The term “anattalakkhana” is a compound. The first syllable “an” negates the meaning of what follows, as the “a” in our word “atheist”, or the “an” in “anarchy”. In the animistic theories that were held by many brahmins in the Buddha’s time, “atta” means “soul” : the permanent identity that exists separate and distinct from a person’s current worldly form and that continues to exist when that worldly form ends, transmigrating to a new worldly form. The new form, because it is informed by the same eternal soul, is in some significant way identical with the first form: it is the same Self. Finally, “lakkhana” means “sign” or “characteristic”, in the sense of evidence, or an identifying mark. So the name of the sutta can be translated, approximately and long-windedly, as “The evidence for the non-existence of an essential Self”.

In the Anattalakkhana Sutta, the Buddha leaves no doubt about what he thinks of the notion of such an entity—an eternal Self or soul. He examines all of the places where one might locate such a self—a person’s body, that person’s perceptions, feelings, ideas and conceptual formations, the consciousness itself, and he finds each of those incapable of providing the foundation for a permanent self or a soul. No matter where you look, you will see the same thing: “This is not mine; this is not what I am; this is not my self.”

But the Buddha’s intention here is not to engage in doctrinal dispute or to establish a point of view; as in practically every discourse, the purpose is to point the way to personal transformation. What’s important is not whether or not an essential Self exists, but that by abandoning the conceit of a permanent identity, one can get on with the business of cutting attachments, of ending the craving that is the essential condition for the dukkha that informs our lives. The five entities that the Buddha examines to see if any of them can support the notion of a Self, are form (the body), perceptions, feelings, conceptual formations, and consciousness; those are the same entities that the Buddha identified, in the first teaching, as “The Five Aggregates subject to clinging”, and he identified those as identical with dukkha. Only by abandoning craving with regard to the body, with regard to perceptions, with regard to feelings and ideas and consciousness, does one eliminate the condition that nourishes dukkha; only by abandoning any notion that what I feel to be my self depends, in any way, on the Five Aggregates, can one awaken to “the knowledge and vision of things as they are” which is the sufficient condition for Enlightenment. Thanissaro Bhikkhu has written an excellent essay on the Buddha’s “Not-Self Strategy”, in which he examines the Anattalakkhana Sutta with that understanding.

As Thanissaro Bhikkhu demonstrates, the Buddha rejected both extreme views: the view that there is an eternal soul, and the view that there is nothing that lasts beyond this life. Both views, the former characterized as “Eternalism” and the latter as “Annihilationism”, were dismissed by the Buddha as “fetters”. Once again, the Buddha finds the Middle Way; while there is certainly no “soul” in the sense that the term was understood by Brahmanic animistic theory, the consequences of our kammic actions, just as certainly, persist in some way beyond our current lives, influencing the lives of those born after us. While we won’t get very deeply into the complex of notions regarding kamma and rebirth in this course, “The Teachings of the Buddha”, we will spend one class entirely on that topic in the course “Important Topics in Mainstream Buddhism”. If you are interested in pursuing these ideas, I’ve posted an essay I wrote on the subject for a dharma talk a couple of years ago.

“Brahmanic animistic theory”

The Online Pali-English Dictionary says of this theory of the Soul: “It is described in the Upanishads as a small creature, in shape like a man, dwelling in ordinary times in the heart. It escapes from the body in sleep or trance; when it returns to the body life and motion reappear. It escapes from the body at death, then continues to carry on an everlasting life of its own. “

A number of years ago, a young PhD candidate in England had written her dissertation about the Dhammacakkappavatthana Sutta. She amassed a body of philological evidence to prove that no one who had lived in Northern India in the 5th Century BCE could have composed that text. Her dissertation caused something of a stir in Buddhist scholarly circles, and a reporter, getting wind of the foofaraw, called a very famous Thai monk to break the news. He told him, basically, that the man Gotama Siddhatha, whom we know as the Buddha, could not have delivered the discourse on which all Buddhism is founded. The monk just chuckled. “Well,” he responded, “whoever delivered that discourse, that was the Buddha.”

In fact, there’s no longer much doubt among those who study the history of early Buddhism that the Dhammacakkappavatthana Sutta is, in fact, the work of the Buddha. While the form in which we have it almost certainly is not the exact form in which it was first delivered, and while that first delivery might very well have taken place over more than one teaching session, still, the discourse that we’ve received is probably very close to the form in which the Buddhist sangha heard it during the Buddha’s lifetime: the introductory Preface, as it were, to all of the teachings that would follow in the course of the Buddha’s long career—the teaching that summarized, set the stage for, and provided the necessary framework for understanding all that would follow. The Buddha himself probably listened in to the sangha’s recitation of the sutta on more than one occasion; he referred to it again and again; and it’s canonical form does, in fact, represent fairly the first foundational discourse of the newly Awakened Buddha.

What Gotama Siddhattha awakened to, when he became the Buddha, was the complete understanding of how the world works, of how everything emerges from contingent conditions, and how everything that emerges establishes, by that event, the conditions for its own ending. The way he came to understand that process working, in the formation of universes and galaxies, the action of hammer on heated steel, and the changes that a person undergoes through the course of a lifetime and through the course of every moment—that understanding of the phenomenal world and of our experience of it is called the Dhamma (Dharma in Sanskrit). In this discourse, the newly emerged Buddha set in motion (pavatthana) the wheel (cakka) of the Dhamma, hence Dhammacakkappavatthana Sutta.

I think that the Dhammacakkappavatthana Sutta is the most important single teaching delivered in recorded history; I won’t take up much time in class arguing that point, but I’m prepared to defend it over a cup of coffee if anyone is interested.

It’s a particularly interesting question, and the notion of an “attachment” is an important concept in Buddhist thought, so I decided to take the opportunity to address it at moderate length in this blog post rather than just respond to Irwin’s email.

Obviously, the first thing to address is Irwin’s statement about what he learned. I’ve talked a number of times with Irwin about the various kinds of things we discussed in the class he took (I think it was the class on “Topics in Mainstream Buddhism”). And I know that he not only got a lot from the class, but that he asked (and continues to ask) some of the most thoughtful and challenging questions that I’ve gotten from anyone to whom I’ve talked about Buddhism. So I don’t want to take anything away from Irwin when I say, quoting that great Buddhist philosopher, Fibber McGee’s Old-Timer, “‘Tain’t the way I heered it, Junior.” That is, I don’t remember saying what Irwin attributed to me, in just those words.

What I did say, probably, is that the Buddha taught that the most difficult attachment to abandon is the attachment to “views”—i.e. opinions, beliefs, mindsets, prejudices, assumptions, habits of thought.

But that just pushes the discussion back a bit; it doesn’t address the very real question that Irwin’s friend raised; how can one’s love for a partner of many years, or for a brand-new grandchild, for that matter, be something that must be abandoned? What can be wrong with that kind of love?

And the answer, of course, is that there’s nothing wrong at all. Abandoning attachments has nothing to do with right and wrong (which is not, of course, to say that the Buddha was not concerned with moral issues; in fact, ethical action lies very close to the heart of his thought.) To see why it’s important to abandon attachments, and what happens when we’re able to do that, we have to look at what the term means.

The English word “attachment” or “clinging” almost always translates the Pali term upādāna, the literal meaning of which is “fuel”; it’s sometimes translated to mean “nutriment”. Its use by the Buddha, and the sense he gave to it, derives from the common understanding of fire as something that is nourished by the fuel to which it clings. When the fuel is exhausted, the fire goes out. (In the Aggi-Vacchagotta Sutta, the Buddha used the process as a graphic simile for the process of attaining nibbana [Sanskrit nirvana]. That sutta, by the way, will be the subject of our class in The Teachings of the Buddha this coming Friday at 2:00PM, at Raymond Walters; if anyone who’s not in the class is interested, please feel free to sit in.)

In the context of the Buddha’s teachings, as those are transmitted in the Pali Canon, when our craving for something leads to clinging, what we are in fact clinging to is not what we imagine it to be—the perfectly adorable grandchild, the perfectly loving wife, the perfectly evil enemy (we don’t only cling to things we want; we also cling to things we want to be rid of); those are, in fact, creations of our imagination, and what we are clinging to, in every case, is not something with an independent reality outside of ourselves, but to our notion of our Self and what we think we need to complete that. When I cling to the Terrorist Menace, or to the Faithful Wife, or to the Perfect Granddaughter, it always turns out that I cling to an illusion of my own making, and that I cling to it because my sense of Self is bound up in its being as I imagine it.

Now, I can be dismayed by acts of terrorism and call them out, and even, I think, point out that clerics who interpret their scriptures in certain ways are encouraging terrorism; I can love and admire and enjoy the continued company of the woman I’ve come to know, comfortably and gladly, over the past fifty years; I can take great joy in the baby’s gurglings, first smiles, first lurching steps. But when I allow my dismay, or my love, or my admiration, to become clinging, I commit an injustice: I objectify what I cling to and limit that person’s freedom to be the best that he or she can be. And I surrender to delusion—the delusion of an essential and unchanging self that’s defined, in some unpleasant way, by the stuff it’s attached to.

Most important, I let myself in for unnecessary suffering. On the one hand, pain is unavoidable: I or a friend may be hurt in a terrorist attack; my grandchild may fall and break an arm; my wife may come down with a serious disease; all of those things will cause me pain and sorrow. But if I continue to cling to the illusion, I can do nothing to help; only wail in pain. I cannot bring myself to act skillfully in response to the world as it has changed, to pitch in and help the victims, to bring food to one who is no longer able to get her own; to encourage someone to do the exercises that will restore his strength, to be mindfully present to those in need, to demonstrate compassion, to preserve equanimity in a world which does not deal happiness in equal measure.

Gotama Siddhatha’s wife, shortly before he left home to begin the quest for enlightenment that would result in his becoming the Buddha, bore him a child, a son, whom Gotama loved dearly. He named the boy Rahula, which means “fetter”, not because he wished to be rid of the child or because he wished to be rid of his love for the child, but as a reminder that those things we love most deeply are the things that we are most likely to attach to. And that attachment, in addition to hindering our own chances for reducing our suffering in the world and perhaps even attaining enlightment, diminish the love we have for that other one by binding him to us and to our idea of what he must be and what he must become.

Hope this helps.

Since I missed the first class of the quarter, and since we’re going to miss one class because of Thanksgiving break, I’d like to change the syllabus slightly. This coming Friday, instead of discussing the Annalakkhana Sutta—the Buddha’s discourse on the “not-self” characteristic, I’d like to discuss the Aggi-Vacchagotta Sutta, the discourse to the wanderer Vacchagotta on fire.

At the very end of the Buddha’s first discourse, Turning the Wheel of the Dhamma, which we discussed last week, the Buddha told the five monks who formed his audience for the discourse that when he had realized the Four Noble Truths, each one in each of its three aspects, “knowledge and insight arose in me: nothing any longer holds me here; this is the last birth; there will be no more becoming.” In other words, the Buddha announced that he had attained nibbana (Sanskrit nirvana)—”unbinding”, release from all attachment to things of this world that leads, inevitably, to experience of dukkha as anguish and pain. Nibbana is commonly understood as a kind of place, or a state of being, but that misses the sense of the Pali term, which refers to a process rather than to the state to which that process leads; it might be more proper to say that the Buddha “nibanna’d” instead of saying that he “attained nibbana“. The Aggi-Vacchagotta Sutta comes as close as anything in the Pali Canon to providing an explanation of the nibbana process. It also repeats, in a different form but with almost identical sense, the lesson of the Cula-Malunkyaputta Sutta that would have been the subject of our first class if I’d gotten there.

The Annalakkhana Sutta is interesting, and it’s a very important teaching, especially to those Buddhist traditions that are lumped together as Mahayana Buddhism, and I would recommend that you read it, but it is more abstruse and considerably less straightforward than most of the Buddha’s teachings. If we have to skip discussing one in class, then I think that would be a good one to skip.

So, the marching orders for class on Friday are to read the Aggi-Vacchagotta Sutta; you might also want to look at an essay on Enlightenment and Nibbana that quotes extensively from that sutta. And I look forward to an interesting discussion on Friday.

Once again, my apologies for missing our first class session last week. I hope you’ve all had a chance to read the Cula Malunkaputta Sutta that we were to have discussed at that class. I’m not going to try to make the class up, and I won’t spend much time Friday on that discourse, but I will review it briefly, mainly to outline the ground rules that the Buddha laid out for what he was going to teach, and to prepare for our discussion of the Dhammacakkappavatthana Sutta, in which he set, as it were, the syllabus for the teachings that were to follow over the next 45 years.

I’ll use my own rendering of the Dhammacakkappavatthana Sutta as the basis for our class discussion. My rendering adheres very closely to the Pali text, but I have taken the liberty of expanding on several of the key terms in the sutta; the footnotes are pretty explicit regarding those terms and why I expanded the text as I did, and the introductory paragraphs include links to four online translations, each of which is more literal than mine.

To place the teaching in context, it might be helpful to look at two other resources on the website.

• One presents a map of the Buddha’s India; this will help give you an idea of where his teachings originated. I’ll be referring to that map many times throughout the course, so you might want to print it out and bring it along (I’ll have copies for those who haven’t been able to do that).
• There’s also a brief essay I wrote several years ago, reviewing what little we know of the Buddha’s early life, the events leading up to his Awakening, and his decision to teach the Dhamma to which he had Awakened. In class, we’ll review that material very briefly, and then pick up the story where the essay leaves off.

I heard once about a British scholar who wrote her doctoral dissertation on the Dhammacakkappavatthana Sutta. She concluded, on the basis of what she knew of the culture of Northern India at the time of the Buddha, and on a close philological study of the text, that the man we know as Gotama Siddhatha could not have composed the Dhammacakkappavatthana text. Her dissertation caused a minor stir in the world of Buddhist historical studies, and a prominent Thai monk was asked about it. “There’s a scholar in Britain who’s proved that the Buddha could not have delivered that first discourse,” the interviewer said; “What do you think of that?” The monk chuckled and replied, “Well, whoever delivered that discourse, that was the Buddha.”

I think this teaching is the most profound and important text ever composed. It presents an analysis of our human condition that’s completely original, foreshadowed by nothing I’ve ever seen or read about in any other philosophical or religious tradition, yet totally convincing, with enormously practical implications, and still relevant to the conditions of our world and to the way we choose to live in that world, 2400 years after the Buddha delivered it.

I look forward to discussing it with you on Friday.

What is right? We’ll spend the first few minutes of our class looking at the meaning of the Pali word samma, which is usually translated as “right”, as in “Right Understanding”, “Right Intention”, etc.

We’ll then go on to take a detailed look at those first two factors of the Eightfold Path (instead of Right Understanding and Right Intention, they are sometimes translated “Right View” and “Right Resolve”). In connection with that discussion, in addition to the relevant sections of Bhikkhu Bodhi’s online book and Ajahn Lee Dhammadaro’s essay, the following links will be most helpful:

• From Access to Insight, brief collections of excerpts from the Pali Canon on Right View and Right Resolve. The short references at the end of each passage (“— AN 10.176″, “— SN 45.8″, etc.) are links to the actual discourses from which the passage was excerpted. Those links are all worth following, to get a fuller picture of how the Buddha’s teachings have been transmitted.
• In the Kaccayanagotta Sutta, the Buddha teaches the monk Kaccayanagotta about Right View; the particular emphasis here is on the distinction between the wrong understanding of the world taught by those who are categorized as “essentialists” (proposing that certain things, such as the soul and god, have an essential existence that sets them apart from the impermanent phenomena that we deal with day by day) and those who are categorized as “nihilists”, who teach that nothing has a real existence, that all events are basically accidental and that reality as we experience is entirely illusory. Opposed to those extreme views, the Buddha proposed an understanding of the world that asserts the reality of experienced phenomena, but that traces every such phenomenon to the conditions from which it emerges, leading back to the primary condition of ignorance.
• That principle of conditionality, which the Buddha, in the Kaccayanagotta Sutta, establishes as Right View, is explicated in some detail in an essay I wrote a couple of years ago and presented as a Dhamma talk at the Cincinnati Dharma Center. You might find that interesting.
• When it comes to Right Intention, or Right Resolve, I don’t know of anything that brings the Buddha’s teachings home with more clarity, simplicity, and humanity than his discourse to his son Rahula at Mangostone. I’ve written a brief introduction to that sutta, with links to the text and to an audio file of Thanissaro Bhikkhu reading his fine translation. Again, I’d suggest that you read the post and follow the links.

I look forward to seeing you tomorrow afternoon.

Like many suttas, the Cula-Malunkyovada Sutta has a richness of texture: we get a vivid picture of the two old monks—the Buddha and his elderly disciple, probably an old friend, almost certainly a cousin or an uncle in one way or another, whose foibles, impatience, old-man irritability, the Buddha had probably known for a good part of his life. We see those qualities in the old monk, and we see the Buddha’s ironic humor, as he draws out the analogy of the man shot by the arrow to Monty Pythonesque threads of detail; we also see, perhaps, a flash of irritation, and we can wonder how many times has Malunkyaputta put these questions to the Teacher.

Most importantly, though, we get some idea of how the Buddha limited the magisterium of the spiritual tradition he founded. Our society is saddled with competing monotheistic traditions, each of which asserts a comprehensive magisterium—the right to speak with final authority over a wide range of issues, including, most painfully for the conduct of a civil society, the nature of the universe, the fact of evolution, the nature and function of the law courts, the proper conduct of marriage and other life passages. The Buddha, in this discourse, placed a good deal of that matter into the realm of the Undeclared, and asserted quite forcefully that if a person following his teachings wished to save his life and sanity, he would focus on those things that the Buddha has declared—dukkha, craving, the cessation of craving, and the path to that cessation.

Throughout the course, as we’ve looked at the various topics that Buddhist scholars, historians, practitioners and teachers tend to spend most time discussing and working to understand, we’ve used, almost as our exclusive source for the core teachings regarding those topics, the discourses recorded in the Pali Canon. On Thursday, we’ll look at just what that is: what texts compose the canon, how they were chosen, how they were recorded, their relation to other Buddhist texts, and where they fit into the various traditions that define Buddhism today.

Unlike some of the other topics we’ve discussed, this one is not particularly challenging intellectually (although I do think that it’s enormously interesting, and important to an understanding of the sort of thing that Buddhism is). What I hope we’ll be able to do is make relatively short work of reviewing the basics, which I’ve covered in a relatively short essay I wrote several years ago, have revised several times since, and is now posted on our Dharma Study website. Then we’ll use the bulk of the class for a more general discussion, in which we can air some of the questions that have arisen through the past six weeks, and review what we’ve learned and where we hope to go with that.

I look forward to seeing you on Thursday.

Emergence is at the core of the Four Noble Truths; with dukkha as a given condition, taking innumerable forms, we can reach the true understanding that dukkha emerges from our craving (essentially, a craving for permanence in one form or another), that dukkha will cease to emerge when the craving ceases, and that the conditions to bring that cessation about involve reworking our lives according to eight factors of understanding, action, and insight.

In Session 6, we will examine the nature of dependent emergence in its most elaborate exposition, as a chain of 12 links, each of which serves as a necessary condition for the next, starting with ignorance as the given (again, in many differently conditioned forms), and ending, at least (of course) temporarily, in dukkha.

This chain of dependent emergence, called paticcasamuppāda in Pali, is, for many historians and philosophers of Buddhism, the Buddha’s most radical and original contribution to the way in which we understand the world and our place in it. The essay I’ve written, which I hope you will find time to read (at least once) before our class, is based on a dharma talk I gave last year at the Cincinnati Buddhist Dharma Center; I’ve re-worked it considerably, based on work I’ve been studying by some very original scholars of early Buddhism: Noa Ronkin, Sue Hamilton, and Richard Gombrich; and my experience in November at the Spirit Rock Study Retreat with Stephen Batchelor.

It’s an enormously complex subject, and no one I’ve read pretends to understand it perfectly. I’ve tried to make my own limited understanding of it clear and to relate that understanding to the lives we lead here and now, 2500 years after the Buddha developed the ideas and in a world that even he might have been unable to imagine.

I look forward to our discussion.

Sorry to be late getting this essay on Enlightenment and Nibbana posted, but it was hard to write, and I didn’t want to get it either too confusing or too terribly wrong. I hope that I’ve struck a decent balance between clarity and precision, and that the essay, and the teachings it links to, will give us the basis for a good discussion on Thursday.