                           THE WORN-OUT SKIN

                      Reflections on the Uraga Sutta



                                  by
                           Nyanaponika Thera
                                          
                                          
                    The Wheel Publication No. 241/242
                           ISBN 955-24-0058-9

                           First edition 1977
                     Second edition (revised) 1989
  
                      BUDDHIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY
                      KANDY              SRI LANKA
                                          
                                          
              Copyright 1989 Buddhist Publication Society

                                * * *
                                          
                         DharmaNet Edition 1994
                                          
        This electronic edition is offered for free distribution
            via DharmaNet by arrangement with the publisher.
                                          
                        DharmaNet International
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                            * * * * * * * *


                               CONTENTS

                Introduction                    --+
                Uraga Sutta - The Serpent         |
                I - Reflections on the Refrain    | -- WORN_OUT.TXT
                II - Reflections on the Verses    |
                Notes                             |
                About the BPS                   --+

                Uraga Sutta, with Diacritics            DIACRIT.TXT

                            * * * * * * * *


                                          
                              INTRODUCTION
  
  
  The Sutta Nipata, in its oldest and most characteristic parts, is a 
  deeply stirring Song of Freedom. The verses of this ancient book are a 
  challenging call to us to leave behind the narrow confines of our 
  imprisoned existence with its ever-growing walls of accumulated habits 
  of life and thought. They beckon us to free ourselves from the 
  enslavement to our passions and to our thousand little whims and 
  wishes. A call to freedom is always timely because in our lives we 
  constantly bind ourselves to this and that, or let ourselves be bound 
  in various ways by others and by circumstances. To some extent, normal 
  life cannot entirely escape from such a situation. In fact, "binding" 
  oneself to a worthy task and duty or to an ennobling human 
  relationship is an indispensable antidote to the opposite tendency: 
  the dissipation of our energies. The physical act of walking consists 
  not only in the "freeing" action of lifting and stretching the foot, 
  but also in the "binding" function of lowering it and placing it 
  firmly on the ground. Analogously, in mental movement, there is the 
  same need for support as well as for uplift and forward advancement.
  
    But, having the comfort of a "secure footing" in life, we too easily 
  forget to walk on. Instead, we prefer to "strengthen our position," to 
  improve and embellish the little cage we build for ourselves out of 
  habits, ideas and beliefs. Once we have settled down in our habitual 
  ways of living and thinking, we feel less and less inclined to give 
  them up for the sake of risky ventures into a freedom of life and 
  thought full of dangers and uncertainties. True freedom places on us 
  the uncomfortable burden of ever-fresh responsible decisions, which 
  have to be guided by mindfulness, wisdom and human sympathy. Few are 
  willing to accept the full weight of such a burden. Instead, they 
  prefer to be led and bound by the rules given by others, and by habits 
  mainly dominated by self-interest and social conventions. With the 
  habituation to a life of inner and outer bondage, there grows what 
  Erich Fromm calls a "fear of freedom." Such fear, if allowed to 
  persist and take root, inevitably leads to a stagnation of our inner 
  growth and creativeness as well as to a stagnant society and culture. 
  In a state of stagnation, toxic elements will endanger mankind's 
  healthy progress -- physical and mental, social and spiritual. Then 
  William Blake's words will prove true: "Expect poison from stagnant 
  water."
    
    Those too who say "Yes" to life and wish to protect mankind from 
  decline by its self-produced toxins -- biological and psychological -- 
  will also have to shed that "fear of freedom" and enter freedom's 
  arduous way. It is an arduous way because it demands of us that we 
  break the self-forged fetters of our lusts and hates, our prejudices 
  and dogmas -- fetters we foolishly cherish as ornaments. But once we 
  see them for what they really are, obstacles to true freedom, the hard 
  task of discarding them will become at the same time a joyous 
  experience.
    
    The Sutta Nipata, however, warns repeatedly of false ideas of 
  freedom. He is not truly free who only follows his self-willed whims 
  and desires (//chandagu//, v.913), who is carried along by them 
  (//chandanunito//, v.731). Nor can true freedom be found by those who 
  only seek to exchange one bondage for another.
  
       Leaving the old through craving for the new -- 
       Pursuit of longings never from bondage frees;
       It is but letting go to grasp afresh
       As monkeys reach from branch to branch of trees.
                                        v.791
  
    Mankind is always in need of both lawgivers and liberators. It is 
  for echoing the voice of that great liberator, the Buddha, that the 
  following pages have been written as a humble tribute. What follows 
  are free musings on the first poem of the Sutta Nipata, the Uraga 
  Sutta, interspersed with gleanings from the Buddhist texts, which may 
  help to illuminate the verses.
  
                                        Nyanaponika
                                        
  Kandy, Sri Lanka
  15 November 1975
  
  
                            * * * * * * * *
                                          
                                          
                                          
                                          
                        Uraga Sutta: The Serpent
  
  
  
       1. Yo ve uppatita vineti kodha
        visatam sappavisam va osadhehi
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
        
            He who can curb his wrath
            as soon as it arises,
            as a timely antidote will check
            snake's venom that so quickly spreads,
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
  
       2. Yo ragam udacchida asesam
        bhisapuppham va saroruham vigayha
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
  
            He who entirely cuts off his lust
            as entering a pond one uproots lotus plants,
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
       
       
       3. Yo tanham udacchida asesam
        saritam sighasaram visosayitva
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
  
            He who entirely cuts off his craving
            by drying up its fierce and rapid flow,
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
       
       
       4. Yo manam udabbadhi asesam
        nalasetum va sudubbalam mahogho
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
       
            He who entirely blots out conceit
            as the wind demolishes a fragile bamboo bridge,
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
       
       
       5. Yo najjhagama bhavesu saram
        vicinam puppham iva udumbaresu
        so bhikkhu jahati orapara
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
  
            He who does not find core or substance
            in any of the realms of being,
            like flowers which are vainly sought
            in fig trees that bear none,
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
  
       6. Yass'antarato na santi kopa
        itibhavabhavatanca vitivatto
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
       
            He who bears no grudges in his heart,
            transcending all this "thus" and "otherwise,"
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
            
            
       7. Yassa vitakka vidhupitave
        ajjhattam suvikappita asesa
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
       
            He who has burned out his evil thoughts,
            entirely cut them off within his heart,
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as the 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
            
            
       8. Yo naccasari na paccasari
        sabbam accagama imam papancam
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
        
            He who neither goes too far nor lags behind,
            entirely transcending the diffuseness of the world,
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
            
            
       9. Yo naccasari na paccasari
        sabbam vitatham idan'ti natva loke
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
            
            He who neither goes too far nor lags behind
            and knows about the world: "This is all unreal,"
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
            
       
       10. Yo naccasari na paccasari
        sabbam vitatham idan'ti vitalobho
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
       
            He who neither goes too far nor lags behind,
            greedless he knows: "This is all unreal,"
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
            
            
       11. Yo naccasari na paccasari
        sabbam vitatham idan'ti vitarago
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
       
            He who neither goes too far nor lags behind,
            lust-free he knows: "This is all unreal,"
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
            
            
       12. Yo naccasari na paccasari
        sabbam vitatham idan'ti vitadoso
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
  
            He who neither goes too far nor lags behind,
            hate-free he knows: "This is all unreal,"
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
  
       13. Yo naccasari na paccasari
        sabbam vitatham idan'ti vitamoho
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
       
            He who neither goes too far nor lags behind,
            delusion-free he knows: "This is all unreal,"
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
            
            
       14. Yass'anusaya na santi keci
        mula akusala samuhatase
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
       
            He who has no dormant tendencies whatever,
            whose unwholesome roots have been expunged,
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
            
            
       15. Yassa darathaja na santi keci
        oram agamanaya paccayase
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
            
            States born of anxiety he harbours none
            which may condition his return to earth,
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
            
       
       16. Yassa vanathaja na santi keci
        vinibandhaya bhavaya hetukappa
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
            
            States born of attachment he harbours none
            which cause his bondage to existence,
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
            
       
       17. Yo nivarane pahaya panca
        anigho tinnakathamkatho visallo
        so bhikkhu jahati oraparam
        urago jinnam iva tacam puranam.
  
            He who has the five hindrances discarded,
            doubt-free and serene, and free of inner barbs,
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
              serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
                                          
                                          
                            * * * * * * * *
  
  
  
  
                     I   REFLECTIONS ON THE REFRAIN
  
  
  
  The Refrain:
  
            -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond,
            just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
  
  
  
  The Simile of the Serpent
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  The ancient masters of the Theravada Buddhist tradition explain the 
  simile of the serpent's worn-out skin, occurring in the last line of 
  each of the poem's verses, as follows:
  
     The shedding of the serpent's old skin is done in four ways:
      (1) in following the law of its own species,
      (2) through disgust,
      (3) with the help of a support, and
      (4) with effort.
       
       (1) "Its own species" is that of those long-bodied animals, the 
         snakes. Snakes do not transgress these five characteristics of 
         their species: in regard to their birth, their death, their 
         surrendering to (a long and deep) sleep, their mating with 
         their own kind only, and the shedding of the old, worn- out 
         skin. Hence, in shedding the skin, a snake follows the law of 
         its own kind.
       
       (2) But in doing so, it sheds the old skin out of disgust. When 
         only half of the body has been freed of the old skin and the 
         other half is still attached, the snake will feel disgust.
       
       (3) In such disgust, the snake will support its body on a piece 
         of wood, a root or a stone, and
       
       (4) making an effort, using all its strength, it will wind its 
         tail around the supporting object, exhale forcefully and expand 
         its hood, and shed the old skin fully. Then it will go freely 
         wherever it likes. It is similar with a monk. The "law of his 
         own species" is virtue (//sila//). Standing firm in his own law 
         of virtue, and seeing the misery involved, he becomes disgusted 
         with the "old worn-out skin" of the "here and the beyond," 
         comprising (such pairs of opposites) as his own and others' 
         personalized existence, etc., which are productive of 
         suffering. Thus he becomes disgusted and, seeking the support 
         of a noble friend, (a wise teacher and meditation master), he 
         summons his utmost strength by way of the path factor, right 
         effort. Dividing day and night into six periods, during 
         daytime, while walking up and down or sitting, he purifies his 
         mind from obstructive things; doing so also in the first and 
         the last watch of the night, he lies down for rest only in the 
         night's middle watch. Thus he strives and struggles. Just as 
         the serpent bends its tail, so he bends his legs to a 
         cross-legged posture. As the serpent exhales forcefully, so the 
         monk musters all his unremitting strength. As the serpent 
         expands its hood, so the monk works for an expansion of his 
         insight. And just as the serpent sheds its old skin, so the 
         monk abandons the here and the beyond, and being now freed of 
         the burden, he goes forth to the Nibbana-element that is 
         without a residue of the groups of existence 
         (//anupadisesa-nibbanadhatu//).
       
                                        Commentary to the Sutta Nipata
  
    Conforming to the "law of its own species," the serpent discards 
  what has become only a burden. It is worn-out, outgrown skin which the 
  snake gladly sheds. And thus it will finally be with him who earnestly 
  walks the path to the freedom from all burdens (//yogakkhema//). Daily 
  practice of alienation from what has been understood to be actually 
  alien will wear thin the bondage to "self" and the world, loosen more 
  and more clinging's tight grip, until, like the serpent's worn-out 
  skin, it falls away almost effortlessly. Just as, according to similes 
  given by the Buddha, the handle of a hatchet is wasted away by 
  constant use; just as the strongest ship-ropes will become brittle by 
  constant exposure to wind, sun and rain and finally fall asunder -- so 
  will constant acts of giving up, of letting go, wear thin and fragile 
  the once so stout and unbreakable fetters of craving and ignorance, 
  until one day they drop off completely. By such an act of "shedding 
  the old skin," no "violence against nature" is done; it is a lawful 
  process of growing, of outgrowing that which is no longer an object of 
  attachment -- just as the old skin is no longer attached to the 
  snake's body. Only in such a way can a person vanquish those 
  passionate urges and deceptive notions of his, which are so powerful 
  and so deeply rooted. In the act of ultimate liberation, nothing is 
  violently broken which was not already detached from the living 
  tissues of mind and body or only quite loosely joined with them. Only 
  a last effort of the powerful muscles will be needed to shake off the 
  empty sheath -- this hollow concept of an imaginary self which had 
  hidden for so long the true nature of body and mind. Here it lies 
  before the meditator's feet -- like the serpent's worn-out skin -- a 
  lifeless heap of thin and wrinkled thought tissue. Once it had seemed 
  to be so full of alluring beauty -- this proud and deceptive idea of 
  "I" and "mine." Now this illusion is no more, and a new "conceptual 
  skin" has grown which, though likewise made of imperfect words, has no 
  longer the deceptive colorings of conceit, craving and false ideas. 
  Mind-and-body are now seen as they truly are. Now one no longer 
  misconceives them for what they are not and no longer expects of them 
  what they cannot give: lasting happiness. How big a burden of anxiety, 
  fear, frustration and insatiate craving will have been discarded! How 
  light and free the heart can become if one sheds attachment to what is 
  not one's own!
  
    What actually has to be shed is this attachment rooted in the 
  ego-illusion. But until discarded entirely, this ego-illusion will 
  still cling to mind- and-body by the force of three powerful strands 
  which are also its feeders: conceit, craving and false ideas. Even if 
  false ideas about a self have been given up intellectually, the other 
  two "feeders," conceit and craving, are strong enough to cause an 
  identification of mind-and-body (or of some of their features) with 
  the imaginary self.
  
    This identification has to be dissolved on all three levels until 
  mind-and-body are seen to be as alien as those dry leaves of the Jeta 
  Grove which the Buddha once picked up, asking the monks whether these 
  leaves are their self or their self's property. And the monks replied: 
  "They are surely not our self or anything belonging to our self." Then 
  the Master said: "Therefore, monks, give up what is not yours! Give up 
  all clinging to body, feelings, perceptions, [1] volitions, and 
  consciousness" (Majjhima Nikaya 22). It is certainly not difficult to 
  give up what is so obviously foreign to us, and worthless, too, like 
  those dry leaves or any other insignificant trifles we encounter in 
  our lives. It is harder to give up a cherished material object or a 
  beloved human being. It is hardest, however, to detach ourselves from 
  the body and its pleasures, from our likes and dislikes, from the 
  intellectual enjoyment of our thoughts, from deep-rooted tendencies 
  and habits; in short, from all that we instinctively and without 
  question identify with as "ourselves." All these constituents of our 
  supposed "self" are visibly changing, sometimes rapidly and radically; 
  sometimes the changes of our likes and dislikes, habits and ideas, 
  turn them into their very opposite. Yet we still continue to identify 
  ourselves whole-heartedly with those new states of mind as if they 
  were the old ego. So tenacious is the ego-illusion and therefore so 
  hard to break.
  
    Yet it is to that hardest task that the Master summons us: "Give up 
  what is not yours! And what is not yours? The body is not yours: give 
  it up! Giving it up will be for your weal and happiness. Feelings, 
  perceptions, volitions and consciousness are not yours: give them up! 
  Giving them up will be for your weal and happiness."
  
    We must recall here that it is attachment to these five aggregates 
  that has to be given up and that this is a gradual process. We must 
  not expect our habitual likes and dislikes, our intellectual 
  enjoyments and our desires to vanish all at once; nor can or should 
  they be broken by force. This seemingly compact and identifiable 
  personality has been gradually built up by the intake of physical and 
  mental nourishment. Again and again, thousands of times during a 
  single day, we have approached and absorbed the physical and mental 
  objects of our desire. One after the other we have made them "our own" 
  and believed them to be our own. This continuous process of 
  accumulating attachments and self-identifications must now be reversed 
  by a gradual process of detachment achieved by dissolving or stopping 
  the false identifications. The Buddha's teaching chiefly consists of 
  aids assisting us in that task of gradual detachment -- aids to right 
  living and to right thinking. The simile of the snake's worn- out skin 
  is one of these aids, and if seen as such it has much to teach. These 
  are some of the ways in which contemplation can be helpful:
  
    1. We look at our skin encasing the body: it is now firm and taut,
  healthily alive, our warm blood pulsating beneath it. Imagine it now 
  lying before you, empty and limp, like a snake's discarded slough. In 
  such a manner you may visualize the feature skin among the thirty-two 
  parts of the body, a meditation [2] recommended by the Buddha.  When 
  thus brought vividly to life, it will help you to alienate and detach 
  yourself from the body.
  
    2. Just as the serpent does not hesitate to fulfill the biological 
  "law of its kind" in shedding its old skin, so right renunciation will 
  not waver or shrink from those acts of giving up which right 
  understanding of reality demands. Just as the serpent does not mourn 
  over the loss of its worn-out slough, so right renunciation has no 
  regrets when it discards what has been seen as void of value and 
  substance and replaces it by something new and more beautiful: the 
  happiness of letting go, the exhilaration of the freedom won, the 
  serenity of insight and the radiance of a mind purified and calmed. It 
  is the growing strength of this new experience which will gradually 
  clear the road to final emancipation.
    
    3. According to the commentary quoted by us, the snake feels disgust 
  towards its old skin when the sloughing is not yet complete and parts 
  of the old skin still adhere to its body. Similarly, the disgust felt 
  towards residual attachments and defilements will give to the disciple 
  an additional urgency in his struggle for final liberation. Such 
  disgust is a symptom of his growing detachment. It is strengthened by 
  an increasing awareness of the perils inherent in the uneliminated 
  defilements -- perils to oneself and to others. On seeing these 
  perils, the whole misery of man's situation, the samsaric predicament, 
  will gain for him increasing poignancy; and the more he progresses in 
  mental training and moral refinement, the stronger his distaste will 
  become for what is still unamenable in him to that training and 
  refinement. Therefore the Buddha advised his son Rahula: "Make disgust 
  strong in you" (Sutta Nipata, v.340). This disgust (//nibbida//) is 
  often mentioned in the Buddhist scriptures as an aid as well as a 
  phase on the road to full detachment. Thus among the eight insight 
  knowledges the contemplation of disgust (//nibbidanupassana//) follows 
  upon the awareness of the peril and misery in //samsara//, when 
  formations of existence have become tasteless and insipid to the 
  meditator. And in innumerable sutta passages the Buddha says that when 
  the disciple sees the constituents of body and mind as impermanent, 
  suffering and not self, he becomes disgusted with them; through his 
  disgust he becomes dispassionate, and through dispassion he is 
  liberated. The Noble Eightfold Path itself is extolled because it 
  leads to complete disgust with worldliness, to dispassion, cessation, 
  peace, direct [3] knowledge, enlightenment and Nibbana.
  
    When insight is deepened and strengthened, what has been called here 
  "disgust" (in rendering the Pali //nibbida//) loses the strong 
  emotional tinge of aversion and revulsion. It manifests itself instead 
  as a withdrawal, estrangement and turning away from worldliness and 
  from the residue of one's own defilements. 4. Just as the snake, in 
  its effort to throw off its old skin, uses as support a stone or the 
  root of a tree, similarly, the teachers of old say that the striving 
  disciple should make full use of the support of noble friendship in 
  his efforts towards full liberation. A friend's watchful concern, his 
  wise counsel and his inspiring example may well be of decisive help in 
  the arduous work of freeing oneself from the burdensome encumbrance of 
  passions, frailties and tenacious habits.
    
    Often and emphatically, the Buddha praised the value of noble 
  friendship. Once the venerable Ananda, who was so deeply devoted to 
  the Master, spoke of noble friendship as being "half of the holy 
  life," believing he had duly praised its worth. The Buddha replied: 
  "Do not say so, Ananda, do not say so: it is the entire holy life to 
  have noble friends, noble companions, noble associates" (Samyutta 
  Nikaya). If this holds true for the spiritual life of a monk, there 
  are additional reasons for cherishing noble friendship within the 
  common life of the world with all its harshness and perils, struggles 
  and temptations, and its almost unavoidable contact with fools and 
  rogues.
    
    Noble friendship, so rare and precious, is indeed one of the few
  solaces which this world can offer. But this world of ours would be 
  truly "disconsolate" if, besides the solace of friendship, it did not 
  harbor the still greater solace of the Buddha's compassionate message 
  of an open way to final deliverance from suffering.
  
  
  
  
  The Meaning of Monk
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  The word monk (//bhikkhu//) has to be taken here in the same sense as 
  explained in the old commentary on the Satipatthana Sutta:
  
       Monk is a term to indicate a person who earnestly endeavors to 
       accomplish the practice of the teaching. Though there are others,
       gods and men, who earnestly strive to accomplish the practice of
       the teaching, yet because of the excellence of the state of a
       monk by way of practice, the Master spoke here of a monk ...
       Verily, he who follows the teaching, be he a deity or a human
       being, is called a monk.
  
  
  
  
  The Here and the Beyond (//ora-param//)
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  Now what is it that should be given up finally and without regret? Our 
  text calls it "the here and the beyond," using Pali words that 
  originally signified the two banks of a river. The "here" is this 
  world of our present life experience as human beings; the "beyond" is 
  any world beyond the present one to which our willed actions 
  (//kamma//) may lead us in our future existences in //samsara//, the 
  round of rebirths. It may be a world of heavenly bliss, or one of 
  hell- like suffering, or a world which our imagination creates and our 
  heart desires; for life in any world beyond the present one belongs as 
  much to the totality of existence as life on earth, Nibbana alone 
  being the "beyond of existence."
  
    The phrase "the here and the beyond" also applies to all those 
  various discriminations, dichotomies and pairs of opposites in which 
  our minds habitually move: the lower and the higher, the inner and the 
  outer, the (life-affirming) good and the bad, acceptance and 
  rejection. In brief, it signifies the ever-recurring play of 
  opposites, and as this play maintains the game of life with its 
  unresolvable dissatisfactions, disappointment and suffering, the 
  Buddha calls on us to give it up.
  
    The overcoming of the opposites, the detachment from "both sides," 
  is one of the recurrent themes of the Sutta Nipata. Among the various 
  pairs of opposites structuring our thoughts, attitudes and feelings, 
  the most prominent is that of "the lower and the higher." All the 
  numerous religious, ethical, social and political doctrines devised by 
  man employ this dichotomy, and though their definitions of these two 
  terms may differ enormously, they are unanimous in demanding that we 
  give up the low and attach ourselves, firmly and exclusively, to 
  whatever they praise as "high," "higher" or "highest."
  
  
       Espousing among views his own as highest,
       Whatever he regards as "best,"
       All else he will as "low}" condemn;
       Thus one will never get beyond disputes.
                                        Sutta Nipata, v.796 21
  
  
    However, in any area of human concern, secular or religious, 
  clinging to discriminations of "high and low" is bound to result in 
  suffering. When we are attached to anything "high," if the object 
  changes, we will meet with sorrow; if our attitudes change, we will 
  find ourselves feeling flustered and discontent. But despite their 
  repeated experience of transiency, and despite all their prior 
  disappointments, men still foster the vain hope that what they cherish 
  and cling to will remain with them forever. Only those few "with 
  little or no dust in their eyes" understand that this play of 
  opposites, on its own level, is interminable; and only one, the 
  Buddha, has shown
  us how to step out of it. He, the Great Liberator, showed that the way 
  to genuine freedom lies in relinquishing both sides of the dichotomy, 
  even insisting that his own teaching is only a raft built for crossing 
  over and not for holding on to:
  
       "You, O monks who understand the Teaching's
       similitude to a raft, you should let go even of good teachings, 
         how much more the false ones." 
                                        Majjhima Nikaya 22
  
  
       "Do you see, my disciples, any fetter, coarse or fine, which I 
         have not asked you to discard?"
                                        Majjhima Nikaya 66
  
  
    One should, however, know well and constantly bear in mind that the 
  relinquishing of both sides, the transcending of the opposites, is the 
  final goal -- a goal which comes at the end of a long journey. Because 
  this journey unavoidably leads through the ups and downs of 
  //samsara//, the traveler will repeatedly encounter the play of 
  opposites, within which he will have to make his choices and select 
  his values. He must never attempt to soar above the realm of opposites 
  while ill-equipped with feeble wings or else his fate, like that of 
  Icarus, will be a crash landing. For a time, to the best of his 
  knowledge and strength, he must firmly choose the side of the "higher" 
  against the "lower," following what is beneficial from the standpoint 
  of the Dhamma and avoiding what is harmful. But he should regard his 
  choices and values as a raft, not clinging to them for their own sake, 
  always ready to leave them behind to embark on the next phase of the 
  journey. While still on the mundane plane, he must never forget or 
  belittle the presence within himself of the "lower," the dark side of 
  his nature, and he must learn to deal with this wisely, with caution 
  as well as firmness.
  
    To cross the ocean of life and reach "the other shore" safely, skill 
  is needed in navigating its currents and cross-currents. In adapting 
  oneself to those inner and outer currents, however, one must always be 
  watchful. The currents can be powerful at times and one must know when 
  it is necessary to resist them. Sometimes right effort has to be 
  applied to avoid or overcome what is evil and to produce and preserve 
  what is good. At other times it is wise to restrain excessive and 
  impatient zeal and revert to a receptive attitude, allowing the 
  processes of inner growth to mature at their own rate. By wisely 
  directed adaptation we can learn to give full weight to both sides of 
  every situation -- to the duality in our own nature and in the 
  objective circumstances we face. Only by confronting and understanding 
  the two sides within one's own experience can one master and finally 
  transcend them.
  
    An increasingly refined response to the play of opposites will teach 
  one how to balance, harmonize and strengthen one's spiritual faculties 
  (//indriya//) by reducing excess and making up deficiencies. When it 
  concerns two equally positive qualities -- such as the faculties of 
  energy and calm -- one will naturally prefer to strengthen the weaker 
  side instead of reducing the stronger, thus re-establishing the 
  balance of faculties on a higher level. Only by a harmonious balance 
  of highly developed faculties can one move on to the next phase of 
  progress: the "transcending of both sides," the final comprehension 
  and mastery of merely apparent opposites, such as firmness and 
  gentleness, which appear opposed only when isolated or unbalanced.
    
    This harmony, which is dynamic and not static, gains perfection in 
  the equipoise and equanimity of the Arahat, the Liberated One, an 
  equanimity far wider, deeper and stronger than any the ordinary man 
  can even envision.
    
    On the emotional level, the Arahat's equanimity is marked by perfect 
  and unshakable equipoise in the midst of the vicissitudes of life and 
  in the face of all the problems and conflicts which may come within 
  the range of his experience. This equanimity is not indifferent 
  aloofness but a balanced response to any situation -- a response 
  motivated and directed by wisdom and compassion.
    
    On the volitional and active level, the Arahat's equanimity appears 
  as freedom from partiality; as a thoughtful choice between action and 
  non-action, again motivated by wisdom and compassion; and as perfect 
  equipoise when the choice has been made.
    
    On the cognitive and intellectual level, his equanimity shows up in 
  a balanced judgment of any situation or idea, based on a mindful and 
  realistic appraisal; it is the equipoise of insight that avoids the 
  pitfalls of extreme conceptual viewpoints.
    
    This is the triple aspect of the Arahat's equanimity as an 
  embodiment of the middle path rising above the extremes and opposites.
  
  
  
  
  The Structure of the Verses
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  In each verse of the poem, the giving up of "the here and the beyond" 
  mentioned in the refrain is connected with the abandonment of certain 
  mental defilements (//kilesa//), basic distortions of attitude and 
  understanding, mentioned in the first lines of the verse (always two 
  in the original Pali). The purport behind this connection is that only 
  if the mental defilements mentioned in the first lines are eliminated 
  entirely (//asesam//, "without remainder") -- as stated expressly in 
  verses 2,3 and 4 -- can one rise above the opposites involved in those 
  defilements. Only by entire elimination are the defilements eradicated 
  in their lower and higher, coarse and subtle forms, in their manifest 
  and latent states. If even a minute residue of them is left, it will 
  suffice to revive the full play of the opposites and a recurrence of 
  the extremes. No member of a pair of opposites can exclude the 
  influence of its counterpart and remain stationary within the same 
  degree of strength or weakness. There is a constant fluctuation 
  between "high" and "low" as to degree of the defilements, as to 
  evaluation of mental qualities, and as to forms of existence to which 
  the defilements may lead.
  
    It is the complete uprooting of the defilements alone which will 
  make an end of rebirth -- of the here and the beyond, the high and the 
  low, which remain in constant fluctuation as long as the defilements 
  persist. When such an uprooting is made, the here and the beyond will 
  be transcended, left behind as something empty, coreless and alien -- 
  "just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin."
  
  
                            * * * * * * * *
  
  
  
  
                     II    REFLECTIONS ON THE VERSES
  
  
       1. He who can curb his wrath
        as soon as it arises,
        as a timely antidote will check
        snake's venom that so quickly spreads,
        -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond,
        just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
  This first verse compares wrath, which is vehement anger or rage, to a 
  snake's poison that rapidly spreads in the body of the person bitten; 
  for snakes, or at least some of the species, have always been
  regarded as irascible animals of venomous ire. Wrath is an outcome of 
  hate, one of the three powerful roots [4] of all evil and suffering.  
  The term "hate" (//dosa//) comprises all degrees of antipathy, from 
  the weakest dislike to the strongest fury. In fact, the Pali word 
  //kodha//, used in this verse and rendered here by "wrath," actually 
  extends to the whole scale of antagonistic emotions. We have, however, 
  singled out its extreme form, "wrath," because of the simile and in 
  view of the fact that its less vehement forms will find their place 
  under the heading of "grudge," in verse 6.
    
    Of the evil root hate in its entire range the Buddha says, "It is a 
  great evil but (relatively) easy to overcome" (Anguttara, 3:68). It 
  was perhaps for both these reasons that wrath is mentioned here first, 
  preceding the other defilements which appear in the following verses. 
  Hate is a great evil because of its consequences. Its presence poses a 
  much greater danger of a straight fall into the lowest depths of 
  inhuman conduct and into the lowest forms of existence than, for 
  instance, greed or lust, another of the three evil roots. On the other 
  hand, hate is relatively easy to overcome, for it produces an unhappy 
  state of mind which goes counter to the common human desire for 
  happiness. But hate will be "easy to overcome" only for those who also 
  know of the need to purify their own hearts and are willing to make 
  that effort. For those, however, who identify themselves fully with 
  their aversions or even try to justify their outbursts of temper -- 
  for them hate, too, is very difficult to overcome and may well harden 
  into a character trait of irritability. Just as a snakebite needs 
  prompt treatment to prevent the venom from spreading rapidly and 
  widely through the body, so also any uprising of wrath should be 
  curbed at once to prevent it from erupting into violent words and 
  deeds of possibly grave consequence.
  
  The true curative antidote for hate in all its forms is 
  loving-kindness (//metta//), assisted by patience, forbearance and 
  compassion. But unless the mind is well trained, when vehement wrath 
  flares up, it will rarely be possible to replace it immediately by 
  thoughts of loving-kindness. Nevertheless, a mental brake should be 
  applied at once and the thoughts of anger [5] curbed  without delay; 
  for if this is not done, the situation may be aggravated by continual 
  outbursts of anger to the point where it gets completely out of 
  control. This temporary curbing of wrath accords with the fifth method 
  of removing undesirable thoughts as mentioned in the 20th Discourse 
  [6] of the Middle Length Sayings (Majjhima Nikaya), namely, by 
  vigorously restraining them. By such an act of firm restraint, time 
  will be won to compose the mind for dealing with the situation 
  thoughtfully and calmly. But if the anger thus suppressed is left 
  smoldering under the ashes, it may well flare up on a future occasion 
  with greater vehemence. Hence, in a quiet hour on the very same day, 
  one should try to dissolve that anger fully, in a way appropriate to 
  the situation. The Dhamma can offer many aids for doing so.
  
    Hate can bind beings to each other as strongly as lust does, so that 
  they drag each other along through repeated life situations of revenge 
  and counter-revenge. This may first happen in the "here," that is 
  within one life, or in continued human rebirths. But persistent hate 
  harbors the constant danger of dragging the hater down into a subhuman 
  world of misery, "beyond the human pale"; or the hater's fate might be 
  a rebirth among the Asuras, the demonic titans of militant pride and 
  aggressive power-urge, some of whom, in turn, seem to have taken human 
  birth as great conquerors and rulers.
  
    Whipped up by hate and wrath, towering waves of violence and fierce 
  tempests of aggression have swept again and again through human 
  history, leaving behind a wake of destruction. Though issuing from the 
  one root of evil, hate, these upheavals have taken a multitude of 
  forms: as racial, national, religious and class hatred as well as 
  other varieties of factional and political fanaticism. Those who crave 
  for leadership among men have always known that it is so much easier 
  to unite people under the banner of a common hate than by a shared 
  love. And all too often these leaders have made unscrupulous use of 
  their knowledge to serve the ends of their burning ambition and power 
  urge, even using millions of people as tools or victims of their own 
  unquenchable hate for others or themselves. Untold misery has been 
  wrought thus and is still being wrought today, as history books and 
  the daily newspapers amply testify. Now mankind is faced by the mortal 
  danger posed by tools of violence and aggression made utterly 
  destructive through modern technology, and by a climate of hate made 
  more infectious through modern mass media and subtle mind 
  manipulation.
  
    So there are, indeed, reasons enough for curbing wrath individually 
  and for helping to reduce it socially. An appeal for the reduction of 
  hate and violence in the world of today can no longer be dismissed as 
  unrealistic moralizing. For the individual and for mankind, it has now 
  become a question of survival, physically and spiritually.
  
    He, however, who "sees danger in the slightest fault," and knows 
  that even slight but persistent resentments may grow into passionate 
  hate and violence, will earnestly strive for the final eradication of 
  the deepest roots of any aversion. This is achieved on the third stage 
  of the path to liberation, called the stage of non-return 
  (//anagamita//). At that stage, no return to the "here" of existence 
  in the sense sphere can any longer come about, while the end of the 
  "beyond," that is, the existence in the fine-material and immaterial 
  spheres, [7] will also be assured.
  
       You must slay wrath if you would happily live;
       You must slay wrath if you would weep no more.
       The slaughter of anger with its poisoned source And fevered 
         climax, murderously sweet -- 
       That is the slaughter noble persons praise;
       That you must slay in order to weep no more.
                                        Samyutta Nikaya, 11:21
  
  
  
  
       2. He who entirely cuts off his lust
        As entering a pond one uproots lotus plants,
        -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
          serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
  Lust (//raga//) is here compared to the lotus flower as a symbol of 
  beauty. Because of its loveliness one too easily forgets that the 
  enchanting blossoms of sense enjoyment will soon wilt and lose their 
  beauty and attraction. But the mere awareness of that impermanence is 
  not enough, for it may even add to the enchantment and whet the desire 
  to pluck the flowers of lust again and again as long as strength 
  lasts. But desire often lasts  longer  than  the strength to seek or 
  obtain its fulfillment -- and this is just one of the ways in which 
  lust brings suffering and frustration.
  
    In a single moment the roots of lust can sink deeply into a man's 
  heart; its fine hair roots of subtle attachments are as difficult to 
  remove as the great passions, or even more so. Thus the Buddha says 
  that "greed is hard to overcome" but in the same text he also says 
  that greed "is a lesser evil" [8] (or, literally rendered, "less 
  blameworthy").  This statement may appear strange in view of the fact 
  that greed is one of the evil roots and also a form of craving, the 
  fundamental cause of suffering. Yet greed is "less blameworthy" than 
  hate in all those cases where the gratification of lust does not 
  violate basic morality and is not harmful to others; for instance, in 
  the enjoyment of delicious food, sexual gratification within the 
  bounds of the third precept, and so forth.
  
    Nevertheless, all forms of lust, be they inside or outside the moral 
  norms, are still unwholesome (//akusala//), as they chain man to 
  kammic bondage and necessarily result in suffering. Therefore, for one 
  who aspires to perfect purity and final liberation, all forms of lust, 
  coarse or refined, are obstructions. "All lust wants eternity" 
  (Friedrich Nietzche) -- but cannot obtain it. For, though lust itself 
  may well go on eternally without ever being quenched, its objects are 
  all inevitably evanescent. When the objects of lust perish, as they 
  must, or are unattainable, as they often are, suffering results for 
  the lusting person; and when his desire for a loved person fades and 
  changes, suffering will result for the beloved.
    
    Lust receives its full dimension of depth as an expression of 
  craving, an inexhaustible neediness, the state of ever being in want. 
  This craving is the subject of the next verse.
  
    Lust is "entirely cut off" at the stage of Arahatship, when desire 
  even for the worlds of refined material form or the immaterial has 
  vanished forever. With the elimination of lust, its unavoidable 
  concomitants also disappear: the frustration, torment or despair of 
  non-gratification and the listlessness, boredom or revulsion of 
  surfeit. He who frees himself of lust is also free of its "both 
  sides," attraction and repulsion, like and dislike. He too has given 
  up the here and the beyond.
  
  
  
  
       3. He who entirely cuts off his craving
        by drying up its fierce and rapid flow,
        -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond,
        just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
  Craving (//tanha//) is the mighty stream of desire that flows through 
  all existence, from the lowest microbes up to those sublime spheres 
  free from coarse materiality. Craving is threefold: craving for 
  sensuality, for continued existence, and for annihilation or 
  destruction.
  
    Sensuous craving (//kama-tanha//) within that mighty river of which 
  our verse speaks, is a powerful whirlpool dragging everything into its 
  depth. The infinity of all craving appears here as the bottomless 
  abyss which vainly longs for fullness and fulfillment. But though it 
  ceaselessly sucks into itself the objects of desire, it can never find 
  safety and peace. For like the hunger for food, this perpetual hunger 
  of the senses daily craves afresh for gratification: "The senses are 
  greedy eaters." The habit of daily sense gratification produces in us 
  a horror vacui. We fear being left empty of sense experience, and this 
  fear, an expression of the fear of death, stands dark and threatening 
  behind each sensual craving as an additional driving force. We see 
  starkly the partnership of fear and desire in the pathological 
  avarice, the hectic grasping and clinging, of those old people so 
  masterly described by Moliere and Balzac.
    
    Driven by the burning sensation of a void within, by a feeling of 
  constant lack and neediness, we try to suppress that painful sensation 
  by swelling our ego. We strive to absorb into our ego what is non- ego 
  or "alien"; we chase hectically and insatiably after sense enjoyment, 
  possessions or power; we yearn to be loved, envied or feared. In 
  short, we try to build up our "personality" -- a persona, a hollow 
  mask. But such attempts to satisfy sensual craving must fail. If the 
  supposed ego expands its imagined boundaries, then, by the extension 
  of its periphery, its points of contact with a hostile or tempting 
  world also grow, inevitably bringing along a growth of both irritation 
  and neediness.
  
    One believes that by the mere gratification of lust what has been 
  "appropriated" from the outside world of objects or persons becomes a 
  part of the ego or its property, becomes "I" and "mine." But what the 
  ego thus appropriates from outside it can never fully assimilate. 
  There remains an undissolved alien residue which accumulates and 
  slowly but deeply alters the structure of body and mind. This process 
  will finally end in the disruption of the organism -- in death. To 
  some extent, this is normal, an ever-present process as it is also a 
  formula for the intake and assimilation [9] of food. But if sensory 
  craving grows excessive and becomes an uncontested, or only weakly 
  contested, master, it may well happen that "the food devours the 
  eater": that the craving and search for sensual nourishment becomes so 
  dominant that it weakens other functions of the human mind, and just 
  those which are most refined and distinctively human.
  
    Unrestrained sensual craving makes a personality "featureless" and 
  "impersonal"; it reduces human individuation and thus brings us into 
  dangerous proximity to the animal level which is bare or poor of 
  individuation. Specific sensual enjoyment may easily become 
  habit-forming and even compulsive, again pulling us down to the animal 
  level of instinctive behavior at the cost of conscious control. A life 
  dominated by sensual craving may turn into a monotonous automaton of 
  sense-stimulus, craving, and sense gratification. Uninhibited 
  sensuality reduces our relative freedom of choice and may drag us, by 
  way of rebirth, into subhuman realms of existence. We say this, not to 
  moralize but to emphasize the psychological effects of sensual craving 
  and to show its implications for our progress towards true human 
  freedom, that is, towards an increase of our mindfully responsible 
  moral choices.
  
    In the threatening effacement of individuation, in the rapturous 
  submergence of individuality at moments of highest passion -- in these 
  features sensual craving approaches its apparent opposite, the craving 
  for annihilation (//vibhava-tanha//). It is ancient knowledge: the 
  affinity of Eros and Thanatos, of passionate love and death.
  
    Craving for annihilation, for non-being, may be likened to the 
  flooding of the river of individualized life. The waters revolt 
  against the banks, the restricting boundaries of individuality. 
  Suffering under their frustrating limitations, they seek to burst 
  through all dams in quest of the great ocean, longing to be one with 
  it, to submerge painful separateness in an imagined Oneness. It is the 
  enticing melody of "Unbewusst -- hoechste Lust!" ("To be unconscious 
  -- oh highest lust!", Richard Wagner), the "descent to the mother 
  goddess," the cult of the night.
  
    On a simpler level, the craving for annihilation is the outcome of 
  sheer despair, the reverse of worldly enchantment. Worn out by the 
  vicissitudes of life, one longs for a sleep without awakening, to 
  obliterate oneself as a protest against a world that does not grant 
  one's wishes. As an irrational revenge, one wants to destroy oneself 
  or others. In some cases, fanatical creeds of violence and destruction 
  stem from this very source. [10]
    
    Finally, in its rationalized form, this craving appears as the view 
  or theory of annihilation (//uccheda-ditthi//), expressed in various 
  types of materialist philosophies  throughout  the  history  of  human 
  thought. 
    
    Craving for continued existence (//bhava-tanha//) is the unceasing, 
  restless flow of the river of life towards goals hoped for, but never 
  attained. It is fed by our persistent hope that happiness will come 
  tomorrow, or in a heaven or golden age of our belief. Even when all 
  our toil gives little or no present satisfaction and happiness, we 
  console ourselves with the thought that we work for our children or 
  our nation or mankind; and each generation repeats that deferred hope.
    
    As a longing for life eternal, desired and imagined in many forms, 
  this craving for existence appears in many religions and philosophies. 
  In Buddhist texts, it is called "the eternalist view" 
  (//sassata-ditthi//). Craving for existence is the driving force that 
  keeps the Wheel of Life in rotation. If viewed by an unclouded eye, 
  this wheel is seen as a treadmill kept in motion by those who have 
  condemned themselves to that servitude. It is a contraption "where you 
  are perpetually climbing, but can never rise an inch" (Walter Scott). 
  The beings who rotate in it are again and again victimized by their 
  illusion that the stepping-board before their eyes is the cherished 
  goal, the desired end of their toil. They do not know that within a 
  turning wheel there is no final goal or destination; and that the end 
  of the world with its suffering cannot be reached by walking on a 
  treadmill. It can be attained only by stopping the driving forces 
  within us -- craving and ignorance. Yet those beings who have 
  committed themselves to that wheel still believe that, within this 
  truly vicious circle, they do "get on in life," and hopefully speak of 
  progress and evolution.
  
    This is the sober and sobering view of existence and the craving for 
  its continuation. But if there were not also a tempting aspect, beings 
  would not cling to life and crave for it to go on. We need not dwell 
  here on those tempting aspects high or low, as there have been, and 
  still are, many eulogists of life and its beauties. Hence we shall 
  speak here only of some of the more subtle forms of allurement which 
  the craving for existence takes.
  
    Among its numerous forms, craving for existence may appear as a 
  longing for variety. This longing frequently makes people seek for 
  happiness somewhere else than in the here and now, and in some form 
  other than the one they actually possess. The mirage of a "happiness 
  elsewhere" becomes a bait that moves further away the closer it is 
  approached, ever eluding the hand that tries to grasp it. It is like 
  the fate of Tantalus to which man has become so habituated that he 
  even finds it pleasant, saying that "it adds spice to life."
  
    There are others who thirst after ever-widening horizons of life, 
  seeking new sensory or mental experiences for their own sake; some who 
  are enamored with their own prowess in confronting life; and some who 
  enjoy their own creativeness. The latter includes many geniuses in 
  diverse fields who may well be reborn as those deities of the Buddhist 
  tradition who "delight in their own creations" (//nimmanarati-deva//). 
  Characteristic of this mentality is Gotthold Ephraim Lessing's 
  preference for the search for truth over the attainment of it; or 
  Napoleon's words that he loved power just as a musician loves his 
  instrument: for the sake of the music he produces on it. Those who 
  enjoy life for its own sake proudly aver that they are willing to pay 
  the price for it in life's coinage of suffering and pain, defeat and 
  frustration. Often, however, this is just an heroic pose which hides 
  feelings of frustration and pride. But even when that avowal is honest 
  and stands firm against pain and failure, it will finally break down 
  when body and mind lose their strength, or when satiety and boredom 
  set in.
  
    It is one of the most subtle and effective ruses of the "will to 
  live" to lure man on and on, dangling before him hope, novelty or the 
  gratification of pride. The allurement of "far horizons," the search 
  for the unknown, has tempted many imaginative and adventurous minds; 
  and those of an heroic mold it has urged to meet the vicissitudes of 
  life as a challenge, appealing to their pride to rise above them. Only 
  in the Arahat, the liberated one, will such detachment in face of 
  adversity be genuine and unshakable. Only he can truly say of himself 
  that he has risen above the vicissitudes of existence; that his "mind 
  is unshaken by the eight worldly events" (Maha-Mangala Sutta): gain 
  and loss, repute and disrepute, praise and blame, joy and woe. Being 
  free from all three cravings, he is free of "both sides": the longing 
  for life and the longing for death, the fear of life and the fear of 
  death. He who has conquered craving has conquered all the worlds, the 
  "here and the beyond." For craving is the triune Lord of all the 
  Worlds, their creator, sustainer and destroyer; and he who is 
  craving's conqueror is also the true world conqueror.
  
  
  
  
       4. He who entirely blots out conceit
        as the wind demolishes a fragile bamboo bridge, 
        -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
          serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
  Human conceit is here compared with a fragile bamboo bridge. In 
  countries of the East, such bridges often consist of just two or three 
  bamboo poles, sometimes with a railing of the same material. On such 
  bridges one has to be quite sure of one's balance in order to safely 
  cross a roaring mountain brook or a deep gorge. Human pride is just as 
  fragile and shaky. It may easily be upset by a whiff of public 
  opinion, hurt by any fool's snide remark, hurled down deep by defeat, 
  failure or misfortune.
  
    Conceit has its roots in ego-belief, which may be either 
  intellectually articulated or habitually and tacitly assumed. In 
  return, conceit gives a very powerful support to ego-belief. It does 
  not tolerate any doubt or challenge of what it prides itself on so 
  much: the existence and the supreme value of that precious self. Any 
  attempt to question its existence and its worth is regarded with as 
  much violent resentment as a powerful ruler would exhibit if he were 
  to be subjected to a body search at the border of his country.
  
    The noun conceit derives from the verb conceiving.[11] It is, 
  indeed, a conceited conception to conceive oneself superior to others. 
  But also to conceive oneself equal to another ("I am as good as you"), 
  or as inferior (which often comes from frustrated pride) -- these, 
  too, are rooted in conceit, in an egocentric evaluation of oneself in 
  relation to others. All three are modes of conceit: the superiority 
  complex, the equality claim, and the inferiority complex. This urge to 
  compare oneself with others springs from an inner insecurity that deep 
  within knows and fears the shakiness of the delusive ego image.
    
    This triple conceit entirely vanishes only when even the most subtle 
  ego reference disappears. This comes only with Arahatship, when the 
  last vestige of the fetter of conceit (//mana-samyojana//) has been 
  eliminated. The Arahat no longer needs the shaky bridge of ego conceit 
  as he has given up "both sides," the discrimination of self and 
  others, and has transcended both the here and the beyond of worldly 
  existence.
  
  
  
  
       5. He who does not find core or substance
        in any of the realms of being,
        like flowers which are vainly sought
        in fig-trees which have none,
         -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
          serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
  Like ignorant people who want to pick flowers where none can be 
  expected, since time immemorial men have sought in vain for an abiding 
  core and substance within themselves and in the world they inhabit. Or 
  they have hoped to find it beyond their own world, in celestial realms 
  and in their gods. Man is driven to that unceasing but futile quest 
  for something immortal by his longing for a state of security, living 
  as he does in an entirely insecure world which he constantly sees 
  crumbling around him and below his own feet. Not that the vast 
  majority of men would care for the boredom of living forever in the 
  immobility which any stable and secure condition implies. But they 
  long for it as a temporary refuge to which they can resort, as 
  children resort to the soothing arms of their mother after becoming 
  sore and tired by their wild and reckless play.
  
    Behind that longing for security, be it temporary or constant, there 
  looms a still stronger driving force: the fear of death, the desire 
  for self-preservation. This holds true for the coarsest as well as the 
  subtlest form of that search for permanency, be it a wish for the 
  perpetuation of sense enjoyment in a sensuous heaven, or the 
  expression of a "metaphysical need," or the deep yearning for a //unio 
  mystica//. This quest for permanency and security may also manifest 
  itself as an urge for absolute power or for absolute self-surrender, 
  for absolute knowledge or for absolute faith.
  
    Since man's early days, as soon as he first started to reflect upon 
  his life situation, he turned his glance everywhere in search of 
  something stable in a world of instability. He looked for it in the 
  personified forces of nature, in stellar bodies, in the four great 
  elements of matter, believing one or another to be the ultimate matrix 
  of life. But chiefly he sought it in those changing forms and symbols 
  of the divine which he had created in the image of his own longings, 
  within the scope of his own understanding, and for the furtherance of 
  his own purposes, noble or low.
  
    Firm belief in an Absolute, whether a god or a state, has appeared 
  to man to be so absolutely necessary that he has used all subtleties 
  of his intellect and all autosuggestive devices to persuade himself to 
  accept this or that form of religious or political faith. He has also 
  used every possible means, fair and foul, either to coax or to coerce 
  others to recognize and worship his religious or political idols. 
  Often not much coercion was needed, as there were always those who 
  were only too glad to sacrifice their intellect and surrender their 
  freedom at the altars of those idols, to win in return a feeling of 
  security and doubt-free certainty.
  
    Men have too easily believed, and made others believe, that when 
  there is a word there must also be a "real thing" corresponding to it: 
  thence an abiding core, an eternal substance, within or behind this 
  transient world. It was the Buddha who urged men to desist from their 
  vain search for the non-existent and see reality as it is:
  
       Entirely coreless is the world.
                                        Sutta Nipata, v.927
  
  
    He, the Awake, cleared the way to the open, leaving behind the 
  towering edifices of ideologies and the debris in which they 
  inevitably end. Showing up in their hollowness the claims of diverse 
  Absolutes, he pointed out that only the hard way of critical 
  examination, our precarious and limited freedom of choice, and the 
  road of morally responsible thought and action can lead us to freedom 
  from suffering.
  
    And only a world that is entirely changeable can give us hope for 
  final liberation. Anything permanent found in the world would 
  necessarily bind us to it forever, making liberation impossible.
    
    But one who is instructed by the Buddha, "the Knower of the Worlds," 
  will not find any core of permanency in any form of existence high or 
  low, nor a core of lasting happiness or of an abiding personality. 
  Such a one will not cling to the here nor yearn for a beyond; he will 
  remain unattached to either side. Seeing world and self as void of an 
  abiding core, he wins the unclouded vision of reality and, finally, 
  Nibbana's peace.
  
  
  
  
       6. He who bears no grudges in his heart,
        transcending all this "thus" and "otherwise,"
         -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
          serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
  Grudge is felt towards people by whom one has been wronged or 
  offended, or towards those who act against one's interests, even if in 
  fair competition. Grudge may also have an impersonal character, as a 
  resentful bitterness about one's life, if one feels that one has been 
  treated unfairly in life by too long a chain of misfortunes. Such 
  grudge and resentment may show up outwardly as angry words and deeds, 
  or may rankle deep in the heart as a gnawing bitterness spreading a 
  dark mood over all that one feels, thinks and speaks. With some 
  temperaments it can foster vengeful and aggressive behavior, with 
  others an ever dissatisfied or melancholic and pessimistic mood. 
  Habitual grudge and resentment can drain much joy from one's life. 
  When growing into enmity, a deep personal grudge --  just as strong 
  attachment -- may persist and grow from rebirth to rebirth, from the 
  here to the beyond, repeatedly bringing dire misery to those linked in 
  such an unhappy relationship. Also the impersonal grudge one bears 
  against one's unhappy experiences may well reappear in a young child 
  as an innate mood of resentment and discontent. All these are 
  certainly more than sufficiently harmful consequences for spurring us 
  on to banish grudge from our hearts as soon as it arises.
    
    Personal grudge arises from an unwise reaction to conflicts in human 
  relationships. It is avoided and abandoned by forgiveness, 
  forbearance, and understanding of the fact that people are heirs of 
  their //kamma//.
    
    Impersonal grudge is caused by an unwise reaction to the unavoidable 
  vicissitudes of life -- the "thus" and "otherwise" of our text. It is 
  prevented and abandoned by understanding and accepting the impermanent 
  nature of existence, and again by an understanding of //kamma//.
    
    Fertile soil for the arising of a deep-seated grudge is political 
  fanaticism, and national, racial, religious and class prejudices. Such 
  grudges can have a personal or impersonal character, or both. For the 
  elimination of this type of grudge the aid of both intellectual and 
  ethical faculties is required: impartial examination of facts, 
  together with tolerance and a feeling for the common human nature 
  shared with others in spite of differences.
    
    Grudge -- like all other forms and degrees of aversion -- is 
  entirely discarded, like the snake's worn-out skin, at the stage of 
  the non-returner. Then it loses forever its power to germinate in 
  lives beyond -- though even at the earlier stages of the 
  stream-enterer and the once-returner, it will have been greatly 
  weakened. There is what may be called a "higher" form of grudge, 
  appearing as "righteous indignation" and a resentful or even hostile 
  attitude towards evil and evil-doers. But even this "higher" form of 
  grudge, as well as its very common lower form, will be transcended in 
  a mind that has grown mature in compassion and understanding.
  
  
  
  
       7. He who has burned out his evil thoughts,
        entirely cut them off within his heart,
         -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond,
        just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
  Our verse speaks only of "thoughts" (//vitakka//), without further 
  qualification; but there is no doubt that only undesirable, 
  unwholesome and evil thoughts are meant. Skillful and noble thoughts, 
  particularly those aiming at liberation, should not be "burned out" 
  from the heart. The commentary to our verse speaks of the threefold 
  wrong thoughts of sensuality, ill will and cruelty, as opposed to the 
  threefold right thought (//samma-sankappa//) of the Noble Eightfold 
  Path. The commentary further mentions thoughts of gain, position and 
  fame; concern for personal immortality; excessive attachment to home 
  and country, to one's family or to other persons. These latter types 
  of thought apply chiefly to monks, since, according to Buddhist lay 
  ethics, concern for home and family, and even a moderate concern for 
  gain and position, are not discouraged when they contribute toward the 
  fulfillment of a layman's duties. Yet all these attachments are 
  fetters binding us to the here and the beyond, and one day they have 
  to be discarded if the heart's freedom is to be won.
  
    But the root thoughts of everything harmful and evil are those of 
  greed, hatred and delusion, which are expressly mentioned in the 
  "Discourse on the Quelling of Thoughts" (Vitakka-Santhana Sutta). [12] 
  In that discourse, the Buddha sets forth five methods of removing such 
  harmful thoughts from one's mind, given in a graded sequence from 
  subtler methods of removal to increasingly coarser approaches.
    
    The first method is that of immediately replacing undesirable, evil 
  thoughts by their desirable and beneficial opposites: greedy thoughts 
  should be superseded by thoughts of renunciation and selflessness; 
  hate by thoughts of friendliness, love and compassion; delusion and 
  confusion by wise comprehension and clarity of thought. The discourse 
  gives here the simile of driving out a coarse peg with a fine one, as 
  carpenters do. This method will work best when there is a strong 
  natural tendency to turn away quickly from any inner defilement or 
  outer temptation, and to replace these thoughts immediately by their 
  antidote. When this spontaneity of moral reaction is weak or absent, 
  this method of replacement may still be workable, if one has a fair 
  degree of mind control, aided by alert mindfulness and firm 
  determination. These latter qualities, however, can be gradually 
  acquired or strengthened by mental training, until they ripen into 
  spontaneous advertence to the good. The second method makes use of the 
  mental impact of strong repugnance against evil, by impressing on the 
  mind the ugliness, depravity, danger and unworthiness of evil 
  thoughts. This may serve as a transition to, or preparation for, the 
  first method. The simile in the discourse is here that of a carcass 
  thrown over the neck of a handsome young man or woman who will then 
  feel "horrified, humiliated and disgusted" by it and will do the 
  utmost to discard it.
  
    Third, when these methods fail and undesirable thoughts still 
  perturb the mind, one should deny them attention. One should not think 
  about them or dwell on them in any way, but divert one's attention to 
  any other thoughts or activity suitable to bind one's interest. This 
  is the method of diverting the mind by non-attention. Here the simile 
  is that of closing one's eyes before a disagreeable sight or turning  
  the  glance  in  another  direction.  This approach, too, can prepare 
  the mind for the application of the first method.
  
    The fourth method is to go back to the thought-source from which  
  those  undesirable  thoughts started and to remove them from one's 
  mind. This might be easier than to cope directly with the resulting 
  undesirable thought. Such tracing back to the cause will also help to 
  divert the mind and thus reduce the strength of the undesirable 
  thoughts. In view of the latter fact, the simile in the discourse 
  speaks of reducing coarser movements of the body by calmer ones: a man 
  who is running asks himself, "Why should I run?", and he now goes 
  slowly. He then continues the process of calming, by successively 
  standing still, sitting and lying down. The commentary explains this 
  method as referring to a tracing of the cause, or of the starting 
  point of the undesirable thoughts. [13]  The simile, however, seems to 
  admit an interpretation of this method as one of sublimation or 
  gradual refinement.
    
    The fifth and last method is vigorous suppression, the last resort 
  when undesirable thoughts, e.g. extremely passionate ones, threaten to 
  become unmanageable. This method, likened to a strong man pressing or 
  forcing down a weaker person, shows the realistic and undogmatic 
  approach of the Buddha, which does not exclude a method of suppression 
  where the situation demands it, lest a serious worsening of that 
  situation or a deterioration of one's character may occur.
  
    By applying these methods, says the discourse, one may become a 
  "master of the paths taken by one's thought processes. The thought he 
  then wants to think, that he will think; and the thought he does not 
  want to think, that he will not think. Thus, having cut down craving, 
  removed the fetter (binding to existence), and fully mastered pride, 
  he has made an end to suffering."
    
    Hence the perfect mastery of defiled thoughts -- their entire 
  burning out, as our verse calls it -- is identical with perfect 
  holiness (//arahatta//), in which all the here and beyond has been 
  transcended.
  
  
  
  
       8. He who neither goes too far nor lags behind,
        entirely transcending the diffuseness of the world,
        -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a 
          serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
        
  The first line of this stanza recurs five more times in the following 
  verses 9-13. This sixfold repetition indicates the importance given to 
  these few words by the creator of this poem, the Buddha, who "sees the 
  deep meaning" (//nipunatthadassi//, Sutta Nipata, v.377) and "clads it 
  in beautiful speech" (//vaggu-vado//, v.955).
  
    The first two lines of the stanza, if viewed closely, are variations 
  of the last two lines which speak of the transcending of "both sides" 
  -- taking the meaning of the Pali words //ora-param// in their wider 
  sense as explained above.
  
    The range of meaning of these first few words is as wide as the 
  "world entire," the world of diffuseness or plurality (//papanca//). 
  In this context, it is significant that the Pali word //papanca// has 
  also the connotation of "lagging behind" or "procrastination." [14] 
  Its over-active partner within that pair, providing the extreme of 
  excessive movement, is craving, which tends to go far beyond what the 
  retarding force of objectified //samsara//, or //papanca//, will 
  allow. Craving produces again and again the disillusioning experience 
  of its own futility; and yet again and again it seeks "ever-new 
  enjoyment, now here, now there" (//tatra tatr'abhinandini//). The 
  failure to which craving is necessarily doomed is caused not only by 
  its own inherent illusions, but also, on the objective side, by the 
  unfathomable diffuseness of the world -- that intricate samsaric net 
  of interactions in which the frantic flutterings of craving are 
  invariably caught, be it here or in a beyond, now or later.
  
    The very same ideas as those of our verse are conveyed in the first 
  text of the Samyutta Nikaya (Kindred Sayings). There we read:
  
       "How, Lord, did you cross the flood (of //samsara//)?" [15]
       "Without tarrying,  friend, and without struggling did I cross 
         the flood."
       "But how could you do so, O Lord?"
       "When tarrying, friend, I sank, and when struggling I was swept 
         away. So, friend, it is by not tarrying [16] and not struggling 
         that I have crossed the flood."
  
    What in our verse is called "going too far" [17] is here spoken of 
  as "struggling,"  which has the attendant danger of being "swept away" 
  all over the wide expanse of the samsaric flood. The "lagging behind" 
  is here expressed by "tarrying," which leads to "sinking" or declining 
  -- possibly to the lowest depth.
  
    There is a similar metaphor in the verses 938-939 of the Sutta 
  Nipata:
       
       I saw what is so hard to see,
       the dart embedded in the heart -- 
       the dart by which afflicted we
       in all directions hurry on.
       If once this dart has been removed,
       one will not hurry, will not sink.
  
  These two extremes -- going too far (struggling) and lagging behind 
  (tarrying) -- point also to basic tendencies of life and mind, 
  manifesting themselves in various ways: as motor impulses and inertia; 
  the phases of "opening," developing, evolving, and of [18] "closing," 
  shrinking, receding;  dispersal and contraction; dilution and 
  hardening; distraction and concentration; hypertension and laxity; the 
  flights of imagination and the confinement by habit and routine; the 
  will to conquer and the desire for self- preservation; the wish for 
  independence and for security ("freedom and bread"); imperturbable 
  will to believe, and unappeasable skepticism, and so on. The sets of 
  paired terms given in the canonical texts considered here, that is:
  
       Going too far -- lagging behind (Sutta Nipata) Struggling -- 
         tarrying  (Samyutta Nikaya)
       Being swept away -- sinking (Samyutta Nikaya),
  
  have been explained by the Buddhist commentators by corresponding dual 
  concepts taken from the terminology of the Dhamma. A selection of 
  these explanations follows. Where it serves greater clarity, the 
  separate commentarial statements on the two texts have been combined, 
  paraphrased and amplified by additional comments.
  
    By clinging to the defiling passions, tarrying and seeking a hold in 
  them, beings will sink into a low and unhappy existence in the course 
  of future rebirths; and in this life, their moral and mental standard 
  will sink and deteriorate; or at least they will "lag behind," 
  stagnate, in whatever higher aims they have in their life.
    
    Struggling for life's varied aims, for what is really a mere 
  accumulation of kammic bondage, beings are liable to "go too far" by 
  aiming at unattainable goals; be it the gratification of insatiable 
  desires, the pursuit of insatiable ambitions, or the fulfillment of 
  unrealizable ideals. In that vain effort, beings are swept away, 
  carried along in all directions of the samsaric ocean.
    
    Driven by craving for continued existence, longing after the bliss 
  of a theistic heaven or for any other form of a happy rebirth, one 
  "goes too far" by following one's wishful thinking or one's desire for 
  self-perpetuation; and when turning to self- mortification of body or 
  mind to achieve these aims, one likewise goes to excess. When adopting 
  a materialist creed, the view of annihilationism, one struggles for an 
  earthly paradise, fights fanatically against any religious teaching 
  and may even go so far as to deny dogmatically all moral and spiritual 
  values.
    
    In performing evil actions one lags behind, falls short of the basic 
  human postulates; and deteriorating, one will finally sink and be 
  submerged by the samsaric floods. In struggling for the performance of 
  worldly good actions, with all their inherent limitations and 
  attachments, illusions and frustrations, one will be carried away 
  endlessly into the ever-receding horizon of the unattainable. In 
  yearning after the past, one strays too far from the present and even 
  struggles to bring back the past, as for instance, when one tries to 
  "appear young," or, in a more serious way, to impose one's romantic 
  notions of the past upon the present. By doing so, one is carried far 
  away from a realistic grasp of the present. In hoping for the future, 
  for a heavenly beyond, a golden or messianic age to come, or even 
  merely for "better luck tomorrow," one neglects present effort, lags 
  behind in meeting the demands of present situations, and sinks into a 
  multitude of fears, hopes and vain worries.
  
    Given to lassitude, one will lag behind, fall short in one's 
  achievements, and be submerged in sloth and torpor. In the excitement 
  and restlessness of struggling, one will be inclined to go too far and 
  be carried away to extremes. [19] But he who, avoiding all these 
  extremes, walks the middle path and harmonizes the five spiritual 
  faculties, (the balancing of faith with wisdom, and energy with calm, 
  while mindfulness watches over this process of harmonizing), -- he is 
  one "who neither goes too far nor lags behind."
  
    After these specific illustrations, a few general observations may 
  be made on what may be called the structural or functional nature of 
  these pairs of opposites.
  
    "Going too far" is the extreme development of one single aspect of 
  many-sided actuality. But the desire for dominance and ever-continued 
  expansion on the part of that one single aspect has also an activating 
  effect on its counterpart. In the neglected or suppressed function, it 
  will rouse the will to self-preservation and assertion. But apart from 
  such opposition, any unrestrained one-sided expansion will finally 
  weaken that "extremist" factor itself. When "going too far abroad," 
  the distance from its original source of strength will grow, and there 
  will be a loss of concentrated energy. The initial recklessly 
  self-assertive factor that set out on a journey of conquest in order 
  to impose itself on the world, will gradually be thinned out and 
  diluted in the process. Through those thousand things which it absorbs 
  in its conquering career, it will imperceptibly become alienated from 
  its original nature; and those thousand influences, wrongly believed 
  to have been mastered in the "struggle," will carry their former 
  master still further away into unrecognized and perilous 
  self-alienation. This is a case of "the eater being devoured by what 
  he eats." All these characteristics of "going too far" hold good for 
  external activities (political, social, etc.) as well as for the 
  interplay of the inner forces of the mind.
  
    In "lagging behind," there is a preponderance of heaviness or 
  inertia, a lack of self-impelling force, of powerful, springy tension, 
  and even an aversion against it. As far as there is movement in that 
  tarrying tendency, it is of a recoiling, centripetal nature. It is the 
  cramped or contracted mind (//sankhitta-citta//) spoken of in the 
  Satipatthana Sutta. This centripetal and recoiling tendency is 
  characteristic of an extremely introverted type of mind. Though an 
  introvert type sometimes "goes too far" in certain psychological and 
  ideological attitudes, generally it is shy and timid, or resentful and 
  contemptuous. Recoil from too close a social contact places him on the 
  side of "lagging behind." An extreme introvert type tries to resist 
  even those slight shiftings of its inner center of gravity called for 
  by the human or psychological environment.
  
    All manifestations of "lagging behind" show a lack of reciprocity 
  and of exchange with the outside world. We may even call it "weak 
  mental metabolism," since mental activity is also a process of 
  nutrition. While the opposite tendency towards excessive expansion may 
  run the risk of being invaded by an excess of "foreign bodies," there 
  is here a deficiency of them; and this will make for poor adaptability 
  and lack of stimulation for new developments. This may finally lead to 
  such a degree of isolation and inbreeding that here, too, the 
  neglected counterpart will rise in self-defense. If its counter-move 
  succeeds, it may produce a harmonious balance of character, unless it 
  starts on a one-sided development of its own. But if such a corrective 
  is absent or remains unsuccessful, that particular life-process, by 
  seriously "lagging behind," will "sink," that is, deteriorate, and may 
  reach a point of complete stagnation.
  
    Thus the strands of life's texture meet crosswise in their upward 
  and downward path. In that way they weave the intricate net of the 
  world's diffuseness (//papanca//), to which the interplay of these 
  paired opposites adds uncountable meshes.
  
    It is through balanced view and balanced effort that one can 
  transcend all these extremes. If one has thus found the harmonizing 
  center in one's life and thought -- the Noble Eightfold Path, the 
  Middle Way -- then the outer manifestations of the inner opposites and 
  conflicts will also fall away, like the worn-out skin of the snake, 
  never to be renewed again. Then there will be rebirth no more, neither 
  in the lower nor in the higher realms, neither here nor beyond: both 
  sides have been left behind. For the Liberated One, world migration, 
  world creation, have utterly ceased.
  
  
  
  
       9. He who neither goes too far nor lags behind
        and knows about the world: "This is all unreal,"
       
       10. greedless he knows: "This is all unreal,"
       
       11. lust-free he knows: "This is all unreal,"
       
       12. hate-free he knows: "This is all unreal,"
       
       13. delusion-free he knows: "This is all unreal,"
        -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond,
        just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
    The world is unreal in the sense of presenting a deceptive 
  appearance, being quite different in actuality from the way it appears 
  to a greedy, lustful, hating and ignorant mind. The Pali word 
  //vitatha//, here rendered by "unreal," has both in Pali and Sanskrit 
  the meaning of "untrue" or "false." These verses, however, are not 
  meant to convey the idea that the world is mere illusion, a play of 
  the imagination. What underlies its deceptive appearance, the flux of 
  mental and physical processes, is real enough in the sense that it is 
  effect-producing. The unreality lies in what we attribute to the 
  world, and not in the world itself.
    
    What, now, is this "world" (//loka//) and this "all" (//sabba//), 
  which should be seen as unreal, in the sense of being deceptive? When 
  the Enlightened One was questioned about these two words, he gave the 
  same answer for both:
  
       1. "One speaks of 'the world,' Lord. In how far is there a world 
         or the designation 'world'?"
       
         "When there is the eye and visible forms, visual consciousness 
         and things cognizable by visual consciousness; when there is 
         the ear and sounds ... ; nose and smells ... ; tongue and 
         flavors ... ; body and tangibles ... ; mind and ideas, 
         mind-consciousness and things cognizable by mind-consciousness 
         -- then there is a world and the designation 'world'."
                                        
                                        Samyutta Nikaya, 35:68
  
  
       2. "'All' will I show you, O monks. And what is 'all'? The eye 
         and visible forms, ear and sounds, nose and smells, tongue and 
         flavors, body and tangibles, mind and ideas -- this, O monks, 
         is what is called 'all'."
                                        Samyutta Nikaya, 35:22 59
  
  
    This twelvefold world process is kept going by craving for the six 
  objects and by attachment to the six sense faculties deemed to belong 
  to a "self." Craving itself is kindled by the discrimination between 
  "likes and dislikes," that is, choice and rejection motivated by 
  greed, hatred and delusion.
  
       What "like and dislike" commonly is called, induced by that, 
         desire comes into being.
                                        Sutta Nipata, v.867
  
  
    It is this ego-centered discrimination of "like and dislike" that 
  gives to the world its deceptive coloring -- its semblance of reality, 
  meaning and value -- which is derived from those subjective emotions. 
  But he who is neither carried away by the unreal nor recoils from the 
  real -- and thus neither goes too far nor lags behind -- he is able to 
  remove that deceptive coloring (//ragaratta//: colored by passion) and 
  to gain dispassion (//viraga//). When the coloring fades away, the 
  bare processes of body and mind will appear in their true nature as 
  being void of a core of permanence, happiness and selfhood. In the 
  sense of that triple voidness, too, this world is unreal.
  
       "Look at the world as void, Mogharaja, ever mindful! Uprooting 
         the view of self you may thus be one who overcomes death."
                                        
                                        Sutta Nipata, v.1119
  
  
    Through freedom from lust and greed (vv.10-11), there is the final 
  fading away of the fictive reality bestowed by attraction.
    
    Through freedom from hatred (v.12), there is the final fading away 
  of the fictive reality bestowed by aversion and aggression.
    
    Through freedom from delusion (v.13), greed and hatred come to an 
  end, and there is the final fading away of all vain hopes and fears 
  concerning the world and of all delusive ideologies about it.
    
  A text in the Itivuttaka (No.49) of the Pali Canon speaks of the 
  ideological extremes of eternity-belief and belief in annihilation, 
  using figurative expressions similar to those of our Uraga Sutta:
  
         "There are two kinds of view, O monks, and when deities and 
       human beings are obsessed by them, some stick fast and others run 
       too far; only those with eyes see.
         
         "And how, O monks, do some stick fast? Deities and human beings 
       for the most part love existence, delight in existence, rejoice 
       in existence. When Dhamma is taught to them for the ceasing of 
       existence, their minds do not take to it, do not accept it, and 
       do not become firm and resolute (about that Dhamma). Thus it is 
       that some stick fast (to their old attachments).
         
         "And how do some run too far? Some feel ashamed, humiliated and 
       disgusted by that same existence, and they welcome non-existence 
       in this way: {Sirs, when with the breaking up of the body after 
       death, this self is cut off, annihilated, does not become any 
       more after death -- that is peaceful, that is sublime, that is 
       true.} Thus it is that some run too far.
         
         "And how do those with eyes see? Here a monk sees what has 
       become as become, he has entered upon the way to dispassion for 
       it, to the fading away of greed for it, to its cessation. This is 
       how those with eyes see."
  
  
  
  
       14. He who has no dormant tendencies whatever,
        whose unwholesome roots have been expunged,
        -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond,
        just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
        
        
  "Dormant tendencies" (//anusaya//) are mental defilements which have 
  become so strong that, from a state of latency, they easily become 
  active in reaction to appropriate stimuli. These dormant tendencies 
  are, as it were, the deepest strata of three levels on which 
  defilements may exist.
  
    At the first level, the most obvious and the coarsest, the 
  defilements become manifest in unwholesome, evil deeds and words. This 
  is called the level of moral transgression (//vitikkama-bhumi//), 
  which can be temporarily controlled by morality (//sila//).
    
    The second level is that of a purely mental involvement 
  (//pariyutthana-bhumi//), namely, in defiled thoughts. It can be 
  temporarily suppressed by //jhana//, meditative absorption.
    
    The third level is that of the dormant tendencies 
  (//anusaya-bhumi//). These are gradually eliminated by wisdom 
  (//panna//), arising in the four stages of final emancipation.
    
    At the first stage of emancipation, stream-entry, the tendencies to 
  false views and skeptical doubt are eliminated.
  
    At the second stage, once-returning, the gross forms of the 
  tendencies of sensual desire and ill will are eliminated.
    
    At the third stage, non-returning, the residual tendencies of 
  sensual desire and ill will are eliminated. At the fourth stage, 
  Arahatship, all remaining unwholesome tendencies have disappeared -- 
  those of conceit, desire for any new becoming, and ignorance. Our 
  clinging to habitual desires and their objects on the one hand, and 
  our emotional rejections and aversions on the other -- these are the 
  main feeders of the hidden but powerful tendencies in our minds. The 
  tendencies in turn strengthen our habitual reactions of grasping and 
  repelling, making them almost automatic. Thence they become potent 
  unwholesome roots of evil (//akusala-mula//), by way of greed or hate, 
  while the unthinking state of mind in which we so react is the third 
  evil root, delusion.
    
    It is mindfulness that can check the unrestricted growth of those 
  unwholesome tendencies. At the beginning mindfulness may not be strong 
  enough to prevent the arising of every instance and degree of mental 
  defilement. But when these defilements in their manifestation are 
  confronted by awareness and resistance, they will no longer bring an 
  increase in the strength of the dormant tendencies.
    
    They are finally silenced, however, only by an Arahat, in whom all 
  "unwholesome roots have been expunged." The Arahat has abandoned "both 
  sides" of the tendencies, those of attraction and repulsion. Being 
  freed of all fetters that bind to existence, he has given up the here 
  and the beyond, the high and the low, of //samsara//.
  
  
  
  
       15. States born of anxiety he harbors none
        which may condition his return to earth ...
  
       16. States born of attachment he harbors none
        which cause his bondage to existence,
        -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond,
        just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
    "Anxiety" (//daratha//) and "attachment" (//vanatha//), from which 
  similar states of mind are born (//ja//), can be interpreted here as 
  forms of dormant tendencies, as basic moods causing appropriate 
  manifestation. Anxiety appears as anguish, fear and worry, and as 
  feelings of tension, oppression and depression caused by those 
  emotions. Also inner conflict may be included here, especially as the 
  Pali word //daratha// has the primary meaning of "split."
    
    Hence the range of what we have called "anxiety" may extend to the 
  dark moods resulting in: cares and worries, which make the heart 
  heavy; anxieties proper: fears for oneself and for others, fear of 
  death and fear of life; the tension and agitation caused by inner 
  conflict; the feelings of insecurity, helplessness and loneliness; the 
  primordial (or metaphysical) anguish, rooted in those former three and 
  in the fear of the unknown. All these moods and feelings create a 
  negative emotional background in the character, which may color one's 
  human relationships and influence decisions of consequence. It may 
  also throw a deep shadow over one's attitude to life in general, and 
  may lead to a shirking of reality, to a recoil from it. When anguish 
  and worry continue to grow in the mind without finding relief, they 
  may become a cause of the anxiety neurosis which is so widespread in 
  times of emotional and social insecurity.
  
    But anguish and anxiety are inherent in human life itself, and their 
  presence in the human mind is not limited to times of particular 
  stress and turbulence. How poignantly the weight of anguish was felt 
  even in ancient India has found a moving expression in words that were 
  once addressed to the Buddha:
  
       "The heart is always in a state of fear,
       And is always full of anguish drear,
       Concerning things that now have taken place
       And things that shortly I shall have to face. If there's a place 
         that's free from ev'ry fear, That fear-free place will thou to 
         me make clear?"
                                     Samyutta Nikaya, 17. Tr. Soma Thera
  
  
    Attachment, via "states born of attachment" (//vanathaja//), leads 
  to entanglements in the thicket (//vanatha//) of life. These 
  entanglements through attachment are of many kinds and they throw over 
  man the widespread "catch-net" of craving (Sn., v.527). Apart from 
  those that are openly seductive, others appear in an innocuous or 
  respectable guise, or are rationalized in more or less convincing 
  ways. Attachments can be pursued actively or enjoyed passively. Of the 
  innumerable forms they may take, only a very few will be mentioned 
  here.
  
    There is the whole scale of five-sense enjoyment, with sex as its 
  strongest; sex in all its varieties, coarse and refined, with all its 
  trappings and subservient arts and enticements.
  
    There is the enchantment of beauty, in nature and art with man's 
  creative or receptive response. There is the insatiable craze to get 
  and to grasp, the fierce determination to hold and hoard; thirst for 
  power and domination, in the smallest circle and on a world-wide 
  scale.
  
    On the passive side, there is the felt need and the inner 
  satisfaction to obey and submit; the gregarious instinct, and the wish 
  to creep under the protective shelter of this or that personal or 
  group relationship; the comfortable feeling of following habits and 
  custom; hero worship and leader cult.
  
    And there is also the mystic's loving surrender to his god, which, 
  of course, can have an ennobling effect on the mind, and yet is an 
  "intoxication of the soul," just like the attachment to the bliss of 
  meditation (//jhana-nikanti//) for its own sake.
  
    "States born of attachment" are at the root of the entire life 
  process, on all its levels. Hence their variety is inexhaustible. Some 
  may show man at his lowest and others at his most refined level. There 
  are attachments that can inspire man to noble virtues, such as loyalty 
  or self-sacrificing love, and to sublime creativity in many fields. 
  But even the most lofty heights reached by refined attachment are no 
  safeguard against a plunge into the lowest depths if one unwarily 
  entrusts oneself to the dangerous gradient of attachment. Therefore, 
  the wise will strive to detach themselves from the high as well as the 
  low, from the here of earthly attachments and from the beyond of their 
  "divine" and subtle forms. The Master said: "Do you see, my disciples, 
  any fetter, coarse or fine, which I have not asked you to discard?" 
  Anxiety (fear) and attachment (craving) produce each other, but they 
  also set limits to each other. "Craving breeds anxiety; craving breeds 
  fear," says the Dhammapada. And fear and anxiety on their part give 
  rise to an intensified attachment to what is threatened and to a 
  craving for the means to attain security. On the other hand, greed may 
  sometimes be restrained by fear, both in individuals and in nations. 
  But greed may also put shackles on fear: thus, disregarding fear's 
  warnings, a person may set out on a perilous course to satisfy his 
  desires.
  
    Anxiety and attachment -- these two well up from an unfathomable 
  past, and again and again become, as our text says, conditions for 
  renewed existence, here and beyond. For "anxiety," our text specifies 
  a rebirth here (//oram//), in this human existence. Anxiety, in all 
  the aspects we have mentioned, is so deeply embedded in the human 
  situation that it may sometimes "drag to rebirth" as strongly as 
  craving does. For that typical human mood of anguish we have quoted 
  earlier a voice from the Buddha's own days. Closer to our days, it was 
  that great and radical Christian, Soren Kierkegaard, who held that the 
  human predicament demanded from those who seriously desired salvation, 
  an "anxious concern" and even "despair."
  
    The Buddha, however, as a teacher of the Middle Way, advocated 
  neither a mood of despair nor of facile appeasement. In his earnest 
  disciples he instilled a "sense of urgency" (//samvega//), like that 
  of one "whose turban is on fire." And on the side of "attachment," he 
  urged his disciples to show "keen desire" (//tibba-chanda//) for the 
  task of liberation. The Arahat, however, has transcended "both sides" 
  even in their beneficial aspects. He is free from "anxious concern" 
  (//asoko//) and free from any clinging (//anupadano//).
  
  
  
  
       17. He who has the five hindrances discarded,
        doubt-free and serene, and free of inner barbs,
        -- such a monk gives up the here and the beyond,
        just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin.
  
    When, in the Arahat, all defiling tendencies have been silenced and 
  become non-existent, they can no longer provide a soil for the growth 
  of the five hindrances, which in //jhana// and in the worldling's 
  insight are only temporarily suppressed. The pair of opposites in the 
  moral sphere, sense-desire and ill will, can no longer impede, and 
  these painful "inner barbs" can no longer irritate. The extremes in 
  temperament, sloth and agitation, cannot arise and disturb the 
  serenity of one who has reached the perfect equipoise of the faculties 
  of energy and calm; nor can there be any doubtful wavering in one of 
  perfect wisdom.
    
    It is for these reasons that, in this last verse of our text, the 
  Arahat is portrayed as being "doubt-free and serene, and free of inner 
  barbs."
    
    The five hindrances illustrate once more some of the strands that 
  keep the skin -- be it fresh or partly worn-out -- attached to the 
  body. Unhindered by them and free from all that has been "worn out," 
  the Liberated One serenely goes his way into the Trackless -- Nibbana.
    
                            * * * * * * * *




                                 NOTES

  
  [1] These are the "five aggregates" (//pancakkhandha//) into which 
      the Buddha analyzes the individual personality.
  
  [2] In this method of meditation, mentioned in the Satipatthana Sutta
      and explained at length in the Visuddhimagga (Chap.VIII), the body
      is contemplated by way of its constituent parts, such as skin,
      muscles, sinews, bones, the internal organs, secretions and
      excretions.
  
  [3] See Visuddhimagga, XXI, 43; Discourse on the Characteristic of 
      Not-self and The Fire Sermon (in Three Cardinal Discourses of the
      Buddha, trans. by Bhikkhu Nanamoli; Wheel No.17); Majjhima Nikaya
      83. 18
  
  [4] See "Hate as Unwholesome Root" by Irene Quittner, Bodhi Leaves 
      No.A 16.
  
  [5] The words "he can curb" in verse 1 are a rendering of the Pali 
      //vineti//, which, among other connotations, may mean 
      "restraining" and "removing."
  
  [6] See The Removal of Distracting Thoughts, trans. by Soma Thera, 
      Wheel No.21.
  
  [7] Buddhist cosmology recognizes three spheres of existence -- the 
      sense sphere, the fine-material sphere and the immaterial sphere.
      Human existence belongs to the sense sphere. Non-returners, after
      death, are reborn in the fine-material sphere and attain
      liberation there.
  
  [8] Anguttara Nikaya, 3:68; see comment, p.27.
  
  [9] See The Four Nutriments of Life, ed. by Nyanaponika Thera, Wheel
      No.105/106, pp.2,8.
  
  [10] On these necrophil, "death-loving" tendencies, see Erich Fromm,
      The Heart of Man (New York: Harper and Row, 1964), pp.37ff.
  
  [11] Quite similarly, in the Pali language, //mana// (conceit) and 
      //mannati// (conceiving).
  
  [12] Majjhima Nikaya 20. Translated as Removal of Distracting 
      Thoughts, by Soma Thera, Wheel No.21.
  
  [13] In the discourse, the relevant Pali term is 
      //citta-sankhara-santhana//, and the commentary explains here 
      //sankhara// by condition (//paccaya//), cause (//karana//), and
      root or source (//mula//). This phrase, however, could also be
      rendered by "stilling the thought formations (or processes)."
  
  [14] Another important connotation of the term //papanca//, i.e., 
      "conceptual proliferation," has been emphasized and ably explained
      by Bhikkhu Nanananda in his book Concept and Reality (BPS, 1971),
      which mainly deals with that term. But we feel that this meaning
      chiefly applies to a psychological context and not, as the author
      thinks (ibid., p.26), also to our present text where the range of
      reference is wider than the topic of delusive concepts. The first
      line of the verse, for instance, refers to extremes of conduct and
      not only to those of conceptual thought.
  
      The concluding two lines, too, point to a wider significance.
  
  [15] //Appatittha//, "without standing still" or "without seeking a hold."
  
  [16] See the translation of this text with notes by Bhikkhu Nanananda
      in Samyutta Nikaya Anthology, Part II, Wheel No.183/185.
  
  [17] The Pali word //ayuhana// also means "accumulation" of rebirth 
      producing actions (//kamma//), and thereby, of new lives.
  
  [18] Here one may think too of the cosmic periods of evolving and 
      shrinking (//vivatta-sanvatta//) within one world-cycle 
      (//kappa//).
  
  [19] This relates our paired terms to two of the five hindrances 
      (//nivarana//). See verse 17 and commentary. 
  
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