09 August 2013

The Doors to the Deathless

Siddhaṃ calligraphy of the 
Lalitavistara Sūtra version of the verse
[Updated 30 Aug 2013 with suggestions and corrections from Bhikhhu Ānandajoti (AJ)]

One of the well known archetypal events in the life story of the Buddha is his meeting with Vedic god Brahmā after his Awakening. The episode occurs in Pāli in the Ariyapariyesanā Sutta which is considered by many scholars to contain an archaic version of the life-story which is missing many later elements (see The Buddha's Biography). Here Brahmā is called Brahmā Sahampati 'Lord of All'(?), though elsewhere the epithet Sahampati is dropped.

In the episode, the Buddha, thinking about how he might convey what he has discovered, appears to be reluctant to try to teach it. Brahmā appears to him to ask him to teach, because, though many will not understand, there are some people who will. It is quite an evocative image: the creator god of the Brahmanical religion (of the day) begging the Buddha to teach what we now think of as Buddhism. 

This episode has been studied in detail by a number of scholars, most recently by my colleague Dhīvan Thomas Jones in his article 'Why Did Brahmā Ask the Buddha to Teach?' (2009). It was looking at his article that drew my attention to one particularly interesting verse that recurs in several places. All three versions are in triṣṭubh (P. tuṭṭhubha) metre, which has 11 syllables in 3 measures of 4:3:4.* Those who aren't interested in detailed analysis of grammar and metre can skip to the conclusions which discuss the verse in terms of cladistic thinking.


Aryapariyesanā Sutta. MN 26, PTS i.170 (Ap)
apārutā tesaṃ amatassa dvārā
ye sotavanto pamuñcantu saddhaṃ
vihiṃsasaññī pagunaṃ na bhāsiṃ
dhammaṃ paṇītaṃ manujesu brahme' ti
The doors of the deathless are opened for them,
Let those who listen renounce the funeral rites.
Familiar with their vicious minds, I did not speak,
The lofty Dhamma amongst human beings, O Brahma.

Metre

^ - ^ - | - - ^^| - ^ - -
- - ^ - | - ^ - | - ^ - -
^ - ^ - | - ^ ^ | - ^ - -
- - ^ - | - ^ | - ^ - -

^ = light syllable
- or ^^ = heavy syllable
Context tells us that lines cd represent the hesitation to teach and lines ab represent the resolution to teach or as the metaphor has it, to open the doors to the deathless. This verse has counterparts in the Lalitavistara Sūtra and the Mahāvastu, both composed in Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit and thus giving us an interesting contrast.


Lalitavistara Sūtra (Lv 25.34)
apāvṛtās teṣām amṛtasya dvārā
brahman ti satataṃ ye śrotavantaḥ |
praviśanti śraddhā naviheṭhasaṃjñāḥ
śṛṇvanti dharmaṁ magadheṣu sattvāḥ ||
The doors the deathless are opened,
Always for those who listen, O Brahma.
Those with faith and peaceful thoughts enter,
The beings of Magadha listen to the doctrine.

Metre

^ - ^ - | - - ^^| - ^ - -
- - ^ ^ | ^ - - | - ^ - -
- ^ - ^ | - - ^^| - ^ - -
- - ^ - | - ^ ^ | - ^ - -
Lv has the same triṣṭubh metre as Ap, with minor variations. 


Mahāvastu (Mv iii.319)
apāvṛtaṃ me amṛtasya dvāraṃ
brahmeti bhagavantaṃ ye śrotukāmā
śraddhāṃ pramuṃcantu viheṭhasaṃjñāṃ |
 
viheṭhasaṃjño praguṇo abhūṣi
dharmo aśuddho magadheṣu pūrvaṃ ||
The doors to the deathless are opened,
O Brahmā, let those who wish to hear the Blessed One
Give up the funeral rites and harmful thoughts.  
Well acquainted with vicious thoughts, unadorned.
Formerly there was an impure Dharma amongst the
    Magadhans

Metre

^ - ^ - | - ^ ^ | - ^ - -
- - ^ ^^| - - - | - ^ - -
- - ^ - | - ^ ^ | - ^ - -

^ - ^ - | - ^ ^ | - ^ - ^
- - ^ - | - ^ ^ | - ^ - -
Once again the metre is triṣṭubh, though here extended to five lines. Re the middle measure of line 2 AJ says "is highly unusual, and probably impossible, as three heavies do not appear in the break".

Ap and Lv are more or less identical in line a, taking into account spelling differences between Pāli and Sanskrit. Mv mirrors these two but has the first person instrumental pronoun me instead of the genitive/dative third person plural pronoun tesaṃ/tesāṃ. In Ap and Lv the doors were open "for them" and in Mv "by me". The metric pattern of all three is triṣṭubh, but, whereas in Lv and Ap resolve on heavy syllable as two light (a mṛ and a ma), Mv must take a mṛ as two light syllables. Thus the Mv version fits the metre more naturally that Ap or Lv. In fact if we changed tesaṃ to me in Ap then the metre of the verse would be more symmetrical - lines a and c, and b and d having identical patterns.

In all cases the conjunct consonant dv fails to 'make position' or cause the preceding syllable to be heavy. I'm less sure about Sanskrit metre even than Pāli, but I suspect this is an artefact of the underlying Prakrit in the Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit. 

In line two Ap and Lv refer to 'those who have ears' (sotavanto/śrotavantaḥ), i.e. those willing to listen, however they diverge quite a bit otherwise. In Lv the statement (marked by 'ti' at the end) is concluded and the Buddha tells Brahma that the way is always (satataṃ) open. This addition creates downstream effects which will be discussed below. Mv changes śrotavantaḥ to śrotukāmā 'those who desire to hear'. Since the Mv poet here has exchanged satataṃ 'always' for bhagavantaṃ, the two light syllables in bhaga resolve as one heavy syllable.

A significant difference creeps into Lv at this point. Where Ap and Mv have pamuñcantu and pramuṃcantu 'they should give up' (in the imperative mood), Lv changes the verb to praviśanti 'they enter' (present indicative) and the meaning of the sentence is changed considerably. What is more, the verb in the plural is in a line with two words in the nominative plural, forcing us to read them as adjectives or predicates of an implied subject 'they': i.e. "those who have faith and not vicious thoughts". Presumably the composer of Lv thought of the faithful entering the doors to the deathless.

In Ap and Mv what should be given up is saddhā/śraddhāOften we would translate saddhā as 'faith', but here K.R. Norman (2001) has suggested that saddhā refers to the Brahminical funeral rites. These rites, which include being cremated according to specific instructions, are intended to assure the rebirth of the Brahmin in heaven.** Certainly it would be strange if the Buddha were suggesting giving up faith! Ñānamoḷi and Bodhi here have "let those with ears show their faith". They must be reading pamuñcati as "to let loose, give out, emit". The Sanskrit root is √muc - 'to free', and the prefix pra- indicates the forward direct: hence 'let loose'. This is a valid translation also.

The context supports the reading as "renounce the funeral rites" because the deathless or undying (amata/amṛta = Latin im-morta-) is a Vedic idiom. At least in some cases it is precisely the amṛta , i.e. an end to repeated death in saṃsāra that is sought by Brahmins in their funeral rites. This is reinforced because the Buddha is speaking to Brahmā, the creator god of the Brahmins (seen in crude terms anyway). But the ambiguity remains.

Sanskrit viheṭhasaṃjñāṃ is synonymous with Pāli vihiṃsasaññī (though there is a closer Pāli equivalent in viheṭhasaññā) and in the phrase vihiṃsasaññī paguṇaṃ is often rendered as "perceiving trouble". However 'trouble' hardly seems a sufficient translation of vihiṃsa, which means: 'hurting, injuring, cruelty, injury'; whereas viheṭha (from the verb viheṭheti) is 'to be hostile, to oppress, to bring into difficulties, to vex, to annoy, plague, hurt'. In Pāli a saññin is 'one who perceives, a perceiver', however in Lv the compounds ends with -saṃjñāḥ and Mv -saṃjñāṃ neither of which adds the possessive -in ending though it is available in Sanskrit. I would read the Pāli vihiṃsasaññī as 'one whose thoughts are vicious', and the Sanskrit as simply 'thoughts of cruelty'. 

Here Ap and Mv has a word missing from Lv: paguṇa (Skt. praguṇa) 'well acquainted'. In the narrative context we know that the Buddha has been considering whether or not he could teach what he has discovered and some dramatic tension is built up by his first opinion that people won't get it. He is well acquainted with their vicious minds (vihiṃsasaññī paguṇa) thus he concludes it is hopeless to teach them. The lack of this word praguṇa drastically changes the sense of the passage - leaving the poet of Lv with this word viheṭhasaṃjñāṃ to be fitted in somehow.

Where in Ap it seems natural to take vihiṃsasaññī in line c, by including satataṃ in line b, Lv pushes the replacement verb praviśanti into line c. While "entering faith" makes good sense, it requires a further change because the next word is P vihiṃsa-saññī or S. viheṭha-saṃjñā 'vicious thoughts' and if one is 'entering' instead of 'renouncing' then it requires the vicious thoughts to be negated. Hence Lv has na viheṭhasaṃjñā 'not vicious thoughts', or 'peaceful thoughts'. Furthermore Lv has saddhā and viheṭhasaṃjñā in the nominative case when they are in the accusative in both Mv and Ap.

So in Ap saddhā is the patient of the verb pamuñcantu but vihiṃsasaññin forms part of a sub-clause in a different sentence. In Lv na viheṭhasaṃjñāḥ and saddhāḥ are predicates of an implied subject of the substituted verb praviśanti. (Note we should almost certainly read praviśantī to correct the metre. AJ) And in Mv viheṭhasaṃjñāṃ and śraddhaṃ are both patients of pramuṃcantu. Ap seems more natural than either Lv or Mv in this case.

It's possible here that the author of Lv heard pamuñcantu saddhā and thought it could only be understood as 'abandon faith'. And thus emended the verb to praviśanti, and then realised that a further change was required. Holding the changes within a metrically constrained context meant that the changes became even more significant.

Finally where Ap has vihiṃsasaññī pagunaṃ na bhāsiṃ 'familiar with their vicious minds I did not speak'; Mv has 'viheṭhasaṃjño praguṇo abhūṣi' 'familiar with their vicious minds, unadorned'. The difference is between na bhāsim 'I did not speak' (aorist first person singular from √bhāṣ 'to speak') and abhūṣi 'unadorned' (from √bhūṣ 'to adorn'). The word unadorned does not fit here, and the case or conjugation is unclear (if a verb the a- prefix would indicate past-tense rather than negation). Metrically, the final syllable is anceps, i.e. can be heavy or light, and here ṣi is light. This is allowed, however all the other lines end with heavy syllables. The two words bhāsiṃ and bhūṣi are very similar and would have been written in very similar ways in early manuscripts. The Classical Sanskrit past imperfect of √bhāṣ would be abhāṣani or aorist abhāṣi. Given that Mv is written in a Hybridised Sanskrit it's likely here that abhūṣi is a scribal error for Prakrit na bhāsiṃ. Note that Lv makes no mention of the preliminary decision not to teach in this verse.

There are further changes that could be commented on. We could remark on the change from "Magadhans" to "manuja" (men) in Pāli, if that was the direction of change. We might also reflect on the way that the Dharma is worked into the last lines as something the Buddha almost did not speak (P), something the Magadhans listened to (Lv) or something that pre-existed in impure form (Mv). But in terms of the kinds of processes which are at work in the production of variant texts, we have plenty to think about already and I want to offer some concluding thoughts. 


Thinking Cladistically

This verse seems to have existed independently of all the extant written texts. The fact that the metre is triṣṭubh in all three cases above suggests that the verse was originally in this metre, and the similarity of the first line suggests that it must have been in the original, though perhaps with the pronoun me instead of tesaṃ. Probably the third line of Ap (fourth in Mv) was in the original as well.

However, as Dhīvan makes clear in his article what we have here are three versions of a verse that pre-dates all three texts. Lv and Mv are not thought to have evolved from the Pāli. The stemma, or original text, is no longer extant and what we have are three refractions of the original through three different prisms. Where "prism" is a metaphor for culture, language, and the predilections of the author/editor. The study of the differences is interesting, even if it does not contain profound insights into the Dharma. It illustrates an aspect of the nature of the Buddhist literature. 

If we focus on one of the bodies of Buddhist literature (say the Pāli, though I believe the Pāli Canon consolidates multiple lines of textual development) then we can start to see it as 'original' or 'authentic' at the expense of the others. But this is a distortion. While it is true that some texts are more elaborate than others (certainly the hagiography of the Buddha in the Lv and Mv are very much elaborated compared with similar material found in Pāli) we cannot say that one is closer to the original text that others. Mv and Lv are, generally speaking, no less authentic representations of Buddhist thought than Ap is, despite some indications that they might have mangled this particular verse more than Ap. 

The antidote for this hierarchical thinking is to see things in a cladistic way. This way of thinking derives from evolutionary biology. Traditionally, in the wake of (culturally) Christian scientists, we see nature in terms of hierarchies of increasing complexity and perfection. Some of us may see humans, for example, as the top of the evolutionary ladder (as it is sometimes called). Hence also the cult-like interest in apex predators, especially those of a solitary nature such as great white sharks or tigers. However, some evolutionary biologists point our that every living thing we encounter today has been evolving for about 3.5 billion years and thus all organisms are equally evolved. Some of the simplest and seemingly 'primitive' organisms are far better fitted to their ecological niche than we are. When humans as a species are long gone, bacteria that have hardly changed for 3.5 billion years will continue to thrive. The life we encounter can certainly be divided up into categories or 'clades' for the purposes of study, but as we abandon anthropocentrism we can also abandon the false hierarchy we have imposed on species. Indeed Lynn Margulis argued that 'primitive' bacteria are all able to exchange genetic material and thus ought to be considered one species that is massively diversified. Also they always cooperate in colonies of mixed varieties and in many ways are hardly less complex than we are. Genetically speaking the bacteria that hitchhike on our bodies, often playing vital roles in maintaining our bodies, have several orders of magnitude more genes than our own cells. 

We may also say that all forms of Buddhism currently extant are equally developed though some forms have features that others lack. Buddhism thus exists in a variety of clades, but all forms of Buddhism presently being practised are equidistant from the origins of the religion. With texts we know that they were composed at particular times and thus can be formed into rough chronological order, though this is complicated because the act of composition and the act of writing down often occurred several centuries apart. Additionally writing down was not always the end of the changes that occurred in texts. Chronology, even when we can establish it with any certainty, does not necessarily correlate with authenticity or originality.

In the case of the texts studied in this essay, Ap, Lv and Mv were all written down at around the same time. Thus while we can consider them as occupying different clades, the written texts we are looking at all date from roughly the first century BCE. There is also a minority opinion that the Pāli texts date from a much later period. We have Chinese translations of counterparts of these particular texts dating from the second century CE, so it's possible that the written texts were not created until shortly before the transmission to China (possibly for this express purpose?)

Compared with a large body of literature the idea that such picayune details as I have examined here, in a single verse, are important can seem unconvincing. We may want to take in the majestic sweep of the canonical narratives of Buddhism and forget about the minutia. However unless we understand that our the texts, and the very ideas that are contained in them, are subject to various kinds of change over time, and some quite mundane changes at that, then we might make the mistake of seeing this literature in idealistic terms. Typically religious people come to see their texts as eternal or infallible. But texts are never eternal or infallible. They are cultural productions with all the limitations of their human authors and transmitters (including editors and commentators). 

As religieux we might not want to admit to the humanity of our texts. Too many Buddhists want to see the texts as "the Word of the Buddha" in the same way that fundamentalist Christians see the Bible as 'the Word of God'. But these texts are not the word of the Buddha. They are the words of Buddhists. Good words in many cases, beautiful and inspiring. Though in other cases confused, obscure and dull. Perhaps these words were inspired by stories of meetings with the Buddha that were preserved for centuries by devotees. Even so they are third hand at best.

This is not to say that we should not be inspired by the idea that the doors to the deathless are open. I recall the hairs standing up on the back of my neck and a moment awe when I first heard these words spoken aloud (and interestingly from an historical perspective I heard them from someone called Aśvajit). As far as I can see, if we live as though there were 'doors to the deathless' and that they are open to anyone who will harken to the ideals of Buddhism, then we might live well. The way to the deathless is through practising the Buddhist virtues of generosity, kindness, awareness, etc. And if the deathless is just a fairy story, then at least we can be sure that practising these virtues makes the world a better place. We need not become fundamentalists or indulge in the triumphalism that so often disfigures Buddhist discourse in order to practice these virtues, but we will need inspiration and perseverance. And it is often from telling, and listening to, stories that humans derive inspiration and find the courage to persevere.

~~oOo~~


Note

* My thanks to Bhikkhu Anandajyoti for his work on Pāḷi metres and for some pointers on the meter of this verse in correspondence. 

** In fact I over simplify her for brevity's sake. The goals of the rites change over time and summarising them would take too long, and not be of much relevance to the main point.


Bibliography

19 July 2013

Translation Strategies.

In June 2012 I had a crack at translating a difficult passage from the Cūḷa-Māluṅkya Sutta (MN 63), and presented some detailed notes in an essay titled Irrelevant Details. I'm in the process of writing this up for publication. In my forthcoming article I compare a number of versions of this text. The Canonical Pāli in it's various recensions (but mainly the PTS and CST versions); three English translations by I. B. Horner, Bodhi & Ñāṇamoli (Ñ&B), and Rupert Gethin; and two Chinese counterparts 箭喻經 Jiàn yù jīng (Arrow Metaphor Sūtra),  T 1.26 ( MĀ 221), and 佛說箭喻經 Fú shuō jiàn yù jīng (The Buddha’s Talk on the Arrow Metaphor SūtraT 1.94. (In the previous essay I only compared the Chinese text of T 1.94). I've also consulted in passing two other translations by Piya Tan and Thanissaro. I have of course produced my own translation of this text. And I make use of Buddhaghosa's all too brief commentary in the Papañcasūdanī (Ps) or Commentary on the Majjhima Nikāya (Majjhimnikāyaṭṭhakathā). 

Horner's translation is from the 1950s, Ñ&B's from 2001, and Gethin's from 2008. MĀ 221 was translated from a Prakrit (probably Gāndārī) original in 398 and T 1.94 some time in the Eastern Jin Dynasty (317–420 CE). 

The passage I studied previously is interesting from a linguistic point of view because it deals with a rare topic in Pāli, i.e. the details of archery. The paragraph in question contains three hapax legomena - words that only occur once in the Canon. None of these words are clarified by the commentary, and in at least one case that Buddhaghosa does not know what the word means, and he's silent about the other two. The text also contains other terms that are obscure. Thus, this passage provides the ideal laboratory for observing the translator's response to lexical items that are not in the lexicon. 

I dealt the the issue of the word sithilahanu in some detail in Irrelevant Details. It comes at the end of a list of birds which might be considered to donate feathers to fletch the arrow. Buddhaghosa with almost British understatement tells us it is "a type of bird" (evaṃ nāmakassa pakkhino Ps iii.142). No previous translator has done better however. Horner gives “some other bird”. Ñ&B translate sithilahanu as "stork". Gethin (2008) leaves the word untranslated. I dealt with the false association of sithilahanu and stork, but Horner and Gethin show two other ways of dealing with an unfamiliar word if we don't believe the dictionary and/or customary translations. Horner admits her ignorance. She is a great scholar who nevertheless seems to be aware of her limitations and not afraid to say she is guessing or just does not know (I'm coming to admire her). Gethin takes another route which might also be humility. The word is untranslatable, so he leaves it untranslated. While I sympathise, having spent many hours on this passage puzzling out the strange terminology, I must admit I find fault with this approach. An untranslated mystery word seems like an abdication of responsibility of the translator. There are other approaches which might be employed. In both the Chinese counterparts for example, the translators simply change all the bird names into ones familiar to their Chinese readers. They don't always use the same strategies however.

The Pāli text refers to two types of bows: cāpa and kodaṇḍa. It's not at all clear what these two words mean from the context, nor from various Pāli or Sanskrit dictionaries, nor from a survey of the minimal usage elsewhere in the Canon. Nor is etymology any great help. Cāpa may come from a PIE root meaning 'to bend', but this tells us nothing more than we already know. The word daṇḍa, meaning 'stick or staff' is a loan word into Sanskrit (and thus Pāli) from Proto-Munda. So, presumably, is kodaṇḍa, though none of the standard studies of loan words directly identify it as such. In any case it is an old loan word already in common use for a millennia by the time the Pāli was composed (e.g. present in the Ṛgveda), so we must be cautious about imputing Munda cultural influence here (as I did previously) So I no longer agree with the suggestion made by Bryan Levman and taken up by Piya Tan that kodaṇḍa is a Munda bow. 

Horner translates “spring-bow and cross-bow” (with an acknowledgement that this is a tentative translation); Ñ&B have ‘long bow or cross bow’; Gethin, again, does not translate. Now spring-bow is not a term I have found any reference to. I presume Horner means a simple bow or self-bow as distinct from a compound bow. Ñ&B have corrected this to long bow which works a little better I think. The point of the text is merely to provide a contrast between types. However, historically the cross-bow was never much used in India and is extremely unlikely to be found in the Buddha's milieu. 

At this point we turn, with hope, to the Chinese to compare what they have made of the words. Firstly it seems clear that their Indic original text was a little different to the Pāli. Both for example give three types of bow instead of two, and where T 94 seems to be striving to preserve Indic terms neither of them could be cāpa or kodaṇḍa. MĀ 221 asks whether the bow was made of Maclura tricuspidata aka silkworm thorn (柘 zhè), mulberry (桑 sāng) or zelkova tree (槻 guī); T 94 distinguishes three types of bows made from different kinds of wood (木mù): sal (薩羅 sà luó), tala (多羅duō luó), or 翅羅鴦掘梨 chì luó yāng jué lí”. In MĀ 221 the translator has overwritten the Indic materials with familiar Chinese materials. Since it's clear from the overall treatment of this subject that the Pāli author is far from being very familiar with archery, there is no need to assume that the Chinese is any better. But the words are designed to produce recognition in a Chinese reader. T. 1.94 however would produce only incomprehension in the average Chinese reader of any era. The unknown translator has tried to transliterate the Indic terms using Chinese characters. We can just make out the first two as common trees in India: the sal tree, and the palmyra tree. But the third term has stubborn refused to resolve itself into any comprehensible. 翅 羅 鴦 掘 梨 in Middle Chinese pronunciation would be: si ra ang gul i. We would expect a Sanskrit word like *kīlāṅguli ‘post-finger’(?) Cf Pāli kīḷāguḷa ‘a ball for playing with’ (DOP). Skt. karāṅguli ‘a finger of the hand’ (MW); Marathi karaṅgaḷī ‘little finger’. However I can identify no plausible material for making bows. 

Even from this brief survey we have now seen all but one of the major strategies used by translators of any time and place when faced with difficult terminology. Apart from non-translation, guessing and substitution, the other option is just to ignore the word altogether. An example of this is found in Ñ&B's translation of the types of arrowhead when they simply leave two terms out of their translated list (salla and nārāca). 

Buddhist scholars (or scholars of Buddhism) are often guilty of parochialism. I know I'm guilty of this myself. Faced with a problem in Pāli I might check my Sanskrit dictionaries, but I would seldom delve into non-Buddhist texts to see how the word is used in practice. In fact it was only secondary sources on Indian archery that lead me to what now seems like an obvious source. The Arthaśāstra (AŚ) is usually attributed to Kauṭilya who is in turn identified with Cāṇakya, a minister in the court of Chandragupta Maurya (ca. 4th century BCE). The identification is plausibly disputed now and AŚ most likely the text dates from ca. 125-150 CE. This text is sometimes likened to Machiavelli's manual The Prince, since it outlines all the knowledge necessary for ruling an empire. 

Amidst this text is a list of types of bow and the materials they are constructed from. Arthaśāstra says that bows are called kārmuka, kodaṇḍa, and drūṇa, and are made from tāla, cāpa, and dārava and śārṅga (wood and horn).  Now this is usually interpreted as saying that a kārmuka bow is made from tāla and so on. Which would mean that a kodaṇḍa bow is made of cāpa. This leaves us with a conundrum. The Pāli makes me want to read the types of bow and the materials as being interchangeable: i.e. one can make a kārmuka bow from either tāla, cāpa or wood and horn. The Sanskrit text of AŚ can be read this way. Arthaśāstra also lists cāpa under types of plant material that the empire needs to stockpile and cāpa is listed under types of veṇu, i.e. cane or bamboo (AŚ. 2.17.5). This case alone demonstrates the value of reading beyond Buddhist literature. 

Thus we can deduce that a cāpa bow is a self-bow made from cane or bamboo, of the type still used by hunter gatherer tribes in Indian right down to the present! The likelihood then is that kodaṇḍa is a kind of composite bow, with its wooden substrate reinforced by horn and/or sinew. 

The problem here is similar to the one dealt with by Murray B. Emeneau (1953: 77) “Philologists working with Sanskrit texts seem to have been quite innocent of [archery] knowledge”… reflecting a fairly general unconcern of the Indian authors.” I acknowledged why this might be so in my original essay. The message of the text is not to be concerned with irrelevant details, and the early translators (the Pāli is also a translation) seem to have taken this to so much to heart that we no longer understand three of the terms used, and struggle to reconstruct several others. 

So what's the point of this kind of archaeological approach to a text whose message seems to be don't bother? 

Producing realistic translations is helpful to the reader. What caught my attention in this passage was bow strings ostensibly made of "bark" or arrow heads made of “an oleander leaf”. This is not realistic. Any astute reader must see these locutions and wonder what the author meant. Like Murray Emeneau I think realistic translations are important. Unrealistic translations create cognitive dissonance. As a philologist I am concerned to understand and translate my text accurately, but as a Buddhism I do this partly in order to try to bring the text alive, or to invoke the period. Jarringly anachronistic or unrealistic details undermine both goals.

It seems to me that the task of curating the "sacred" texts comes with an imperative that goes beyond mere preservation. Conservation includes scope for restoration. This is certainly the case at the level of the text. The Pali Text Society editions of the Pāli are critical editions, in which a skilled editor has compared the various recensions and made a decision on what the "correct" reading ought to be - but still notes the alternatives. As such we are probably overdue for a new critical edition of the Pāli Canon in Pāli since scholarship has advanced so far in the mean time (more than 100 years in many cases). If this argument is valid, then it ought to apply at the level of individual words as well. 

A disappointment with respect to the Chinese Canon is that the translation strategies employed by translators often obscure details just when we'd like them to be clarified. If we lose words from the Pāli texts themselves we may find it impossible ever recover them. There is still a small chance of a Gāndhārī counterpart emerging from the sands of the Swat Valley, but its unlikely that any given text will survive in a Gāndhārī version. In the case of this passage the words might seem relatively insignificant. But a careless attitude to words generally risks greater losses. My attitude is informed by approaches to ecology. The more diversity in the gene pool the healthier the ecosystem. Quite obviously this has little direct impact on enunciation of the Buddhist doctrine, but the value of the Buddhist texts, like for example the value of Buddhist statuary in Afghanistan, goes beyond the value placed on it by pious Buddhists. The Pāli documents are records of humanity in a particular time and place. If they were lost then the human race would be the poorer for it. 

~~oOo~~



Bibliography


Arthaśāstra by Kauṭilya. (Kangle Ed). 2nd Ed. University of Bombay, 1969.

Emeneau, Murray B. (1953) ‘The Composite Bow in India.’ Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 97(1): 77-87.

Gethin, Rupert. (2008) Sayings of the Buddha. Oxford University Press.

Horner, I. B. (1954-9) The Book of Middle Length Sayings. (3 vols.) Pali Text Society.

Olivelle, Patrick. (2013) King, governance, and law in ancient India: Kauṭilya's Arthaśāstra. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Pant, G.N. (1978) Indian Archery. Delhi: Agam Kala Prakashan.


Thanissaro (2012) ‘Cula-Malunkyovada Sutta: The Shorter Instructions to Malunkya’. Access to Insight. http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/mn/mn.063.than.html

12 July 2013

How is Liberation Possible?

Snake in Water
How is liberation possible? This is a frequently asked question and one that has evidently puzzled Buddhists down the ages since there are many different answers to it. How can we who are deluded, greedy and hateful free ourselves from delusion, craving and aversion? Some - for example Shinran - have concluded that there is nothing we can do, we just have to rely on the Buddha to save us, which Amitābha (the Buddha of a parallel universe) promises to do in the Sukhāvatīvyūha Sūtras.

Early Buddhism had its own answers to this question, but not all of them seem to have been passed on, or preserved in the Mahāyāna. In the Pāli texts there are two kinds of paṭicca-samuppāda: one which is described in the Pāli commentarial tradition as lokiya (this is the familiar 12 nidāna sequence) and one which is described as lokuttara (which I sometimes call the upanisā sequence). The result of the nidāna sequence is cycling through saṃsāra - i.e. through life after life. The result of the upanisā sequence however is liberation from saṃsāra.

I have already blogged about one of the upanisā sequence texts from the Aṅguttara Nikāya (see Progress is Natural), and published a much broader survey (The Spiral Path or Lokuttara Paṭiccasamuppāda.) In this post I want to look more at the relationships between the members of the sequence. In AN 10.2 this relationship is described as dhammatā 'natural'. No act of will (cetanā karaṇa) is required. So for example someone who is virtuous does not need to for an intention to have a clear conscience, it is a natural consequence of virtue because there is nothing to regret, no need for remorse. Each step occurs as a natural consequence, and one thing leads to another with liberation as the natural consequence of practice.

This conceptual way of getting across the process of how getting free of saṃsāra happens is all well and good. However some people are better able to understand things through the use of images and symbols, and indeed there is a layer of meaning that seems only to be brought out in this mode of communication. Several images for this process are preserved in the Pāli texts. The one most likely to be familiar occurs right at the end of the Upanisā Sutta and involver water falling on mountains, gradually accumulating into larger streams and rovers as it flows down to the sea. Sangharakshita has used this image in A Survey of Buddhism (p.137) for instance. [1] So hopefully it will already be familiar. Another, rather less felicitous simile occurs at AN 6.50 (PTS A iii.359) involving a tree. I have discovered a third simile, that I do not believe has been remarked upon before, in the Himavanta Sutta SN 46.1, PTS S v.63:
Once at Sāvtthī. Monks the nāgas depend on the king of snowy mountains to increase their substance, and account for their power. Increased and empowered they descend into small pools, then into large pools; then they descend into small rivers, and then into large rivers; and finally they descend into the great gathered waters of the ocean. Thus their body becomes great and full. Just like that, monks, the monk depending on virtue, supported by virtue, seriously takes up the practice of, and produces, the seven factors of awakening and attains the greatness and fullness of them.
The simile is somewhat similar to the one in the Upanisā Sutta, but here the mythic nāgas are the ones making the progress. In Pāli nāga frequently means elephant, but can also mean any large or particularly impressive animal. And it is in this sense that it is usually applied to the Buddha. However the nāgas were also local animistic deities, often associated with water, but sometimes also with trees. In many ways they personify the water and the life giving properties of it, as well as the fertility it engenders. Nāgas often take the form of serpents - the symbolic connection with serpentine rivers sees obvious. Since snakes often live in burrows under the earth, the nāga also has chthonic resonances - they are creatures of the underworld. [2]

In this simile the nāgas seem to represent the water itself - the nāgas enter (otarati -literally 'go down to, descend') each body of water in turn, and come to the collected waters of the ocean (mahāsamuddasāgara) where they achieve greatness (mahantatta) and fullness (vepullatta). The water depends on the king of snowy mountains (himavantaṃ pabbatarāja) because spring thaws fill the lakes and rivers.

The message here, as in some of the upanisā sequences in the Aṅguttara Nikāya is that virtue is the basis (nissāya) for the way of life leading to liberation. With virtue as a basis then the other steps follow naturally. I think it's important to be clear that this is not a general statement. I see the context for this simile, and the other upanisā suttas, as being a reassurance to those who are practising Buddhism assiduously. Virtue on its own is in fact not enough, but I need to make another point before I can properly address this.

Here the simile likens the water/nāgas flowing down from the snowy mountains to the ocean to the monk who practices bojjhaṅgas 'the limbs (aṅga) of awakening (bodhi)'. These are mindfulness (sati), investigation of mental states (dhammavicaya), energy (viriya), rapture (pīti), serenity (passadhi), concentration (samādhi) and equanimity (upekkhā). Pursuing and attaining these states (dhammas) leads to liberation.

Note that at SN 45.151 the path is described in terms of the aṭṭhāṅgamagga 'eightfold path'. The conclusion is that the progressive nature of the path is not limited to one doctrinal formulation but is a general feature of Buddhist methods. That said, however, it is clear that the bojjhaṅgas and the upanisās share several terms, specifically:
bojjhaṅga... pīti - passadhi - samādhi ...
upanisā...... pīti - passadhi - sukha - samādhi ...
These terms are clearly related to meditation. In fact I suggest that they imply an active engagement with meditation. The Buddhist tradition is clear that generally speaking virtue is necessary but not sufficient for liberation. It is only implied in the upanisā sequence, but the implication is clear: virtue feeds into success in practising meditation which in turn finds its fruition in liberating wisdom.

It is intriguing that this teaching appears to have been lost at some point. As far as I know the teaching is not found in any Mahāyāna text, and though there is an upanisā sequence in the Visuddhimagga it plays no prominent role there, being mentioned only once and then only in passing. As a result other doctrines had to be developed which showed how liberation is possible: ideas like Buddha seeds, Buddha nature, and interpenetration all seem to address this issue. As Carolyn Rhys Davids remarked in 1922,
"How might it not have altered the whole face of Buddhism to the West if that [upanisā] sequence has been made the illustration of the causal law!" [3]
And not just the West! How different the face of Buddhism might have been if this doctrine had gained or perhaps retained prominence. If it had been clear from the beginning that progress to liberation is a natural outcome of virtue and practice, then how many of the doctrinal innovations that now seem distinctive would have been composed? I think it is one of Sangharakshita's great contributions that he recognised this long lost doctrine and made it a central plank of his teaching, correcting perhaps 15 or 20 centuries of neglect.

~~oOo~~

Notes


  1. Sangharakshita. (1993) A Survey of Buddhism: Its Doctrines and Methods Through the Ages. 7th ed. Windhorse. Sangharakshita cites Carolyn Rhys Davids translation from Book of Kindred Sayings, vol.II, p.25-6.
  2. Sutherland, Gail Hinich. (1991) The Disguises of the Demon: the Development of the Yakṣa in Hinduism and Buddhism. State University of New York Press. (esp p.38-43)
  3. Rhys Davids, C.A.F. and Woodward, F. L. (1922) The Book of the Kindred Sayings (Saṃyutta-nikāya) or Grouped Suttas. (7 vol.) Oxford : Pali Text Society [1990]. Part II, ‘The Nidāna Book’ p.viii.
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