by Red Pine
In any case, these various kinds of form were thought to account for our experience of an external world. Thus, with the backdrop of an outside established, the Buddha continued with an analysis of the inside, which he divided into four additional skandhas. These were apparently developed from the second half of an earlier bipartite division of reality into nama-rupa. According to this twofold scheme, rupa, or form, refers to the things we know, namely the outside world, while nama, or name, refers to the means by which we know the things we know, namely the inside world. From a Western perspective, this might be interpreted as a division into matter and mind, but it was more of a division into objective mind and subjective mind.
In turning his attention to nama, the Buddha began his analysis of “subjective mind” with sensation, or vedana, and made this the second skandha. The word vedana was derived from vid, meaning “to know” or “to experience,” and was used by Buddhists to refer to our evaluation of form. Once one establishes the existence of form, sensation necessarily follows as the interface between nama and rupa, between inner mind and outer mind. Although to call it an interface does not mean it is separate. None of the skandhas are separate in any sense other than as analytical constructs. They merely represent different ways of looking at the same experience. The skandha of sensation looks at our experience as a process of evaluation. This is not the same as sensory input but rather the evaluation of input, which the Buddha rarely described in any more detail than positive, negative, or neutral. For the most part, our experiences are neutral and ignored. But certain experiences appear to satisfy a need or pose a danger and are classified accordingly. As we walk through a forest our eyes take in countless appearances, but we quickly focus on a snake or a wildflower or some object that might affect our continued existence. Thus, Buddhists do not understand sensation as the passive collection of data from an outside world but as the active sorting and grading of appearances and their transformation into objects according to categories supplied by the third skandha.
The third skandha is perception, or sanjna. Like sensation, perception was also included as a subcategory of the earlier concept of nama. The word sanjna is derived from san (together) and jna (to know) and refers to our experience as a kaleidoscope of conceptual combinations. Without the skandha of perception, our sensations cannot be classified as positive, negative, or neutral. Perception supplies the framework that allows us to make such judgments as well as the framework that allows us to objectify or subjectify our experience. It also supplies the means that allow us to manipulate our sensations, so that we see what we want to see and don’t see what we don’t want to see. Thus, sensation is dependent not only on the skandha of form but also on the skandha of perception. And likewise, the skandha of perception is dependent on sensation as well as the fourth skandha, which is the source of its seemingly never-ending supply of conceptual constructs.
The fourth skandha is sanskara, which I have translated as “memory,” and which replaced both volition (cetana) and attention (manasikara) as subcategories of nama. The word sanskara is derived from a combination of san (together) and kri (to make). Thus, it means “put together” and refers to those things we have “put together” that have a direct bearing on the way we think or perceive. In the past this term has often been translated as “impulse,” “volition,” “predisposition,” or “mental conformation.” But each of these renderings involves certain limitations and distortions. For example, “volition” suggests a separate will tantamount to a self, and “impulse” implies the lack of any will or self. “Predisposition” comes closer but does not necessarily establish a connection with past actions. And such invented terms as “mental conformation” are simply too bizarre to have much use outside academic circles, very small academic circles. What this term basically refers to is our karmic genome, the repository of all that we have previously intended, whether expressed in the form of words, deeds, or thoughts. Thus, sanskara embraces all the ways we have dealt with what we have experienced in the past and that are available to us as ways to deal with what we find in the present. Among the meanings for sanskara listed by Monier-Williams is “the faculty of memory, mental impression or recollection, impression on the mind of acts done in a former state of existence … the reproductive imagination…a mental conformation or creation of the mind (such as that of the external world, regarded by it as real, though actually non-existent” (Sanskrit-English Dictionary, p. 1120).
Under the skandha of sanskara, the Sarvastivadins listed fifty-two kinds of habitual behavior patterns, such as intelligence, belief, shame, confidence, indolence, pride, anger, envy, sloth, repentance, doubt, anything that might provide us with a prefabricated set of guidelines from the past with which to perceive and deal with the world, both inside and outside, as we experience it in the present. Thus, the skandha of memory supplies the templates that perception applies to sensations and form.
And how do we know this? Because we are conscious of it. Thus, the fifth and final skandha is consciousness (vijnana). The vi in vijnana means “to divide.” Thus, just as san-jna emphasizes knowledge that results from combination, vi-jnana emphasizes knowledge that results from separation, separation of subject from object and one object from another. Hence, vijnana is often translated as “discrimination.” In terms of the skandhas, vijnana refers to the faculty of the mind in general, the ability to be aware, aware of anything, but always something—form, sensations, perceptions, memories, and, of course, a “self.” It is the least discussed of the skandhas because to discuss it would be like the hand trying to grab. Essentially, consciousness refers to our ability to establish the states that memory recapitulates. Although as a skandha it is rarely analyzed beyond its discriminative function, as a dhatu it is further distinguished according to which power and domain of sensation gives rise to it (cf p. 105).
But if we stop to consider these five pillars that support our awareness, it becomes clear that the Heart Sutra presents them to us backward in order to make them easier to grasp for those whose understanding of reality begins with the material world. In terms of the world as we actually experience it, we begin with the skandha of consciousness and then extrapolate the memory of previous states of consciousness from which we then extrapolate perceptions from which we extrapolate sensations from which we extrapolate an objectified world of form.
Basically the skandhas represent an attempt to exhaust the possible paths we might take in our search for a self, for something permanent or pure or separate in the undifferentiated flux of experience. They are five ways of considering our world and looking for something we can call our own. This is why Avalokiteshvara looks upon the Five Skandhas. The Five Skandhas are the limit of reality. If we are going to find anything real, this is where we are going to find it. But no matter how often or how long or how intently we search through the skandhas, we come up empty-handed. Thus, the skandha of form is often compared to foam, because it cannot be grasped; the skandha of sensation to a bubble, because it lasts but an instant; the skandha of perception to a mirage, because it only appears to exist;the skandha of memory to a banana tree, because it has no core; and the skandha of consciousness to an illusion, because it is a well-concealed deception. And yet the skandhas are not separate from what is real.
In the Samyukt Agama, the Buddha asks the ascetic Shrenika Vatsagotra if the Tathagata (another name for a buddha) is the same as the skandhas, and Shrenika says, “No, Bhagavan.” Again the Buddha asks if the Tathagata is separate from the skandhas, and again Shrenika answers, “No, Bhagavan.” The Buddha then asks if the Tathagata is inside the skandhas. Again Shrenika answers, “No, Bhagavan.” The Buddha then asks if the skandhas are inside the Tathagata. Once more Shrenika says, “No, Bhagavan.” Finally the Buddha asks if the Tathagata is not the skandhas, to which Shrenika answers, “No, Bhagavan” (105). Likewise, in the Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines, the Buddha says that enlightenment is neither inside the skandhas nor outside them, nor both in
side and outside them, nor other than the skandhas (I: 9).
When the early Sarvastivadin Abhidharma masters laid out their matrices of reality, they listed all but three of their seventy-five dharmas under these five categories. Only space and two kinds of nirvana were considered outside their reach. Thus, it is important to keep in mind that the skandhas include everything we think of as real, and not just our physical body. They include five possible bodies, each of which is limited in extent only by our awareness and our willingness and ability to differentiate.
Chen-k’o says, “The Five Skandhas are the root of the ten-thousand forms of suffering and the basis of the thousand calamities. Because beings don’t yet realize they are empty, they are entangled and ensnared by them.”
Ching-chueh says, “The Madhyamaka-karika says, ‘What I call “me” is the combination of the Five Skandhas, not something that is fixed. It is like when we put posts and beams together to make a house. If we take away the posts and beams, there is no house.’ Also, inside a house that has been dark for a thousand years, a person doesn’t realize there are jewels or sense the presence of demons and thieves. But once a lamp is lit, the darkness vanishes, and everything becomes clear. Thus, precious stones appear when the water is clear, and the moon shines bright when the clouds part.”
Conze says, “The first step towards wisdom consists in getting the skandhas into view. This requires considerable knowledge, practice and skill, but it is the indispensable basis for all that follows” (Buddhist Wisdom Books, p. 79).
4. AND SEEING THEY WERE EMPTY OF SELF-EXISTENCE: tansh ca svabhava shunyan pashyati sma
The verb here is pashyati, which means “to see.” In the Buddha’s day, a person who saw what others did not see was called a pashyaka, or seer. Avalokiteshvara’s seeing is deep seeing. It is like seeing into the structure of the universe, but even deeper.
Applying a similar perspective in the search for our selves, George Leonard asks, “Of what is the body made? It is made of emptiness and rhythm. At the ultimate heart of the body, at the heart of the world, there is no solidity … there is only the dance” (The Silent Pulse, p. 34). This, however, is still the “seeing” of physics, which is limited by its focus on the “physical” world. Avalokiteshvara’s perspective is incomparably wider and deeper, for it takes in the world of mind as well as matter. Still, he, too, sees the emptiness of the elements into which early Buddhists divided reality. This was not a new discovery on Avalokiteshvara’s part. It was part of the Buddha’s earliest teaching. But what was new, at least as far as the Sarvastivadins were concerned, was that these elements were not simply declared to be empty but to be empty of sva-bhava or “self-existence.”
This “self ” (sva) whose existence (bhava) was maintained by some Buddhists was more generalized in its application than “ego” (atman) and referred not only to beings but to any inherent substance that could be identified as existing in time or space as a permanent or independent entity. Thus, the term sva-bhava is somewhat redundant, implying a “self-existing existence.” From the point of view of Mahayana Buddhism, this is the greatest of all delusions, the belief that something exists. Upon close analysis, nothing exists by itself. Any given entity can only be defined in terms of other entities in time, space, or mind. And these in turn can only be defined in terms of other entities, and so on ad infinitum. Thus, nothing exists by itself, and nothing exists as itself. There is no such thing as a self.
Here, Avalokiteshvara looks at the skandhas and sees that they are empty, or shunya. The Sanskrit word shunya means “hollow,” “void,” or “zero.” What is hollow, void, or zero is the existence of a self. But if there is no self-existence, there is also no non-existence. According to Mahayana Buddhism, this is the second greatest of all delusions, the belief that nothing exists. Emptiness does not mean nothingness. It simply means the absence of the erroneous distinctions that divide one entity from another, one being from another being, one thought from another thought. Emptiness is not nothing, it’s everything, everything at once. This is what Avalokiteshvara sees.
After this line, the Chinese translations of Kumarajiva, Hsuan-tsang, and Yi-ching interpolate the line “and was healed from all suffering” (tu yi-ch’ieh k’u-o). Most likely they noted the occurrence of this phrase near the end of the sutra in line 33 and decided a second occurrence near the beginning would help emphasize the point that emptiness is not nothingness but what liberates us from suffering. No other Chinese translation, however, follows suit. Nor has any Sanskrit copy been found that contains this line.
Conze says, “Etymologically, shunya (empty) conveys the idea that something, which looks like something much, is really nothing. From outside there appears to be a lot, but there is really nothing behind. A ‘swelled’ head, as we know, is an ‘empty’ head” (Buddhist Wisdom Books, p. 80).
Fa-tsang says, “Although the absolute and provisional are both submerged, their two truths are permanently present. Although emptiness and existence are both denied, their one meaning shines forever. True emptiness has never not existed, but by means of existence it is distinguished from emptiness. Illusory existence has been empty from time without beginning, but by means of emptiness it is seen as existing. Because existence is an empty existence, it does not exist. And because emptiness is an existent emptiness, it is not empty. Emptiness which is not empty, does not stop being empty. And existence which does not exist, exists but not forever.”
Chen-k’o says, “This line is the heart of this sutra. Ordinary people are deluded and don’t realize this body is a temporary combination of the Four Elements and consider it real. Thus, they hear about life and are pleased. They hear about death and are distressed. They don’t have any idea that by viewing this body as the Four Elements, they can’t find anyone who is born or dies. If the body is like this, then so is the mind. Its delusions, reasonings, and shadows are nothing but a combination of the four other skandhas. But by viewing the mind as the four skandhas, they also can’t find anyone who suffers.”
Hui-ching says, “If the skandhas exist, then suffering isn’t empty. But once someone understands that the skandhas are empty, what does suffering have to rest on? For example, when the wind blows against water, it creates bubbles. As long as they’re bubbles, they aren’t water. But when bubbles disperse and become water, they aren’t bubbles. Bubbles represent beings, and water represents our buddha nature.”
Lao-tzu says, “The reason we have suffering / is because we have a body / if we didn’t have a body / we wouldn’t have suffering” (13).
5. SAID, “HERE, SHARIPUTRA: iha shariputra
The emphatic iha (here) is often omitted by translators but is one of the most important words in the sutra. Iha is the Zen master’s shout, the poke in the ribs, the cup of tea. This was the basis of the fifth point of contention at Buddhism’s Third Council, held in 267 B.C., or one hundred and sixteen years after the Buddha’s Nirvana. This council was convened by King Ashoka in Pataliputra (modern Patna), and is said to have concerned itself with five issues raised by the monk Mahadeva. The first four concerned the status of the arhan, the hero of the shravaka tradition: Was an arhan still subject to sexual desire, was an arhan still subject to ignorance, was an arhan still subject to doubt, and was an arhan still subject to further instruction? The fifth issue was whether a person could become enlightened by an exclamation or sudden sound. As the questions raised by Mahadeva were all answered in the affirmative, this essentially lowered the status of the arhan and opened up the possibility of enlightenment outside the confines of monastic practice. Thus, this council is often seen (by the Mahayana) as marking the beginning of the split into the Hinayana and Mahayana traditions.
Thus, with “here” Avalokiteshvara opens the door to the Great Path of the Mahayana. Right here, right now, in the light of Prajnaparamita, he looks at the skandhas that the Sarvastivadins considered real and sees the absence of anything permanent, anything pure, anything separate, anything complete unto itself.
And he conveys this realization to the disciple of the Buddha best known for his analysis of the self-existence of the skandhas. Thus, Avalokiteshvara gives the skandhas a name, the name Shariputra.
Unlike Avalokiteshvara, we know a great deal about Shariputra. In ancient India, children often received two names, one from each parent. Thus, Shariputra was sometimes referred to as Upa-tishya, “child of Tishya,” after his father, who was a Brahman priest. But more often he was called Shari-putra, “son of Shari,” after his mother, whose eyes were said to resemble those of the shari, or Indian myna (Gracula religiosa). As a child Shariputra was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps, and as a youth he was known for his knowledge of Brahman scriptures and his skill in debating points of doctrine, which he often did with his boyhood friend, Maudgalyayana. Maudgaly-ayana, the “offspring of Maudgali,” the “crow,” was also named for his mother, and these two sons of bird-eyed women lived in the neighboring villages of Nalaka and Kolita. Their two families had been linked with one another for seven generations, and both boys were not only born on the same day, they were also conceived on the same day.