Chris Kang
BOccThy (Hons)
The University of Queensland
§
Introduction
This
article aims to describe how the central Buddhist doctrine of
anatta or ‘egolessness’ relates to meditative practice and
experience, through a survey of meditative teachings by medieval
and contemporary meditation masters across various Buddhist
traditions – Theravada, Zen, and Tibetan Buddhism. A personal
account of how anatta and meditation are related in the
experience of the author follows. The twin approach of contemporary
textual study and personal phenomenological investigation may prove
to be a helpful methodology in the elucidation of this most
enigmatic, and perhaps, most controversial teaching of the
historical Buddha.
Meditation Teachers on Anatta
Anatta
often translated in English as ‘non-self’ or ‘egolessness’, is
regarded by both Buddhist practitioners and scholars alike as being
the essential kernel of the vast edifice of Buddhist thought and
practice. The title of Anatta-vadi conferred upon the
Buddha by Theravada Buddhists, the elevated status accorded to the
huge collection of prajnaparamita or ‘perfection of
wisdom’ texts, which focusses emphatically on the idea of
sunyata or ‘emptiness’, and the testimonies of meditation
teachers across the various Buddhist traditions, all bear witness
to the centrality of the doctrine of anatta. In
particular, Buddhist meditators have often described
anatta as the single most profound discovery of the
Buddha, and that an insight into anatta is crucial for
attaining that utter liberation of the mind which is the summum
bonum of Buddhist praxis.
In
the Theravada or ‘Way of the Elders’ tradition, a very important
doctrine is that of the Three Characteristics of Existence, namely
anicca (impermanence), dukkha
(unsatisfactoriness), and anatta (non-self). Both in
theory and practice, insight into the Three Characteristics is
considered of paramount importance in the realization of
nibbana, the ultimate state of freedom from all suffering.
Nyanaponika describes the heart of Buddhist meditation as the
simple but effective method of bare attention, which he
defines as ‘the clear and single-minded awareness of what actually
happens to us and in us, at the successive moments of perception’.
Bare attention consists in the bare and exact registering of the
object of perception through the six senses (eyes, ears, nose,
tongue, body, and mind) before associative and abstract thinking
takes place. Sustained and diligent application of bare attention
to the four domains of mindfulness, namely the body, feelings,
mind, and mental objects, is thought to lead the meditator to the
realization that nowhere behind or within the psychophysical
continuum can any individual agent or abiding entity called the
‘self’ be detected. Nyanaponika also emphasizes the usefulness of
anapanasati or mindfulness of breathing in enabling the
meditator to see the conditioned nature of the body, by virtue of
the very fact that the breathing process is dynamic, essentially
linked to existence, and dependent on the efficient functioning of
certain organs. The nature of the body as activated by impersonal
processess, and thus without any substance, thus becomes
evident.
Dhiravamsa,
another contemporary meditation teacher in the Theravada tradition,
advocates the practice of non-attached awareness, which consists in
the dynamic and alert observation of all sensations, emotions, and
thoughts. He emphasizes the need to spontaneously observe and
investigate one’s experience free from the grip of authority – be
they some teacher’s words or one’s preconceived ideas. According to
him, meditation can be found by looking, listening, touching,
tasting, talking, walking, standing, in all movements and in all
activities. For example, when one is able to look or listen with
great attentiveness, clarity, and without a single thought, one can
then experience the flow of awareness that is without any
reactivity, reasoning, and sense of self. In talking about hearing
with awareness, he says:
If
there were myself acting as the hearer apart from the hearing, then
"I am" would be separated from "myself" which has no corresponding
reality. For "I am" and "myself" is one and the same thing. Hence I
am hearing.
In
this experience of the non-duality of subject and object, there is
a realization of the absence of any permanent and independently
existing ‘experiencer’ apart from the experience. This state is
characterized by tremendous joy and bliss, a great clarity of
understanding and complete freedom.
Ajahn
Sumedho, a foremost Western disciple of the famous Thai meditation
master Ajahn Chah, speaks about the silent observation of all that
arises and passes away in one’s body and mind in an open spirit of
‘letting go’. The gentle calming and silencing of the mind is
encouraged so as to create a space in which to observe the
conditions of the body and mind. In particular, meditation on the
body is done with a sweeping awareness of all the various
sensations that arise throughout the body, for example the pressure
of one’s clothes on the body or the subtle vibrations on the hands
and feet. This awareness can also be concentrated in a gentle and
peaceful way on any particular area of the body for further
investigation. The mind, consisting of perceptions
(sanna), sensations (vedana), mental formations
(sankhara), and consciousness (vinnana), is also
observed with a silent awareness. As Ajahn Sumedho says:
Investigate
these until you fully understand that all that rises passes away
and is not self. Then there’s no grasping of anything as being
oneself, and you are free from that desire to know yourself as a
quality or a substance. This is liberation from birth and
death.
Another
technique advocated by Sumedho is that of listening to one’s
thoughts. The meditator is asked to allow mental verbalizations and
thoughts to arise in the mind without suppressing or grasping after
them. In this way, what is normally held below the threshold of
consciousness is made fully conscious. Verbalizations associated
with pride, jealousy, meanness, or whatever emotions are seen for
what they are – impermanent, selfless conditions arising and
passing away. The thought "Who am I?" is purposefully generated to
observe its arising from and dissolving into the empty space of the
mind. By doing this, one realizes the lack of a substantial and
existing self within the processes of one’s thought.
Thich
Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk who represents a confluence
of both the Theravada and Mahayana (literally ‘Great Vehicle’) Zen
tradition, is a well-known peace activist as well as respected
meditation teacher who leads retreats worldwide on the ‘art of
mindful living’. In his teachings, Thich Nhat Hanh emphasizes the
twin practices of ‘stopping’ or concentration, and ‘observing’ or
insight. In ‘stopping’, one practises conscious breathing in order
to come back to oneself and to regain composure of body and mind.
In ‘observing’, one illumines one’s body and mind with the light of
mindful awareness in order to see deeply their true nature. Through
the simple practice of consciously following one’s breath and
attending to one’s body in the process of breathing, there comes a
time when the breath, body, and mind very naturally becomes
unified. One is then ready to clearly observe and look deeply into
the feelings (vedana), internal formations
(sankhara), and mental objects (dharmas) that
arise in the field of awareness. In this process of looking, Thich
Nhat Hanh says that to observe is to be one with the object of
observation. The subject of observation is not one’s self, but the
faculty of mindfulness which has the function of illuminating and
transforming. As Thich Nhat Hanh says:
Mindfulness
is the observing mind, but it does not stand outside of the object
of observation. It goes right into the object and becomes one with
it. Because the nature of the observing mind is mindfulness, the
observing mind does not lose itself in the object but transforms it
by illuminating it, just as the penetrating light of the sun
transforms trees and plants.
This
method of penetrative observation leads one to realize deeply that
the awakened mind is not separate from the deluded mind, and that
behind the illumination, there is neither one who illumines nor one
who is illumined. In short, the observer is the
observed:
If we
continue in our mindful observation there will no longer be a
duality between observer and observed.
In
this respect, Thich Nhat Hanh is articulating an insight
essentially similar to that of Dhiravamsa. But Thich Nhat Hanh goes
further than that. He says that there comes a point in time at
which, when one’s observation of this body and mind becomes
sufficiently deep, one realizes directly the essential
interdependence of oneself with all beings and indeed, with all
things. In this experience of insight, which he calls ‘interbeing’,
there is no longer any separation between an independently-existing
self and all that is external to it – in fact, one is the
world. To experientially understand this profound truth is to have
penetrated into the core of anatta.
Shunryu
Suzuki (1905-1971), a direct spiritual descendant of the great
thirteenth-century Zen master Dogen, came to America from Japan in
1958. His teachings, simple and direct, are focussed around the
practice of the ‘beginner’s mind’ – that innocence of first inquiry
characterized by the attitude which includes both doubt and
possibility, and the ability to perceive things always as fresh and
new. Commenting on the practice of breathing in zazen or
sitting meditation, he says:
The
air comes in and goes out like someone passing through a swinging
door. If you think, "I breathe", the "I" is extra. There is no you
to say "I". What we call "I" is just a swinging door, which moves
when we inhale and when we exhale. It just moves; that is all. When
your mind is pure and calm enough to follow this movement, there is
nothing: no "I", no world, no mind nor body.
Like
Thich Nhat Hanh, Suzuki emphasizes the correct practice of mindful
breathing in which there is no independent observer apart from the
observed – in other words, the experience of anatta. He
goes on to say that when one is fully concentrated on the
breathing, there arises the realization of the ‘completely
dependent’ yet ‘independent’ nature of existence, of which he
says:
When
we become truly ourselves, we just become a swinging door, and we
are purely independent of, and at the same time, dependent upon
everything… So when you practise zazen, your mind should
be concentrated on your breathing… Without this experience, this
practice, it is impossible to attain absolute freedom.
Suzuki
also advocates an attentive and focussed mind in everything that
one does, without being ‘shadowed by some preconceived idea’ or
giving rise to ‘other notions about other activities and things’.
In the total engagement of an activity with one’s whole body and
mind, there is no room for a sense of "I" or "other" – an
experience of anatta. He describes this kind of action
rather poetically:
When
you do something, you should burn yourself completely, like a good
bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself.
Yet
another way of practice which he teaches is what he calls a
‘smooth, free-thinking way of observation’ wherein the mind remains
soft, open and observant of everything that arises in one’s
experience. Whether an object arises in the field of consciousness
or not, the mind should remain stable and undivided in its
attention. In this way, there is no fragmentation of experience and
no clinging to one thing while rejecting the other – an experience
of ‘no mind’ or emptiness, in which the ‘self’ no longer exists as
separate from the whole of experience, emerges.
Various
methods for the realization of anatta or sunyata
(literally ‘emptiness’ or ‘voidness’) , as articulated in Mahayana
Buddhism, can be found in the different schools of Tibetan
Buddhism. An intellectually-oriented, analytical method is
advocated by the Gelug school whereas a direct,
spontaneous awareness approach is taught and emphasized by the
Mahamudra and Dzog-chen traditions of the
Karma-Kagyu and Nying-ma schools respectively. It
is the opinion of the author that while a discursive, intellectual
analysis of the mind-body complex and of the world, even when
accompanied by strong concentration, might result in a deep and
refined understanding of the concept of
sunyata, it nevertheless is a realization quite separate
from a direct insight into
anatta, which involves a non-conceptual
seeing of what
is. As such, the Mahamudra and
Dzog-chen approaches, rather than that of the
Gelug, will be discussed here.
Wang-ch’ug
Dorje (1556-1603), the ninth Karmapa or spiritual head of the
Karma-Kagyu school, describes Mahamudra
meditation as consisting of mental quiescence (samatha)
and penetrative insight (vipasyana) practices. The two
techniques advocated for settling the mind in mental quiescence are
the focussing of attention on an external object and on one’s
breath. A mastery of the above practices results in a state of
bliss, clarity, and bare non-conceptuality, which is then utilized
to investigate the mind. In penetrative insight practice, the
settled mind itself is scrupulously and silently examined to
realize its true nature. Following this, the meditator is asked to
examine thoroughly the moving mind or train of thought, and to
recognize it for what it is. If a fleeting thought does not arise,
one is then asked to deliberately emanate a thought for mindful
investigation. Wang-ch’ug Dorje further instructs:
When
you see that the nature of thought is a bright, clear awareness,
then look to see whether there is any difference between the
bright, clear awareness you saw previously with respect to the
settled mind and the bright, clear awareness you see now with
respect to a thought.
Such
an investigation leads the meditator to realize the essential
non-differentiation of the settled mind, moving mind, and clear
awareness, in which no inherently existing self can be found. This
allows full realization to be attained, when thought-moments are
consistently seen as ‘suchness’ and ‘emptiness’in the course of
one’s experience, thereby transcending their delusion-making
quality. The sense of an inherently existing ‘self’ dissolves with
this clear penetrating insight into the nature of both thoughts and
the quiet mind – the experience of anatta.
Another
Tibetan master, Sogyal Rinpoche, comes from the Nying-ma
school which had its origins in the great Tibetan saint
Padmasambhava. In the Nying-ma tradition, the highest and
quintessential practice is known as Dzog-chen, a term
which denotes both the simple yet profound practice for realizing
the intrinsic nature of the mind, as well as the state of
primordial awakening itself – the summit of one’s spiritual
evolution. Sogyal Rinpoche explains that the essential nature of
the mind is a space-like, radiant, pristine awareness,
traditionally described as the state of Rigpa. The whole
point of Dzog-chen is ‘to strengthen and stabilize
Rigpa, and allow it to grow to full maturity’. The essence
of meditation practice in Dzog-chen is described as
follows: one mindfully and repeatedly attends to the space between
the arising of two thoughts, which eventually results in a
luminous, naked awareness that is free of conceptualizations and
firmly rooted in the present – that is the state of Rigpa.
Following this, another thought might arise out of that space,
which is then immediately recognized for what it really is without
lapsing into further chains of thought. In this way, ‘whatever
thoughts that arise all automatically dissolve back into the vast
expanse of Rigpa and are liberated’. The same spacelike
awareness is cultivated with respect to emotions, events in
everyday life, and whatever activities one is engaged in. Through a
sustained and gradually deepening practice of Dzog-chen
meditation, the state of Rigpa eventually becomes a
continual flow, ‘like a river constantly moving day and night
without any interruption’. In the state of Rigpa, be it
continuous or momentary, all that arises in the mind is seen to be
the manifestation of its very energy. In other words, the awareness
and the object of awareness are no longer separate and no subject
called the ‘self’ can be found anywhere – this is essentially an
insight into anatta, perhaps in its most subtle and mature
form.
Personal Glimpses into Reality
In my
personal practice, the meditative technique that I have found to be
most direct and profound is what might be described as
choiceless awareness. In essence, it is no different from
many of the aforementioned meditative practices, especially those
of Mahamudra and Dzog-chen. It involves a whole
way of living in which meditation, life, and activity are meant to
blend into one harmonious integrality. I do not claim to have fully
actualized this state but see myself as an earnest and committed
practitioner of this integral path.
I
have found, over the course of my practice, the immense value of
formal sitting- meditation in initiating the momentum of stillness
and observation, which can then be made to continue throughout the
day. Both during formal sitting and in my daily rounds, I have
found the practice of awareness of thoughts to be greatly
significant in yielding deep insights into the nature of the self
and experience. I compare this state of awareness to an elusive
guest that comes of its own accord and leaves just as mysteriously,
and that again emerges just as quietly as it has left. Be that as
it may, the presence of awareness is felt as an ‘inner light’ which
allows a diverse range of mental processes to be ‘seen’ with
clarity and openness. Thoughts are witnessed in a subtle and
undistracted manner to reveal their associative nature and at
times, their isolated randomness. At times, thoughts have been
observed to arise one after another in a continuous ‘stream’, each
image associated with the next, centred around a specific theme or
moving along in a specific direction. At other times, thoughts seem
to branch off in multiple directions through lateral connections
between seemingly unrelated images. And again, thoughts may arise
in a slow and discontinuous manner, with each image ceasing almost
immediately after it has arisen, to be followed after a pause by
another related or non-related image. Along with mental images is
an almost ubiquitous accompaniment of a running ‘commentary’ or
‘inner voice’. This somewhat vague yet familiar voice appears to be
‘me’, the centre of ‘my’ being, the place from where ‘I’ relate to
the world. Perhaps the most important discovery that I made in
relation to this experience of meditative awareness is this: while
a strong sense of solidified ‘self’ separate from the flow of
experience is present in ordinary, unaware consciousness, this very
‘self’ is starkly and refreshingly absent in the light of
awareness. It is as if there is only a luminosity in the midst of
experience, of thoughts and inner commentary, that defies
reification or solidification. Greater familiarity with this
spacious state of awareness allows me to contrast it to times when
I have been unaware or only partially aware. This act of
contrasting and comparison resulted in the realization that while
in the state of unawareness, there is strong volitional and
emotional involvement in these images, in the experience of
awareness, this very involvement seem to be strikingly absent. In
their place is a quality of soft, relaxed equanimity. It is as if
the vortical interplay of thoughts, emotions, and volition is the
very source of this sense of ‘self’. In other words, the ‘thinker’
is the thought(s), the ‘experiencer’
is the experience!
The
other practice which I have found to be very beneficial is that of
conscious breathing as described by Thich Nhat Hanh. Conscious
breathing has been of great value in collecting the scattered
energies of the mind prior to mindful observation. Two distinct yet
somewhat similar states of consciousness that bear a relation to
anatta have been experienced in the course of this
practice. The first resulted from intense concentration on the
sensations of moving air touching the tip of my nostrils as I was
breathing. With sustained attention, coarse contactual sensations
gradually gave way to subtle vibrations of rapid frequency.
Persistent concentration on these vibrations seemed to increase the
intensity and field of this experience; awareness of breathing
seemed to have totally dissolved into the ‘sea’ of vibration. In a
sudden and unexpected moment, however, the field of vibrations
disappeared, leaving a pervasive sense of ‘nothingness’ wherein no
boundary between the ‘self’ and the environment existed. I had lost
all consciousness of bodily sensations and thoughts, and awareness,
which was initially clear and present at the start of the practice,
now became indistinct and blurred. It was a state in which ‘I’ was
not there at all, characterized by the lack rather than presence of
clear awareness. While this may be a glimpse of anatta,
albeit an imperfect and distorted one, it never had the
significance and clarity that the second experience had.
This
experience occurred, again, during the practice of conscious
breathing. Following a period of focussed attention on the breath,
I started suffusing the whole body with awareness, all the while
keeping the breath at the background of my mind. Awareness was
light, open, and pervasive, giving rise to a deepening sense of joy
and ease. Gradually and gently, it seemed as if the awareness, the
breath, and the blissful sensations of the body merged into one,
leaving no solid ‘self’ or ‘experiencer’ behind or within this
flowing experience of clarity and non-thought. It was a profoundly
invigorating ‘non-experience’ which left a deep and lasting
impression on me. It made me think of its resemblance to what Thich
Nhat Hanh has described as the anatta
experience.
Another
interesting experience that bear a relation to anatta
occurred on a particular occasion when I was at the beach. On this
occasion, the sea breeze was blowing with great strength and its
extreme chill sent shivers down my spine and through my entire
frame. I felt myself tensing up every single muscle I could find in
my body. In that moment of need, awareness arose in my mind and an
immediate relaxation of the muscles ensued. I decided to experiment
with how far I could possibly relate to this somewhat unpleasant
experience with clear awareness. Gradually I was able to let go of
my resistance to the wind and to allow my body to experience the
strong sensations as they are, without interference. It was as if
the wind was allowed to sweep across and into my body even as I
stood there open, aware, and vulnerable. As I stayed with it for
some time, the separation between the wind and myself seemed to
vanish, and in a brief but unforgettable moment, I
was the wind. The ‘self’ had merged into
the wind, as it were, and my sense of a separate ego had been
forgotten.
In
conclusion, the discovery of the lack of any permanent, inherent
self that stands apart from one’s experience is perhaps the most
fascinating and freeing insight that Buddhist meditators over the
centuries have realized. This insight contains many dimensions and
varying degrees of profundity and subtlety, which in a sense, can
never be adequately described with language. It is an understanding
that has to come from personal, existential realization. It is only
when thought and all that is born of thought, which is the self,
has completely ceased to dominate and to delude, that there comes
the possibility of lasting, unconditioned freedom – that is the
aim, that is the goal, that is the culmination.
ENDNOTES
Nyanatiloka,
Buddhist Dictionary: Manual of Buddhist Terms and
Doctrines (Colombo: Frewin & Co., 1972), p.
12.
Nyanaponika,
The Heart of Buddhist Meditation (London: Rider, 1962), p.
30.
Dhiravamsa,
V.R., The Way of Non-Attachment (England: Crucible, 1989),
p. 57.
Sumedho,
A., Mindfulness: The Path to the Deathless (England:
Amaravati, 1987), p. 51.
Thich
Nhat Hanh, Transformation and Healing: Sutra on the Four
Establishments of Mindfulness (California: Parallax, 1990), p.
44.
Ibid.,
pp. 125-126.
Ibid.,
p. 126.
Suzuki,
S., Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind (New York: Weatherhill,
1991), p. 29.
Ibid.,
p. 31.
Ibid.,
p. 62.
Ibid.,
p. 63.
Ibid.,
p. 115.
Wang-ch'ug
Dorje, The Mahamudra Eliminating the Darkness of Ignorance
(Dharamsala: Library of Tibetan Works and Archives, 1989), p.
68.
Ibid.,
p. 83.
Sogyal
Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying (London:
Rider, 1992), p. 159.
Ibid.,
p. 160.
Ibid.,
p. 160.
