In This Very Life

by Sayadaw U Pandita

  Nibbāna cannot be experienced in the same way that, say, visual objects or sounds can be experienced, through the senses. It is not a sensual object. Therefore it cannot be included in any category of sensate (or sense-based) pleasures, no matter how extraordinary. It is nonsensate happiness, not based on the senses.

  Arguments about the nature of nibbāna have been going on since the Buddha’s time. It seems there was an abbot of a monastery who was discussing nibbānic bliss before an audience of bhikkhus. One of the bhikkhus stood up and said, “If there is no sensation in nibbāna, how can there be bliss?”

  The elder answered, “My friend, it is precisely because there is no sensation in nibbāna that it is so blissful.” This answer is almost like a riddle. I wonder what you think the answer is. If you cannot find an answer, I will be happy to give one to you.

  Disadvantages of the Senses

  First, we must talk about sensate pleasure. It is fleeting. Happiness is here one moment and gone the next. Is it really so enjoyable to go around hunting for something so ephemeral, which is changing all the time?

  Look at the amount of trouble you have to go through to get all those novel experiences you think will bring happiness. Some people have such strong desire for pleasure that they will even break the law, commit atrocious crimes, and cause others to suffer just so they can experience these fleeting sense-based pleasures. They may not understand how much suffering they themselves will have to endure in the future as a consequence of the unwholesome acts they have committed. Even ordinary people who are not criminals may become aware that a disproportionate amount of suffering is necessary to bring together a few moments of happiness, so much that it really is not worth it.

  Once one has begun to practice meditation, sources of happiness become available that are more refined, more enjoyable, than mere sense pleasures. As we have seen, each of the vipassanā jhānas brings its own kind of joy. The first jhāna brings the happiness of seclusion; the second, the happiness of concentration, which consists of intense rapture and joy. The third jhāna brings a refined contentment, which educates the mind to understand that the happiness of rapture and joy actually is rather coarse. Last and deepest, the happiness of equanimity that is discovered in the fourth vipassanā jhāna has the nature of stillness and peace. All these four are known as nekkhamma sukha, the happiness of renunciation.

  However, the peace and happiness to be found in nibbāna is superior to both the happiness of renunciation as well as that of sense pleasures. It also is quite distinct from all of them in nature. The happiness of nibbāna occurs upon the cessation of mind and matter. It is the peace of the extinction of suffering. It is independent of contact with the six kinds of sense objects. In fact, it arises because there is no contact at all with sense objects.

  People whose idea of happiness is to take a vacation, go on a picnic, and swim in a lake, people who use their free time just to attend parties or barbecues, these people may not understand how happiness could arise when there is no experience at all. As far as they are concerned, there can be beauty only when they have eyes to see it, a lovely object to look at, and the consciousness to be aware of sight, and similarly with the other senses. They might say, “If there is fragrance but no nose and no consciousness of smell where can I find delight?” They may find it impossible to imagine how anyone could contrive of such a horrid thing as nibbāna. They might reason that nibbāna is a kind of secret death, something really horrendous. Human beings become intensely frightened at the prospect of annihilation.

  Other people doubt that nibbāna can exist. They say, “This is a poet’s dream.” Or they say, “If nibbāna is nothing, how can it be better than a beautiful experience?”

  Indescribable Bliss: A Sleeping Millionaire

  Let us imagine that there is a multi-millionaire who has available to him or her all the imaginable sense pleasures. One day this person is having a nice, sound sleep. While he or she is sleeping, the chef has been at work, cooking an array of delicious food and arranging it on the table. Everything is quite in order in the full splendor of the millionaire’s mansion.

  Now the chef becomes impatient. The food is getting cold, and the chef wants the owner of the house to come down and eat. Let us say that the chef sends the butler to wake up the millionaire. What do you think? Will the millionaire leap joyfully from bed and come down to eat, or does the butler run the risk of being clobbered?

  When this millionaire is in a deep, sound sleep, he or she is blissfully oblivious to the surroundings. No matter how beautiful the bedroom, he or she does not see it. No matter how beautiful the music that is piped throughout the house, he or she is deaf to it. Fine fragrance may waft through the air, but he or she is oblivious to it. He or she is not eating, that is clear. And no matter how comfortable and luxurious the bed may be, he or she is completely unaware of the sensation of lying upon it.

  You can see that there is a certain happiness in sound sleep that is not connected with sensate objects. Anyone, rich or poor, may wake up from sound sleep and feel wonderful. One may gather, then, that some sort of happiness exists in that sleep. Though it is difficult to describe, it cannot be denied. In the same way, the noble ones who have touched the fulfillment of Dhamma know of a kind of happiness that can neither be denied nor fully described, but which we know by deductive reasoning actually exists.

  Supposing it were possible to have deep, sound sleep forever. Would you want it? If one does not like the kind of happiness that comes with sound sleep, it may be difficult to have a preference for nibbāna. If one does not want the happiness of nonexperience, one is still attached to the pleasure of the senses. This attachment is due to craving. It is said that craving actually is the root cause of sense objects.

  The Root of All Trouble

  Suffering will always follow craving. If we care to look closely at the situation on this planet, it will not be difficult to see that all the problems in this world are rooted in the desire for sense-based pleasures. It is on account of the continual need to experience these pleasures that families are formed. Members of the family have to go out and toil through the day and night to get money to support themselves. It is on account of the need for pleasure that quarrels occur within the family, that neighbors do not get along well, that towns and cities are at loggerheads, that states have conflict, that nations go to war. It is on account of sense-based pleasures that all these hosts of problems plague our world, that people have gone beyond their humanness into great cruelty and inhumanity.

  Singing the Praises of Nonexperience

  People may say, “We are born as human beings. Our heritage is the whole field of sense pleasures. What is the point of practicing for nibbāna, which is the annihilation of all these pleasures?”

  To such people one might ask a simple question. Would you be prepared to sit down and watch the same movie again and again and again throughout the day? How long can you listen to the sweet voice of your loved one without interruption? What happened to the joy that you got from listening to that sweet voice? Sense pleasures are not so special that we do not need a rest from them sometimes.

  The happiness of nonexperience or nonsensate experience far exceeds the happiness that comes through sense pleasures. It is much more refined, much more subtle, much more desirable.

  In fact, deep sleep is not exactly the same as nibbāna! In sleep, what is occurring is the life continuum, a very subtle state of consciousness with a very subtle object. It is because of the subtlety of the object that sleep seems to be nonexperience. In fact, the nonsensate happiness of nibbāna is a thousand times greater than what is experienced in the deepest sleep.

  Due to their great appreciation for nonexperience, nonreturners and arahants continually resort to nirodha samāpatti, the great cessation attainment, whereby neither matter, mind, mental factors, nor even that most subtle form of matter, mind-borne matter, occurs. When the nonreturners and arahants emerge from this state, they sing the praises of nonexpe
rience.

  Here is part of their song: “How wonderful it is to have this suffering of mind and matter extinguished in nibbāna. When all sorts of suffering connected with mind and matter are extinguished, one can deduce that the opposite will occur, that there is happiness. So in the absence of suffering we noble ones rejoice, so blissful is nibbāna. Happy is nibbāna as it is free from suffering.”

  The Nibbāna of the Buddhas

  Who was it that showed us the path to this great happiness? The Lord Buddha. This is a nibbāna that has been proclaimed by all enlightened buddhas. In Pāli the Buddha is called sammā·sambuddha. Sammā means perfectly, correctly, rightly, and the Buddha is unique in that he understood the true nature of things as they really are. The truth is true, yet what is known of it may be incorrect and wrong. The Buddha made no such mistakes. The prefix sam- means personal, by oneself; and buddha means enlightened. The Buddha was enlightened by his own efforts. He did not receive his attainment from superbeings, nor did he depend on any other person. So, the nibbāna we are talking about is the one proclaimed by the sammā·sambuddha, the perfectly self-enlightened one.

  Freedom from Sorrow

  Another characteristic of nibbāna is that it is free from sorrow. Most of you are familiar with sorrow. Imagine how wonderful it would be to be free from it. Nibbāna is called viraga in Pāli. This means “free from dust and pollution.” Dust as we normally know it makes things dirty and unpleasant. It may damage clothing and health. Far more lethal is the pollution of the kilesas! How often our minds are bombarded by this constant stream of greed, hatred, delusion, pride, conceit, jealousy, miserliness. In such a state, how can one expect the mind to be clean, pure, and clear? In contrast, nibbāna is completely free of the kilesas.

  Perfect Security

  Khema, or security, is another characteristic of nibbāna. In this world we are constantly confronted by dangers. Danger of accident, danger of enemies harming us, danger of poison. In this age of advanced science, we live in constant fear of the weapons of war that have been invented. We would be completely helpless if a war occurred in which nuclear weapons are used. There is no escape from any of this except in nibbāna, which is totally free from all dangers, totally secure.

  In the scriptures the nonsensate happiness of nibbāna is called that sort of happiness that is not mixed with kilesas. For people who experience sensate happiness, there is always some degree of greed involved. It is like food that you cook: if you add no spices, it will taste flat and not at all delicious. With spices, though, you can enjoy your food. It is the same with sensate happiness: unless there is greed, lust, and desire you will not enjoy an object. Precisely because nibbāna is not mixed with other things, it is called parisuddhi sukha, meaning “pristine and pure.”

  In order for us to experience this pristine happiness, we must first of all cultivate sīla, samādhi, and paññā. Continuous effort to purify action, speech, and mind will bring your mind to the point where it can enjoy nibbāna. I hope you will be able to work in this direction and attain pristine happiness in due course.

  6. CHARIOT TO NIBBĀNA

  Once, when the Buddha was staying in the Jeta Grove near the ancient city of Savatthi in India, he was visited in the wee hours of the night by a deva, come down from the heaven realms with a retinue of a thousand companions.

  Although the deva’s radiance filled the entire grove, he was nonetheless visibly distraught. He paid his respects to the Buddha and then launched into the following lament:

  “O Lord Buddha,” he cried, “deva-land is so noisy! It’s full of racket from all these devas. They look like petas (unhappy ghosts) to me, frolicking in their own land. Confusing it is to be in such a place. Please show me a way out!”

  This was an odd speech for a deva to make. The heaven realms are characterized by delight. Their residents, elegant and musically inclined, hardly resemble petas who live in extreme misery and suffering. Some petas are said to have gigantic bellies and pinhole mouths, so that they feel a constant, terrible hunger that they cannot satisfy.

  Using his psychic powers, the Buddha investigated the deva’s past. He learned that only recently this deva had been a human being, a practitioner of the Dhamma. As a young man he had had such faith in the Buddha’s doctrine that he left home to become a bhikkhu. After the required five years under a teacher, he had mastered the rules of conduct and community life and had become self-sufficient in his meditation practice. Then he retired to a forest alone. Because of his tremendous wish to become an arahant, the bhikkhu’s practice was extremely strenuous. So as to devote as much time as possible to meditation, he slept not at all and hardly ate. Alas, he damaged his health. Gas accumulated in his belly, causing bloating and knifelike pains. Nonetheless the bhikkhu practiced on single-mindedly, without adjusting his habits. The pains grew worse and worse, until one day, in the middle of a walking meditation, they cut off his life.

  The bhikkhu was instantly reborn in the Heaven of the Thirty-Three Gods, one of several deva realms. Suddenly as if from a dream, he awoke dressed in golden finery and standing at the gates of a glittering mansion. Inside that celestial palace were a thousand devas, dressed up and waiting for him to arrive. He was to be their master. They were delighted to see him appear at the gate! Shouting in glee, they brought out their instruments to entertain him.

  Amidst all this, our poor hero had no chance to notice that he had died and been reborn. Thinking that all these celestial beings were no more than lay devotees come to pay him respects, the new deva lowered his eyes to the ground, and modestly pulled up a corner of his golden outfit to cover his shoulder. From these gestures, the devas guessed his situation and cried, “You’re in deva-land now. This isn’t the time to meditate. It’s time to have fun and frolic. Come on, let’s dance!”

  Our hero barely heard them, for he was practicing sense restraint. Finally some of the devas went into the mansion and brought out a full-length mirror. Aghast, the new deva saw he was a monk no more. There was no place in the entire heaven realm quiet enough to practice. He was trapped.

  In dismay he thought, “When I left my home and took robes, I wanted only the highest bliss, arahantship. I’m like the boxer who enters a competition hoping for a gold medal and is given a cabbage instead!”

  The ex-bhikkhu was afraid even to set foot inside the gate of his mansion. He knew his strength of mind would not last against these pleasures, far more intense than those of our human world. Suddenly he realized that as a deva he had the power to visit the human realm where the Buddha was teaching. This realization cheered him up.

  “I can get celestial riches anytime,” he thought. “But the opportunity to meet a buddha is truly rare.” Without a second thought he flew off, followed by his thousand companions.

  Finding the Buddha in the Jeta Grove, the deva approached him and asked for help. The Buddha, impressed by his commitment to practice, gave the following instructions:

  “O deva, straight is the path you have trodden. It will lead you to that safe haven, free from fear, which is your goal. You shall ride in a chariot that is perfectly silent. Its two wheels are mental and physical effort. Conscience is its back rest. Mindfulness is the armor that surrounds this chariot, and right view is the charioteer. Anyone, woman or man, possessing such a chariot and driving it well, shall have no doubt of reaching nibbāna.”

  What Is Wrong with a Continuous Party?

  This story of the bhikkhu-deva is outlined in the collection of Pāli suttas known as the Samyutta Nikaya. It illustrates many things about meditation practice. We will examine it step by step. But perhaps the first question you will ask is, “Why would anyone complain about rebirth in a heaven realm?” After all, deva-land is a continuous party, where everyone has a gorgeous, long-lasting body and is surrounded by sensual pleasures.

  It may be unnecessary to die and be reborn to understand the deva’s reaction. There are heaven realms right on this planet. Is true and permanent happiness to be found in any o
f them? The United States, for example, is a very advanced country materially. There, a vast array of sense pleasures is available. You can see people intoxicated, drowning, in luxury and pleasure. Ask yourself whether such people think of looking deeper, of making an effort to seek the truth about existence? Are they truly happy?

  When he had been a human being, our deva had had utter faith in the Buddha’s teaching that the highest bliss is the freedom that comes through Dhamma practice. In search of this happiness beyond the senses, he renounced worldly enjoyments and devoted himself to the life of a bhikkhu. He strove ardently to become an arahant. In fact, he strove too ardently and brought on his own premature death. Suddenly he found himself back at square one—surrounded by the sensual pleasures he had tried to leave behind. Can you understand his feeling of disappointment?

  Actually death is nothing very novel. It is just a shift of consciousness. There is no intervening consciousness between the awareness of death and rebirth-consciousness. Unlike humans, moreover, birth for devas is spontaneous and painless.

  Therefore, the yogi lost no momentum in his practice between one life and the other. Here again, it is not surprising that he would complain about the noise in deva-land. If you have ever practiced deeply, you know how disruptive and painful sound can be at times, either in a sudden burst or as a sustained barrage. Imagine you have just reached a place of quiet and calm in your sitting, and the telephone rings. Instantly your whole hour of samādhi can go to pieces. If this experience has ever happened to you, you might understand this yogi’s outburst comparing devas to the unhappy ghosts. When that phone rings, I wonder what sort of curse arises in you, even if a friend is calling!