by Donald Lopez
‘Venerable, you must hear! The Blessed One has in many ways condemned speaking falsely. He has commended giving up speaking falsely, has revered, praised and extolled it. Since, venerable, from this day forward, you must not, even with the intention of making someone laugh, speak a conscious lie, how much more must you not purposely speak about the higher human characteristics. Venerable, the knowing and seeing Blessed One, the Tathāgata, the Arhat, the completely and perfectly Awakened One has said: “That monk who, without knowing, without ascertaining, when even the higher human characteristics do not exist and are not found, nor the noble, nor the achievement of the distinction, nor knowledge, nor vision, nor the state of ease, still says ‘This I know. This I see’, and then later when he wants purification of the offence that has arisen from the false assertion says – whether he is asked or not – ‘Venerables, in saying I know what I do not know, in saying I see what I do not see, I spoke an empty lie’, since that monk – unless it was said from pride – is defeated he is one denied the right of living with a community.”
‘Such a monk asserts in regard to himself: “What do I know? I know suffering. I know its arising, its stopping and the path. What do I see? I see the gods. I see the divine snakes and forest divinities and heavenly birds and celestial musicians and centaurs and demonic serpents and hungry ghosts and flesh eaters and evil spirits and female demons and demons inhabiting corpses and flesh eaters of the thick obscurity.
‘“The gods also see me. The divine snakes and forest divinities… [as before]… also see me.
‘“I hear the words of the gods. I hear the words of the divine snakes and forest divinities…
‘“The gods also hear my words. The divine snakes and forest divinities… also hear my words.
‘“I go to have sight of the gods. I go to have sight of the divine snakes and forest divinities…
‘“The gods come to have sight of me. The divine snakes and forest divinities… come to have sight of me.
‘“I converse with the gods, chat, exchange pleasantries and continually stay with them. I converse with the divine snakes and forest divinities… chat, exchange pleasantries and continually stay with them.
‘“The gods converse with me, chat… the divine snakes and forest divinities converse with me, chat, exchange pleasantries, and continually stay with me.”
‘Although he is not one who has achieved this, he says “I have obtained the perception of impermanence, in impermanence the perception of suffering, in suffering the perception of no-self, in food the perception of the disagreeable, in all the world the perception of disgust, the perception of danger, the perception of abandonment, the perception of dispassion, the perceptions of stopping, death, impurity, of a blackened corpse, a putrefied corpse, a swollen corpse, a worm-eaten corpse, a gnawed corpse, a bloody corpse, a scattered corpse, a heap of bones and the perception of discerning emptiness.”
‘Although he is not one who has achieved this, he says “I have obtained the first meditation and the second and the third and the fourth, friendliness, compassion, sympathetic joy, equanimity, the sphere of endless space, of endless awareness, of nothing what-so-ever, and of neither perception nor non-perception, the fruit of one who has entered the stream, of one who will return only once, of one who will not return, and of the state of an arhat, the range of supernormal powers, the divine ear, the ability to read thoughts, know past lives, the places of death and rebirth, and the exhaustion of the afflictions. I am an arhat, one who meditates in the eight forms of release, and who is freed from both physical and mental constraints.”
‘If a monk has done such a thing, immediately upon doing so he is not a monk, not an ascetic, not a son of the Buddha, and has perished from the state of a monk. For him the character of an ascetic is destroyed, perished, disrupted, fallen, defeated, and for him the character of an ascetic cannot be restored – like a palmyra tree with its top lopped off is incapable of becoming green again, incapable of again sprouting growth or gaining fullness. You, from this day forward must make effort to carefully guard your thought by remembering and attending to what is not to be practised, and not to be done, and to the abstention from what is not to be practised.
‘Are you not going to practise such a thing?’
The newly ordained must say: ‘I am not going to practise it.’ That is the declaration of the things that lead to falling.
Then the characteristics which make an ascetic must be declared.
‘Venerable, you must hear! By the knowing and seeing Blessed One, the Tathāgata, the Arhat, the completely and perfectly Awakened One these four have been proclaimed thus as the characteristics which make an ascetic of one who has entered the religious life and is a fully ordained monk. Which are the four? You, Venerable, from this day forward, even when reviled must not revile in return. Even when offended must not offend in return. Even when chastised must not chastise in return. Even when derided you must not deride in return.
‘Are you going to practise such conditions?’
The newly ordained must say: ‘I am going to practise.’ That is the declaration of the characteristics which make an ascetic.
Then the fulfilment through the completion of what is most highly desired must be declared.
‘Venerable, you must hear! As was your former heartfelt wish – Might I enter into the religious life and obtain the state of a fully ordained monk in this well spoken teaching and discipline – so today you are entered into the religious life and fully ordained through a proper Preceptor, two proper Teachers, the concord of the community and a formal action with three motions that is inviolable and not deserving to be set aside.’ That is the declaration of the fulfilment through the completion of what is most highly desired.
Then there must be the engagement in regard to the achievement of uniformity in good conduct.
‘Venerable, you must hear! That training in which a monk who has been fully ordained for a hundred years must train, in that one who has been fully ordained only one day must also train. That training in which a monk who has been fully ordained for only one day trains, in that one who has been fully ordained for a hundred years must also train. Thus, you, from this day forward, must achieve and not turn away from that uniformity in good conduct, uniformity of training and uniformity in the exposition of the text of the monastic rules.’ That is the engagement in regard to the achievement of uniformity in good conduct.
Then there must be the engagement in regard to the reflection of what is connected with customary behaviour.
‘From this day forward you must come to perceive the Preceptor as your father. The Preceptor too must come to perceive you as his son. You must, from this day forward and for as long as he lives, attend to the Preceptor. The Preceptor too must attend to your illness until you are dead or cured.’ That is the engagement in regard to the reflection of what is connected with customary behaviour.
Then there must be the engagement in regard to the state of restraint.
‘From this day forward you must dwell, in reference to your co-religionists – seniors, those in mid-career and juniors – with respect, with regard for and with your apprehensions under control.’ That is the engagement in regard to the state of restraint.
Then there must be the engagement in regard to accomplishing the required.
‘From this day forward you must explain, must read, must recite, must develop skill in the constituents of what is taken as a person (skandha), skill in the elements (dhātu), skill in the organs and objects of sense (āyatana), skill in the origination of things by dependence (pratītyasamutpāda), and skill in possibilities and impossibilities. You must not lay aside the obligation to obtain what has not been obtained, to realize what has not been realized, to directly experience what has not been directly experienced.’ That is the engagement in regard to accomplishing the required.
Then the acquirement of an understanding of fully taking on what has not been declared must be declared.
�
��I have only declared to you those which are the very most important rules of training. Others you will hear every half-month when the exposition of the text of the monastic rules is being expounded. Still others will be taught in detail by your Preceptor, your Teacher, those having the same preceptor, those having the same teacher, those with whom you are familiar, those with whom you speak, friends and close friends.’ That is the declaration of the acquirement of an understanding of fully taking on what has not been declared.
Then there must be the engagement in regard to reverence.
‘You are fully ordained in the order of he with the most excellent wisdom [the Buddha] – as favourable conditions and prosperity are difficult to obtain, so too is this achieved.
‘The lovely entrance into the religious life and completely pure ordination were declared by the fully awakened and knowing one whose name is truth.’ That is the engagement in regard to reverence.
Then there must be the engagement in regard to that connected with the declaration of the means that must be accomplished.
‘Venerable, since you are finally fully ordained, you must achieve attentiveness.’ That is the engagement in regard to that connected with the declaration of the means that must be accomplished.
The Ritual for the Full Ordination of a Monk is completed.
Translated by Gregory Schopen from H. Eimer, Rab Tu’ Byuṅ Ba’i Gzi. Die tibetische Übersetzung des Pravrajyāvastu im Vinaya der Mūlasarvāstivādins. Asiatische Forschungen, Bd. 82 (Wiesbaden, 1983), pp. 135.15–165.5; with reference to Kalyāṇamitra, Vinayavasṭutīkā, Derge bstan ’gyur, ’Dul ba, vol. tsu 243b4–268a2; B. Jinananda, Upasampadājñaptiḥ, Tibetan Sanskrit works VI, (Patna, 1961); A.C. Banerjee, Two Buddhist Vinaya Texts in Sanskrit, (Calcutta, 1977).
27
A MURDERER BECOMES A MONK
The saṅgha grew through the Buddha’s encounters with all manner of persons, to whom he taught the dharma. Not all listened. Among those who did, some became monks, some became lay disciples. Stories of these encounters form an important part of the tradition. Among these, perhaps none is more famous than the story of the murderer Aṅgulimāla. This story raises a number of points that bear consideration, including questions of criminal responsibility, the workings of the law of karma and the power of the truth. Commentaries provide a good deal more detail than the sutta itself, which appears below.
A son was born to the wife of Gagga, a minister at the court of King Pasenadi, a patron of the Buddha. The child’s horoscope predicted a life of violence, so his parents named their child Ahiṁsaka (‘Non-violent’) in an effort to avert his destiny. He lived up to his name during his youth, until his teacher, deceived by other boys jealous of Ahiṁsaka’s success, demanded a horrific gift from his student: the little fingers cut from the right hand of one thousand people. The devoted but credulous Ahiṁsaka set out to gather them, one by one, wearing his prizes strung around his neck. He soon came to be known by another name, Aṅgulimāla (‘Finger Necklace’).
The Buddha heard of this serial killer who had terrorized the populace and set out to find him. By that time, Aṅgulimāla had accumulated 999 fingers. When he saw the Buddha approaching, he thought he had found his final victim. However, the Buddha employed his magical powers to prevent Aṅgulimāla from approaching him, and admitted him to the order of monks, where he eventually became an arhat. When King Pasenadi learned of Aṅgulimāla’s presence in the saṅgha, he did not have him arrested, but instead offered to provide his robes and food. Others, however, apparently criticized the Buddha for allowing a criminal to escape into the ranks of the saṅgha. As mentioned in Chapter 25, the Buddha formulated specific rules in response to specific situations. The disapproval that resulted from the ordination of Aṅgulimāla led the Buddha to make a rule forbidding criminals from becoming monks or nuns. This rule, however, did not apply to Aṅgulimāla because it had not been in place at the time of his ordination.
Aṅgulimāla did not entirely avoid the consequences of his deeds, however. Those who recalled his earlier vocation would pelt him with sticks and stones while he was begging for alms, even after he became an arhat. The Buddha explained that the physical pain he suffered was a consequence of his violent past. This illustrates an important point in karmic theory – that even one who has destroyed the seeds of all future rebirths and who will enter nirvāṇa at death can experience physical (but not mental) pain in their last lifetime as a result of negative deeds done in the past.
The sutta below contains another famous episode. On his almsround, Aṅgulimāla is moved by the suffering of a mother and her newborn child. The Buddha recommends that Aṅgulimāla cure them by an ‘act of truth’, a declaration whose truth has supernatural powers, in this case, the power to heal. The Buddha first instructs him to say, ‘Sister, since I was born, I do not recall that I have ever intentionally deprived a living being of life. By this truth, may you be well and may your infant be well!’ When Aṅgulimāla politely points out that this is not entirely accurate, the Buddha amends the statement to begin, ‘since I was born with noble birth’. The phrase ‘noble birth’ can be interpreted in a number of ways, but here it seems to mean ‘since I became a monk’. When Aṅgulimāla speaks these words to the mother and her child, they are cured. Aṅgulimāla’s statement has been repeated by monks to pregnant women over the centuries in the hope of assuring a successful birth.
Thus have I heard. On one occasion the Blessed One was living in Sāvatthī in Jeta’s Grove, Anāthapiṇḍika’s Park.
Now on that occasion there was a bandit in the realm of King Pasenadi of Kosala, named Aṅgulimāla, who was murderous, bloody-handed, given to blows and violence, merciless to living beings. Villages, towns and districts were laid waste by him. He was constantly murdering people and wore their fingers as a garland.
Then, when it was morning, the Blessed One dressed and, taking his bowl and outer robe, went to Sāvatthī for alms. When he had wandered for alms in Sāvatthī and returned from his almsround, after his meal he set his resting place in order and, taking his bowl and outer robe, set out on the road leading towards Aṅgulimāla. Cowherds, shepherds and ploughmen passing by saw the Blessed One walking along the road leading towards Aṅgulimāla and told him: ‘Do not take this road, recluse. On this road is the bandit Aṅgulimāla, who is murderous, bloody-handed, given to blows and violence, merciless to living beings. Villages, towns and districts have been laid waste by him. He is constantly murdering people and he wears their fingers as a garland. Men have come along this road in groups of ten, twenty, thirty and even forty, but still they have fallen into Aṅgulimāla’s hands.’ When this was said the Blessed One went on in silence.
For the second time… For the third time, the cowherds, shepherds and ploughmen told this to the Blessed One, but still the Blessed One went on in silence.
The bandit Aṅgulimāla saw the Blessed One coming in the distance. When he saw him, he thought: ‘This is wonderful, it is marvellous! Men have come along this road in groups of ten, twenty, thirty and even forty, but still they have fallen into my hands. And now this recluse comes alone, unaccompanied, as if driven by fate. Why shouldn’t I take this recluse’s life?’ Aṅgulimāla then took up his sword and shield, buckled on his bow and quiver, and followed close behind the Blessed One.
Then the Blessed One performed such a feat of supernormal power that the bandit Aṅgulimāla, though walking as fast as he could, could not catch up with the Blessed One, who was walking at his normal pace. Then the bandit Aṅgulimāla thought: ‘It is wonderful, it is marvellous! Formerly I could catch up even with a swift elephant and seize it; I could catch up even with a swift chariot and seize it; I could catch up even with a swift deer and seize it; but now, though I am walking as fast as I can, I cannot catch up with this recluse who is walking at normal pace!’ He stopped and called out to the Blessed One: ‘Stop, recluse! Stop, recluse!’
‘I have stopped, Aṅgulimāla, you stop too.’
Then the bandit Aṅgulimāla thought: ‘These recluses, sons of the Sakyans, speak truth, assert truth; but though this recluse is still walking, he says: “I have stopped, Aṅgulimāla, you stop too.” Suppose I question this recluse.’
Then the bandit Aṅgulimāla addressed the Blessed One in stanzas thus:
‘While you are walking, recluse, you tell me you have stopped;
But now, when you have stopped, you say I have not stopped.
I ask you now, O recluse, about the meaning:
How is it that you have stopped and I have not?’
‘Aṅgulimāla, I have stopped for ever,
I abstain from violence towards living beings;
But you have no restraint towards things that live:
That is why I have stopped and you have not.’
‘Oh, at long last this recluse, a venerated sage,
Has come to this great forest for my sake.
Having heard your stanza teaching me the dhamma,
I will indeed renounce evil for ever.’
So saying, the bandit took his sword and weapons
And flung them in a gaping chasm’s pit;
The bandit worshipped the Sublime One’s feet,
And then and there asked for the going forth.
The Enlightened One, the Sage of Great Compassion,
The Teacher of the world with [all] its gods,
Addressed him with these words, ‘Come, bhikkhu.’
And that was how he came to be a bhikkhu.
Then the Blessed One set out to wander back to Sāvatthī with Aṅgulimāla as his attendant. Wandering by stages, he eventually arrived at Sāvatthī, and there he lived at Sāvatthī in Jeta’s grove, Anāthapindika’s Park.