metaphor for this. It is not so natural in scriptural languages, but, nevertheless, the absence of dharmas in meditation is the key concept here, not the absence of being self-creating. The whole idea of self-creating dharmas is a red herring. 

The metaphysical speculations that attract us as explanations for emptiness are largely based on prior indoctrination. In my reading, such speculations are absent from both early Buddhism and Prajñāpāramitā. This is not to say that metaphysics is generally absent from or irrelevant to Buddhism.  All ancient Buddhists believed in karma and rebirth, for example. These involve commitments to metaphysical views that we now know to be false, though few Buddhists will admit to this. 

The methods of cognitive linguistics are a powerful tool for thinking critically about Buddhist doctrines. That said, most existing applications of these methods have been in the service of tradition, i.e. used purely descriptively by scholars who have no interest in critiques of Buddhist philosophy. Whatever the reason for it, this side-stepping manoeuvre allows those people to continue evangelising for traditional Buddhism without ever confronting the inevitable antinomies between Iron Age or Medieval thought in India and present day science and philosophy. Many Buddhists seem attracted by the idea of subsuming all knowledge within Buddhism. This tends to involve a rather blasé form of dualism in which science is merely concerned with the "physical" and Buddhism is concerned something that we often see called "spiritual".

Unfortunately, this exceptionalist discourse appears to obscure and devalue the real contribution of Buddhists, i.e. the cultivation and exploration of states of contentless awareness. I see this as a lose-lose scenario. I see the neuroscience community studying this phenomenon and developing their own terminology for it, though at present we still see a proliferation of different terminologies. At some point, an objective account of the methods and consequences of meditation will eclipse the religious accounts. Those who insist on the religious accounts, with all their incoherence and misdirection, will be relegated out of the conversation and become irrelevant. I'd prefer to see experienced meditators staying in the game, but as long as they cling to outmoded forms of talking about emptiness, they will not be part of the conversation for much longer. 


~~oOo~~

Bibliography

Attwood, J. (2017). "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/issue/view/15/showToc.

Johnson, Mark. (1987). The Body in the Mind: The Bodily Basis of Meaning, Imagination and Reason. University of Chicago Press.

Lakoff, George. (1987). Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal About the Mind. University of Chicago Press.

Lakoff, G. & Johnson, M. (2003). Metaphors We Live By. New Ed. [Originally published 1981]. University of Chicago Press.

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